#what is angular developer

[hanaaria]

creating a new dnd character is so fun like what the fuck

[kissesz]

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

sevika x f!reader | modern au

warnings: see above. mdni. f!sub!reader. dom!sevika. car sex. public sex (but no witnesses). messy & needy & filthy. vaginal fingering. older woman/younger woman, age gap. praise kink. begging. emphasis on begging. teasing. dirty talk. developing relationship. first time together. resolved sexual tension. pet names. vulgar. smoking. sharing a cigarette. kissing. explicit sexual content.

summary: halfway between zero and sixty, ‘nice to meet you’ and ‘make me yours’. is it considered a hookup if you get laid on the first date?

notes: love and hugs, this is pure sex. again. always.

This woman was temptation with bared, carnassial teeth.

You watched, transfixed, as Sevika took another languid drag of her cigarette, ember painting her features in shades of burnished ochre beneath the flickering streetlight. Dusk bled the sky in streaks of bruised violet, casting the gritty outskirts of LA in stark, angular shadows—forged of unyielding chrome and gunmetal, as hard and uncompromising as the city itself.

"You coming or what?" Her voice, low and smoky, snapped you from your reverie. She leaned against her matte black, '98 Carrera Cabriolet, all long limbs and coiled strength, a panther in repose. The car suited her—powerful, sleek, with barely restrained danger. Not ostentatious, but undeniably commanding. Like her.

You shook your head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Depends. You gonna tell me where we're going yet?"

A ghost of a smirk slashed across her mouth. "Where's the fun in that?"

Rolling your eyes, you pushed off the graffiti-splashed brick wall, gravel crunching beneath your boots as you crossed the narrow alley. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a flair for the dramatic?"

She scoffed, twin plumes of smoke unfurling from her nostrils. "Pot. Kettle. Et cetera."

But there was a glint of amusement sparking in those inscrutable dark eyes, softening the usual implacable steel. For a fleeting moment, with silk tie loosened and crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar, she almost looked approachable. Almost.

Possessed by a sudden surge of boldness that still surprised you, you reached out and plucked the smoldering cigarette from her fingers. Her scarred brow quirked, but she made no move to stop you as you took a deep drag, the acrid nicotine hitting the back of your throat like a sucker punch.

It tasted like her—bitter and earthy with a lingering aftertaste that clung to your tongue. Everything about Sevika was edged with latent threat, from the jagged scar slicing down her cheek to the cybernetic arm gleaming dully in the guttering half-light. She wore raw menace like others wore subtle perfume, an unspoken warning: look, but don't touch.

And yet, here you were. Touching. Toeing lines you'd never dared approach before. There was something about her—an inexorable gravity, a magnetic pull you were powerless to resist, no matter how hard you tried.

Maybe it was the way she looked at you—like she could see right through your bravado to the fragile thing beneath. Like she knew precisely how to break you, splinter you apart piece by piece, but chose not to. There was heady power in that restraint, in the tightly leashed tension coiling. It thrilled you as much as it terrified you.

"You're staring."

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you realized you'd been doing just that, entranced by the play of light across the cut-glass planes of her face. Her lips quirked in a wolfish grin—a quick flash of teeth that sent liquid fire rushing through your veins.

"Just admiring the view," you quipped, hoping she couldn't see you blush, even in the forgiving dimness.

She plucked the cigarette back from your suddenly nerveless grasp, taking one last deep drag before grinding it out beneath her heel. "Get in."

It wasn't a request.

The rich leather seat was cold against your bare thighs as you slid in, the heavy door thudding shut behind you with an ominous finality that made your heart skip and stutter behind the cage of your ribs. Sevika slid behind the wheel, all whipcord muscle and self-assurance. The engine growled to life like a hungry beast, the vibrations echoing the mounting tension singing beneath your over-sensitized skin.

With a squeal of tires, she peeled away from the curb, the lurid neon signs and sputtering streetlights blurring into streaks of smeared color as you gained speed, leaving the grime and decay of the city behind. The radio hummed low, jazz spilling from the speakers to curl around you—a bluesy croon extolling the virtues of bad love and worse choices that felt all too fitting, here in this charged liminal space.

"So," you ventured, the first to break the tingling silence, "is kidnapping a typical first date activity for you?"

Her laugh was a gravelly rasp, a sound that scraped down your spine like nails across a chalkboard. "You came willingly, doll. Hardly a kidnapping."

"Maybe I just have a troubling lack of self-preservation instincts."

"Nah." She spared you a penetrating sidelong glance, those fathomless eyes flickering over you in a way that made your skin prickle with tactile heat, every hair standing on end. "You've got instincts. Good ones. S'why you're here."

Your breath caught. There it was again—that uncanny sense that she could see right through you, deep down to the marrow of your bones, peeling back all your pretenses and posturing to lay bare the truth of you, quivering and exposed. It was unnerving. Terrifyingly vulnerable and viscerally, undeniably right.

As the minutes slipped by marked only by the purr of the machinery and the yellow dashes slipping hypnotically by, the city fell away. Towering glass and steel skyscrapers and seedy, decrepit apartment blocks gave way to low-slung suburbs lined with sun-bleached picket fences, then to long stretches of brush punctuated only by the occasional lonely, leaning streetlamp. Out here, away from the press of humanity and the choking exhaust fumes, the air tasted different.

With each mile marker that fell behind you, it felt as if you were crossing some invisible threshold, leaving the crushing expectations and familiar dissatisfaction of your life in the rearview mirror as you ventured into uncharted territory.

Wasn't that what you'd wanted, after all? What you'd been craving, yearning for with every fiber of your being? To escape the slow suffocation of the neat, narrow path that had been laid at your feet like a noose around your neck? Out here, with the asphalt of the open road disappearing beneath you and Sevika at your side, you felt weightless and unmoored.

Free.

Sevika took the serpentine curves fast and tight—your heart hurried along with it, caught up in the thrill of velocity, of speed, of her. The rushing wind snatched the air from your lungs and tangled your hair, but you welcomed the burn, savoring every stolen gasp as if it were your last.

She drove like she did everything else—with preternatural precision and wild, reckless abandon. But there was a fluidity to her movements, something that spoke of hard-earned mastery, the kind that came only from raw, unfettered experience. Watching her shift gears, quicksilver flashing in the sporadic light—you felt a sharp, sweet ache unfurl deep in your abdomen. It was the ache of longing to be handled with such surety and confidence. To be touched, tasted, known like that: body, mind, and soul.

As if plucking the unspoken want directly from your racing thoughts, Sevika reached over, her hand finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—the touch searing through the denim of your jeans. Slowly, deliberately, she trailed her fingers higher, skimming with agonizing precision along the trembling expanse of your thigh, growing ever closer to where you burned for her most. There was a promise woven into her teasing caress, a whispered question. Goosebumps rippled in her wake, your nerves singing at her nearness.

"Sev..." you managed, the name escaping on a ragged exhale even as your body arched helplessly into her touch. "I'm trying to be good here."

Her answering chuckle was downright unholy. "Overrated."

But she withdrew her hand, returning it to the wheel, leaving you empty and bereft. You felt the loss of her touch, your flesh crying out for the intoxicating drag of skin against skin.

All too soon and not soon enough, Sevika pulled off onto a secluded little overlook, the car settling into an idle. Below, the sprawl of the city stretched out, glowing, alive with nightlife. But here, balanced between heaven and earth, breathing air untainted by smog or sin, it seemed to belong to another world entirely. You felt as if you had slipped into a hidden haven of stillness—population consisting of only you two.

The silence that rushed in to fill the vacuum left by the slumbering engine was heavy, expectant. When Sevika swung herself out of the car, you followed, as if drawn by some invisible tether.

She leaned against the hood, ankles crossed, dark hair stirring in the breeze as she gazed up at the sky. You settled in beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, the rapidly-cooling metal still warm against your back. This close, you could breathe all of her in—a scent you'd learned to crave like the most insidious drug.

"It's beautiful out here," you said softly, not wanting to break the tentative peace of the moment, that spell holding the rest of the world at bay. "Peaceful."

Sevika hummed in agreement. "Sometimes you need to leave things behind. Get some distance between you and the bullshit to see clearly. Gain a little perspective."

You turned the thought over and over behind your eyes, a faint frown tugging at your brow. "There’s something you're trying to get perspective on?"

She was quiet for the first time in a while, seconds stretching into eons in the yawning space between each inhale. Long enough for the first tendrils of doubt to curl around your hammering heart. When she did finally speak, her normally brash voice was threaded through with an uncharacteristic note of melancholy.

"Lots of things. The whole fucked-up mess of my past. My future." She flexed her prosthetic hand, digits curling into a fist, servos whirring almost imperceptibly in the silence. Her next words were barely a murmur. "You."

You froze, trepidation tangling into an impossible snarl, threatening to cut you open from the inside out. "Me?"

Sevika turned to face you then, eyes snaring and pinning you in place. "This thing between us...it's complicated, doll. For a whole lot of reasons."

"Doesn't have to be." The words tripped off your tongue, propelled by the reckless certainty buzzing through you like a sugary rush, like the sting of good bourbon on an empty stomach. "Not if we don't let it."

One corner of her mouth quirked upwards, the expression more wry than somber. "You’re young, sweetheart. But me? Got enough baggage to fill this whole damn car and then some." She gestured to herself. "You sure you want to saddle yourself with all that?"

You captured her metal hand in your own. Slowly, tenderly, never breaking eye contact, you lifted her hand to your lips, brushing the barest hint of a kiss over the ridged carbon-fiber knuckles. An unambiguous answer. A consecration.

"With you?" you whispered. Unafraid and sure despite the wild tarantella of your heart, you pulled her closer, until you could see the faint sunray-like pattern of molten silver lining her blown pupils. "Yes."

She sucked in an unsteady breath, eyes widening a fraction. Vulnerability, you realized. More naked and exposed than you'd ever seen her, more honest. She searched your upturned face for any hint of doubt, any flicker of hesitation. Found only quiet certainty in the resolute lines of your body, only affection and burgeoning devotion in the sweep of your gaze.

"Fuck, you're gonna ruin me," she breathed finally, voice roughened by a tangled snarl of need and fear and disbelief, the words equal parts aching and awed.

You felt your lips curve upwards helplessly. "Promise?"

