#? i always wondered how you tag a character while their name is also the title of the movie

[sssapplebottomjeans]

if wybie's leg and eyes look odd no they don't

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru��both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly. 

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 

What a funny thing. 

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward. 

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortotsworld @evznackles

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

kinkmas2023 masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[mayullla]

Hiya, hope your doing well. I’m respecting Yandere Thoma 🦋 🌺 for the event please and thank you.

Title: Chocolate favors

Character(s): Thoma (Genshin Impact) Summary: Ayato asked a little favor from you to make chocolate cookies with Thoma. Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, fem!reader, power dynamics, 1.5k words

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

"Ayaka complimented the cookies you made a while ago. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and make those cookies again," the sharp-eyed man who was your boss asked. "Valentine's Day is coming soon, and I was hoping to give the workers something special. You will be paid extra for your troubles, and I will prepare all the equipment and ingredients necessary."

Lies your mind told you as you looked at the head of the Kamisato clan. The sly smile on his lips and the sharpness in his eyes told you that this was not what he truly wanted.

It was obvious what he wanted, what he wanted to happen with this.

"Of course, making something for so many people would be difficult to do alone. I will also send Thoma to help you."

You stifled all your feelings as you bit the inside of your mouth when you heard that name come from his lips. The name of the person you wanted in your heart to avoid at all costs. You didn't show your boss your feelings; his eyes were cold, unlike his smile, as if telling you to try. You gulped all your feelings down and nodded. "Yes, sir, I will do as you ask."

Was it a sort of amusement to the Kamisato clan? You were never sure. For the longest time, you always tried to avoid him, using every excuse and idea you had to keep him far away. Ever since you took care of him of his injuries when Ayato brought him to the house, stating that he would be working here. The man was weak, with injuries and a heavy fever. You were the one who took care of him, getting him back to health.

Maybe it started around then? You remembered the awkward man who stumbled with his words when he looked at you. A small little crush he had. It was cute back then, his flustered self as he could not handle even you touching his arm when you were patching him up.

When did he become so twisted? How did he fall to become so obsessed with you like this? You didn't want this at all; if anything, you were disgusted, yet at the same time terrified.

Not when you knew that the boss and his sister supported this behavior. A long time ago, you tried to tell them, tried to tell them that his little obsession at that time could be controlled and stopped, yet they pushed all your worries aside, telling you that you were worrying too much. They treasured him, they treasured him a lot, to the point that they would be willing to give him what he wanted.

The smile on his face as he looked at you hopefully when you arrived in the kitchen the next day. The cheerful greeting felt almost fake, genuine yet at the same time, you were sure of the darkness that was swirling inside him. "You are here. I am glad... The young master had told me that I would be helping you today to make cookies for Valentine's Day to give to the servants and workers."

His words were innocent, yet almost hoping. You nodded at his words as his smile became wider; he looked very happy, even more so when your eyes continued to look at him. "Please take care of me. I will try my best to follow you," Thoma laughed.

You didn't really have to do much when it comes to instructing him what to do; he was too talented in many things, and that included the kitchen but also baking. "Got it," Thoma replied as you told him to stir the batter. As you continued to prepare the other ingredients, you could feel his stare behind your back. You acted busy, concentrating on your work to make it more difficult to open a conversation.

You learned how to handle Thoma a bit, in a way that would go unnoticed. You realized early on that it wasn't only Thoma who would be saddened if you just outright ignored him, but also your boss and his sister would be rather unhappy with your actions. You learned a long while ago how to ignore his stares, and even if it took a while, you learned how to ignore him when he appeared a little too often around your vision, yet at the same time act like it was the first time you saw him that day when he approached you.

It was only recently that you figured out that Thoma actually knew all that. At first, you panicked, but then you realized that Thoma wouldn't do anything. His stalking, his obsession, his love, his lust that was so obvious would not tell a word to the siblings of your actions. It had become a game between the two of you, and for him, he could not be any happier that he even had a special connection with you, no matter how twisted it got.

"Hey.... Hey, are you okay?" You were pulled out of your thoughts when a hand touched your shoulder. Startled, you turned your head only for your cheek and lips to be smeared with melted chocolate, startling both you and Thoma.

"!?" "!!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Thoma placed the bowl on the table as he grabbed a towel, while on his other hand, the one that tapped you, had the wooden spoon he was using to mix the chocolate in the bowl that had gotten smeared on your face. "You weren't answering my calls, and I got worried."

You watched him use the towel to clean your face, rubbing firmly yet not enough to hurt you or cause too much discomfort. He was careful while removing the chocolate from your face. "No, it was my fault," you told him after some time, quietly while he was cleaning your face. His face was red as you continued to stare at his face while he was doing so, watching him, yet you could see the excitement in his eyes, unable to be hidden from his shyness. "Sorry for worrying you. I was thinking for a moment there."

Thoma blinked and then smiled at you, nodding at your words, immediately believing them. Well, it wasn't like you were lying. "You must have been thinking really hard about it." Thoma peeked at your eyes as he removed the last remaining chocolate on your face. You thought for a moment what you should say here before answering, "I was thinking about the past, I guess."

"Oh?" Thoma tilted his head at your words as he pulled away from your face. You thought a bit more, choosing your words. "I was thinking about that time when you first arrived at the Kamisato estate. I remember you were hurt and sick back then, and I had to take care of you."

You watched as his face became redder. If it was long ago, you would have teased him that he looked like a tomato right now. "Ah- haha," he laughed awkwardly, reminded of the awkward past, yet there was also a hint of affection towards it. You knew that he treated that memory like a treasure. "What is the matter? Your face is red like a tomato right now," you teased him like you did in the past.

"Please don't tease me like that," Thoma tried to hide his face with his hand, and the towel that he used now forgotten on the kitchen counter. You laughed at his face, how easily he becomes affected by your words. "If you react like that, it would be difficult not to."

Thoma called out your name in a whine, as his face became even more red. He was trying to hide his face, but you could see how red his ears were. You smiled at him and then looked at the cookie mix and melted chocolate. "Well, that is enough playing," you told him in a light voice, a smile on your lips. Thoma seemed to want to stay in this atmosphere a little more and tried to look for an excuse, but you ignored him.

This much was enough.

This was enough for now. You had given him enough to keep him satisfied, as well as the two siblings. It would be a cycle for how long you could push it. The next moment, it would return to the obsession that you could feel burning in your body. He would watch your every movement and follow you, while you would give him small moments that would keep him somewhat satisfied.

"Oh dear, sorry, I think I missed a little bit again." You felt two hands touch your cheeks, pulling you to look away from the cookie batter. Your eyes met green ones, ones that were desperate, insane, lustful, yet at the same time delighted. A thumb touched your lips, rubbing them a little before releasing you. Looking at his thumb, you saw a smudge of chocolate on it. "There you go." His voice was loud in the quiet house as his hand moved from your cheeks to your arm, wrist, then your hand. He lingered a little while there before intertwining his fingers with yours.

You looked at his hand, surprised at his action, as it was too sudden, and looked up at him. You saw his smile, so full of love for you, so much that you could drown in it.

You could only push it for so long.

[rottenraccoons]

So sorry if you've gotten this question before! I looked through the asks tag but couldn't seem to find it. Regardless, I don't mean to take up your time!

I noticed that in the official trailer on itch.io, (and in the intro when I open the game) each character is listed with what initially looks like a scientific name and a diagram with their chapter one CGs. Keir and Francisco's names are either a one to one exact copy of the names they use in game or very close, in Francesco's case.

With Oleander and Cirrus, both characters that have more reason to use fake names (because it's said in game the Oleander frequently changes his name for his ~*mystique*~ and Vesper speculates that Cirrus' name is likely not his true name, but still says a lot about him,) they have different names. Cirrus is called "Presbyter" which from a quick google search means "elder or minister (most often of a church)" and Oleander is listed as "Nerii" which, from looking up the wikipedia page for the "Daphnis Nerii," also called the //Oleander// hawk-moth. So, I was wondering (if it isn't spoilers to answer) if their true names have been right under our noses this whole time? With Oleander possibly being named Nerii and Cirrus possibly being named Presbyter?

Also, their titles of a sort are listed after their names in what might be latin(?), with Cirrus' "Ecclesiae Lunaris" meaning (from google translate, mind you, I haven't done a deep dive into latin) "a formal congregation of believers of the moon;" Keir's "Cavillator Fur" meaning "one who jeers or mocks a theif(?);" Oleander's "Perriculosum Scurra" meaning "Dangerous clown" (or more likely in this case, "Dangerous Showman;" and Francisco's (Franciscum's) "Innocentes Nobiles" meaning, unsurprisingly, "Innocent Noble."

I just wanted to point this out and ask about it because I really appreciate all the work that has gone into this VN- it's one of the best that I've ever read, and that alongside the beautiful art (the sprites and of the stunning backgrounds, the music that perfectly sets the tone...) and it really is such a breathtaking visual novel. This has- no joke, taken over my brain since I found it three, four days ago, and I couldn't be more happy about it. The work you do is phenomenal.

On a more personal note, too, Cirrus has very much captured my attention, and although I usually don't like to sub all that much, the sheer //intimacy// of scenes with him has me sold on his route. I also love how he holds Vesper to a higher standard- looking through the player guide, all of the other three LIs all have good endings that don't necessarily require getting the maximum affection, bur Cirrus' best ending does require maximum affection (there are, of course, ways to slip up and make up for it later, as stated in the guide, but still.) (That's not to say I don't like the other LI's, they absolutely have my attention, but I do have a favourite, ahaha)

The safeword menu is very much appreciated, and I do so love always having that option of backing out without having to close the game altogether.

OH ALSO I happen to have noticed more things while rewatching the trailer Each character has a number corresponding to them. Cirrus has the number 18, Keir has the number 20, Oleander has the number 11, and Francesco has the number 10. Later on in the trailer, after the character introductions, each of these numbers flashes again, connected to a title and a subtitle. For 18, the latin connected to Cirrus, it says "obedience", with the subtitle meaning, from a quick google translate, "sweet to heaven." For 20, the latin connected to Keir, it says "fate," with the subtitle meaning, "yours or a stranger" For 11, the latin connected to Oleander, it says "patiently" with the subtitle meaning "as you have" and for 10, connected to Francesco, it says "time" with the subtitle meaning "runs" I can guess that this is connected to their routes somehow, because Cirrus values obedience from Vesper, and he //is// a priest. I'm actually not sure about Keir or Oleander's stuff, but Francesco is acting with a certain amount of urgency, so I assume it has to do with him trying to get the full "experience" as it were before he has to take on the family business. Either way, I love love love the details in the trailer, it's absolutely wonderful to pause to try to catch the little things (Also, as an addendum to my last ask, I am not realizing that Keir's title likely means "sarcastic thief," and I might've taken the translation too literally) Obscura has given me a Catagory Five Autism Moment, and that is absolutely a complement! Great work!

So I showed all this to Mugi, who did those images for the trailer, and she was thrilled to see this analysis!!

(I have censored one thing to preserve the mystery~)

A bunch of the stuff in the trailer will probably make more sense the more you know about the guys and their stories, but yesssssss please keep analysing things, we put stuff in there on purpose for people to play with!

[pillow-anime-talk]

sore hands.

request ; @shakethatsassyass​: hi! i’ve been loving your work. and i really like how you write knb characters, you really capture their personalities perfectly. would it be alright to ask for a story or headcanons of akashi with his wife who writes for a living and is experiencing joint pain in her hands? my fingers are in constant pain and i’m unable to work but thinking about akashi makes me feel better 💕 thank you so so much! 💖

# tags: scenario; current marriage relationship; writer!reader; worried!akashi; soft romance; a bit of drama; but also fluff; kisses; mention of pain and crying; pet names; sfw

includes: female reader ft. seijuurou akashi {knb}

author’s note: so sorry that you waited so long, but here’s the scenario for you!

You loved your job; just thinking about the plot, developing it thoroughly, creating the world and characters was as exciting for you each time as when you were writing your first book (then on a website for a small audience). You loved the stage of thinking about the cover, the description and the title, you loved the moment of choosing the right paper and font, and you also liked to think about page numbering and additional visual elements. However, the writing itself was often painful for you, and you were considered by your readers and the media to be a ‘cyclical author’.

Because writing one book very often took more than ten months – not because you didn’t have time or idea (quite the opposite), but ‘cause of your long-term illness.

Since childhood, your hands and wrists have been prone to sprains and fractures, so the doctor advised you not to strain the joints in your hands and visit your physiotherapist frequently. That’s why you wrote very rarely and very slowly. You always tried to do your best to publish at least one book a year, but it was difficult – physically and mentally. You didn’t want to disappoint your fans, you wanted to give them the best new story you’ve ever written.

You were just in the middle of writing the third chapter and it was hard for you to concentrate because of the pain in your right hand; despite daily therapy with a massage ball, despite taking pills, as well as warming your fingers with a hot water bottle ... you didn’t feel better. Calm music, thick socks and a blanket thrown over your shoulders, although pleasant, did not pass their test. You needed a break, preferably a week.

“... Dearest, everything’s okay? You’ve been working since morning, and it’s already four in the afternoon.” A calm, low voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head slightly and looked at your husband in daily clothes, smiling shyly.

“I’m almost done with this chapter.” You whispered loosening your wrists, catching the ball full of studs again.

“I’m so proud of you, love, but rest a bit. I made you your favorite tea.” The lovely smell of the hot drink in your favorite mug made your cheeks blush. Seijuurou was truly a wonderful man, very patient, tender and always worried about you.

“Thank you.” You said with a slightly bigger smile and your beloved sat on the edge of the couch that was right next to your station.

When the red-eyed man put the white mug on the bamboo stand, he immediately took your hands and placed a tender, sweet kiss on them. He always did it when you were writing or when you were having a bad time.

“I made dinner. Would you like some pasta with vegetables?” He asked and touched your cheek with one hand. You snuggled into his warm hand for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll eat and rest for a while, then you can go back to work. Don’t overwork yourself, honey. You know your fans are mature and will understand your feelings and your problem.”

“Yes, that’s true. Thank you, Sei. I needed to hear it.” You giggled and took his hand in a light squeeze. “Why don’t you help me with the cover concept tomorrow?”

“With the greatest pleasure, dear.”

[velvetsqwyrme]

I saw ur tags and ran over here. What are ur favorite spicy UF! Papyrus fics?