Sevika loosed a broken sound, low and guttural and heavy with want. Then, her mouth crashed onto yours, hot and urgent and so impossibly soft you nearly wept from the rightness of it.

You met her with desperation all your own, the empty echo behind your ribs finally quieting as she filled in all your broken spaces, soothing long-untended aches with lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on her leather-clad shoulders, seeking against​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ the onslaught of sensation, the sheer relief of having what you'd yearned for so long finally, finally within reach.

She gathered you close, arm banding around your waist, and everything narrowed, coalesced into this single, shining point of collision, of completion. Nothing existed outside the slick heat of your twined tongues, the eager exploration of wandering hands, the delicious drag of stuttered breath in starving lungs.

Overwhelmed, drowning in sensation, you wrenched your mouth away to trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of her jaw. She arched into the touch like a cat, a grunt catching in the back of her throat as you nipped at her pulse, soothing the sting with lips and tongue.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt, skimming the fever-hot skin of your waist and earning a full-body shudder. Those clever, devastating fingers inched higher, tracing the dip of your spine, the jut of your ribs, leaving trails of tingles in their wake.

"God, Sev," you panted, voice cracking on a gasp as her thumb dragged heavy and purposeful over the swell of your breast, the lace separating flesh from flesh somehow more maddening than no barrier at all. "I want...I need–"

She hummed against your throat. "What do you need, baby?" She nuzzled beneath your jaw, lips and teeth worrying the thin, delicate skin there, hard enough to sting, to mark. To claim. "Tell me. Let me give it to you."

You tangled desperate fingers in her hair, short, silken strands slipping like cool water between your digits—tugged just shy of too hard, just to feel her sigh, to know she was just as affected as you. "You," you breathed into the scant space between your mouths. Cupping the back of her neck, you pulled her down into another searing kiss, licking your way past the seam of her lips to tangle your tongue with her own. "Just you."

Sevika's groan was ragged, muffled against your eager mouth. "Shit. You're so–you don't even know what you do to me. How I've wanted–"

She broke off on a shuddering exhale as your hand snaked between your flush bodies, palming the swell of her breast through the material. The delicate silk was warm from the heat of her skin, the stiff peak of her nipple an unmistakable indent against your palm. You circled the pebbled bud with the pad of your thumb, marveling at the shiver that rippled through her frame at the intimacy of your touch.

"Show me. Want to feel you, Sev, want your hands on me, want–ah!"

Your stream of babbled pleas stuttered to a halt as Sevika ducked her head, fastening kisses to the column of your throat with single-minded intensity. Her hand carved a path downwards, your abdominals fluttering and tensing beneath her touch. In response, you clutched her shoulders, nails digging into firm muscles, desperate for an anchor against the wave of pure sensation threatening to sweep you out to sea.

She didn't stop there—of course she didn't. Sevika had never been one to do things by halves. Fingertips found your nipples, already painfully tight and straining against your bra, and rolled them until you were gasping and writhing against her, hips canting in wanton invitation.

"Fuck," she rasped against you, the word a fervent prayer and a filthy promise. "Can't believe I get to touch you like this. Can't believe you're letting me..."

Her words shredded off into a throaty sound of satisfaction as you hooked one leg around the backs of her thighs, the repositioning changing the angle of your bodies until she was pressed tight and perfect against the aching center of you, separated only by a few torturous layers of fabric.

"God, need you inside, need you to fill me up, I–" Your fever-pitched begging deteriorated into a mewl as Sevika rolled her hips just so, the delicious friction against your swollen clit sending starbursts of color exploding behind your eyelids. You were so wet already that you could feel it smearing onto your inner thighs, a cooling counterpoint to the molten ache throbbing low in your gut. "Sev, please, I–"

"I've got you. Gonna take care of you, give you everything you need, pretty girl."

The words were whispered against the fragile skin behind your ear, shivering over nerve endings already raw and screaming for more. Pinning you with her weight, Sevika fumbled between your sweat-slicked bodies, making quick work of the fastenings of your jeans and shoving the clinging material down your thighs with almost feral urgency. Immediately, the night air kissed your overheated skin, but the momentary relief was quickly replaced by a deeper, sharper ache as she trailed a single teasing fingertip over the wet spot darkening the cotton of your panties.

"Look at you," she breathed, and the sheer reverence in the tone made your heart stutter and clench. "You're so wet for me already, aren't you, baby?"

Your only answer was a pleading moan, head tipping back against the cooling metal of the hood, eyes fluttering shut as you gave yourself over fully to chasing the intoxicating feeling of Sevika's hands on your body. A single digit traced along the elastic waistband of your panties before dipping lower to slide along your cloth-covered slit. She traced the seam of you, touch firm enough to send sparks skittering up your spine but too light to offer any true relief, and your hips twitched traitorously, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"Please," you managed, the word garbled and wavering. Your hands scrabbled at the short hairs at the nape of her neck, anything to ground you in the sensations threatening to consume you. "I need–need you to–"

"Need me to what?" she coaxed, nuzzling the hinge of your jaw, painting staccato breaths against the fever-heat of your skin. Her hips rocked against the cradle of your pelvis. "Use your words, beautiful."

"Touch me," you panted, the shameless need in your voice nearly unrecognizable to your own ears. "Fuck me, Sev, god, please, I–"

She smiled against your neck, a slow curl of approval that you felt like a physical touch. And then, before you could draw breath to beg, she was pushing your panties aside, parting swollen, slippery flesh to press firmly against the aching bud of your clit. White flashed behind your clenched eyelids at the first direct touch to where you were most sensitive, and you keened high in your throat, hips juddering helplessly against the exquisite pressure. Sevika didn't tease you further, seemingly just as desperate as you; her touch was purposeful, two fingers dipping down to circle your entrance teasingly before swiping back up to rub maddening circles around your throbbing clit, spreading the slick evidence of your arousal from slit to hood.

You lost time then, lost yourself too, perhaps—hands clutching convulsively at her shoulders, nails carving bright-hot crescents into her skin as she wrung pathetic, gasping cries from your lips, each one filthier than the last.

When she finally slid one long, calloused finger inside you, the intrusion was a revelation. Your body yielded to her with embarrassing ease, greedy muscles fluttering and clenching around her digit, trying to draw her deeper.

A second finger joined the first, stretching and filling—you whined, high and heady, back arching to meet her on every upstroke. The lewd, liquid squelch of her fingers pumping in and out of you echoed obscenely, sending a fresh rush of arousal through you. Sevika seemed to revel in it, in how wet and open and ready you were for her, crooking her fingers until you were riding the edge of her hand, the heel of her palm grinding perfectly against your clit with every measured thrust.

"Fuck, Sev, oh god, just like that, don't stop, please please please...." The litany fell from your lips unchecked, words tumbling over each other in your desperation. Your orgasm was so, so close, pleasure winding tighter and tighter with each pump of her fingers, each swipe of her tongue against the column of your neck.

"Not gonna last," you sobbed, hips hitching erratically against her hands. "M'gonna come, fuck, Sev, please–"

"That's it," she rasped, the words hot and damp against your ear. "Wanna feel you come apart on my fingers, baby, wanna feel you shaking and tightening around me when I make you scream. Give it up for me, come on, you can do it."

Her voice combined with the relentless pressure of her touch was too much, an assault on your senses that you had no hope of withstanding. Your release crashed into you, making every muscle seize and spasm as it swept you under. Distantly, you registered the drawn-out, wavering moan torn from your throat as you shook apart under her hands, but you were miles away, lost to the pulsing waves of rapture radiating out from your core.

Sevika coaxed you through it, murmuring filthy praise against your skin as she gentled her thrusts, drawing out your pleasure until it bordered on pain. You clung to her, face buried in the curve of her neck. She held you through the aftershocks, digits still buried deep inside you, touching you with a tenderness that made your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.

"Sev," you managed finally, voice thin and reedy with spent pleasure, muffled against the damp silk of her shirt. "That was..."

"Damn right it was," she finished softly, nosing against your hairline, your temple. "And we’re just getting started."

Carefully, she withdrew from the clasping heat of your body, and you shuddered at the loss, tipping your head up to seek her mouth blindly. She met you halfway, slanting her lips over yours—slow and sweet and devastating.

Addicting. Irresisitible. Exhilarating.

©️ kissesz

[writingwithcolor]

The protagonist of my story is pressured into killing, should I refrain from making her Jewish to avoid stereotyping?

@run-remi-run asks:

Hello, I'm developing a teen character living in Michigan and have been considering making her/her family Jewish; however I'm worried they'll fall into the evil Jewish person stereotype. The teen is the protagonist of her story, but she is pressured into killing at least one person. I understand that villains in media being portrayed as Jewish or with Jewish features has furthered antisemitism, and I understand my character isn't exempt from this just because I see her in a positive light. Should I refrain from making her Jewish?

This doesn't fit the stereotype

If the whole idea is that she’s pressured into doing bad things, that doesn’t fit the stereotype or trope at all because the trope has us as evil masterminds but in your scenario she’s the one being manipulated. The negative trope isn’t just “Jewish person does something bad” it’s a lot more specific than that. -Shira

Any Michigan influences?

Commenting strictly as a Michigan resident: is there any reason why you included the character’s Michigander origins in your question? Is there something about Michigan that’s influencing how you think a Jewish character might be depicted or viewed by others in your story? I’m asking not to be interrogatory, but out of curiosity and need for clarification.

–Jess

Evil Jewish person stereotype

Shira’s answer speaks directly to this and a lot more concisely, but I wanted to take a minute and go deeper into the phrase “Evil Jewish person stereotype,” for the sake of helping break down what’s actually happening and why it works the ways that it does.

There are two forces at work here, not unrelated to each other but not identical either. One is the portrayal of evil characters using tropes that suggest Jewish coding, and the other is a cultural suspicion of Jewish people’s motives and actions. They’re two sides of the same coin, perhaps, but I’d like to look at them separately, since the difference--that one refers to fictional characters and the other to actual people--matters in the context of reading and writing fiction.

Jewish coding in Villain characters

There are aspects of a character’s physical appearance that can suggest Jewishness even as we acknowledge that Jewish individuals don’t necessarily match those looks. Those might include a hooked nose, hair that is curly or red, a sallow complexion, an angular face. These attributes are not inherently bad: a text portraying them is antisemitic when these attributes are a visual signal of bad motives or are only present in bad characters and not good ones. Although not at issue here, it’s worth noting that these attributes can also raise questions in settings where all Jewish characters have them, because the flip side of these attributes being used to denote Jewishness is the erasure of Jewish people who don’t have these looks. 