HELLOOO LMAO you were so quick... sorry this took me a while to get together, but I hope you enjoy ( ù ᵕ ú )

Fair warning that some of these picks will include dub/noncon (and potentially other dubious content? I don't know what I'm going to add yet HAHA) so as always make sure to heed the warnings and read the tags before reading!! I've done my best to label them accordingly though :]

------

READER INSERTS

Edge Discovers the Wonderful World of Subbing

You can tell exactly what this list is going to be like just from the title of this first fic... (title is explanatory, gotta love it!!)

Good EdgeLord

More sub Edge!! 💥💥

Caught in the Act

HELLO?? HELLO. Voyeurism? Low stakes semi-public sex? Double penetration ?? Sign me UP.

Pumped (Kinktober Collection)

Usually I refrain from including individual Kinktober chapters from rec lists BUT I really like this one ( '^' )!! It isn't even that explicit, but it's stuck in my brain because I GASPED when I read it for the first time.

Pyr's Favourite Keeper [DUBCON -> CON]

Love me a snakey boy!!!!!! There's also oviposition 👀!!

Wake

Sleepy sex <3! The bit with the SNAP part killed me and it's also such a fun detail!

Prime Time to Run

Mafiafell... he straight up murders someone in front of you and you fuck about it.

Bound Edge

Sub Edge again!! The reader has a dick in this- a rare but delicious treat !

Fall Out Bones [NON/DUBCON...????]

Technically this is linked to a series featuring both UF!bros, because I think that both are reslly good partially also because I think they're intensely hilarious at times. The titles are also great.

Boned [NONCON]

CLASSIC 2016 PREMISE. Reader is trapped in the fucking shed. (Fucking used as both profanity as well as a descriptive action)

Housekeeping [NONCON]

Weird location (sink)! But it works really well for the fic!!! Violenctce.

To Prove A Point ||| The Origins Of The Pap-wich - (Swap!Pap/Reader/UF!Pap)

Ahhh the good ol threesome ! The reader gets sandwiched between two very sexy skeletons~ !! I'm also a big Swap!Pap fan so this is just. *Mwah* so good!!!!! Double penetration again ~ also one of the few fics with squirting 🙏✨

All Dicks, No skeletons [DUB/NONCON DUE TO DETACHABLE ECTODICK SITUATION]

I cannot put into words how much I love this. It's got detachable ectobits... inconvenience due to detachable ectobits!! In this, Edge has a barbed dick and claws up a tree. It's crack but it's so so good!!!!!! I'm patiently waiting for updates and will ravenously consume the fic for lime the fiftieth time when it does.

OTHER SHIPS

Also! Here are a few fics with UF!Pap in other ships (namely various Papcest configs) because you didn't specify it had to be reader inserts lol

Little Wet Bones (Papcest: Farm/Underfell)

Bitty!Edge is soooo cute... and horny!! He's so self assured I love it.

Pepper Heat (Papcest: Edgepuff)

Heat fic! Heat fic!! Chili peppers is one hell of a heat scent... the only person who can handle a Papyrus is another Papyrus ;] The naming scheme here is also very funny when you realise what went on.

A Fallen Knight and his King (Papcest: Edgepuff)

MORE SUB EDGE ! This one delves more into the his exploration of dom/sub dynamics and it's so so good!!!!

Three Chance Meetings (Papcest: Spicyhoney)

Swap!Pap is (secretly) a prostitute and Fell!Pap finds out and shills out the money to spend a night with him. I looooove the character dynamics in this one too.

Taste of Blood and Honey (Papcest: Spicyhoney)

I forgot about this and was delighted to discover it again because ohhhhhh my god the premise is so good... also there's mirror sex and first times and those are always fun :3c

Mutt Lost a Bet (Papcest: SpicyBBQ)

Mafia AU setting where SF!Pap and UF!Pap make and lose bets resulting in sexual escapades. The second chapter is my favourite because it involves gloryholes and aphrodisiacs <33

Bro's Replacement (Papcest + Sanscest : Spicyhoney + Cherryberry)

LAMIAS AGAIN 💖 Honestly the setup is what gets me... but the smut is delicious so I'm adding it here :3c

Heat (Papcest - Spicyhoney) [HEAT INDUCED MUTUAL NON/DUBCON]

Why are there so many lamia fics in this list, I do not know, but heeeeeeey enjoy the snakeys! In this one the non/dubcon is due to UF!Pap being in heat, and both of them regret it after. Things get better though!!

------

Anyway, that's all for now! Hope you enjoy some ^^!!!

[seiwas]

hi sel! i was wondering if you had any tips or tricks or advice for making fic banners and dividers? yours are always so cohesive! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

hi nonie! omg i'm so flattered you asked me this 🥺 i’m happy you like them!! admittedly, i am a bit particular about the aesthetics of my fics, but don't really expect anyone to notice 😭

i am by no means a designer! but i'll share a few of the things that have worked for me 🥺 under the cut will be what i do for sizing, editing, and inspo!

SIZING (w x h dimensions, 300 dpi)

› banners: 1280 x 320 for my thicker banners. 1280 x 249 for my thinner ones. i've been preferring the thicker ones lately just because i prefer how it looks on the post compared to my thinner ones (more balanced and stuff!)

› dividers: 1280 x any size you want or 500 x 5. i have both jpg (thinner) and png (thicker) versions for my dividers, mainly because my jpg ones stopped working after a while* 😭 i use the png ones more now because the actual image itself is also bigger in height; there are transparent spaces above the bar itself that allow more control over the space your divider will have between text (please let me know if this is confusing! i'm not sure if i'm explaining it well).

*tumblr can be really selective with the media it allows on the feed and tags, and for some reason, some dividers have been causing that problem 😭 i still haven't figured out what characteristics/factors exactly cause it, but i suspect it might be a combination of size + colours. i usually have to do test posts to make sure it appears!

i'm attaching some screenshots below for reference!

EDITING

› software: photoshop, figma. though i know there are others you can use (e.g., photopea, canva, picsart, etc.)! i just use these because i'm more accustomed to them 🥹

› process:

find a manga panel i like and clean it up (background removers can usually do the trick)

find colours i like and use it as the base for the background

*if using photoshop/figma/photopea: set the manga panel layer as 'multiply'

add the text

*for dividers: i usually just grab from the background of the banner (either i crop a portion of it or colour a long, thin rectangle the same colour)

attaching what my editing board looks like on figma! (i could be more organised but i usually do these things in such a rush i could never be bothered 😭)

› things i consider

for general fic banners: i like to keep a consistent format, which is: character panel + name + identifiable colour because they're the details that i'd like to inform people of first when they stumble upon my post! (some people will put fic titles too, which i don't do bc i can't be bothered to mess with the spacing 😭)

*keeping a consistent format also makes it easier to duplicate elements of your banners into other banners you'll be making! ex. if i'm writing 2 different gojo fics and decide to change what manga panel to use, at least i can always duplicate certain elements (i.e., name text) and find colours along a similar saturation/hue! it makes things a lot quicker and easier.

for event fic banners: i usually pattern it after the event banner itself! so for example, the fics under my 'how to be your loverboy' collab share similar elements (i.e., the wavy edge) to the main event banner. sometimes i use the same colours too (i.e., in's and out's event).

*on dividers not showing up on the dash: i notice it a lot more with light-coloured banners (some neutrals) and super thin ones. to find a way around this, i either change the colour and/or the size OR i'll find a photo that shares the colours i want and crop it to the size that i want (for some reason, it works this way 😭)

INSPO

i usually browse through pinterest for inspo on digital design stuff! i learned a bit of UX/UI so there's also a part of me that's influenced by its trends.

lately, i've been really into gradients! because it's a fun and easy way to make things look clean but not boring, and i think it can evoke the ~vibe of the fic based off the colours you end up choosing!

when i can't think of anything and want to come up with the banner quickly, i'll usually choose a photo/aesthetic i associate with the fic and blur the image until all you see are kind of blobs of colours. they're similar to gradients but have more shapes and require less of your brain power 😭 (i.e., by your passenger seat, and there's something...)

... and that's it!

sorry for this really lengthy post, i hope it's helpful nonie 🥹 let me know if you have any other questions/if anything is unclear!

[beepboop260]

I wrote a thing and it's Sett/Yone and I haven't written a thing in like, years so uhhh idk how it is really. Also I don't have a title for it cause I'm bad at naming things

I normally censor characters' names but considering this is a fic I'm not going to do that so this will probably show up in tags so

Note: This story contains: weight gain, stuffing, and also some light burping. Don't read if that's not your thing.

It started with Sett just trying to make sure Yone was eating enough. The man would lock himself away in his office and work for hours at a time and Sett realized he never saw Yone consume anything other than coffee. He didn’t eat much when they went out for food either, so Sett started making little meals and quietly bringing them into Yone’s office and setting them beside him. It pleased him that Yone would emerge some time later bringing an empty plate back to the kitchen. If he managed to be around when this happened Yone would always thank him for the meal before returning to work. Sett received praise from the others for his cooking, but Yone giving him praise felt different. Yone always seemed a bit shy about it. Sett found it cute and found himself wanting to give him more food just to see more of it but he restrained himself.

Then the holidays rolled around and Sett found himself wanting to spoil Yone and give him snacks between meals. He’d leave him small batches of pastries and would be overly pleased when Yone finished the plate. These snacks happened on top of the meals Sett was giving Yone and Sett worried perhaps he was giving him too much, but he rationalized it with that if it was too much then Yone would simply not finish it all.This never happened and Sett started to wonder if perhaps even with meals and snacks that Yone still was a bit undernourished. 

Sett started giving Yone bigger meals and more snacks and still Yone never emerged with leftovers and would always abashedly offer some praise for Sett’s cooking before hiding away again in his office.

This went on for a while and Sett thought nothing of it until one day he looked a little more intently at Yone when he came out of his office and something seemed… different. Yone was wearing one of his usual long sleeved shirts but it didn’t seem to fit like it normally did. Yone tugged at his shirt down a bit after washing his dishes and tried to beeline back to his office, but Sett wanted to investigate this observation. “Hey, Yone!” Sett walked over to Yone and put his hand on his shoulder. “Just wanted to offer some thanks that you work so hard to keep everything, and uh, everyone, under control around here.” Sett beamed a smile at Yone and gave him a big hug. Yone seemed a little surprised by the hug at first, but he was used to how cuddly Sett was and how much he liked giving hugs to all the members of the band. Sett had his arms wrapped around Yone’s shoulder area but gently sneaked his hands down to his waist. He squeezed lightly and, as he had guessed, he felt some squish. Yone instantly realized what Sett was doing and began trying to wriggle out of his grasp but Sett only tightened his hug. Yone tried pushing against Sett to get away but it was of no use against a man who works out five times a week. Sett chuckled. “I was kinda wondering if all my cooking was affecting you, now I see that it was.” Sett pressed his fingers into Yone’s softened sides again and felt him start to try and get away. This time Sett let go. Yone’s face was bright red. “It’s… It’s nothing I can’t deal with easily.” Yone tugged his shirt down, the fittedness of his wardrobe working against him. “I’ve just been busy.” Sett smirked in response. “Alright then. I’m still gonna keep cooking for you. I feel like you just won’t eat if I stop.” “That’s fine with me.” Yone said. Sett wanted to say that Yone almost looked like he was relieved that Sett wasn’t going to stop bringing him food. 

Sett continued cooking for Yone and Yone kept eating it all. Sett noticed Yone seemed to be wearing more of his looser fitting tops and he also was wearing sweatpants more often these days. As time went on Yone seemed to get new shirts and some new sweatpants. Sett needed to investigate this. This time he went into Yone’s office with some freshly baked cookies and set them down on his desk. Yone immediately grabbed one and started eating it, used to Sett just leaving after dropping off snacks, he didn’t do that this time. “Y’know, I’d say you’ve become pretty reliant on my cooking. I’d also say you enjoy it more than you let on.” Sett smirked as he put his hand on the back of Yone’s swivel chair and pulled it back and turned Yone towards him. 

Yone had definitely put on more weight. Even with one of his new shirts on, Sett could see the outward curvature of his stomach, perhaps even some curvature on his chest too. Yone was holding his half eaten cookie as his face started turning pink. He had nowhere to go. He was seated with an almost seven foot tall man looming over him. “I’ve been wanting to see the effects of my cooking on you a bit more personally” Sett smirked as he poked Yone’s stomach. Yone muffled a burp. Maybe he was still a bit full from lunch which wouldn’t be surprising considering he ate less than an hour ago. Sett had started making sure Yone always had some food nearby. “Last thing I’d say about this is that you’re enjoying it.” Sett said playfully. Yone’s face was bright red. “I’ve seen you track your eating before to maintain your figure, yet now you seem to be completely ignoring that.” Sett continued to press Yone. Yone looked away, he didn’t want to admit anything but he had a feeling Sett wasn’t going to leave until he did. “Your cooking is good. Perhaps too good… It feels like a shame to let any of it go to waste.” Yone said, almost mumbling. “Oh yeah?” Sett perked up. “And this doesn’t do anything for you?” Sett poked Yone’s squishy stomach again, making him squirm a little. “It doesn’t hinder my work at all.” Yone picked at his shirt. “And… it’s not bad…” Yone kept looking away from Sett, knowing Sett was smirking at all this. “Mmm. Guess I’ll continue keeping you well fed then.” Sett put his hands on his hips, obviously pleased with himself. “Maybe I’m still not giving you enough, I’ll have to start giving you bigger servings. Just to make sure you’re nice and full. Maybe I should even try figuring out what your max capacity is~” Sett smiled knowingly. Yone used his hand that wasn’t holding his snack to try and hide how red his face was. Sett had cracked the code. Yone was eating everything he gave him because it was good and he also seemed to just be enjoying eating and not minding the consequences of gaining weight. Sett was excited to see where this would go. 

Sett did as he said he would and started feeding Yone more. Giving him bigger servings and being extra on top of making sure he always had food. He was happy Yone still seemed dedicated to eating everything Sett gave him even when he obviously seemed full. Yone started to pack on the pounds and the other members of the band noticed but didn’t say anything as they didn’t feel like getting chewed out by him.

Yone emerged from his office with a notably full belly. Wearing an all new outfit as he had outgrown all his old clothes. He had an almost waddle to his step as he moved to put his dishes in the sink. Sett came up from behind Yone and looped his arms around him, and being so close Sett could hear that Yone was breathing heavier than normal. “Please don’t press on my stomach right now. That breakfast you gave me was really filling…” Yone huffed. Sett smiled and couldn’t resist as he lightly pressed his hands against Yone’s sides. There wasn’t much give, Yone seemed to be pretty stuffed at the moment, and Yone muffled a belch but it was still pretty loud and then groaned. He just wanted to sit down and rest because if he was already stuffed after breakfast then he needed as much time as he could get to digest for lunch. Sett seemed to have a big day planned for him. Sett went from pressing his hands into Yone’s sides to gently rubbing his belly, trying to help soothe him. “I’ve got something to help tide you over until lunch.” Sett smiled as he let go of Yone and went to the kitchen to bring back a large milkshake-looking drink. Yone took it and just thought about how there was no way there wasn’t weight gain powder in it and it wasn’t going to help at all with how full he already was. “Thanks.” Yone said before muffling another burp and going back to sitting at his desk. 

Yone finished the shake just as Sett brought him lunch. Sett had switched to bringing Yone’s food on a tray because of how much there was. Sett had made him soup and sandwich but it was a massive sandwich that seemed to be some sort of over the top BLT and a large bowl of creamy broccoli cheddar and then a brownie as a dessert. Yone huffed as he already started wondering if he had room in him for any of it. His stomach churned loud enough for Sett to hear. “Hm. How about I skip your post-lunch snack so you’re nice and hungry for dinner?” Sett asked and Yone responded by lazily muffling a burp and nodding. It was going to take him a bit to finish this lunch and he was going to need as much room as he could get for whatever kind of dinner Sett had planned. 

Yone somehow managed to get everything down. He leaned back in his chair as far as he could, trying to do anything to ease the pressure in his stomach. He rubbed his stomach and burped occasionally and with no one around he didn’t care to muffle it. He continued to try and soothe his stomach until he fell asleep in his chair. 

Yone woke up some time later. Thankfully he didn’t feel nearly as full as he had before. He could smell Sett cooking in the kitchen. Bracing his arms against the armrests of his chairs, Yone stood up from his chair, feeling a bit weighed down by his stomach. As he stood up he noticed his shirt no longer covered all of his stomach, there was a sliver of skin showing at the bottom. He picked at his shirt but it was definitely hugging him more than it was this morning.

Yone padded his way into the kitchen, feeling heavy and he felt that that feeling was only going to get stronger after this. He sat down and saw Sett’s ears perk up as he realized Yone was sitting at the table. “Almost ready~” Sett called as he seemed to be finishing up. He then started moving things to the table. “So! We’ve got: my mom’s spaghetti, that mac n’ cheese Kayn likes so much, and then I put together some miso soup for you since I know you like it.” Sett rambled off as he started making Yone a plate before serving himself. Yone’s serving was as big as Sett’s, except Yone didn’t do all the exercise that prompted that Sett did that prompted eating that much. Yone also suspected he wasn’t getting only one serving.

Sett gave Yone his plate and then sat down and they talked and ate. Yone appreciated the conversation because it was helping distract him from the fact he was already feeling full most of the way through his plate. He managed to get everything on his plate down and then drank his soup. He huffed and patted his stomach and belched while kind of forgetting Sett was there so he didn’t bother to muffle himself. Sett’s ears perked up and he smiled at Yone. Yone just blushed in response. “I always enjoy hearing you enjoy my cooking.” Sett said as he got up and got Yone a second serving. Yone watched as Sett put another heaping serving in front of him. Despite feeling full with quite the belly to show for it, Yone still picked his fork back up and got back to it. He was slower this time around. Taking more breaths and pausing to burp at times. Even though he was only getting more full, Yone still loved every bite. Everything was cooked perfectly and seasoned nicely. He finished the plate and moved to drinking his soup. Placing a hand on his stomach and then drinking it he was almost able to feel it fill up his stomach even more. He finished the bowl and belched loudly. At this point he didn’t care to do anything to diminish it and Sett just beamed a smile at him with some blush on his cheeks.

Yone was breathing heavier after that plate. He shifted in his seat a bit, seeing if he could lean back anymore to give his stomach more room. “How about we get started on dessert? It’s something I know you’ll like.” Sett got up and went to the fridge and came back with a large red velvet cake covered in cream cheese frosting. Yone rubbed his stomach while staring at the cake. He wanted more room in his stomach because it was very much something he liked. It was a cake made for probably six to eight people but Yone knew it was all for him. Sett sliced a generous portion for Yone and the cake had plenty of layers to make way for lots more cream cheese icing between layers. Yone felt his mouth water and took a moment to think about how much of an appetite he had these days, perhaps he was more into this than he thought. Sett gave Yone his plate before reaching over and giving Yone’s stuffed belly a pat, knocking a belch out of Yone. Yone blushed but he did immediately dig in. It was one of his favorite desserts. 

Yone finished one slice and was served another, and then another. He slowed down a little more with each slice until there was just one generous slice left. Yone huffed and wheezed. He was amazed he found the room for almost an entire cake on top of a huge dinner and also on top of the large breakfast and lunch he had. Yone was rubbing his stomach with both his hands now, doing anything to help ease the pressure he felt. Sett placed the last slice in front of him. “C’mon, I know you wanna finish it~” Sett said, and he was right, Yone did want to finish it. Yone picked his fork back up and very slowly got to eating the last slice. He wheezed and breathed heavily the entire time with some burping sprinkled in.

He put the last bite in his mouth and forced himself to swallow, feeling incredibly full. He wheezed loudly, even opening his mouth to pant at times. Sett came over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “You did so well.” Sett praised and Yone just groaned in response. “I… huff… can’t move…” Yone managed to get out. He was pinned under the weight of his own over engorged stomach and how very uncomfortable he was. Sett put his hands on Yone’s stomach and began to rub. Sett’s hands were nice and warm against Yone’s taut skin. Yone let out a massive belch and went back to breathing very heavily as he titled his head back and let Sett rub his stomach. He could feel himself slipping into a food coma now that Sett was helping soothe him. He wondered how much Sett would push this thing they had going. How much bigger was Sett going to make him? How many more times would he end up pinned under the weight of his own gluttonous choices due to Sett? Yone found himself hoping that Sett would continue this indefinitely, pushing him to eat more and more and get bigger and heavier. He drifted off to sleep thinking about how good it felt to be stuffed to his limits, hoping he could continue pushing them.

[terramythos]

TAYLOR READS 2024: MORT BY TERRY PRATCHETT

Title: Mort (Discworld) (1987)

Author: Terry Pratchett

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Comedy, Third-Person

Rating: 7/10

Date Began: 1/6/2024

Date Finished: 2/4/2024

Mort, a young man with no clear direction in life, becomes apprenticed to Death himself. While learning the so-called trade, Mort makes a mistake which threatens to rewrite the course of history.

I INVITE YOU INTO MY HOME, he said, I TRAIN YOU, I FEED YOU, I CLOTHE YOU, I GIVE YOU OPPORTUNITIES YOU COULD NOT DREAM OF, AND THUS YOU REPAY ME. YOU SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER FROM ME, YOU NEGLECT THE DUTY, YOU MAKE RIPPLES IN REALITY THAT WILL TAKE A CENTURY TO HEAL. YOUR ILL-TIMED ACTIONS HAVE DOOMED YOUR COMRADES TO OBLIVION. THE GODS WILL DEMAND NOTHING LESS. ALL IN ALL, BOY, NOT A GOOD START TO YOUR FIRST JOB.

For live reading notes, check the reblogs (contains unmarked spoilers).

Content warnings and review (spoiler-free and spoiler versions) under the cut.

Content Warnings: Mentioned -- Suicide, animal abuse. Depicted -- Death (i mean. yeah), animal death, sexual humor, suicidal ideation, fatphobia (kinda).

**SPOILER-FREE REVIEW**

Before I dive into the review, I want to acknowledge that despite several criticisms, I did enjoy reading Mort. It certainly has issues that keep me from rating it higher, but I still recommend it as a fun read despite these flaws.

A major reason for this is the prose. It's difficult to express just how clever Pratchett was as a writer. He has a unique way of presenting scenes and situations which consistently feels fresh and original. Whether it's clever wordplay or a unique spin on tired cliches, he's always catching me off guard in the best way. Saying someone's voice "could have kept milk fresh for a month" instead of "was icy" is one among hundreds of delightful examples. And while there's plenty of witticisms, they feel genuine rather than cynically scripted to appeal to as many people as possible.

Pratchett also doesn't shy away from serious topics despite the general comedic tone, and this contrast makes the grounded parts of the writing all the more poignant. His fantastic style is so omnipresent in his work that to explore it in detail would devour the rest of the review. Even when taking notes while reading I'd have to be selective on WHICH great phrases I wrote down lest I only spend time on them to the exclusion of all else.

One specific thing I like about Pratchett's writing is how specific jokes recur throughout the story but often in ways one doesn't expect. There's a running bit in Mort where characters will call him "boy" or "lad" and he tiredly corrects them with "Mort". As a reader I fully expected him to eventually get fed up and chew someone out for failing to use his name. And… he does! But later the joke is subverted again in a (spoilerific) way I DIDN’T expect, which caught me completely off guard. Setups and payoffs like that are delightful.

**SPOILER REVIEW**

My biggest struggle with Mort is that I found it difficult to care about the plot until the end. There are two things working against Mort's story that made me feel this way.

The first is the main conflict's inciting incident: Mort commits a selfish act and saves the life of a princess who was supposed to die. In doing so, Mort warps reality and the fabric of history itself. The problem is, the only reason he saves Princess Keli is because of a superficial crush on her just from seeing her for a few seconds. The two barely interact before he saves her, and when they do later, there's not any chemistry to make this decision interesting. And yes, I'm aware that this was probably intentional: Mort did something foolish and impulsive and has to deal with the consequences. The problem is that since the rest of the plot hinges on his choice to intervene, and the context around that choice is so lackluster, it brings the entire plot down. I found myself wondering why Mort bothers to keep up the ruse and lie directly to Death when his reason for doing so is so vague and uninteresting. The personal stakes just felt nonexistent to me.

The second issue is how the story is structured. Rather than closely following a standard plot progression, Mort is more like a series of vignettes and scenes loosely tied together. There's nothing wrong with that in and of itself; I'd argue Guards! Guards! follows a similar style, and I'm willing to bet much of Pratchett's work does. The problem is when this lack of focus combines with a weak core conflict. Reality being split and history diverging should be compelling, yet I wondered why I should care at all. The main thing that kept me reading was the clever writing and setups in these scenes. So I found the book fun to read but the story mediocre.

To Mort's credit, the stakes get more personal and involved toward the end. I finally found the story and characters compelling when Mort started to become more like Death. It's jarring when his dialogue intermittently switches to Death's unique typeface. This is probably the only time I've had a font choice genuinely catch me off guard-- unexpected Death dialogue is surprising in other Discworld books, but here it serves a different function because it's NOT actually Death speaking. The true love interest Ysabell also gets a lot of characterization toward the end, which is a shame because she's a great character who should have had plot involvement sooner.

Speaking of characters near the end, it seems like Pratchett suddenly realized the book needed a villain in the third act, so randomly assigned the role to side character Albert. So he's evil for a few dozen pages after showing no indication of this before, then the whole incident with him is resolved by Death with zero problems. It's super weird-- in fact, you could probably cut Albert out of the story entirely and nothing would change. Perhaps I'm missing something but I really didn't see the point of this. There is some context suggesting he is an historical figure referenced in other Discworld novels, so maybe it's more interesting if you've read those. However, having only read Guards! Guards!, this obviously fell flat for me. While inter-book references are fun (I was delighted to see The Librarian, for example), I don't think key components of the plot should rely on them, assuming that is the case here.

On the positive side, there are some small details I loved. One is how Pratchett uses the phrase "There is no justice. There is just me," to refer to Death. Because the moment I read it I wondered when we would hear "there is just us" instead, since the pun speaks for itself. So when we DID get that line during an emotional moment of the story I was cheering and hollering and punching the air and shit. It's one of those predictable things that is nevertheless extremely satisfying as a reader.

Another great detail is that every person has a literal book that describes their life until they die, which is constantly being written. While this is true metaphorically, it's a literal thing in Death's domain. Mort the novel closes with Mort the character seeing his own book and reading from it, and this becomes the narration for the last page or so. It's a clever payoff to a mechanic introduced in the novel.

A last thing to note is that there are still some loose ends. This isn't necessarily a criticism since there is a chance they are addressed in future books, but I'm mentioning them for my own benefit. In one early scene, Mort bungles his job so badly that a witch named Goodie Hamstring successfully manipulates him and escapes dying entirely. Considering the emphasis on this scene and the ominous tone, it isn't addressed at all by the end of the book, so it is possible this character shows up elsewhere.

Something not fully explored is the theme of reality. When Mort rescues Princess Keli, he creates a paradox where multiple realities exist, and one has to dominate over the other, which serves as part of the main conflict. Death's realm is not real despite being a major location in the story-- something that's true in a meta sense (Mort being a work of fiction) but also in the context of the story. Then there's implications throughout the book that Mort becomes "more real" the more he behaves like Death. While Death is the final reality of life, obviously, this is presented more in a mechanical way than a philosophical one. At the end of the story Death gives Mort a pearl of reality that Mort created due to the events of the novel, stating that it can be the beginning of a new universe whenever Discworld finally dies. This is… quite the detail to drop at the end. I feel like reality is explored as an in-universe mechanic rather than a metaphorical theme in the story, which is why it doesn't feel conclusive by the end. It makes me wonder, again, if this is going to come up in a later Discworld novel.

**CONCLUSION**

Overall while I had some issues with Mort as a story, as a reading experience I really enjoyed it. I might delve into more of the City Watch storyline next, since I had a great time with Guards! Guards! and want more of those characters.

[alieinthemorning]

A Moment in a Million [Morax | Rex Lapis | Zhongli]

Content: Overuse of Similes (LISTEN), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft, Pet Name (Dear), Honaki Impact 3rd Lore(??That might also be Genshin Lore??), Happy Birthday Zhongli!