 There are also aspects of a character’s personality that are repetitions of historical accusations against Jews, justifications for violence or persecution rather than reflections of genuine events. These might include greed, arrogance, bloodthirstiness, and a willingness to hurt or kill children for personal gain. These tropes have accrued over centuries in spite of the fact that every single one of them runs counter to any genuine Jewish values because ultimately, they’re not based on real-world actions by real-life Jewish people, but a product of leader after leader over time riling up their followers into dehumanizing a minority population, for the usual reasons people have for dehumanizing minority populations. 

Jewish coding in villain characters is not necessarily the same as stereotyping Jewish people as being evil. It does however support and maintain unconscious antisemitic biases. That is to say, when you meet someone who is Jewish, you’re not necessarily thinking “Mother Gothel was coded with Jewish tropes so this Jewish person probably is evil,” but if someone shows you a picture of a person with a hooked nose and curly hair and says “this person is greedy and hurts children,” exposure to Mother Gothel and other fictional villains on the same model might make you less likely to say “That doesn’t sound right.” 

Meanwhile, back in Michigan

Like Shira said, your character is not the mastermind of the murder she’s being forced into. Rather, she’s a victim of whatever character or circumstance is forcing her into it. As long as that’s apparent in your narrative, you’re not supporting an existing harmful trope or stereotype. I would treat the concept differently if this were, for instance, a dark narrative of a remorseless killer. In the current climate I would also advise against any imagery of a Jewish person of any age or agency killing a child or person of color of any kind, as that is the latest iteration of the medieval blood libel in modern times.  I would even have pause in this situation, where she’s not the author of her own act but does commit it, if she does not experience remorse or if she enjoys doing it. What matters here is her motive. 

If this character is Jewish, then that’s going to affect her approach to the incident in certain ways. While Christian and Christian-influenced secular culture regard “good” and “bad” as the ultimate thing to worry about, even at the cost of martyrdom or murder, Judaism places life as the highest value. There are very few of the laws and customs of Jewish life that one is not expected to break in order to avoid death, but one of those is murder. Now, Jewish characters make choices that aren’t perfectly consistent with Jewish law all the time, so what I’m asking is not to not write this, but to write it on purpose.

What does it do to your character?

Who is she before and after?

How many of us could truly choose to die rather than kill in her situation?

Does she own perhaps a necklace or decor item with the word “חי” on it?

What does seeing it do to her?

In what other ways does her Jewishness make her interesting and relevant as a character?

If it’s just curly hair and matzah ball soup on an otherwise Christian character, why bother. But if you’re willing to put in the time to research Jewish attitudes toward life and death and how they differ--even and especially in a teenager’s schema--from the Christian and Christian-influenced majority conception, then there’s room for an interesting narrative here. 

-Meir 

[carnalcrows]

LOYALTY - INHO & GIHUN

pairing: inho x male reader (x gihun)

synopsis: a sequel to this fic.

content warnings: 18+, dubcon (almost non-con), kidnapping, drugging via gas, anal fingering, vouyerism, semi public sex

word count: 1k

A/N: taglist- @thatonerylan @ayieayee

A sharp chemical sting filled your nose as you groaned awake, your head pounding like it had been cracked against the marble dining table. The last thing you remembered was the... exchange between you and Gi-hun—words of resolution and defiance as the two of you made an unspoken pact to forfeit the games. The gas came swiftly, robbing you of breath before the world went dark.

Now, as your eyes adjusted to the dim, shadowy room, a sense of unease settled in your chest. You sat up slowly, taking in your surroundings. The walls were dark gray, lined with shelves of monitors displaying grainy, disjointed feeds from what looked like different areas of the games. A single chair sat in the middle of the room, facing a vast wall of screens.

“Where…?” you muttered, turning your head to see Gi-hun slumped on the floor nearby, still unconscious. Relief washed over you for a moment—he was alive.

“You’re awake,” a voice cut through the silence like a blade.

You whipped your head toward the source, your breath catching as the figure stepped forward from the shadows. The Front Man. His imposing frame was clad in that familiar black outfit, the gleaming, angular mask covering his face. He exuded an aura of authority and danger, and something about the way he moved felt predatory.

“Where are we?” you demanded, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

The Front Man ignored your question, his gloved hands clasped behind his back as he circled you slowly, like a lion sizing up its prey. “You and Gi-hun,” he began, his voice smooth and low, “are quite the anomaly. Defiance. Unity. It’s rare to see such traits here. Even rarer to see them... together.”

You clenched your fists, your muscles tense. “What are you talking about?”

He stopped in front of you, tilting his head slightly. Though his mask betrayed no expression, you felt the weight of his gaze. “Let’s just say,” he said, his voice dipping, “that you’ve caught my attention.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, the air between you thickening with an almost suffocating intensity. His gloved hand reached out, and you flinched as his fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his masked visage.

“Both of you have,” he continued, his voice almost a purr now. “But you... you’ve intrigued me most.”

His touch lingered for a moment before he withdrew his hand, pacing slowly. “The games are about control, about survival. And yet, you’ve managed to disrupt that balance. How fascinating.”

“Let us go,” you snapped, your voice firm despite the heat creeping up your neck.

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, it’s far too late for that.”

You glanced at Gi-hun, still unmoving, and your chest tightened. When you turned back to the Front Man, he was closer now, towering over you. “You see,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something unspoken, “I’ve developed a... personal interest in my players. Especially the ones who stand out.”

Before you could react, his gloved hand cupped your face, pulling you to your feet. His grip was firm but not painful, his movements deliberate. The mask tilted slightly, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was overwhelming, a clash of dominance and desperation. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his gloved hand gripping the back of your neck to hold you in place. It was sloppy, intense, his tongue brushing against yours with a need that bordered on feral.

You pushed against his chest, but he didn’t relent. Instead, he pulled you closer, his other hand finding your waist. The kiss deepened, his breath hot and heavy as he devoured every inch of your mouth. The cold leather of his gloves contrasted with the heat radiating from his body, sending shivers down your spine.

A groan escaped him, muffled against your lips, and the sound ignited something deep inside you—an undeniable mix of fear and thrill. His lips trailed briefly to your jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before returning to your mouth.

His hand inched down to your pants, pushing them off with one firm tug. You squeaked at the cool air hitting your thighs, a wet spot staining your boxers.

The man looks at it and smirks. “So you do want this…hm?” He whispers before he slides a hand down your boxers, discarding them along with your pants.

The cool air does a number on your length, raising it erect. Your mind thinks of one thing, your body reacts differently. 

“Such a pretty little thing f’me,” he cooes before spreading your legs wide open, the air hitting your now exposed hole.

You shudder when he suddenly prods a lubed digit at your hole, testing the waters. With you physically being unable to respond, he slowly slides the finger in, eliciting a loud moan from you. He slowly adds a second, and then a third finger, pumping them in and out of your clenching hole.

Your dick twitches, untouched, so the man uses his other hand to slowly jerk you off, the speed at a vast difference to what he was doing to your hole.

As you feel your orgasm wash over you like a waterfall, your eyes roll to the back of your head, an almost pornographic moan leaving your lips. 

“W-what the hell...” a groggy voice cut through the haze.

You both froze, your breath coming in heavy pants as you turned to see Gi-hun stirring on the floor, his eyes squinting against the dim light. He blinked slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to shock as he took in the scene before him.

“What... are you doing to him?” Gi-hun rasped, his voice laced with anger and disbelief.

The Front Man straightened, his digits still buried inside your ass, his posture unbothered. “Ah, Gi-hun,” he said smoothly, turning to face him. “You’re just in time.”

Gi-hun struggled to sit up, his eyes narrowing as they flickered between you and the Front Man. “Leave him alone,” he growled, his voice gaining strength.

The Front Man chuckled, his hand squeezing your cock. “Oh, but he doesn’t seem to mind,” he said, his tone mocking. “Do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but words failed you, your mind reeling from the overstimulation.

“Let’s see how far your loyalty truly goes,” the Front Man said, his voice dripping with malice.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Voice of Treason

1,7k. words | f! (player 222) Reader | angst | yandere behavior | pregnancy | mentions of death | not proofread

Squid Game S2 Spoilers ahead!

A/N: just a lil' drabble written on my phone, but this man got a chokehold on me so I needed to get it out of my system

A bloodcurling scream echoed through the hallways as you witness player 390's lifeless body drop to the ground.

You didn't even know his real name.

Both you and 456 had been forced on your knees, wailing on the ground as you mourned the death of your allies, well aware your own demise was imminent.

This whole ordeal was futile from the start, but you had decided that you'd follow this reckless fool to the grave rather than dying for the sick entertainment of a rich elite without even putting up a fight.

"Where is 001? What did you do to him, you bastard?!"

In-ho's face dropped behind the angular plastic of his mask, taken aback by your worry for him despite of your own hopeless situation. "Why do you care?" the distorted voice spoke callous despite his inner turmoil. "The man you got to know is long dead."

You collapse at this revelation and you let out heartbroken sobs, hugging your belly as if to cling to the last thing that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Gi-hun observed your interaction with great pity. It was understandable to develop feelings for another while trapped in such an insane life-and-death situation, especially since 001 had been especially protective of you due to your circumstance.

But player 456 that has become a mentor towards you had warned you several times to not give in to this irrational sentiment, reminding you that the man you fell for had an expecting wife waiting for him back home.

"Take them away" he orders his henchmen, withdrawing the gun before tearing his eyes away from you. "The game needs to continue."

"Take him" the man dressed in all-black ordered his henchmen, gesturing towards player 001 before busying himself with you again. "The game needs to continue."

Gi-hun's pleads to spare you if not for the unborn child's sake went on deaf ears as a bag was put over his head and he was dragged away.

The Frontman lifted his gun again, the shaking of his hand barely noticeable as the barrel stroke almost gently across your cheek, a black trail of gunpowder trailing his movement. With one swift movement he put it underneath your chin, forcing you to look up to him one final time.

In a last act of resistance you spat at the man's feet, your relentless glare imbued with hatred as it bore into his skull. "You're a monster!"