Pronouns: None

Notes: This is a Secret Santa gift for @miam0re | Here’s her gift to me! Will Always Want You [Albedo]

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

The nights in Liyue Harbor were colder than they were in the City of Mondstadt. You had learned this swiftly upon your arrival. You also had the pleasure to learn of Liyue's rich history as told by Wangsheng Funeral Palor’s Consultant,

Zhongli.

You met him by chance as you were torn deciding between Stone Harbor Delicacies or Noodles with Mountain Delicacies at Liuli Pavilion.

“I recommend Mountain Delicacies.” You jolted at the sudden velvety voice.

“Noodles in a meat-and-vegetable sauce. The sauce has a rustic flavor, and there's a generous amount of it mixed in with the noodles. A humble, but enduringly popular dish.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you were met with eyes of melted amber. You gave him a smile before turning back to the woman.

“I’ll take two of those, then,” You glanced back. “That is… if you’re willing to join me.”

He smiled, one that was sure to shine brighter as the lone moon in the sky.

He spoke of many things, like the origins of Blackcliff Forge and Lantern Rite, to the inner workings of procuring the finest ore. He also was a good listener, he's attention never wavered as you spoke of your homeland. Even if his smiled said that he knew, his eyes danced with unique curiosity.

And as he walked you home, listening to the chirps of night.

You realized:

You were in love.

What a way to start off in a new land.

Zhongli reminded you of your late grandmother’s home. Full of mysteries and wonder. A place where your imagination ran wild. She kept the main rooms, where guests were allowed to roam, neat and tidy. You’d never expect the dark corners of cobwebs and bugs, or the old paintings that seemed to watch you walk down the hall.

Like the main room, he was bright and inviting. Yet his dark halls were pillars of citrine, cold and unyielding. Sometimes, you’d catch him looking off into the distance, far beyond the harbor.

Far beyond Teyvat.

Perhaps even further beyond Celestia.

Your heart sank at the discovery.

You were, but a fleeting moment in his life, while he remained in bygone memories.

Never to be forgotten

Never to be seen again.

“I’ll never get used to these cold winters.” You murmured as you cupped your hands over your mouth, attempting to warm them.

“Even though you've been here for three years now?” Zhongli hummed. “How odd. I thought you would have been accustomed to it by now.”

“Yeah, maybe… but things here are very different. Mondstadt’s never had a breeze other than inviting.” You shoved your hands into your pockets. “These are… harsh.”

“And the winters of the City of Freedom are not?” He titled his head.

A sign that he truly didn’t know the answer to the question posed.

“Not really. If the winds are cold, they feel as if they’re teasing. Not enough to sting.”

He chuckled (You liked the sound of it). “Yes… the people of Liyue are built more sturdy than other regions.” He paused, “maybe not as sturdy as Snezhnayains.” He trailed off, eyes far off.

And that was that.

He reminisced with the sunset.

While for you, the tormenting winds of thought ravished you throughout the night.

“I’m sure you have questions for me.”

On the day of his birth, the final day of the year, he broke the serene silence that you shared of a secluded candle-lit dinner.

“And yet, I’m sure you know.”

You did.

Zhongli was no mortal man.

He knew too much. Not only of ancient histories, but down to the minuscule minerals in ore. His eyes glowed in a way different than that of vision users. His “Vision” didn’t hum like yours.

And when Rex Lapis died.

And Liyue almost fell to an ancient god, but was saved by mortals and adepti.

He seemed relieved.

A heavy weight removed from his shoulders.

You couldn’t deny it any longer.

You nodded, “but I want to hear you say it.”

Ever so familiar harden amber swirled with mixed emotions. “I am Rex Lapis, God of Contracts.”

“Morax, The Warrior God.” You added, watching as fear took the forefront.

“Yes.” The word laid heavy on his soul. Strong stance, crumbing at the confession.

“A god who has lived for more than six thousand years.” You bit your lip. “While the life of a mortal is but a flash of lightning—fleeting.”

He said nothing.

So this is how it ended.

On his birthday, as the sands of time turned anew.

However, there wouldn’t be a renewal of this relationship.

“Why would you waste my time?” Tears gathered on your lower lashes. “My life is as small as a speck of dust compared to yours.

“Why spend four of my short years on something that would only bring us both heartache in the end?

“I’ve spent four years loving you… only to be a flame’s flicker in the end…”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Tears fell as waves down your cheeks, washing over the amber necklace he’d given you as a gift sometime during your second year in Liyue.

You wanted to take it off, to rid yourself of him.

But you couldn’t.

Unlike a god, you couldn’t throw away love as true as this.

“Please allow me to temper your wilding thoughts.” He sounded… unsure.

You didn’t blame him. You were a sobbing mess at this point, but you were able to calm yourself enough to allow him to try to reason with your unreasonable thoughts.

“I apologize for making you feel as though the time we’ve spent together has been a waste on my part. On the contrary, the time spent with you is unparalleled.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are literally the oldest of the Seven, Zhongli.”

“Yes,” He smiled sadly, “but that does not make me immune to erosion.

“I made a contract with the Tsaritsa. A contract to end all contracts, if you will. Liyue did not fall, and so the contract was fulfilled.

“I handed over my gnosis— my connection to Celestia, and have thus been living as a mortal man—as Zhongli.

“Soon my godly powers will diminish, and I will corrode like any other. So, while I remain on this plane, I ask:

“Will you allow me to spend my final days with you?”

By now, your tears had stopped.

His words made sense, and you didn’t think he was lying to you.

Maybe you had rushed into the worst possible situation too quickly.

Your cheeks began to sting as the blood rushed to them.

“You’re asking if I’ll have you?” You crossed your arms with a raised brow.

He smirked. “Familiar, is it not?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but grin.

“A moment with you is that of a million, my dear.” He coaxed you into his lap, placing a hand on your cheek. “If you’re willing to join me, that is.”

You smiled.

A memory of that was not forgotten.

A kiss as true as the clock striking midnight, pouring every ounce of your love into him.

Just as he poured back into you.

Tonight, you’ve brought in the new year with a new understanding of each other.

He was a god no longer, and you were a singularity.

Together, you realized:

This love was one in a million.

A love that would never be repeated in the infinite cycle of tree and sea.

A love that marks the trunk and abyss.

A love that is purely

You and Zhongli.

Reminder that this is an updated version of the 2021 work.

But I'm damn sure gonna pass it as a current birthday fic lmao

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus]

Well hello there! Are you lost?

This is a pinpost for all you mobile users, so that you know what you're getting into, if you're pondering whether to follow me or not and browsing blogs isn't your thing.

Name's Maria, I'm the artist kind that mamas of creative kids warn them they'll end up being if they pursue the arts and a down bad fangirl of 100s of things.

For artists coming across this and wondering what's my deal, here're a few things you need to know:

I'm a writer of a horror/dark fantasy baby series that turnt 13 this year. Currently editing book 1. Inspired by my love for visual kei and horror, the plot revolves around a bunch of demons who were made specifically to defeat God's army after the fall of Lucifer, but wished a life beyond being weapons, escaped, got cursed, and you get to see what they are up to, these days, through the series. It's a quest for freedom and claiming your right to be yourself no matter what anyone says. Being proud of who you are and the life you chose to live.

[side note: My focus on personal freedom to be who you are isn't about things you were born with, like skin color, sexuality etc, so much, but another common thing that keeps many people trapped in themselves and in societies that force you to be one thing. It's about chosen ways of life, such as clothing style, having piercings or tattoos, weight (ok this one isn't alway a choice), how active one's sexual life is, if you're having babies or not in life. etc.]

Here's a lovely visual of the title for you:

Which leads to another art I've touched;

Digital art. I hate how I always have to specify this but most non artist people, when they hear digital artist, they think of people who draw, illustrators. While I'm trying to learn that too, and I do use a bit of painting in my works, this isn't my main focus. I am a photomanipulator, another category of digital art, the artists of which connect various stock pictures together and makes new pictures. Like this one (the logo is old, ignore it):

That means I also make graphics. I've made gifs and edits for my vkei faves before. You can find them under the tags #my gif & #my edit accordingly.

Video editing. I've returnt to my childhood passion recently but muscle memory is doing well. I unfortunately can't afford the things I'd really like to film so I resolved to vtubing. I'm @LadyHawthorn on Youtube if you wish to find me and I'm doing a variety of things cause I hate being forced to do one thing all the time. I mainly post myself playing Reverse: 1999 and theorizing on it, but I like doing reactions on Genshin Impact new content when I get it on time (I can't play unfortunately cause it requires different equipment) too. I also occasionally do movie reactions and will soon try anime too. Other stuff I'm interested in doing are: writing videos, more asmr if people show more interest and eventually hopefully talk about my book series and the lore of my vtuber character, when I can afford an animation for her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For non-artists coming across this, now.

Right off the bat, I'd like to say I'm a big horror fan so if you're a minor I'd suggest you stayed away, cause I might eventually post sth you shouldn't see. I grew up with horror personally and I don't really get the whole "cover scary stuff and blood from kids" but because some of you might be more sensitive to that than I was, better safe than sorry. Again I find this a bit too much cause horror didn't hurt me growing up, real life did, but yeah, you do what's comfortable for you.

Other interests we might have in common:

Music. I listen to lots of music but I'm more religiously following visual kei artists the past 13 years. If you like photos of vkei artists, you might find something you like on my navigation page. If you don't see your favorite band at the sections with pictures, try the "Other fav artists" or "Other Vkei bands/Solos" sections or straight up write it on my blog link with "/tagged/favorite band's name".

Movies. I watch a lot of movies, you can find some of my favorites on my about page, but some notable examples that have fandoms are:

Addams Family

Late 80s to early 00s romcoms and school movies

Silent Hill

Visual Kei movies

Anything with Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in them (I no longer like Johnny but the projects he chose to act in are still masterpieces)

Tokyo Revengers live action

Kamikaze Girls

The Devil's Rejects

Ti West's X, Pearl, Maxxxine

Step Up movies (I used to dance once :P)

Musicals (stuff like Chicago, Moulin Rouge, Repo! The Genetic Opera, etc.)

I also am a Supernatural, Friends, Helluva Boss and American Horror Story fan (although I haven't managed to watch all seasons on the first and last one, they stopped broadcasting at my country and couldn't find them online without viruses after that)

Anime. Again I watch a lot but not many of the very famous ones. Some of the biggest names I'm a fan of are:

Danganronpa (never joined the fandom before so no worries I won't come for your ships)

Re:zero

Pokemon (haven't watched all seasons though),

Nanatsu No Taizai (stopped when Meliodas and Elizabeth had a kid cause they ruined the romance for me xD)

Demon Slayer

And I also love Diabolik Lovers, Toilet-bound Hanako and Houseki no Kuni. And Yu-Gi-Oh. I still got to finish that one.

Jdorama. I'm sorry I've only watched 3 Kdramas and stopped. My heart's in Japan xD. I have watched many things, including pretty much everything Oguri Shun has done, many MatsuJun stuff, I loved Alice in Wonderland and I'm in desperate need for new jdramas to watch that aren't some cheesy romance or another police story. ._.

Videogames. I'm a Genshin Impact, Reverse: 1999 and Nikke enthusiast, you can talk to me about these all day every day I wouldn't mind. I'm also a huge Silent Hill and Final Fantasy X & X-2 fan (before the HD version that basically ruined the story and I don't consider it canon. -_-)

Any other interests? Well I sing. If you like singing we can enjoy chatting about our favorite vocals and struggles of singing xD. However I know nth about music theory so please be kind to me. I only tried 1 semester of vocal training and 1 year of music production and I dropped both so....let's keep it on the fun side of singing and not sweat the technical stuff much, kay? ^^'>

That's all. If you made it this far, I applaud you for your patience and wish you a wonderful day! ^^/

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 15

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** A little warning - at one point in the chapter, there is a mention of how Raphael's conception went. It's not detailed, nothing graphic, but his mother was coerced into it, so. You now. I figured it warranted a heads-up. ***

“How many times do you have to be killed, you damned, slinking little fox?”

Only a few weeks ago, if asked to pick a devil they wouldn’t mind meeting again, there would have been no doubt in Durge’s mind as to who to pick. It was, to be honest, a short list that started and ended with one name - Yurgir’s. Despite their particularly rocky beginnings, he’d been a fierce ally in the House of Hope and then again against the Netherbrain. Of course, with Raphael in their party, he’d quickly turned into one of the last devils they’d have wanted to meet again. 

However, carnage did not immediately follow. Yurgir's respect was hard to earn but, Durge had come to realize, it wasn’t easily lost either. The fact he didn’t shoot a crossbow bolt through Astarion when he refused to move out of the way and leave Raphael to him was testament to that, at least. Still it was a chance meeting they could have done without, because he was really set on getting his hands on Raphael to rearrange his limbs.

And probably a few internal organs while he was at it. 

“We need him alive, Yurgir.”

Yurgir scowled, crossbow still pointed in Raphael’s general direction. Around them, standing over the corpses of the demons they had finished off, his merregons stared silently from behind their masks. They didn’t seem to truly understand a thing of what they were saying; they simply stood there and waited for the next order to unleash carnage

“How is the bastard still alive? Daddy dearest made a servant out of his devil half and ate the human one. Everyone knows that.”

Right, Durge thought. That. “... We also rather need everyone to keep thinking that, come to think of it.”

A scoff. “My business is splitting skulls, little rabbit, not spreading gossip, and the merregons have no clue what we’re talking about. No one will know he lives. Partly because I’m going to fix that.”

“I mean, it’s not that it doesn’t sound great, Yurgir. It does,” Karlach spoke up, reaching over to pat his forearm. “But as Durge said, we need him alive. Unfortunately. If we didn’t, I’m sorry, but you’d still have to fight me for it.”

Dire as the situation was, Raphael took a moment to raise an eyebrow at Karlach.

“... Really?” he asked, sounding rather doubtful, and Karlach grinned.

“I’d want the privilege to split your skull myself.”

“... Should have figured.”

Yurgir gave a snort that was almost a laugh. “What do you need him for, anyway? He was always only half a devil, and now he’s not even that. Just a puny human - I can tell . ”

“Hey now, I have to protest on behalf of humans. We’re not all that puny,” Wyll muttered, causing Yurgir to blink, eyes shifting towards Wyll’s horns. Wyll cleared his head. “Ah, those-- that is-- it’s a long story.”

“He has information,” Astarion spoke, clearly trying to use all the charm he was capable of. He was holding his hands up, still standing in front of Raphael - who, on the other hand, didn’t seem all that certain that they’d really take on Yurgir to keep him alive. “We need to recover something, he knows where it is, and we made kind of a deal. It’s been wonderful to catch up, truly! But we really should make way towards Haruman’s Hill, so we can cross--”

“That’s not happening for a while,” Yurgir cut him off. “Haruman is patrolling there, and in a shit mood. Not that he has any other mood.”

Karlach sighed. “Ah, fuck. I don’t suppose he could be conveniently distracted? Like, say, a horde of demons chased right at the base of the hill, so he can’t resist getting involved?”

With a booming laugh, Yurgir slung the crossbow over his shoulder. “Ah, that would work, I guess. All right, how about this - you leave Raphael to me for a bit. I won’t kill him, just make him regret being born.” He turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “After I’ve taught him a lesson in pain, I’ll give him back and distract Haruman for you.”

Durge almost groaned. “We cannot--” they began, only to trail off when someone else laughed. Raphael.

Yurgir snarled, turning to face him. “What’s so funny?”

Raphael smiled back. No longer pale as he’d been when Yurgir had appeared, he seemed perfectly at ease. He stepped forward, arms spread. “If it’s a duel you want, you should have said so right away. Although I am not certain that it would be polite of me.”

A snort. “Oh, too good for duels, is that your excuse?”

“Apologies, I should have explained myself with smaller words. What I meant is, it would be impolite of me to humiliate you in front of your own men. But if you insist, it can be arranged.”

Durge blinked. Behind them, Halsin let out a groan.

For a moment, Yurgir stared at Raphael as though not comprehending. Then he leaned forward and gave a noise that could have been a growl, could have been a laugh, was probably sort of both. “You,” he finally said, “are the most arrogant piece of shit I’ve ever met in my life.”

Raphael smiled, arms still spread. “So come teach me a lesson,” he said, like he wasn’t facing a powerful orthon as a human bard with a few sorcerer tricks, and probably half spent from the battle just ended. “Only the two of us. No intervention from the mortals or from the merregons. If they get involved, the mortals get involved - and vice versa, ça va sans dire.”

“That’s got to be Infernal,” Wyll whispered, only for Karlach to shake her head.

“Maybe Abyssal?” she whispered back, just as Astarion joined them and placed a hand on Durge’s wrist. 

“He has something up his sleeve,” he murmured. “Let him do this.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“I’m just kind of trusting him not to be completely suicidal.”

Unaware of their whispers, Yurgir was scowling. “What’s your trick this time, Raphael?”

“No tricks. As you said I am human and, I am sure you can tell even from there, running on half a soul. And still entirely capable of defeating you.”

“You wouldn’t be demanding a duel if you didn’t have some trick ready. You’re too much of a coward to fight fair. Even in the Blood War--”

“A coward, am I? One of us here is hesitating, and it's not me.” Raphael wrinkled his nose, jutting his chin forward. “You need not be scared. I won’t humiliate you too badly.”

The goading was painfully obvious, but-- well, the target was an orthon, and as it turned out it was more than enough.

“I’ll cut out your tongue,” Yurgir snarled, only for Raphael to nod. 

“Very well. If you win, I’ll surrender my tongue. If I do, you’ll lure Haruman off his hill long enough for us to cross the Styx. A fair deal, is it not? And I’m not even putting it in rhyme.”

“If you give me another song, I’ll cut off more than your tongue,” Yurgir growled, and grinned. He held out a hand, and one of the merregons immediately handed him something - a healing potion. He drank it in one gulp, and slung the crossbow across his back. “Very well. Let’s see how long you last, without your hellfire tricks. You, stay where you are,” he snapped at the merregons. Several heads were tilted, but none of them made a noise as their leader jumped off the small rocky outcrop, causing the ground to tremble, and approached Raphael, blade in hand. “I’ll nail your tongue to my belt, just to show everyone it’s not made of silver.”

Raphael looked at him and sighed. “My life, part twelve - the boring opponent,” he muttered, causing Yurgir to snarl and Durge to rather wish they had cut off his tongue themself to keep him from doing… exactly what he was doing now.

“This is a bad idea,” Wyll muttered.

“This is going to be fun,” Karlach grinned.

“We do intervene if he tries to kill him, right?” Halsin asked.

“I’m in a betting mood. Anyone else in a betting mood?” Astarion asked, entirely ignoring his concern. “Karlach? My money’s on Raphael.”

“Oh, yes! My gold’s on Yurgir.”

Durge groaned.  “I have a headache.”

“Oh. Is it a normal headache, or a ‘deranged sister performing lobotomy in extremely unsanitary conditions’ headache, love?”

“... It’s liable to get worse or better. Depends how the fight go--”

“AAAAAGH!”

Yurgir’s guttural cry caused everyone to recoil and turn, just on time to see him slam his blade against the ground; the thunderous blast that followed was just as loud, and Raphael was immediately knocked back across the rocky ground like-- well, like a rag doll. 

He fell hard several paces back with a grunt of pain, skidding a few more paces across the ground before he came to a stop. Durge made a face. “It just got worse.”

Karlach whistled. “Well, that was quick. Looks like you’re going to have to pay up.” She elbowed Astarion, who grinned in turn.

“Oh, no. It’s not over until the orthon’s got his tongue,” he informed her, just as the orthon in question laughed. 

“Is that all you’ve got, mighty Raphael?” Yurgir asked, tilting his head in what came across as a crude, mocking courtly bow. “I’ll give you one chance to make it quick and prove yourself a coward. Yield, and I’ll make it a clean cut.”

There was no response at first. Raphael was lifting himself up on his knees, painfully, a hand pressing against his side.

“Broken ribs,” Halsin muttered, grim. Ever the healer, he was obviously struggling not to intervene. “This is madness. He has no chance.”

“Wait,” Astarion whispered, and Wyll turned to glance at him.

“... You know something,” he muttered, and Astarion just grinned.

From his part, Raphael scoffed, and gave Yurgir the most insufferable sneer Durge had ever seen on anybody’s face, save perhaps Wulbren Bongle’s. “You act a fighter,” he spat through clenched, bloodied teeth. “But a fool’s a fool.”

The snarl that left Yurgir next was almost a roar. “I won’t cut your damned tongue - I’ll rip it off along with your jaw,” he snapped, and turned invisible without waiting for an answer, clearly poised to strike with his poisoned blade before Raphael could even see him coming. From his part, Raphael cast a healing spell on himself, and slowly began to stand. Much too slowly. Any moment now, Yurgir would be--

A portion of the ground lit up, and Durge had only an instant to understand what they were looking at - a glyph of warding - before lighting struck and Yurgir screamed before he stumbled back, once again fully visible, covering his eyes with a cry. He was not too gravely hurt, it would take more than that, but there were marks on him. 

“The fucker!” Karlach exclaimed, something that was almost a hint of admiration in her voice. “When did he do that?”

Wyll chuckled. “I bet he cast it while we were all talking, didn’t he? Astarion?”

“I may have noticed him gesturing…”

“I’LL TEAR OUT YOUR INNARDS WITH MY BARE HANDS!” Yurgir bellowed, and reached for his belt to grab an orthotic handbomb. But he was still half-blinded by the lighting blast, and it landed off mark enough for Raphael to scramble out of the way before it blew up, if not very elegantly. Yurgir didn’t get the chance to throw another before Raphael lifted his hands. 

“Obedi me!”  he cried out - and, unlike the bomb, Raphael’s spell didn’t miss. For an instant Yurgir stood absolutely still, as though turned to stone, a stunned expression on his face. Then he moved again. He skipped, to be exact, and kept skipping in place, and twirling, and shuffling his feet. Under the stunned gaze of several merregons who had probably never seen an Otto’s Irresistible Dance spell at work, Yurgir began to-- well. Describing what he was doing as dancing was a bit more charitable than Durge felt they could be, but it came close enough. 

“What the-- RAPHAEL! What! Have! You! Done!”

Yurgir’s roar in the middle of a pirouette proved to be too much for Karlach. She slapped both hands on her mouth to try and stifle her laughter, only for it to come out of her nose in a painful-sounding honk that was, in turn, too much for Wyll. And Astarion. And-- hells, it was too much for everyone.

“Pfft--!”

“Hahaha!”

“Oh gods, oh gods I can’t--”

“Sil-- heh-- Silvanus lend me strength--"

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Karlach finally cracked, bending forward with both hands on her stomach. Through their own gales of laughter - Astarion clung to their robe to keep standing as though his knees could no longer support him while he snickered - Durge could swear there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “HAHAHAHA! Oh gods-- Yurgir, sorry mate, but that’s- HAHAH!”

“STOP LAUGHING IF YOU’RE SO SORRY!” Yurgir yelled, still skipping about with a liveliness that was quite at odds with the fury on his face.

“I’m- hahahahahahah! I’m tryin-- hahahahahahahahahah! Oh, he got you good! HAH!” She laughed again, slapping her knee. “Dammit Raphael, how dare you be funny?”

Still holding onto his side and looking a few steps away from the grave, but grinning at the scene before him nonetheless, Raphael bowed his head. “I live to entertain,” he muttered, voice smooth despite the shortness of breath. “Alas, I must deprive you of my presence for a short while. Some rest is warranted if I am to give my best in this duel. Until then, I do hope Yurgir the Dancing Orthon will serve well enough as entertainment. Fear not, Yurgir, I’ll get back to you shortly.”

“RAPHAEL, YOU BAST--”

“Invisibilis,” Raphael muttered, and vanished from sight. Unable to stop himself from dancing, Yurgir resulted to scream out a rather astounding array of insults that, Durge was rather sure, would make the most seasoned sailors in Grey Harbor gasp in outrage. The insults went on  for a while. For… quite a while, with no attack from Raphael. Yurgir just kept dancing, the merregons kept staring, and they slowly managed to stop laughing. Somehow.

Most of them, anyway.

“Hey, Yurgir! Would it-- heh!-- would it make you feel any better if I came over to dance, too?”

“COME BACK, YOU COW-- don’t mock me, little rabbit!”

“Hey, it was an honest offer. It looks fun.”

With Yurgir now yelling out a few choice insults at Karlach, too, Wyll stifled another chuckle and turned to look at the others. “... All right, where has he gone?”

Astarion looked around. “Good question. He didn’t really run, did he? Durge, can you see--”

“Oh, no,” Halsin spoke, very quietly. “He didn’t run. He’s a few paces behind us. Turn, but don’t make it too obv--” 

Three heads turned back as one. All things considered, they were rather lucky that Yurgir was too busy dancing and yelling at Karlach to really pay attention to them. Durge spotted it first, the small empty bottle on the ground next to a boulder, and recognized the shape of it immediately. 

“... Potion of Angelic Slumber. Of course,” they murmured, and cast a quick spell to see the invisible. And there was Raphael, asleep against the boulder, chest rising and falling in slow, regular breaths - well on his way to a full recovery so he could actually fight at full health, and with all his spellcasting abilities. Clever, that. He was definitely going to need it but, for the first time, Durge began to think he could actually win that fight. 

Astarion chuckled. “Ah, ironic, that. Does he actually look angelic?”

Durge cast another quick look. He looked peaceful, but angelic? That was a couple of bridges too far. “Not in the slightest,” they said, turning back. “The potion shouldn’t last much longer.”

“Ah well. We get to watch the dancing orthon until then,” Astarion snickered, and seemed quite happy to do just that, leaving Raphael to his much-needed sleep - which was entirely undisturbed by Yurgir’s screams as he detailed what limbs and appendages we was going to tear off him before he got to his tongue.

***

When Raphael came to, all was darkness and agony. 

Every breath of air forced into charred lungs, every movement, every disjointed thought, every layer of skin he could feel peeling off was a lesson in pain. He was laying on something flat and he could hear, faintly, someone speaking above him.

“... May not be able to save him, even though Lord Mephistopheles’ stopped short of ending him. Hellfire is unforgiving, and the damage is so extensive--”

“It is Lord Mephistopheles’ order that he lives. See that you don’t fail him.”

“High Cantor, with all due respect--”

“I have no use for your respect. You’re here for Raphael. Either he lives, or you can find out if your respects will be enough to quell our lord’s fury. And I can promise you, they won’t be.”

A pause, a sigh. “Very well,” the voice murmured again. There were steps, a spell being murmured, and something washed over Raphael, the smallest measure of relief. When he drew a gasping breath, his throat sent shards of pain through his entire body, or what remained of it, but it was almost bearable. When he tried to speak, a voice did come out in a raspy whisper through regenerated tissue. 

“... Where…?”

"Raphael." Lady Antilia sounded surprised, and let out a long breath of her own. “You’re in Mephistar. You’re recovering. You’ve been unconscious a tenday - healers are tending to you.”

Raphael felt the faintest touch on his face, a  hand half-resting, half-hovering above his eyes. He tried to open them, but the darkness remained. Perhaps it was a good thing that he could not see what state he was in, but it terrified him still. “I can’t… I can’t see,” he rasped.

“Your eyes are regenerating. It’s just a matter of time.”

What happened, Raphael wanted to ask, but he already knew two things: he did not want to know, and it would come back to him either way. So for now he only remained still, listening as Antilia sang something, low and slow and haunting; she was no healer, but a song of healing was well within her capabilities. The relief was once again small, but it was there.

“If he can talk, his pharynx must have regenerated. He may be able to drink this,” someone was saying. There was the clinking of glass. “It would be extremely helpful.”

“... Give it here.”

Antilia’s hand shifted to support the back of Raphael’s head. The pressure caused yet more pain to wrack through him, and he cried out, but she didn’t relent. His head was lifted, something was pressed against his lips and poured into his mouth, down his throat. He could barely taste it - honey and herbs, was all he could think - but it was cold and soothing, and it left him numb. Within moments, he was slipping out of consciousness. He welcomed it. 

Had it been poison, he’d have welcomed death.

***

Raphael had gone centuries upon centuries without ever thinking of death.

Well. Without thinking of his own death, to be specific, for the simple reason that he’d decided long ago that it wouldn’t happen. He would not die. The flow of time was never lethal to devils, of course, so it was simply a matter of never dying by anybody’s hand within the confines of Baator. Having survived events that could have - should have - spelled his end long before he even reached his first century of life, he was determined to hold tight onto the immortality his fiendish blood granted him. 