"I know."

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

While you assumed sadistic glee as his motivator, In-ho was shocked with himself, caught in a labyrinth of his own mind. After a while of letting those conflicting emotions ravage his heart, he withdrew his weapon, signalizing the guard behind you to knock you out before sending a bullet straight to his head.

What he plans to do cannot allow any witnesses, even among his own ranks.

*~´*~´*~´*

God knows how much time had passed since then, but when you finally regained consciousness, only one question was burning urgently:

Why are you still alive?

You jolted up in a rush of adrenaline, scanning the unfamiliar room you were brought to. The interior was almost completely dipped in pitch black, even the furniture was no exception.

A new game, maybe?

Eventually your eyes caught the silhouette lurking in a corner of the room, leaned over in a huge armchair. That damned mask of his did nothing to hide the piercing glare you could feel underneath.

Feeling your rapid breaths and how your body started to tremble uncontrollably, panic threatened to consume your every sense.

Your mind was invaded with countless horrid scenarios to why a deranged man like him would take you back to - as it appeared - his private bedchamber.

The sheer sight of him was a nightmare, but seeing him approaching you with firm, deliberate steps shook you to the core. He pries off one of his gloves, laying them on the nightstand besides you with his whole demeanour perfectly composed.

A violent tremor jolts through your body as he reached out for you, however he merely places his hand onto your belly, unable to hold back a muffled gasp as he feels it kick beneath his palm.

"I had a doctor check on you while you were unconscious" he disclosed as if it was some sort of generous act. "The baby is perfectly fine. A little fighter, like it's mother."

It was meant to be a placating gesture but it had the complete opposite effect on you, not daring to guess the reason for his sudden interest.

Your face contorts in disgust and you shuffle away from his touch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket over your belly, as if to shield it from this homicidal maniac. "Why- What do you want from me, you fucking lunatic?!"

There was a while of strained silence between your question and his answer.

"I told you to stay back, you foolish girl" he sighed, striping the hood from his head but his hand hesitated on the buckle of his mask. "But you insisted on joining this pathetic revolt."

The moment he unveiled his face your world scattered for the second time today, as you were confronted with the face of a dead man - at least the one you had mourned and wept for just shortly before.

Oh just seconds ago your greatest wish was to be able to see him one last time, to confess the things you had preserved until it felt like you'd burst with that secret admiration for him.

Right now however it was like staring straight into the abyss.

He forced his lips into a crooked bow, that fake excuse of a smile you had always thought to be remnant of the hardships he had to endure. But now you saw it - or rather him - for what it truly was.

This couldn't be real. It mustn't be real.

You replayed those words in your head over and over again, but they morphed into a nonsensical jumble, blurring with the overwhelming torment of confusion and betrayal.

He gazed at you with bated breath as he awaited your reaction, desperate to find any hint, at least a glimmer of affection in your features.

"Young-il?" you stammered with a meek, broken voice that buried him underneath a wave of shame he wasn't aware he could still feel.

He shakes his head. "No. My real name is Hwang In-ho...I'm sorry."

You knew the whole time, didnt you?

Something about him was off from the very start. The way he carried himself seemed to robotic, as if he was merely playing a role. Deep down you had always wondered about how his story never fully added up, so many times you ignored any suspicious behavior of his out of some twisted dependency.

And ever since you personally witnessed how he snapped the other contestant's neck without any remorse you had a plaqueing feeling that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

There was a wordless aggreement to keep quiet about this particular incident, due to your egoistical necessity of his protection.

That's when it dawned on you - he had already pulled you down to his level, made you his accomplice through your silence. And even now, all this time not even a single thought about the fate of your comrades had crossed your mind until now.

He only barely outranks you in selfish cruelty.

"Was-" you choke on a sob, feeling his thumb tenderly wipe away your tears just to be replaced with new ones. "Was it all a lie?"

"Not everything." In-ho spoke with a hint of melancholy in his bearing. "I did have an ill wife, back when I first participated. You remind me of her a lot actually...strong-willed and yet gentle." There was an undeniable reverence in his tone and the way his hand was still gracing your cheek. "I participated and won just for her...but when I returned, she was already gone."

You were torn between the seething anger and an irrational urge to comfort this grief-strickened man, in your shock the severity of his words not leaving you unscathed. "That- that still doesn't excuse a single one of your actions!" Refusing to give in you spat venom at him either way, reminding yourself the aching of your heart should be nothing but newfound hatred for the man.

"I'm aware" The Frontman neither aggrees nor denies your accusations, as it doesnt't matter to him at all. His voice is unbearably cold, the softness of his in it you were used to now replaced by a sharp edge. "I don't expect anything...no understanding or even acceptance. But i cant- won't let you go."

You could see it in his eyes that his stoic facade was crumbling, he was teetering on the brink of a bottomless pit, begging for a lifeline, needing for your presence to save him from the darkness within.

"I wanted to help you become the winner." In-ho takes a hold of your hands, squeezing them ever so slightly in the naive hope to convince you of his pure intentions. "That wasn't my plan initially, but I decided to risk it all to keep you safe. I swear I will protect you and our child, no matter what."

Our child. Such a small word yet such a huge impact. The implication sent a shiver down your spine, understanding it was like swallowing shards of glass.

In-Ho leans his forehead against yours, his own eyes glistening with usnhed tears. "You're my redemption, my salvation..." He trails off, suddenly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling your lips to crash over his. It was a searing kiss, one that demanded surrender, that commanded obedience, a vow to keep you at his side whether you want it or not.

You writhe against his hold as he cradles you in his arms, but his embrace is like a steel vice, suffocating and unyielding just as his love.

"I couldn't save her..." he rasps in a hoarse whisper, every syllable laced with utter determination. "Allow me to at least save you."

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. I

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 3321

You woke up to your whole body feeling like it was being submerged into an ice bath, and you could not stop yourself from shivering. You inhaled through your mouth, but it only dried your saliva. With all of your willpower, you got off of your crappy bed and turned on the lights. You rummaged through the uppermost compartment of bedside table in search for medicine but found nothing.

"You've got to be kidding me." 

The shelf only had a small bottle of povidone iodine and bandages, which were not going to help you, and the nearest convenience store was a ten-minute-walk away from your; you had no other option aside from asking your neighbor.

He was far from being bad, if you were to be completely honest, but his smoking habits would be the death of you. Since the walls are made out of fiber cement board—therefore are thin—and there are holes at the bottom due to the material crumbling, smoke could just pass through the without any difficulty. To make it worse, you could smell the smoke at the balcony because he leaves his cigarette butts everywhere.

You were not sure if it were him that has that nasty habit of not throwing them into the bin like any normal person. What you were certain is that although he was a terrible neighbor at times, he indeed was one of the lesser evils. 

"Mask," you whispered repeatedly. 

You pulled the second compartment and picked up two face masks from their box. You wore them together and grabbed a jacket from your hanger cabinet. You also took your wallet with you lest he did not have any medicine to give. You were not cozy, but, at least, you were not trembling as hard as you did not too long ago.

You opened the door—you just realized that it was actually day.

Through your mask, you could smell the stench of cigarette smoke floating in the air. You coughed, and soon, that coughing fit of yours developed into wheezes. You closed your eyes in order to prevent your eyes from tearing up due to light sensitivity. You sniffled in a futile attempt to empty your mucus-filled sinuses, but nothing happened. You knocked on your neighbor's door, patiently waiting for the orange-haired guy to pop up and greet you. 

"Fuck ya need?"

You almost jumped the moment you heard those words, your mind becoming aware of your surroundings again. At the opposite side of the door stood a young man with slightly curly hair that had the same hue as a piece of purple topaz, handsome and angular face littered with bandages and bruises, belittling gray eyes behind a pair of tinted glasses successfully causing the words die down in your throat. Your poor heart drummed against your thoracic cage, and that chill dripped through the insides of your bones.

One. 

Two.

You shut your eyes the moment you felt a sneeze arriving; however, no sneeze came. 

Instead, without a warning, the skin of your lower stomach where your soulmate's first sentence was marked burned. Your body turned rigid; you thought you would burst into flames right there and then. It was scorchingly hot, and you could only describe the sensation as being dangerously close to an open fire.

"Ah," you gasped through clenched teeth.

What in the world?

Pressing the heel of your palm into your lower stomach, you stared back at him, looking for the possible reason for you to feel like this after he spoke those words.

He, as well, did not appear to know why. 

"You mute? What ya staring for?" 

One. 

Two. 

Before the third second has passed, Hwangmo finally showed himself.

"Hey, who's at the—oh, senior," Hwangmo said. 

Hwangmo, your underclassman and next-door neighbor, has been living in his apartment a year longer than you do. In such a rundown place filled with criminals and thugs, his presence was the reason you have always felt safe despite initially scaring the living daylights out of you. Although he looked very rugged and easy to displease, he was kind person to be around, making sure you were safe when he not working for his job, which he never mentioned being. You never bothered asking although it was strange that an eighteen year-old has a well-paying job even when he was only working once or twice a week; you have no time to worry about other's life when you could not even keep your own life together. 

"Mornin'."

You felt an itch along your throat, so you used your knuckle to massage the area. The movement helped you a little, but after a second or two, the itch only spread. 

"Sorry 'bout the smoke."

He threw a subtle glance at the purple-haired man, who was now staring you down like a nuisance disrupting his peace.

Ah, so he was the one who kept inhaling those cancer sticks like his life depended on it. 

"It's fine," you rasped, clearing your throat after. "Hwangwo, do you have any paracetamol?"

You tried to ignore the strange feeling that settled on your lower torso, yet it did not go away anytime soon. You also tried to ignore the other male's intent staring, yet it did not go away either. 

"I actually do have some. Ya stay there."

You nodded and let him leap to his medicine kit somewhere inside his apartment. You were then left with Hwangmo's companion while he leaned back and rested his whole body onto the doorframe rather menacingly.

You did not even dare to look his way again—something nagged you not to.

The orange-haired man returned shortly—thank goodness—and gave you a whole blister pack of paracetamol. When you tried to just pick one, he almost shoved it to you just so you would stop refusing his act of goodwill.

"Thank you." You weakly smiled through your mask. "I'll return the favor when I'm good as new."

Without a doubt, that guy Hwangmo was with was your other half.

You plan to keep your mouth pursed about it.

Men have always failed you in life. 

From your violent and infidelious father, to your brother who loved weaponizing his incompetence, to those random men who loved catcalling you when you were wearing your uniform and passing by during your walk to school—you grew up knowing the truth that men really were not worth any shit. They want to dominate you and make you subservient to their self-proclaimed legacy by either assaulting you with their fists, with their words, or sometimes—if not all the time—their eyes. They like you now, but within a split of a second, they would act like you just insulted their whole bloodline by saying no. 

They are simple-minded creatures, and that is why they are so threatening.

It was sickeningly funny that your supposed soulmate was no better.

Hwangmo, even without the knowledge of your connection with your soulmate, had the tendency to rant about the unfair treatment of your fated one, or who you later learned was Wolf. During his little complaint session, his tongue slipped about Wolf being inconsiderate and whatnot. He has also said although he admire his strength, he could not help but fear him and his unexplainable predilection to receive pain before returning it tenfold to the perpetrator. Apparently, Wolf has this rule where if someone were to stare at him for too long, it becomes a non-verbal declaration of war.

Just men and their thirst for blood, really.

It was one thing to be disrespectful douchebag to strangers; it was another thing to be an uncontrollable, rabid dog.

Oh, god. The other half that you were fated to be with until you die, and yet, at this point, you were certain that if he were to find out that he was indeed yours, he would be the reason for you to die.

Things could have been easier for you, too, if it were not for the undeniable fact that no one, besides you and your other half, could see the words on your skin, and that rule applies to him and every other destined pairs. A cardinal rule, too, was to let your soulmate know the moment you met them that you and them are destined for one another. Actively hiding it means enduring the constant pain of that burning feeling, which could only be relieved the moment the other half touches the letters one by one. After that, the words will be replaced by their name, like an owner's name marking a property, and everyone could see it. 

A lose-lose situation, but between that and being with him, the former sounds more bearable. In fact, today marked the three-hundred-sixty-fifth day after your initial meeting with him, and you could never say that you regretted it one bit.

You could never be with someone who reminds you of the days you vow to forget; you could never be with someone who reminds you of your father.

"Senior!" a voice said from a distance. 

You stopped in your tracks and looked at the person who called you. He walked up to you and smiled, the smile successfully softening his harsh features. 

"Hwangmo." You took a whiff of air, and your nose slightly scrunched. "Did you smoke?"

"Nah, senior." He raised his right hand, as though saying an oath. "Never when you're around." 

You playfully punched him on the arm. Your eyes then traveled to the purple-haired guy standing a meter or two away from you. To your surprise, he was looking at you, too.

Due to the setting sun, the light has casted a golden glow on his otherwise dark and dull eyes. Wolf seemed almost similar to an angel, if it were not for his bandaged cheek and colored lenses. 

"Good. Means I don't gotta summon the slipper." You averted your eyes and punched Hwangmo again. "So, what's up?" 

"My friends will be over."

His so-called friends were actually his colleagues. They come over frequently, and they can be loud and chaotic when they were the only ones around. They, however, become more significantly quieter when Wolf was with them, and it took you no more than a second to learn that Wolf was the one who rules things around the area. He may not be the leader of the whole organization where Hwangmo was in, you were definite that Wolf still holds an important place in the hierarchy of their not-so-little, not-so-legal group. 

"You make it sound like I'm your mom," you joked. "But go ahead. I wouldn't be home until nine."

"Where ya off to?"

"Uni. I have night classes to attend." You yawned and blinked several times. "After that, I have a declamatory speech to do. We're lucky, though. We weren't required to perform in a tie."

You gestured at your overly casual, black hoodie. 

"Man, college sucks." 

"Right?" You tilted your head side to side to stretch it. "I can't even blame you for not wanting to continue."

You waved at Hwangmo before you started walking away. When they were out of sight, you coughed, barely suppressing a gag. 

"Smokers, I swear." You clicked your tongue. "Damn it."

Just like the other universities out there, the one you were in has they call the, "Block System," or where courses that are taken in a day are few but long. Unlike the other universities, however, yours separate their students into sections and courses in a program are all mandatory. This led to you having to take many courses, which a lot of them are not even actively useful for the career path that you were planning to take after college.

This is why you were preparing to speak in front of a fifty-people-crowd, despite your program not related to it.

It was not like you could complain, though. After all, you were in this university for free.

"My back," you softly grunted while you waited for your turn.

"I wonder who'd be next," your seatmate mumbled. 

Curse your instructor for using a wheel-of-fortune website to randomize the order of the presenters. 

Curse your throat for being dry after you inhaled the residual odor of cigarette from that guy.

Curse your heart for beating so hard even though you used to speak in front of audience that were three to four times more in number than what you have right now.

"[Full Name]." 

Ah, shit.

"Oh, good luck." 

"Fuck me dead," you said under your breath. 

You rose from your seat and straightened the wrinkles at the side of your hoodie. That fear never vanished, yet the moment you opened your eyes, to your audience, you felt like an entirely different person.

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation," you began, glancing from one audience to another every two or three seconds. "Conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."

Being a former speech competitor taught you a lot of things about the human brain. 

First, different situations require different vocal modulation. Successfully amplifying your voice with an appropriate tone can make or break your intention, so a good speaker manipulates their audience by mainly using either (a) a soft, melancholic voice when narrating or reminiscing a history that fit the speech, (b) a determined voice for persuasive texts to convince the audience that the speaker themselves believe their objectives and therefore should be trusted that they can do what they are promising, or (c) an empathetic, harmless-sounding voice that can make the speaker appear vulnerable to their audience.

Second, body language reflect your mastery of the topic. Overuse of gestures could make you appear exaggerated, while underuse of it could make your speech underwhelming. With the right amount of movement and stillness, you, as the speaker, could make your words sound as though they were the truth and nothing but the truth. 

Third, the eyes can be a way for your audience to know you. It could be a way to showcase confidence, because those who are not confident with their performance usually stare on the ground and never holding any sort of eye-contact with the people in front of them. Constant eye-contact could also make them feel that they are valued, seen, special amongst the others.

These skills are useful in debates, too. Even the most incorrect pieces of information and most immoral stand could feel as though correct with the right speaker and debator. 

Yet, in the end, you knew that real life interaction does not function like debates. There are no constructive, organized arguments that could be rebutted. It was either you run or you face the danger. It was either you hit or be hit. It was sometimes, if not all the time, either life or death.

An example of this was what was happening in the meantime.

There was a man staring at you while and after you spoke the speech, and you were sure although his eyes never left you when you were around ever since the academic year has started, he has never conversed with you before. He also kept his eyes on you talked with your high school friends who happened to attend the same university with you, as well as when they left you. You have noticed the same man following you ever since you stepped out of the gates and rode the bus.

No amount of speaking skills can save you from the person who was following you like an ineradicable pest to a crop, or a moth to a source of light. 

It was fortunate that you had your phone on silent mode. It was fortunate that today was not uniform day and that you would not need to wear your hard-sole, black, leather shoes. It was fortunate that you were wearing something with long sleeves so you could hide the pocket knife being held by your dominant hand.

What was not fortunate was that the streetlights decided to light up so brightly it reveals where you were going to. Another unfortunate thing, was that the footfall that were following you were not from one pair of feet but two.

The closer one has a rushed and heavy pattern of footsteps, while the other one, who only seemed to tail you the moment you entered the narrow alleyway, was deliberate in each step they took.

You sped up your pace, and so did your heart pumping your blood. When you walked faster, so did the closer person stalking you. 

"You're [Name], right?" the man from your university asked. "I'm such a fan."

You froze; you dared not to turn on your heel to see him. 

"I've always watched you perform." You heard him ambling to your direction. "As a matter of fact, I enrolled to this terrible community college just for you."

You gripped the blade tighter. 

"Isn't that making you blush?" He was getting closer. "I'm such a romantic, ain't I?" 

You were not prepared to kill at all; however, if you had no other choice but to, you would. 

"Have you gone de—"

"Hey," a new voice—Wolf's—said. "Loudmouth."

You stayed frozen; at this point, you did not know which one of them were more dangerous. 

"Can you not see that I'm doing something important here?" 

That sounded like a wrong move to do and the wrong words to say.

To make it worse, your stalker exclaimed, "What did I expect? What can a gangster like you even know?"

While the two of them were preoccupied with each other's existence, you subtly moved. You took small, quiet steps, trying not to be heard by either one or both of them.

Then, Wolf chuckled. 

Softly, almost amused, he chuckled. 

The timing of his laughter matched his now hurried footsteps—a thump was heard. 

"What did—"

A large object—your stalker—fell on the wet, murky ground of the alleyway. For the second time, you became petrified. 

"I punched you," Wolf simply stated. "Clench your jaw."

The sound of bones crunching like sticks being broken into pieces ripped through the quiet humming of air-conditioners, but you remained motionless, unmoving like a lifeless being. 

"Stop!" Wolf's punching bag pleaded. "Stop! I won't return here!" 

"I said, clench your jaw."

The last hit was made a loud crack, which was enough to drain all the blood from your face. 

There was silence, then there were slow, painful drawing of breath. 

"This is my territory, motherfucker." He kicked his victim thrice. "You bitch, where do you think you're going?"

In your panic, you whipped around and stumbled away from him. You saw his left feet on top of your stalker's temple; he trampled on his head before he pressed his feet on it, digging the tip of his shoe as if the skull was a cigarette stub.

You gazed at him and his lips quirking at the side as his legs left the limp lump of flesh and made their way to you.

"Speak up," he taunted.

From every pore of a smoker's body, there ooze the smell of years-long of vice addiction. No amount of expensive perfume could ever conceal the putridity of cigarettes because it comes from within.

"Got a problem?" He grinned eerily. "Wanna be next?" 

Instead of saying anything, you gagged.

You gagged.

"The hell?" 

You hastily slapped your nose with your free palm, fearing that you might have triggered him.

Of all the times that you could have a visceral reaction to cigarettes, why now? 

You did not gag because you wanted to spite him or anything like that. Your reaction was not out of overreaction either. How could you even possibly tell him that you were simply disgusted by his smell? 

One.

Two.

You bowed and skittered away form the scene.

To your relief, he did not follow.

next chapter.