He would not die as long as none could kill him, and he would never give anybody a chance to try. Until he had - against beings who, by all accounts, should have succumbed to his power like insects beneath a boot. 

To say the outcome hadn’t been ideal would have been a polite euphemism.

Even so, it had not been his death when - again, by all accounts - it really should have been. He’d felt that last strike severing something while he choked on his own blood, forcing out the last words of a desperate plea for help; he’d seen all light fade into darkness, felt his own knees fold, the hard marble floor beneath his cheek. And then, at the edge of the precipice, there had been something - a pull, then darkness. When he’d come to, his broken body was in Mephistopheles’ unyielding grip. 

This awakening was, at least, not quite as unpleasant. Yurgir’s voice screaming how he’d ‘make a coin pouch out of his ballsack’ was admittedly not the best welcome back to consciousness he’d ever experienced. Still, it remained a vast improvement on awakening in his father’s grasp, dangling above his maw. By several orders of magnitude.

And of course, another key difference was that he was not broken, physically at least. He was actually in the best shape that mortal body could be, and he supposed he had as good a chance he was ever going to get to win that fight. 

So, time to start off on the right foot. 

Raphael looked at his hands to ensure the invisibility spell still held - it did - and stood to walk up beside the rest of the party, taking a look at Yurgir. He had been unable to break out of the spell, for all his yelling, and Raphael allowed himself a few moments of admittedly puerile amusement to look at the orthon’s frankly abysmal dancing before--

A hand grasped his wrist, causing him to blink. Durge could see him, clearly, but did not turn to look at him as they spoke, voice a murmur. “Use thunderwave when he throws the grenades,” he whispered. “It served us well in the Gauntlet. And keep calm, you make mistakes when you’re angry.”

“... I’ll keep it in mind.”

“He will try to turn invisible, most likely. You’ll want to prevent that.”

Ah, of course. It had made him quite a nuisance, when he’d turned on him in the House of Hope. Raphael nodded and stepped forward, lifting his hands. 

“Ira et dolor!”

“AGH!”

Even in a cloud of spinning daggers, even as he cried out in surprise and pain, Yurgir failed yet again to break free of the spell. He looked around, nearly foaming at the mouth even as he twirled one more time. “Show yourself, bast--”

“Te video.”

“The fuck--?”

Faerie fire did not cause harm, but it mattered not. The still swirling daggers saw to that while the spell took effect, so that Yurgir couldn’t turn invisible for a while. Long enough, hopefully, for Raphael to end the fight. Possibly in his favor. He fancied keeping his tongue, as well as other no less important bits of his anatomy.

“Ugh! What is-- agh! What’s the light show about!”

“Oh, but why reveal the surprise?” Raphael asked, and cast one last glyph of warding between himself and the orthon. He felt the invisibility spell waver and break just as he finished whispering the incantation; Yurgir’s eyes found him, and his features twisted in a scowl of pure rage that rather undermined the remarkable pirouette that followed. He strained against the dancing spell but again failed to free himself, cursing him and grunting at the dagger cuts in the same breath. 

Acutely aware of the fact Yurgir may free himself any moment, Raphael had little time to consider his next move. The orthon’s attacks were devastating when they hit - so it would probably be best to try and diminish his chances of striking true. A sick opponent was preferable to a healthy one, surely.

“Diminuo te!”

“What no-- ugh! You bastard…” Yurgir groaned, sickness taking hold of him just as he managed to stop dancing. With a grunt, he stepped away from the cloud of daggers and dragged himself towards him. He grimaced, a hand going to his blade. “Fucking cambions and your tricks. I’ll make a necklace out of your--”

The ground lit up.

“Oh, fuck off-- ”

CRACK.

The crack of lighting almost drowned out Astarion’s laugh, but not entirely. Yurgir staggered back right into the cloud of daggers, snarling yet more deeply uncreative insults and threats as to where he was going to shove his bombs. Raphael cast a glance to the side. The merregons were still standing in place, staring from behind the masks, but the rest of the party was sitting to watch and-- was that a bottle of wine going around? 

He sighed. “... Really?”

“What? We’re enjoying the show!”

“You’re doing great.”

“Maybe you won’t lose that badly.”

Raphael scoffed. “Why, thank you,” he muttered, and turned his attention back on Yurgir. He still looked ill, but it didn’t keep him from giving a roar of fury and charging, blade in one hand, bombs in the other. He was much too strong for Raphael to match; he had to be faster.

Longstrider. Now.

“I’LL MAKE JELLY OUT OF YOUR EYEBALLS!” 

Raphael cast one more spell on himself just as Yurgir lifted a massive dagger over him to strike, and the true duel began.

***

When he next opened his eyes, Raphael could see… something. Lights and shadows - the light of magical flickering flames, and the shadows they cast. The agony was still there, but it was more subdued, as long as he did not move… and indeed, he could not move. He recognized the effects of a holding spell at once, even through the daze.

He let out the faintest groan and blinked, trying to get his still half-formed eyes to see something, anything - and above him, a shadow shifted. 

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Mephistopheles’ voice was calm, but he may as well have screamed in fury for the terror it unleashed someplace deep in Raphael’s core. It all came back suddenly, crashing down on him like a collapsing glacier - the punishment, hellfire, the agony, the nothingness that had followed. Unable to move, he could only whimper. “My lord--”

“Quiet. You have little enough strength as it is.”

“I-- please, I’m sorry--”

“I know. You’d be a fool not to be.” There was a pause, the shadow shifting as it looked across the room. “You seem to have no visitors to your bed. Unusual. But I suppose you don’t quite stoke their appetites like this. They’ll have to find someone else as generous with their body as you’ve always been with yours.”

Raphael swallowed, saying nothing in the face of the obvious disdain in his sire’s voice. As he got no response, Mephistopheles spoke again. “... Obviously, you’re not the first halfbreed to seek crumbs of affection in a bed . ” The word was spoken in the same tone one would refer to a sickness. “Those with human blood crave it more than most, I found. It is a flaw I can ignore. It would have elicited no punishment, if not for your arrogance.”

There were plenty of full-blooded devils who sought sex as much as he did, but Raphael knew that contradicting his sire now would be the epitome of idiocy, so he did not. He licked his lips. They were cracked and burned but, until not too long ago, he doubted he’d had any lips left.  “I didn’t mean it,” he choked out. “I swear.”

“Hmm. Do you recall what transpired in my throne room?”

A shaky breath. “Hellfire,” he managed, then, “pain.”

“And it pains you to speak now, no doubt. I’ll seek the answers in your mind myself. Do not try to hide your thoughts from me, Raphael. I’ll know it if you do, and my patience is not to be tested.”

Raphael would not have been able to stop his father from digging through his thoughts even if he’d wanted to. He only remained still and limp, daring not to do anything that may anger him. After a few long moments of silence there was a hum. 

“Ah. You do not recall all of it,” he said, thoughtful. There was a movement in the shadow - a hand reaching down - and Raphael whimpered. 

No, no, no. Please. I hid nothing.

“Please, no more.” 

A chuckle, and a hand lay against the cracked, burnt flesh that had once been his cheek. It did not hurt: rather it numbed the pain, his sire’s skin as cold as a glacier. The cold spread across his skin, everywhere, taking the edge off the lingering agony. 

“No, no more,” his father said, not unkindly. “You survived what would have killed most. Perhaps you can make me proud yet.”

Some of the terror faded into relief and, for an instant, Raphael forgot he was even in pain. He shut his eyelids and dared lean against the touch on his cheek, letting himself speak without thought. “It’s all I wanted,” he whispered.

“Good.” An approving word, after so long. It was balm to wounds. “As soon as you’ve recovered, you will join our troops bound for Avernus, and report to Lord Bel.”

The Blood War.

The thought made any relief Raphael may have felt melt away like wax to a flame. It was the terror of every devil in the eight layers below Avernus, of every cambion most of all - to be found good for nothing but cannon fodder for the Blood War. Any and all devils with no other useful tasks or roles had to serve in it, and many would never return from it. With no true experience in combat, Raphael knew his odds of survival were slim.

“No-- no. My liege, I beg--”

“Do not. It’s unbecoming of a son of mine,” Mephistopheles cut him off, and the next plea died in Raphael’s throat. He opened his half-formed eyes again, struggling to see anything other than his shadow, to see his expression. Had he truly heard that word? Had his ears deceived him? A spurt of seed he willed to quicken a mortal’s womb, he’d called him as he burned him within an inch of his life - and now, as he sentenced him to death, he called him his son? 

Raphael swallowed. “Father, I--”

“Don’t think of it as punishment. Think of it as a lesson. Nothing worthwhile is earned without suffering. So fight under my banner, earn your own victories in my name, and there will always be a place for you in my court, as my son.” There was a gesture and something was held before his face. He could just make out a faint, greenish glow. “Here. Take it.”

Raphael opened his mouth, breathed in, and absorbed the soul not unlike a mortal offered water in a desert. It had a similar effect, too - cool, soothing, and healing, taking away some of the lingering pain . When Raphael blinked his eyes open again, his vision was a little clearer; he could just make out his father’s features as he looked down at him.

His teeth were a flash of white above the blackness of his beard, against his crimson skin. His hand still cupped his cheek. “I’m certain you’ll do me proud,” he said. Had he been less dazed, had he been older, had he been any less desperate to hear that word again-- son -- Raphael would have realized that the promise was being dangled before him the way a dog’s master does to make their mutt jump exactly as high as they want it to. 

He’d have realized Mephistopheles had promised nothing until he’d looked into his mind and seen there was something he did not remember, and never explained what it was. He’d have remembered the very thing he’d been warned against almost as soon as he set foot in Mephistar - never trust a devil.

But he was dazed, and his vision was too blurry to realize Mephistopheles was looking at him the way he’d look at an experiment, any of his many projects he started and never finished, left to gather dust in the corner once they failed to hold his attention. He was still too blind to see that he would only ever be, at most, a well-trained dog in his sire’s eyes - willing to dance on two legs for scraps of food under the table, one snarl away from being deemed rabid and put down. So he nodded, and promised that yes, yes, he’d do him proud, he swore.

And that, love, was that.

***

Everyone working in the vault knew Mephistopheles was there the instant he stepped in. There was something that never failed to accompany his presence, a sense of dread that was difficult to describe but also impossible to mistake for anything else, after experiencing it only once. 

It was as though the air itself became thicker, each movement just a little more difficult. Every debtor at work around her stilled, and so did the supervisor. Dalah found herself gripping a rag tightly enough to hurt her knuckles when Barbas’ bleating reached her ears, echoing between icy walls. She could not catch the words yet, but she recognized that particularly fawning voice the chamberlain only ever used before the Lord of Cania.

“What did you stop for? Back to work! Quick!” The supervisor’s voice nearly cracked for a moment, making it plain he wasn’t looking forward to being in his lord’s presence any more than they did. Still, an order was an order, and several pairs of hands went back to cleaning. Several empty stands filled the room they were in, and instructions were to get them ready to receive new artifacts which Mephistopheles had just now added to his collection. 

And none of them wanted to find out what may happen if their master found their work unsatisfactory. If he did, the supervisor wouldn't be safe either.

“... Quite the successful expedition, it seems,” Barbas was saying, his voice approaching along with the steps of several people. “You must be pleased, my lord. Kintyre is yielding its secrets at last.”

“It is yielding artifacts. Whether those artifacts yield their secrets in turn is up to Quagrem and his researchers. But they have yet to disappoint too severely thus far.” 

Mephistopheles’ voice was calm and even pleasant, as it often was. It had certainly been pleasant when Dalah had first made the mistake to summon him, to bargain for her husband’s life so many lifetimes ago. It had been pleasant as he set out his conditions, the wording clever enough to disguise what he’d truly meant to get out of it, out of her. It had been pleasant when he’d revealed it to her with a faint smile, calmly telling her that breaking the contract meant he’d take Rahirek’s life himself. 

It had even been pleasant during the act, from which he seemed to get no more pleasure than she did. She’d remained still throughout, eyes shut, trying to think of nothing while he completed what he considered a business transaction as any other, inexorable as a glacier. 

It did not hurt,  she recalled. I hated that most of all, somehow. It would have been easier to bear, if it hurt.

She’d opened her eyes only at the end, when he’d laid a hand on her stomach with a touch that was somehow both burning hot and freezing cold. The smile had been too wide to be pleasant. Too many teeth. Too sharp. 

This, too, I claim as mine.

“In here - careful, with the boxes,” Barbas’ voice snapped Dalah from her memories, and she realized she’d been standing still as a pillar of salt for several moments, staring at the rag in her hands without truly seeing it. “Is it here that you wish to expose the artifacts, my lord?”

“It will do,” Mephistopheles’ voice said. Close, much too close. Dalah could taste bile at the back of her throat. “It has enough space for any artifacts Quagrem finds no other use for.”

“Of course, of course. Out of the way, all of you!”

It was a scramble, every debtor moving quickly out of the way, to cower against a wall. Dalah got there on legs that didn’t feel like her own-- her body hadn’t felt like her own back then, either, in the months before her death -- and kept her gaze fixed to the floor. She heard the grunts of devils opening crates and starting to place artifacts on the newly cleaned display stands, under the watchful eye of their master.  It was not too bad, as long as she didn’t look, as long as she didn’t have to see--

“... I had placed a guardian in these vaults, as I’m sure you recall. Where is it?”

Something gripped Dalah’s throat, and she looked up sharply. She had not stood that close to Mephistopheles in the longest time; he’d passed her by a few times, but to her relief he’d always seemed to look right through her, with no hint of recognition or acknowledgment. He stood as tall as she recalled, the ram-like horns much the same, but he was wearing his Cold Lord visage that day - the deep blue skin, not the crimson it had been the day he’d sired a son on her. A son he’d sacrificed her life to create, and for whom he’d never cared.

The supervisor seemed to shrink, and he had to swallow before he spoke. Not so large and scary, now that he was the one under his betters’ watchful gaze. “Only a few rooms from here, my lord. We locked the doors in-between so it wouldn’t patrol this area. We wanted this room to be ready as quickly as possible, and it-- it makes the servants uncomfortable.”

Mephistopheles raised a coal black eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked, an amused note to his voice. “And since when is the security of my vaults second to the servants’ comfort?”

“It’s not, my lord. it’s-- they work best when not-- I figured it would be best--”

Mephistopheles did not deign him with a response. He simply looked past him, and called out. His voice was no longer as pleasant now: it was the crack of a whip, reverberating across the vaults.