[explorastro]

THE placements of astrologers :

The capacities of reading a birth chart are mercurial because you translate a language to another that is celestial, predictive techniques are for jupiterians because the future has no limits. Retrospective astrology, or study history with an astrological point of view is lunar, like we take to the collective memory for adding a new intuitive and synchronous perspective with the planets and stars. Saturn helps to develop your type of astrology with a structure of interpretation that matches your vision of things, vision of things linked to the Sun. Mars is the searcher of truths when Jupiter believes, Mars deepen to the abyss of everything, it’s the skills learner, the achievement after years of studying. Uranus, Neptune and Pluto are collective psychology, patterns and events, so astrology of the world’s events. Venus is what is cherished and loved, like places in the world, so astrocartography is venusian in its essence, finding the better place to enjoy your life..

The placements that predispose to be a good reader of birth charts :

Sun conjunct Mercury

Mercury in Virgo/Gemini/Aquarius/Libra

Mercury aspecting nodes

Mercury in the third decan

Mercury in 1st, 3rd, 7th, 10th and 11th houses

Mercury aspecting LoF or LoS

Those that predispose to be a good predictive astrologer :

Jupiter in Sagittarius/Pisces/Cancer

Sun conjunct Jupiter

Moon aspecting Jupiter

Jupiter aspecting nodes

Jupiter in 1st, 5th, 7th, 10th, 11th, 12th houses

Jupiter in the third decan

Jupiter aspecting outer planets

Jupiter aspecting LoF or LoS

Those that predispose to be a good historical astrologer :

Sun aspecting the Moon

Moon in Cancer and Taurus

Moon in 1st, 4th and 10th houses

Moon aspecting outer planets

Moon aspecting LoF or LoS

Moon in the third decan

Moon aspecting the nodes

Those that predispose to be a good mundane astrologer :

Sun conjunct outer planets

Moon aspecting outer planets

Nodes aspecting outer planets

Outer planets in angular houses

Outer planets in theirs domiciled signs

Outer planets aspecting the LoF or LoS

Outer planets in the third decan

And for the placements that predispose to be a good astrocartographer :

Sun conjunct Venus

Venus in Taurus/Libra and Pisces

Venus in 1st, 2nd, 4th, 7th, 9th, 10th and 12th houses

Venus in third decan

Venus aspecting Jupiter or Moon

Venus aspecting nodes, LoF or LoS

Conclusion : if you have Mercury/Jupiter and Moon in triple aspects you have the potential to success in every fields of astrology, past, present and future. Outer planets talk to the collective, so if you have one of them dominant in your chart, that help you to be a good mundane astrologer. For astrocartography, Venus teach us to go where things are aligned to have a good, pleasurable and happy life. Lot of Fortune, Lot of Spirit, the Nodes, Sun, houses, signs and decans can deepening the predestination of your relationship to astrology and to know what type of astrology is more predisposed to talk to you. Enjoy the cosmic course !

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Audition

Author's note: @transform4u requested a story, so this one's for him. This is kind of a departure fore me. It's mostly done in first person, which I don't usually do. I hope you enjoy it.

“I wish I didn’t have to remember all these lines,” the words came out as a whisper.  A soft breeze blew in the theater.  “Granted,” it seems to say in the wind that chilled you to the bone.  The words on the script faded away, being replaced with a signed contract with a television company.  Something about documenting your life for the next few months.  Leaving your home and going to a time-share with some other people.  You look at the paperwork confused.  A buzz infiltrating your brain. 

“Rocko”, the director calls me.  I’m confused.  Isn’t my name Richard?  “Rocko Salvatori?  On stage please.”  He looks at me and I head up to the stage for an audition? 

The director looks at me and asks, “Hello, Rocko.  Your resume says your favorite hobby is working out?  Can you tell me about that?”

“Working out?  No, I mean,” images of the time I’ve spent in the gym, dedicating time and sweat and tears to making my pecs and bis grow.  Never skipping leg day.  Always taking creatine mixed with pre workout, downing protein shakes and doing endless crunches...  Gotta take care of the “situation”. 

“Yeah,” I say.  “I go to the gym five days a week.  Can you tell?” 

I flex a bicep that seems to grow out of nowhere.  Ten inches around turns in to 12 inches, turns in to 15 inches, turns in to 20 inches.  I flex my pecs.  Since when do I flex my pecs, I ask myself?  My pecs inflate with newfound muscle.  Growing to a whopping 50 inches around. 

I find my body stretching taller…  legs more so resembling long logs, stretching to the sky, torso stretching out, getting rid of the pudge that used to be there, and developing in to 8 separate rocks, an 8-pack of abs. 

My dick growing longer and longer now resembling a beer bottle in length and girth.  “Fuck yeah, I work out, bro,”  I say. 

The director asks, “I also see that you’ve done some modeling?”

Images of past gigs fill my memory.  That time I was flown down to Cancun to appear on a show for MTV Spring Break.  That photo shoot for a young adult clothing brand.  That one time he posed for Exercise for Men Only.  “Yeah, bro,” you find yourself saying.  “I aced modeling.”  Your face reshapens.  Jawline becoming sharper.  Cheeks becoming  accented, less round, more angular.  Eye brows becoming shaped, more perfect.  Teeth whitening, glowing, straightening.  Eyes becoming more clear, turning from blue to a sharp glowing brown.  Stuble growing around your chin and mouth area.  Your thick black hair standing straight up, held up with a precise amount of Spiker hair gel and a 16-second spray of Got 2 B hair shaper and molder.  You give ducklips pose to the director, and bring out your phone to take a selfie and post it on Instagram. 

The director clears his throat.  “Under life philosophy you just wrote GTL.  What does that mean?”

“Bruh,” you say, your brain rearranging information.  Reprogramming your memories, your thoughts, making you a different person. 

“Bruh, it’s a way of life.  A philosophical kind of being.  Gym, Tan Laundry.  You gotta take care of your bod… your pecs, bis, and abs… I like to look fresh, so everything has to go in to it.  You know, you have to go to the gym the whole week.  Tan.  You have to have color if you didn’t go to the beach.  And then the last thing you need to take care of is the outfit.  You gotta look fresh, you know.  If you don’t look good, you ain’t gonna feel good bro, and then you ain’t gonna have a good night.”

 You give in to the words that are coming out of your mouth.   Gym.Tan.Laundry=LIFE, bruh,  Fuck yeah.  Gotta be FTD, Fresh To Death.  Looking for hunnies DTF.  Down To Fuck.  Hell yeah!  The thoughts running through your head.

“Rocko,” the director says, “it says here that you identify as a Guido?  Can you tell me about that?”

The words go through my head.  Guido… Guido…  Fuck Yeah, I’m a fucking Guido.!  I GTL all day and am DTF all night.  I go out FTD, and get all the pussy I want.  I am so Hot, So Fresh.  I’m a fucking Guido.  “I’m a Guido.  What’s there to explain?  I work out, tan and clean up fresh.  I go out and party all night and bring home the PU-NA-NI, you know what I mean?  And I have over three million followers on my social media.”

Red flashes over the director’s eyes, and a demonic façade flashes over the director’s face, just for a second.  “You’ll be perfect for the next generation of our new reality show, Rocko.”

[invenusworld]

🎀 some notes on face reading 🎀

forehead: (as seen from side profile)

- rounded foreheads are associated with friendliness, openness & sensuality. people with these forehead types are often very charming & outgoing and may even gain fame via their beauty/sensuality

eyes:

- recessed/deep set eyes are associated with a guarded nature. these individuals are very observant but tend to be calculated regarding what they reveal. they may have a penetrating gaze and it can be hard to tell what they are actually thinking/feeling

- bulging/protruding eyes are associated with a desire to be involved & included. they like to be a part of the conversation and don't like feeling left out. they can be jovial and outspoken as well

eyebrows:

- low set eyebrows (close to the eyes) are associated with friendliness and familiarity. these natives tend to be highly intelligent and process information quickly

geena davis, 140 IQ

- thick/bushy brows are associated with intelligence and mental prowess as well

- thin brows can indicate deep sensitivity

- rounded eyebrows are called 'courtesan brows.' these natives have a pleasing, feminine, accommodating disposition and make good hosts

- arched brows can indicate creativity and a dominant nature

cheeks/face:

- round, full, prominent cheek bones are associated with youth, beauty & charm and those that naturally captivate attention

- a round face indicates a watery temperament, a highly emotional, sensitive nature prone to frequent fantasies

- sharp, angular features and a triangular face shape indicate a fiery temperament - quick thinkers, fast talkers with low patience, always on go

- cheek dimples are associated with youthfulness, lightheartedness, charm, humor and sensuality

- chin dimples are associated with passion and sexuality, 'player' energy

nose: (as seen from side profile)

- small/button nose is associated with hard work and repetitive tasks, these natives don't mind doing the same task over and over to achieve their desired results

- arched noses are associated with creativity and they often appreciate the arts, these natives often come up creative solutions to problems

- a bump on the nose bridge is associated with traumatic events during one's developing years or teens

- large, prominent noses are associated with business acumen and the potential for power and amassing wealth

lips:

- the philtrum or cupid's bow is called your 'libido lines' and a prominent cupid's bow is associated with fertility, sexuality and vitality. a well defined cupid's bow also draws people's attention to your lips and others will be inclined to pay attention when these natives speak

- full lips are associated with passion and sensuality, these natives often have a deeply passionate nature

- thinner lips can indicate a more reserved, cautious nature, especially regarding love matters

teeth:

- crooked, disarrayed bottom teeth may indicate someone with an argumentative nature who enjoys debating

- a tooth gap can indicate a unique disposition and someone is isn't afraid to stray from the norms or what is expected of them

ears:

- high set ears indicate high intelligence & academic achievements

- low set ears can indicate a late bloomer and someone who achieves substantial success later in life, around middle age

- ears that stick out indicate musicality & musical gifts, as well as a desire/inclination to stand out from the crowd in some way

maya schonbrun, ballerina alma deutscher, composer

[bluiela]

Proof that Gwyn X Azriel's interactions are far more than platonic and it's obvious

It’s baffling when people claim that all of Azriel and Gwyn’s interactions are strictly platonic—as if no romantic undertones or foreshadowing exist. But we do have a clear standard in the books for what platonic relationships actually look like, and a perfect example is Cassian and Emerie in A Court of Frost and Starlight (ACOFAS).