“RAPHAEL!”

The response came as a roar first, and then a crash. Everyone except Mephistopheles and Barbas stepped back; the souls pressed themselves against the wall, trying to make themselves small. Dalah alone stood frozen in place, hands still clenched on the rag, when Raphael’s ascended form stepped into the room, flames crackling above misshapen skulls.

He cut a fearsome figure, but Dalah knew immediately something was wrong. It was in the way he hunched when he paused several paces away from Mephistopheles, the clicking noises it made without moving its jaws, the way he kept his wings folded as though he, too, was trying to make himself small. 

Don’t hurt him, she thought, and to her horror she almost said as much aloud. She put a hand to her mouth, trembling, and kept silent as she watched Mephistopheles walk up to Israfel, and grasp his horns to look at him. Frozen on the spot, not even trying to pull away from his sire’s grasp, Israfel made a chirring noise, hunched even more. 

And there was that smile again, too sharp, baring too many teeth. 

“A halfbreed no longer, serving me well at last,” he said, and the smile changed to something that seemed almost fond. “Did you know, Barbas, that this creature dared turn on me once?”

It wasn’t often that anything about chamberlain Barbas looked or sounded honest, but as he glanced up at his lord, he did look and sound honestly flabbergasted. “He did?”

“Oh, yes. That’s how it lost the fourth eye.” Mephistopheles forced Israfel to turn to the chamberlain. On the right side of the central skull there was a patch of half-molten bone where, Dalah knew, it was still possible to see the opening of an empty socket if one looked closely enough. “I took it out the first time my useless son ascended, after a taste of hellfire that by all accounts should have ended him. The closest to perfection he’s ever been.”

“I… I believe I recall that incident. Is this how he survived? Ascension?”

“Yes.” There was a brief laugh. A pleasant one, of course. It made Dalah want to scream and cover her ears; still in his sire’s grasp, Israfel remained silent. “One of very few times he surprised me, I suppose. He got hold of a few souls, and suddenly this creature stood where a corpse should have been. Capable of withstanding hellfire, but half-mad with agony.”

“And he dared fight you?”

“He lashed out, and I retaliated. Calling it a fight would be giving him undue credit. At his best, he was still nothing to me. But the fact he could ascend piqued my curiosity enough to let him live and see what he may be capable of. Unfortunately, he failed to hold my attention for long and resorted to trying to pass  himself off as the proper devil he never was, making his own little court in a corner of Avernus.” A chuckle. “A few modest victories in the Blood War, some talent for contracts, and he fancied himself an archdevil in the making. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” Mephistopheles let go of Israfel’s horns, waving a dismissive hand. “Go back to your duties.”

It felt so deeply wrong, watching such a fearsome creature slink away like a chastised dog. It made something in Dalah’s chest ache, but at the same time she was relieved that he was stepping away from Mephistopheles, and that their gazes hadn’t met. If Israfel had looked to her for help, it would have broken her. 

“... Oh, wait. I do have a task for you.” Mephistpheles called out suddenly, and Israfel stopped, turning back. The Lord of the Eighth looked at the supervisor. “You all have tasks. Yours is to supervise servants - not to figure where my vault guardian should patrol. It vexes me to see you forgot that. Raphael?”

“No!” The supervisor fell on his knees, terror etched on every feature. “My Lord, I humbly beg--”

Once again, the victim had barely enough time to cry out. Flesh was torn, bones cracked, blood splattered and burned; screams turned to gurgles and then ceased. It was all over in seconds; in the silence that followed, Dalah found she couldn't tear her gaze from Mephistopheles, who was smiling at the thing he’d turned her child into.

And finally, dread burned away into rage.

It wasn’t the first time she felt anger - she had been angry for a long time - but this was the first time the dread of Mephistopheles’ mere presence could not smother it. It was a relief; easier to handle than terror - the desire to see him suffer. And perhaps she would, soon. Something was moving behind the scenes, seeking to end his reign, and her son was part of the plan. For a moment she saw it in her mind clear as day - Israfel standing in blazing triumph above Mephistopheles’ bloodied, broken husk.

And for that one moment, beneath the hand over her mouth, she almost smiled, too.

***

Durge knew Raphael needed to end that fight, and fast, when they saw blood dripping on the ground through his fingers.

It had been going remarkably well, all things considered. Raphael’s decision to rely on speed and swift attacks from a distance paid off against a strong but slow opponent. Unable to rely on invisibility for any sort of sneak attack, Yurgir had resorted to using his crossbow, and bombs. The first cluster of which was swiftly thrown back to his face with a thunderwave, leaving him furious and seriously wounded. Another blow like that, Durge had thought, and the fight was all but won. 

Of course, something had to go wrong. 

Trouble for Raphael truly started when a crossbow bolt found its mark, burying itself in his thigh. He’d cried out, the leg buckling; he hadn’t fallen to the ground, but he’d clearly lost the tactical advantage of superior speed… and Yurgir hadn’t wasted the opportunity. 

Raphael had been able to throw back yet another bomb, but a concussive blast had thrown him back, to hit the ground violently enough to snap at least a few ribs, again. Then another bolt had grazed the side of his head, leaving him dazed and bleeding profusely on the ground.

“Get up - get up, dammit,” Astarion had hissed by Durge’s side, tense as a bowstring. 

Raphael had managed to lift himself up on his knees, and tried to cast a healing spell on himself, but it was too late. Yurgir’s poisoned blade had come down in a swift arc, and slashed open his left side. It sent him sprawling on the ground with a cry, a hand trying uselessly to stem the flow of blood - or keep his innards where they should be. It was hard to tell, from where they were sitting. 

Somewhere on Durge’s left, Karlach sucked in a breath. “Well, fuck,” she muttered. “That’s got to sting.”

“It’s not to the death, Yurgir!” Halsin called out, muscles tense and ready to stand and fight if need be. “You’re not supposed to kill him!”

Yurgir laughed. He was bleeding as well, clearly hurt far more seriously than he’d thought he could be in that fight; Raphael had almost brought him low, but he was still strong enough to deliver the final blow. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” He reached down, and a massive hand closed around Raphael’s throat, lifting him up. He cried out, coughing up blood as he did. It made Yurgir’s grin widen. “You’re lucky I promised not to kill you, Raphael.”

Raphael coughed up more blood, and met his gaze with a grimace, hands still pressed against his side. “I made-- no such promises. I can end you.”

There was a moment of silence, a stunned look, and then - again - laughter. “Hah! You can be funny, I’ll give you that. Go on, yield. Admit defeat and I’ll make it a clean cut after-- AGH!”

With a scream, Yurgir dropped Raphael on the ground and staggered back before he fell on his knees, bringing a hand to his own throat, which suddenly gushed blood. Something protruded from it - the handle of a rapier. The tip of it stuck out at the base of his skull.

“Hah!” Wyll threw up his arms as though in triumph. “I told him it always pays to have a blade at hand! Didn’t I tell you?”

If Raphael heard, he was clearly too busy to reply. While Yurgir pulled the rapier out of his throat, causing yet more steaming blood to spill forth, he cast a healing spell on himself; it closed the gaping wound on his side, but did little for the poison it had left in him, surely. Under Durge’s gaze, he stood and staggered towards Yurgir. He picked up the rapier, causing Yurgir to look up, hands still on his throat to stem the flow of blood, eyes wide, unable to stand up. 

There was more surprise than anger, and a hint of fear, for he knew what dying in Baator would mean… and it was true, after all, that Raphael had made no promises not to kill him. While he knelt, his eyes and Raphael’s were almost level. They locked, and held. Even from a distance, Durge could see Raphael’s grip on the rapier’s handle tightening.

“Raphael!” he called out, suddenly, and stood, striding towards them. The others followed quickly. “Raphael, enough. You’ve won.”

He didn’t seem to hear him. He just looked back at Yurgir, holding the rapier to his chest, his free hand lifted as if to cast. His teeth were bared in a bloodied snarl, his eyes ablaze. But instead of striking, he ground out a single word. 

“Yield.”

A moment of silence, and then there was a guttural noise that was almost a laugh, or as close to one could get with a hole in one’s throat. Yurgir’s words were almost a gurgle, but intelligible nonetheless. “I never yield,” he said, and bared his teeth. “In a true fight to the death, I’ll die before I yield.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. His limbs trembled; the poison was still at work. “... And suppose it isn’t?”

That guttural noise again, and yet more teeth were bared. It was a grimace and, somehow, it was also a grin. “Then you’d have the fight,” he conceded.

The rapier fell on the ground with a clatter, and Raphael staggered back. He only managed a couple of steps before his knees folded, and he fell. Or would have, had Durge not been quick enough to catch him and kneel, lowering him to the ground and letting him rest his head against their chest. They heard, faintly, Wyll and Karlach approaching Yurgir to hand over a couple of healing potions, and help him stand.

“Halsin,” Durge called, but of course he was already there, kneeling, murmuring a spell of restoration to rid Raphael of the effects of the poison before he cast a healing spell. Raphael sucked in a shuddering breath, a hand clenching on Durge’s robe. 

He remained weak, but he wasn’t actively dying at least. He managed a few words when their gazes met. “Enjoyed-- the performance?”

“Oh, I for one loved it,” Astarion spoke up. He crouched next to Durge, grinning. “Perfectly bloody, and it won me some coin.”

Durge chuckled. “It was really damn good. But I think it’s best if you don’t go accepting duels for a while. That was a close call.”

A soft scoff. “A warning, no less. Don't tell me you're worried about me.”

Ah, of course. Throwing their own words back at them, wasn’t he? Durge almost laughed, and clicked their tongue. “Merely protecting my assets,” they replied, in a terrible imitation of the devil’s own voice. Raphael chuckled. 

“It pays to be-- useful, doesn’t it?”

“Or perhaps we’ve grown fond of you, in our way.”

The chuckle died on Raphael’s lips and, for a moment, he said nothing. His gaze shifted from them to Astarion, to Halsin, back to them. 

“... Mortals,” he said in the end. “Your naïveté is almost charming.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call us charming?”

“I said almost.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Halsin muttered. 

“Then I explained myself poorly,” Raphael grumbled, and wrinkled his nose in annoyance at Durge’s laugh. That, however, was smoothed out when Durge reached to cup the side of his head with a hand. 

“You can make your disdain for us clear later. Now you should rest.”

He seemed about to say something, but in the end he kept quiet and closed his eyes, turning to press his cheek against Durge’s palm.

They didn’t pull it away.

*** For a moment I wondered if having Mephistopheles quote Oscar Wilde would be too weird. Then I remembered that Raphael speaks French for some reason and Cazador Szarr is somehow familiar with the Gospel according to Luke, so you know what, sure. Whatever. Why not. ***

[Back to Chapter 14]

[On to Chapter 16]

[Back to Start]

[cha-melodius]

Hi! 15 and 20 for the ask meme?

The final one of these writer asks, thanks for your patience, and thank you for the ask!

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Titles for sure. Summaries are easy for me, just pick a snippet and then write a pithy one liner to sum it up. 😂 Titles either come to me quickly (often a song title or lyric), or I agonize over it for a while. Some of my titles I love, some I'm kinda meh about.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

How about some meta for Class(room) Warfare (professors AU)?

First off, I am a professor, so this is one of those times when you write what's really close to your life lol. I'd written a professors AU in another fandom, but it was a long fic. This was a nice excuse to do something shorter for these two. When I was trying to dream up ridiculous ways for two professors in two different departments to get at each other's throats, not erasing the boards seemed suitable absurd but also completely plausible. FUN FACT: Last week I got to my classroom and found the board full of unerased writing, and it both 1) irritated me, and 2) made me think of this fic. In case you were wondering how common it is. 😂

(spoilers below)

As I mentioned in the author's notes, most of this was inspired by my everyday life, so I'm not going to get into all of it. Basically if you're wondering, "Do colleges really work like that?" or "Do professors really think/do that?" the answer is almost certainly yes. But here's some more trivia:

Zahra was cast in the department secretary role because every academic knows that department secretaries run fucking everything

PLSC 307, Democracy & International Relations—I think I stole this class title (but not the number, that's random) from my college's poli sci department catalog.

McQuiston College—I knew I wanted them to teach at a small liberal arts college, and I knew I didn't want it to be real (as opposed to my other academia AUs where I have used real institutions). I considered taking random last names off books on my bookshelf, but I didn't want to accidentally write about a real college either. Using Casey's last name was a stroke of inspiration that I was SO happy about.

was junior enough to be unlikely to be evaluating his tenure portfolio some day—little things like this probably mean nothing to most readers but I feel like they add that extra hit of authenticity to any academics who happen to be reading. Pissing of someone who might eventually be on the committee who decides whether or not you get to keep your job is a real fear.

always carried his own markers with him—I've literally never found a working marker already in a classroom. Always carry your own.

Sometimes he wondered—to himself, never out loud—if it was real, or if he was just trying to fit in after he found out that his sister and best friend were dating, like when he was six and decided he was super into horses only because June was.—I carry this little headcanon that in universes where Alex has had some reason to doubt his heterosexuality but still hasn't done anything with it, he worries that he's only trying to fit in with his friends/mimic his sister. Doubting how queer you really are feels very familiar to me and from what I've read seems like a pretty common bisexual experience.

He’d just ignore you, like everyone else does.”/“Hey!” Alex protests, but she ignores him.—This was actually unintentional when I first wrote it but I realized what I'd done and had to keep it.

Dr. Henry Fox-Mountwhats-his-face—This and the subsequent email greetings/sign-offs were inspired by their early emails in the book, though I had to figure out how to do names that weren't based on HRH and such. I think my favorite was "Dr. Acerbic Cocky-Disaster" because if that doesn't actually describe Alex to a T.

Halloween-in-The-Castro gay—Wanted something different than Fire Island on the Fourth of July, was very pleased with this one. If you're not familiar with the history of Halloween in The Castro, do look it up.

Then he proceeds to wrap himself around Alex from behind and hook his chin over Alex’s shoulder to look down at his cooking—Considering how frequently this exact type of moment shows up in my fics in other fandoms, I'm kind of surprised I haven't used it more frequently recently. Anyway, the "peeking over the shoulder while cooking" is definitely a calling card of mine.

He wants, to put it bluntly, to romance the shit out of him—I am only just realizing that I reused this turn of phrase recently lol. It just feels VERY Alex to me.

All right, that's it for now! Thank you again!

[mayullla]

Hello

I hope you're doing great and having a good day

May i request Albedo🍀🦋?

I hope i didnt miss anything

-thank you very much

Title: Momentary Paradise

Character(s): Albedo (Genshin Impact) Summary: He always had this dream of you long before he could even open his eyes. Your arms was like a paradise to him in those moments but he wanted it to be forever. Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, fem!reader, reader is 'similar' to Albedo~

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

Albedo always had this dream that never left his mind. It was long before he was able to open his eyes and see the world and walk with two feet.

When he was still inside a vial sleeping ever so soundly.

Was it a dream or not he wasn't sure, sometimes he would dream of it again, when he was so tired after a long day's work or when he felt the world was too heavy for him to burden. Your voice was soft and gentle, hands holding him ever so gently. The soft warmth that wrapped around him, he could not forget.

It was a kind of momentary paradise for him. As every day he hoped to see you again as he close his eyes, disappointed when he wasn't able to and the sun rise.

Yet with each passing day, his dreams become blurry of you. Each day he feels like a small detail fades to nothing, a blurred mess that he didn't want it to be. He never forgot, yet the fear of forgetting made him scared as he wondered if he did. Your eyes were clear in his mind yet at the same time so hard to grasp.

He remembers each and every single detail of what you look like, shown on the portrait he was slowly painting as if to put every single detail of you within it. To case it that he might forget, that these thoughts would one time eat him alive.

Every strand of hair, eyelash, the memories of your eyes and your skin were still vivid in his mind. The warm touch of your care. Patiently he painted every single detail but inside his heart he was impatient. His creator Gold didn't know who you were, raising her eyebrow in interest at his words when he told you who you were.

Pausing he took a step back to admire his work. He could not help but feel a little disappointed as he looked at the drawing. What oil paint could not make was natural heat, what it could not make was movement nor could it make sounds.

Not yours.

Instead of continuing tho, he placed his paintbrush down cleaning his hand from the paint and chalk. He heard the sounds of the steps and voices familiar to him one that belonged to the soft-spoken Sucrose and the high pitch Paimon. He assumed that the traveler was there too as they and Paimon were almost never apart.

"Albedo we are back from our travel! We also ran into Sucrose while heading up the mountain." The high-pitched voice of Paimon called out his name. Glancing at the portrait for a moment he left the room to greet the visitors and who he considers as friends.

"Albedo here are the materials that you asked for! Paimon and Traveller had a hard time finding half of this stuff so the pay better be good." Paimons placed her hands on her waist, with a pout narrowing her eyes at him.

"I don't know how you managed to find out where so many of these materials are and how to find them otherwise the traveler and I would be running in circles getting nothing done."

Albedo greeted the traveler taking the bag that he had asked them to store the ingredients when they found them. What was once light and with empty compartments now was heavy. Checking if they have found everything that he asked he looked at Paimon and smiled at her.

"Do not worry Paimon. I made sure to pay extra for all your troubles." Albedo chuckled as he watched Paimon perk up, her eyes excited.

"You better! After traveling the desert and climbing the highest mountains I want to eat the most delicious food of all of Teyvat now! I want to eat sweet madame, chicken-mushroom skewer, and fisherman's toast!" Paimon nodded smiling happily at the thought of the money that would soon be used to fill her stomach. While the traveller could not help but sigh at her antics still a small smile on their lips as they tease their little companion.

Albedo chuckled, grabbing a bag filled with mora he handed them their commission fee. "Thanks again for procuring this for me. With this, my experiment would be able to make some progress." Albedo told them.

Paimon tilts her head at what he said, curious as to why he would need such rare materials for research "If you don't mind me asking. What are you experimenting to need so many rare materials?" Paimon asked leaning a little more forward.

"Hmmm, I am afraid that I can't say. This is rather personal for me so it would be hard to say. Sorry, Paimon." Albedo apologized, to which Paimon quickly waved her hands "Don't worry about it, I was just curious that is all. If you don't wanna say anything, you don't have to!" Paimon told him, waving her hand at him.

After some tea and catching up the traveler and Paimon started to head down the mountain not before offering Albedo if he wanted to join them. "You sure you don't want to join us? We are gonna eat a ton of delicious food, join us! More the merrier!" Paimon flew a little higher excited at the thought of food again (the snacks were nice but not enough for her) but Albedo shook his head.

"Thank Paimon, but with the materials now here I want to get everything started."

"All right, well see yeah Albedo! Message us when you need help again or just wanna hang out!"

Albedo watched them head down the mountain till he could no longer see them before he started heading up the mountain with the materials on hand, a narrow and dangerous road he walked higher and higher up the mountain till he reached a small cave that no one knows about...

... all except him.

Walking in he walked towards a blank wall, he moved steps that he had memorized a long time ago and at the last step, pulling a lever hidden behind a wall of ice the wall groaned and rumbled. What was once a wall now showed a pathway.

After waiting for a little while when all the rumbling stopped Albedo walked in before the wall closed again. Walking in the dark, the place brightened by the flickers of torches. He reached deep within the cave, and there stand a woman silently sleeping in a casket.

Surrounded her were flowers that wither slower than normal flowers, reaching the casket Albedo examined the flowers before placing the bag of materials that he had gotten from the traveler and Paimon. "I should change the flowers soon, they are starting to brown around the edges."

Walking closer he looked at you, your eyes closed as if you were really sleeping.

However, there was no pulse. There was no movement.

You looked like a timeless doll, beautiful and fragile, so well taken care of. Raising his hand he touched your face cold as ice. "I am back..." Abedo whispered softly, examining your skin... even cold looked real.

"I was finally able to acquire all the remaining materials needed." Albedo continued to whisper softly, softly rubbing your cheek and slipping his hand down to your neck where there was a yellow diamond just like his on the center of your neck.

Just a little bit more, and you would finally wake up and all the experiments he had done for years would be worth it. Just a little bit more and you would look at him with those lovely eyes and laugh in that soft gentle voice in his arms.

This time you and he would be together forever instead of a short paradise.

[wordsandrobots]

22 and 32 for the writer asks?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

The easiest way to illustrate this is to show you my writing folder:

I have specific folders for anything I anticipate will involve multiple documents (or that grows more as I progress); everything else goes in Various. This represents everything I have written since about . . . 2006? Give or take? Both original and fanfic, as you can see (if the name means nothing to you, it's probably my own stuff).

Within those folders, I will either just have a jumble of documents or, where there is a set order of some kind, I'll apply a numbering scheme. Here's the Iron-Blooded Orphans docs:

(The top documents are copies of an English translation of an promotional website thing from back when IBO released; I wanted to keep hold of it for reference.)

For long-term projects, I'll usually have some kind of planning document separate from the individual stories/main document. This will be a place to store details I'll need to refer to over and over, character notes, ideas I don't have a set place for yet, draft top-level plans, and anything else I think I need to jot down somewhere.

It will also occasionally play host to me doing back of the envelope calculations for timelines. For example, here's a table covering the timings for the events running from the end of IBO11 through to IBO17, since I needed definite dates that would make sense accounting for journey times.

Then, in the specific story documents, I'll keep some overall stuff at the top - title, tags etc if it's for Ao3, and chapter names/details, with the latter sometimes working as a way to measure my progress on writing or posting (this is not the real chapter list, to be clear, it's the comedy one).

Each chapter will then start on a new page and, well, I'll write them until I'm done!

That's about it. All local; I don't do cloud storage; I back-up on memory sticks instead. I do have journals for use while travelling (when I don't just use my phone), but mostly I write using OpenOffice.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I'm a little unsure if I can answer this in the way it's intended. I don't really return to stuff often (and the pandemic damaged my ability to read books which is a whole other thing). However, there's a line from the start of 'The Man Who Was Thursday' that's always stuck with me:

"This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked like the end of the world."

The passage expands to a fuller description but I love that start. The simplicity of the statement and how much it captures. 'It looked like the end of the world' is such a wonderful thing to say about a sunset, and I can picture that kind of sky so vividly.

Weird Writer Questions

[fancoloredglasses]

[RERUN] History of Doom (More hidden recording devices than even the NSA is willing to use)

[All images are owned by DC Comics and Warner Bros. Discovery. Please don’t sue me]

The final episode of Challenge of the Superfriends ends on a sorta-kinda high note. It’s another episode (kind of) dealing with time travel and visiting the origins of a few characters, in this case Lex Luthor, Apache Chief, and Giganta. We also see what would happen if the Legion of Doom actually won.

(Thanks to Pro Wrestling Fandom)

They get the tag team titles!

Wait...

Dammit, wrong LoD again!

Anyway, if you would like to see the original review, you may do so here. If you would like to watch the episode, Watch Cartoons Online has you covered!

We open on the ruins of Earth (with a montage of devastation worldwide), where we see this cheery headline.

It’s nice to know newspaper editors have their priorities straight. I can totally see Perry White at the Daily Planet screaming at his staff: “I don’t care that the world will end at dawn! We’ve got to get the Morning Edition out!”

Anyway, three aliens land in the ruins and start investigating how Earth came to be destroyed.

You can tell they’re aliens by their weird robes and the fact that their leader must be using some sort of futuristic mustache wax to get that much facial hair to suspend itself like that.

They eventually find their way to the Hall of Justice, which one of them recognize (though they don’t recall the name of the “group of super beings” that occupied it. Maybe their records keep mixing up Superfriends and Justice League as well?) They deduce that the Superfriends (or at least their records) will likely know what happened.

While searching through the remnants of the Hall of Justice’s computer, they stumble across Superman’s final recording, pinning the blame on the Legion of Doom. The aliens have never heard of them (THAT will be a blow to Lex Luthor’s ghosts’s ego!) so they check other parts of the computer’s damaged memory banks (that’s what they used before hard drives, kids!) to find out who the Legion of Doom are. I want to also point out that, once again, the writers, much like the aliens, can’t decide how the Superfriends are connected to the JLA, as the computer refers to the recordings as “Justice League memory files”

They stumble across Lex Luthor’s origins, and how he befriended Superboy.

[As a side note, ever since his creation in the 1940s, Lex Luthor has always been a redhead whenever he had hair, including on Smallville. (The movies don’t count, as he was wearing a wig by then). Nice to know DC reinforced the stereotype that gingers are evil]

When he saw that Lex’s makeshift lab was on fire, he used his super breath to put out the flames.

Unfortunately, Lex was inside and the chemical fumes were blown into him, making him lose his hair. He vowed revenge on Superboy and became a super villain (I guess bald jokes were more vicious than ginger jokes back then?)

[OK, I’m gonna hit the pause button here. During this origin, we have video documentation of Lex’s farm and Lex’s lab. Was the NSA keeping tabs on young Lex even back then?]

Next up, we have Giganta. (that’s quite a step down from Luthor. Were the tapes of the Riddler, Toyman, and Solomon Grundy destroyed?) Once again, the NSA recording devices are evident, this time on a Native American (I’m assuming Apache, since Apache Chief is involved) reservation. Exactly who are they keeping tabs on here?

(Thanks to Super Friends)

I know, not much of an origin story.

Next we see the origin of the Justice League Superfriends and the Legion of Doom. Superman pretty much gathers the heroes together and says they’re now Superfriends.

(Thanks to SuperVillainTelevision)

(OK, Superfriends debuted in 1973 (the clips didn’t have Wendy, Marvin, or Wonder Dog?), but the Legion of Doom wouldn’t start trouble until 1978. What were they doing for 5 years?!)  

We are then treated to highlights of previous episodes (obviously the animation budget was running low by now) that show the Legion winning just before the moment the deus ex Supershit kicked in...

...but no mention of what happened to the Earth. The aliens decide to find the Hall of Doom to investigate further.

Fortunately, the memory tapes told them exactly where to go. (So even though the Superfriends knew exactly where the Hall of Doom was (thanks to the NSA), they never once laid siege to it to capture the Legion?!) They find the memory taps and review “Attack Plan 1566″. (so they’ve come up with 1,565 plans that didn’t work? I think this would be beyond the point most would call it quits. At least they have tenacity)

Luthor plans on sending a rocket to the sun, (wouldn’t it burn up before it got there?) which will cause a solar flare aimed right at the Hall of Justice. ("How?” you ask? Trust me, that is the least confusing part of this plan)

The rocket reaches the sun in seconds. (those are some advanced engines on that rocket! You know, if this Luthor was the industrialist that post-Crisis Luthor was, he’d make billions off of NASA instead of slumming with a bunch of second- and third-rate villains no one heard of before this show started) Fortunately, the Superfriends have time to evacuate (ya think? I mean, it is traveling 93 million miles...), or would if Superman didn’t want to grandstand and take care of it himself. (can’t blame him. Thanks to the restrictions placed on cartoon violence, he hasn’t been able to punch anything for most of the season)

However, Luthor’s rocket (that should’ve melted by now) has a device that changes the sun’s color to red as Superman approaches the flare, robbing Superman of his powers! (you’d think Luthor would have done that earlier; also, the NSA has cameras not only in the Hall of Doom, but outer space as well? Exactly who are they spying on out there?!)

Superman somehow (given he no longer is able to fly...or breathe in space for that matter...) manages to get back to the Hall of Justice. (and no one has evacuated yet)

Green Lantern then activates the global force field (doesn’t he have an all-powerful ring that will do whatever he wants against anything that isn’t yellow? The sun’s red now, right?) which reacts to the flare, causing global devastation   (which the NSA happily records for posterity)

The aliens decide to go back in time to prevent the events of the episode from happening (wait, this takes place after Secret Origins of the Superfriends, which means not only is it documented that Flash and Black Vulcan can travel through time, but the Legion have their own time machine and Batman has Wayne Enterprises’ experimental Bat Flux Capacitor! They could have traveled back in time themselves to stop this!)...

...by shifting the moon’s orbit enough to cause an eclipse (why didn’t Superman think of that?)

The Superfriends cheer their good luck at the Legion’s miscalculation...

...when Luthor interjects (wait, so he can hack into the NSA recording devices in the Hall of Justice? And don’t even try to pretend the NSA wouldn’t have recording devices keeping tabs on them!) and says he didn’t miscalculate!

Kind of a fitting way for Challenge to end (this was the final episode of this Superfriends series, and the last original episode until Legendary Super Powers)