Let’s take a look at this excerpt of Cassian observing Emerie:

“Her dark hair was braided simply, offering a clear view of her tan skin and narrow, angular face. Not a face of beauty, but striking. Interesting. It reminded him of Nesta, that stare. Frank and unsettling.”

Even in this moment of observation, Cassian isn’t romantically intrigued by Emerie—he’s simply noting her features and drawing a personality parallel to Nesta.

He immediately shifts to thinking about Nesta. Emerie’s stare reminds him of Nesta’s I-Will-Slay-My-Enemies pose. Even the internal humor Cassian uses is tied to Nesta:

"I Will Eat Your Eyes for Breakfast to I Don’t Want Cassian to Know I’m Reading Smut. The latter was his particular favorite.”

That smile he suppresses? (Exactly like the unconscious smile Azriel erased induced Gwyn bright eyes and smile? Direct parallel) It’s not for Emerie—it’s for Nesta. He thinks of Nesta and smiles. This is what a platonic interaction looks like: mutual respect, recognition of strength, but no emotional depth or attraction.

Now compare this to Azriel and Gwyn.

Azriel is:Soothing her pain and lingering after she dismisses him.

Staying calm and settled in her presence—his entire demeanor changes.

Noticing and reacting to her emotionally and physically: his shadows calm around her, dance to her breath, and he erases a smile she causes—the exact parallel to Cassian suppressing a Nesta-induced smile.

Thinking about her even when she’s not there, replaying their interactions, and experiencing relief, ease, and curiosity because of her.

That’s not just friendly. That’s not just platonic.

It's an obvious romantically charged setup. Every Maas endgame couple—from Feysand to Nessian—has this layered build: mutual impact, soft gestures, subtle tension, and meaningful symbolism before any overt romance unfolds.

Azriel’s softness around Gwyn, her ability to surprise and disarm him, the fact that his shadows behave differently around her, and that he reacts emotionally to her presence—all of these are romantic foreshadowing.

People who dismiss Gwynriel as "just friends" often do so to protect their ship (usually Elriel), but they’re ignoring the very clear textual patterns Maas uses for romantic development.

When you actually compare Azriel and Gwyn’s dynamic to truly platonic pairings like Cassian and Emerie, the difference is stark. One is respectful and neutral. The other is charged, emotional, and meaningful.You don’t have to ship it.

But denying the buildup, the parallels, and the hints is not literary analysis—it’s willful bias and obtuseness. And it’s only a matter of time before the story continues to explore what’s already obvious to those who are paying attention.

[whencyclopedia]

Etruscan Pottery

Etruscan Pottery, produced over five centuries, was nothing if not varied. Indigenous wares such as the glossy black bucchero were made alongside red- and black-figure pottery imitating, yet modifying those produced in the Greek world. Geometric, floral, figure, and narrative decorations were appreciated and adapted from the Near East and Ionia, with even foreign potters and artists themselves settling in the cities of Etruria, such was the demand from the Etruscans for fine pottery for everyday use, at special banquets, and as offerings to their gods and dead. Pottery was also the material of choice for figure sculpture, best seen on the lids of large funerary urns, and as decoration for buildings in the form of statues and decorative plaques. Besides what they have left us of their own work, the Etruscans, great collectors of fine pottery that they were, have secured for posterity some of the finest Greek vases ever made and which now star in the collections of museums worldwide.

Villanovan Pottery

The Villanovan culture was a precursor to the more developed Etruscan civilization during the Iron Age in central Italy from c. 1000 to c. 750 BCE. In this period pottery was made by hand, not on the wheel, and used clay containing impurities of mica or stone which was fired at a low temperature producing relatively primitive wares. This type of pottery, known as impasto, was used to make bowls, storage jars, cooking pots, cups, and braziers. By the end of the 8th century BCE, potters had managed to improve the quality of impasto through long practice and refinement of technique.

Villanovan cemeteries contain burials of cremated remains in urns which are biconical (two vases with one smaller one acting as a lid for the other) and often carry simple incised decoration of geometric patterns, whirls, and swastikas, or even simple human 'stick' figures. Some urns have metal strips applied as decoration using lead or tin. One rarer type of urn, instead of a ceramic lid, has a bronze helmet on top with an impressive angular crest and embossed decoration.

Another common form where terracotta was used was the production of small models of houses, made to contain the ashes of the deceased. Perhaps imitating real architecture, these have decoration on the exterior walls of geometric patterns and an aperture above the door for releasing smoke. They also have roof decorations, probably imitating the terracotta additions which became so typical in later Etruscan architecture.

Continue reading...

[catboybiologist]

Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

:)

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

[thedwarrowscholar]

Hello! For scholars/scribes or everyday use, which writing system would be used, Cirth or Tengwar? The Dwarves adopt Cirth for their stone carving, but I would imagine that writing exclusively in cirth would put a lot of strain on writing instruments and, well, wrists because of how stiff and angular it is. IRL, cursive scripts are developed to write faster. In the film, the book of Mazarbul starts off in cirth but the last line is a messy cursive (poor Ori...). Do you have any thoughts?

Well met!

A question that touches not only on Tolkien’s linguistic worldbuilding but also on the real-world evolution of writing systems. You're absolutely right to point out the physical practicality of cursive scripts—and how that likely applied even in Middle-earth.

🪓 Cirth: A Script Born of Stone

The Cirth (runes) were initially devised by the Elves—most notably Daeron of Doriath—but the Dwarves adopted and refined them into Angerthas Moria, and later Angerthas Erebor, adapting the system for their own use.

Cirth was ideally suited for engraving in stone, wood, and metal. Its angular and straight-lined forms made it easy to carve with chisels—much like early real-world runes such as Futhark. And indeed, this seems to have been its primary intended function, at least originally.

But when applied to ink and parchment, Cirth presents obvious limitations:

Angularity = slower strokes

Frequent pen lifts = reduced efficiency

Hard on wrists during long writing sessions

✍️ Why Cursive Scripts Exist (Even in Middle-earth)

Historically, cursive scripts developed because they’re faster and more efficient to write. The word cursive itself comes from Medieval Latin cursivus, meaning “running”—derived from currere (“to run, hasten”). These scripts allow the writing tool to stay in contact with the surface, reducing effort and increasing speed.

Tolkien’s world, while fantastical, remains grounded in practical realities. The Dwarves were master craftsmen, engineers, merchants, and, at times, scholars. We know that they did not limit themselves to a chisel-optimised script for all writing contexts—especially not for ink.

📚 The Book of Mazarbul: A Key Piece of Evidence

Your mention of the Book of Mazarbul is absolutely on point—and yes, it offers a direct answer.

This chronicle, written by Balin’s folk in Khazad-dûm, includes multiple scripts:

Cirth of Moria and Cirth of Dale

Tengwar of the later Westron mode (which uses full vowel signs)

Gandalf identifies one page as being written in a “large bold hand using an Elvish script,” and Gimli confirms it as Ori’s. Most of the final page is in runes, but the very last line—“they are coming”—is scrawled in Tengwar.

Facsimile of page II

What does this show?

Dwarves—at least those literate and especially the scholarly, like Ori—did use Tengwar, especially when writing quickly or when Cirth became impractical.

This was likely not an isolated case. It reflects a layered literacy among Dwarves, especially those in leadership, scribal, or administrative roles.

🔤 Tengwar vs. Cirth: Cultural Identity vs. Practicality

Tengwar was an Elvish invention, and the Dwarves never adopted it culturally (unlike Cirth that suited engraving better). But that doesn’t mean they rejected it entirely. Much like a medieval monk might write in Latin while speaking another tongue at home, Dwarves used Tengwar functionally—when the moment demanded it.

So what likely happened was this:

Cirth remained the culturally Dwarven script (with the Moria variant used when writing Khuzdul)—employed in inscriptions, tombs, weapon etchings, and formal records.

Tengwar, particularly the Westron mode, was known to educated Dwarves and used for efficiency, likely especially in:

Letters

Journals

Merchant ledgers

Emergency or field writing

Facsimile of page III

🧾 Was There a Dwarven Cursive?

Tolkien never describes a “Dwarven cursive” variant of Cirth—but based on real-world linguistics and in-world logic, it’s possible one existed.

At the very least, a more fluid, ink-friendly variant of Cirth may have been used for day-to-day notes. But even so, the fact remains: Ori chooses Tengwar in a pinch, not cursive Cirth. That tells us that, if a Dwarven cursive did exist, it wasn't the go-to form—at least not when time was short and clarity was vital.

In short: the Dwarves were too practical not to use—or even develop—more efficient ways to write. Whether they did so by streamlining Cirth, or by using Tengwar when needed, they had options—and likely used them all.

🧠 Final Thoughts

Cirth was their script of identity—literally engraved into the stone, wood and iron that surrounded them.

Tengwar was a tool of practicality—adopted when writing had to move as fast as the moment demanded.

Tolkien shows us just enough (especially through Ori and the Book of Mazarbul) to draw this conclusion with confidence.

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar

[cyberclouddream]

Hey, I go by Naj and I’m from Atlanta, GA, currently living off in the Caribbean. I’m using this blog to learn and interpret. Keep in mind that astrology is complex and nuanced. I currently prefer using sidereal (not jyotish/vedic) calculations and the topocentric house system!

Tropical: Libra Rising, Virgo Sun, Moon, Mercury 12H, Saturn 8H

Sidereal: Virgo Moon 0° 1H Uttara Phalguni w/ Lord Mercury Leo combust in 12H

I do not have any astrology certifications, I am but a student and enthusiast. I am not a Vedic Astrologer!

Mental Reframing

Neutral Affirmations for Self Concept

Transits

Venus in Scorpio Thru Houses

Interpretations

Key Meanings of the Planets

Motives of the Signs

How the Signs Gain Attention or Visibility

What Recharges or Motivates Us

Enemies in the Natal Chart

How You’re Pushed to Heal

Existential Crises You're Prone To

Your Philosophical Dance

Friendship Conflicts [ 11H cusp ]

Signs of Career Dissatisfaction [ 10H cusp ]

Travel Preferences & Tendencies [ 9H cusp ]

Your Relationship with Transformation

Your Partnership Issues & the 7th House

Your Secret Self and the 12th House

Traditional Planets in the 12th House

Signs through the 11th House

How to Spot: Fire Sign Edition

How to Spot: Earth Sign Edition

How to Spot: Air Sign Edition

How to Spot: Water Sign Edition

How the Signs Seek Emotional Safety

How the Signs Feel Secure and Valuable

Cardinal Signs through the Angular Houses

Fixed Signs through the Angular Houses

Mutable Signs through the Angular Houses

The Personal Signs’ Personalities Explained

The Interpersonal Signs’ Personalities Explained

The Transitional Signs’ Personalities Explained

Mercury Signs through the 12th House Part 1

Mercury Signs through the 12th House Part 2

Sun through the Houses

Moon through the Houses

What Makes You Feel Isolated or Confined

Mars Ruling the Houses

The 6th House and Bad Fortunes

Where You Feel Protective and Nostalgic

Musings

Aquarius 3H

Ascendant Sign vs Sun Sign

Stages of Development

Pisces, the 12th House, and Nonduality

The Stages of Shadow Work and the Signs

The Stages of Planning and the Signs

Sun in the 12th House & Alice in Wonderland Syndrome

Intentions Beyond Perceptions of Signs

12th House Musing

Mars in Libra and Annoyance

Sister Signs Muse

[phantomwitch16]

Hazbin Hotel Theory: Lilith

I had never posted about Hazbin Hotel before, but I came across a theory about Lilith that I wanted to discuss. I’ve only seen clips, so correct me if I'm wrong. So, anyone who hasn't watched anything or hasn't caught up yet, WARNING: SPOILER ZONE.

At this point, everyone is quite aware of the Lilith/ Eve Theory, where Lilith left or was kidnapped by Eve to explain her disappearance for most of the show and what she was doing in Heaven. I think the theory has some promise, but some things don’t feel quite right.

In the episode where Lucifer first appears, we learn that Lilith and Lucifer seem to have split years ago. We don't know how long ago or the circumstances of the separation, with it pretty much up in the air.

It could be possible that Lucifer’s depression could've gotten in the way of their relationship (similar to his relationship with Charlie), causing some friction. This obviously would give Lilith a lot of responsibility, likely to raise Charlie and inspire the denizens of Hell by herself. We don't know much about what Lucifer does most of the time other than making ducks, keeping Lulu World running and wallowing in his depression.

I don't think that they split up, at least I don’t think that’s the whole story. There have been some odd details regarding Lilith and a few other people within the series that do add to the theory. While it's possible things might have changed during the development of the series, Viv has previously stated that Lilith and Lucifer were a very lovey-dovey couple and I doubt that she would change it. While I think their relationship would have its faults, obviously with their history and trauma, yeah, that was going to happen, but not the stereotypically 'my partner hates me' bs.

Even if they had split up, I doubt that Lilith would have just up and left Charlie without saying anything.

But anyway, since her appearance on the beach with Lute, there have been several theories about Lilith and whether she would be an antagonist or the main one. I disagree, but given how she's been pretty much a mystery for most of the series, with not much being said about her, it’s understandable most would come to this conclusion. But I doubt Lilith would be because Lilith was the one to instil Charlie to help the denizens of Hell so for her to come to disrupt her progress with the Hotel.

This obviously leads to the Lilith/Eve Theory people have come up with by what people have seen and picked apart from the show and the cards that people received before it aired. Now people who have watched the show and been on Twiiter/X or any other social media probs already know the theory, but I'll spell it out for those who don't.

Just before the show aired, people received cards on each character and a few select items in the series. Of these characters was Lilith, but there was something off with it. Instead of seeing a revamp of her original design in the pilot, it's just a close up with her face shadowed.

The image above has Lilith or who we think is Lilith sitting with her hand over her lips and a shadow over her face, only showing a sinister smile. The one thing strikes me about it was the was almost like she know that we know there was something wrong with the image and was telling us to be quiet.

So far in the show, we've only seen her in the portraits that are decorated around the hotel and in Lucifer's ducky workshop. She makes a brief appearance in Charlie’s flashbacks where we don’t even see her face, though this is largely because the attention was focused on Charlie and Lucifer. Here it shows that even her look has remained largely consistent since the pilot.

What truly defines Lilith design is her long wavy hair. But despite it, there is something different about it in the card. It's very long, obviously but as it gets closer to her face, it starts to look more uneven. Or jagged.

But what grabs the attention in the card is the smile. It looks very sharp and angular, very different to the smile that she has in the portraits and in her depiction on the storybook in the first episode.

But we've already seen it somewhere. Just not on Lilith.

Obviously, this isn't a new take. This is a very popular take that nearly everyone has heard.

I like to think that with the reveal, we will get a more factual retelling of what happened when Lilith and Lucifer rather than what came out of the story book Charlie was reading, likely something her mother made for her when she was growing up. Mainly what happened to Eve as they cleverly avoided it. While we don't know if they're going to tackle it, it's likely that they will discuss Eve's life after eating the fruit and her very long life. I think that while Adam was sent to heaven to become one of the exterminators, Eve became one of the first original sinners sent to Hell.

There are several ways they could handle it with it's possible the Eve is starting a little bit of chaos using the knowledge Lilith and Lucifer gave her. With Lilith attempting to stop her alongside Lute and the rest of Heaven.

For what reason? She could've taken up a new identity after death. that identity being called Roo. Or more specifically, the Root of All Evil.

Roo is someone that's been known for since 2019 and someone Viv is excited to introduce since she first drew her, calling her a looming threat amongst the series. Hints of her appearance have been placed throughout the pilot on the tower and on the show. I believe that Lilith, Lute and Eve are working together with Heaven to track down Roo to destroy her hold on Earth or to prevent her from doing something to Hell, Heaven and Earth.

It's also likely that she is the demon Alastor is chained to. Why her specifically and not Lilith? Besides the timeline matching, there is very little opportunity for them to meet. Even though Alastor has made a big name for himself in the Pride Ring, Lucifer has not heard of him, so why would Lilith? But that just might be a Lucifer thing, they probably could've met after one of Lilith's shows or something.

Knowing Alastor as a person, he would've been in a very desperate situation, or maybe he was too cocky like with Adam and picked a fight with her, thinking that she was some random Overlord or low ranking demon who knocked him down and stole his soul. With her having control over him, then he is willing to do anything to get out of their agreement. Whether its to play around and isolate the princess of Hell from her support network, to make her hopes and dreams crumble to dust.

It could be possible Lilith left Charlie and Lucifer to focus on Roo, with it likely that Lucifer knows what's she's up to and tries to shield her from what's happening. But as the hotel gets more popular, Roo's attention is directed to it, thus putting Charlie and all three realms in danger. Lilith would come to Charlie, try to sugarcoat it as best as possible before revealing Roo as a threat. Then when she comes there, Alastor betrays them, but as he is free, has a change of heart and attempts to help.

That's what i think anyway.

[original-bookshelf]

Alright, it is done!

Here's the styles I emulated and what I learned from each of them!

Red OSP (@/comicaurora)

Lots of line weight to work with on this style and a higher emphasis on large eyes than I usually do. I loved the fluffy hair because that fits really well with my current style! This one was very geometric and simplistic and it was fun to play around with shapes for this one.

ABD Illustrates (@/abd-illustrates)

There's a lot less line weight in his style than I remember before. Y'all, I started a lot of my art journey from his channel and carefully copying the things he did in his speedpaints and the anatomy and shape language and so this was like visiting an old friend. I vibe with ABD Illustrates a ton and I love his stuff. Super fun to revisit his style and study it again.

Jay ( @localpigeon22 )

You, my friend, need to start an art tag for your stuff. I love your artwork and the spikiness of it with the semi-realistic style, but it is so hard to find it. I want to be able to scroll through your art and just eat it piece by piece because it looks very crunchy and amazing. Side profiles also seem to be a favorite of yours and it was very fun to change up the perspective on this portrait a little to really capture your art's vibe.

Hiromu Arakawa (mangaka of Fullmetal Alchemist)

This is where a lot of my drawing experience began as a baby baby artist (read twelve/thirteen and deciding to finally draw again after stopping back in second grade and actually getting serious about developing my art skills again) and I'm looking at it as I'm going through the process of drawing again and I'm hit with a huge wave of nostalgia because I love this story so much and the artwork is so incredibly fun and I now know where some of my bad habits with line work came from as a young artist because I didn't understand line weight at the time and couldn't figure out how not to make my lines flat when they were thin, but I was studying the Fullmetal Alchemist art and most of the lines were pretty thin at the time and it was a lot of spiky hair involved with it all too.

Five Worlds (graphic novel series that is very near and dear to my heart but ended terribly)

Fun and simplistic art style with a lot of emphasis on round shapes. Definitely a lot less detail involved than what I remember originally being there, but I think that's because I closely associate Alex Vede's style with this book even though they are wildly different styles. Again, it's the balancing thin line art with effective weight to convey form, and I think I did a pretty bang up job with it.

Castlevania Nocturne

I was nervous going into this one because I knew that it was a bit more complex and angular than what I usually worked with and pulled from classical drawing styles that differed a lot from my more stylized modern drawing techniques. I had a lot of fun with this and I think that I did a good job of capturing the vibes of that art style even if it isn't entirely accurate to the in show style.

Studio Ghibli

I love the Studio Ghibli art style a lot. I just don't think that the character I chose for this challenge translates well into that style. It was a fun learning experience, but I'm not super happy with this one.

Auro ( @aurorialwolf )

As stated with Jay, dude, get yourself an art tag and tag your stuff! I love your style and the emphasis it has on shading which is why my attempt at yours stayed as a sketch because I don't think I would have done it justice as line art. Had a lot of fun with it and scrolling through trying to find your art, but my guy, tag your artwork! It's super cool and I want to be able to find it more easily!

Pycth (@/pycth)

Felt a bit more in my depth with this one for sure. But I don't draw lips very often and that was the biggest challenge of figuring out this art style.

Lancer ( @lancerthatisntfree )

Geometric, simplistic (why do I want to spell this with a y), and just a super fun style to steal for a minute. I love the way you do hair and expressions and it was great to be able to try it out. Also, dude, make an art tag. Your stuff's great!

Vinn ( @vind3miator )

I cannot get over the way that you draw the hair on your characters. It's so ridiculously fun to draw and just really really pretty. I had a lot of fun with trying your style out and browsing your art tag.