#.reviews

[shehungers]

Oh, man, Ryu! This was absolutely right up my alley in a lot of ways. Back in the days when I was still playing OM, besides Diavolo, Lucifer was my favorite character and I think you did a lot of justice to him, even in this imagining of him revealing his true forms to mc.

One thing that I appreciate immensely are your details to the horrific aspects of what he reveals. I adore the unfaltering love and loyalty that you conveyed mc having for Lucifer throughout the fic, but as a horror writer, I love even more that you didn't shy away from language to describe just how horrific and unfathomable his true forms really are.

I noticed you were particularly focused on describing the wings, the horns, and the diamond mark turned third eye—which isn't a criticism, it's highly appropriate and sort of staples of his appearance, anyway. It was absolutely fascinating how each time Lucifer introduced more of his true self, there were little changes in things like his wings and horns—the wings spreading like black ink, then shards of glass, and then black knives. His horns expanding, the monstrous spirals at the third bout.

I love the little detail you included about his third eye seeing THROUGH mc as opposed to looking at mc. something so abominable and unknowable that it can just see directly inside, through you—at your essence, your soul. It's so visceral and you captured it well.

What I think really seals this entire piece for me tho, is that your writing of his progressively horrific forms really just gave eldritch vibes to the core—unknowable, unfathomable, indecipherable, something just impossible for the human mind to fully fathom, but mc sticks it out, anyway.

Towards the end with the dialogue where Lucifer mentions demons existing to create fear, but never to love, and mc being so resolved and Lucifer basically surrendering, melting in that warmth, kindness, devotion was so wiebaidwbdhahdbnahdwhejwh SO GOOD. It felt so fucking canon, too

I do think you did incredible with Lucifer's characterization here, but what really stood out to me were how absolutely potent your prose and details overall were. They were simultaneously so beautiful, wonderfully descriptive and lush and dark and hard and soft, and just everything they needed to be for a piece like this.

Incredible work, Ryu! Truly!💓💓💓

— ☆ 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝚰𝐎𝐒𝚰𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝚰𝐋𝐋𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’ve seen lucifer’s demon form but you can’t shake the feeling that’s it’s not all he is. what if there was something darker beneath his beautiful visage? you ask to see more but lucifer warns you it may be too much for mortal eyes. as he slowly unveils the facets of his true self, you wonder if you can love something incomprehensible? and more importantly, can it love you back?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: OM!LUCIFER x GN!reader, SFW but slightly suggestive, DARK ROMANCE ♥️, HORROR ELEMENTS, implied sex but no smut, established relationship but in the earlier stages, light angst, celestial war mention, he calls you ‘my dear’, demon x human, monster romance(?), ik my title is ‘curiosity kills’ but i promise no one dies 2.0k wc. | masterlist

𝐚/𝐧: woo! my first fic for 2025. halloween is long gone but spookyookyooky vibes are forever. i haven't written for lucifer (or the obey me fandom) since 2021 so please be kind! i love when artists draw the demons as monster-like so it inspired me to write this

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

They say curiosity killed the cat but nobody ever warns you what happens when the thing you seek is something you love. Sometimes curiosity doesn’t just kill, it pulls you into the depths and reminds you that some paths were never meant to be tread at all. 

You knew Lucifer’s demon form. Every time he brought it out, you couldn’t miss it. No one did. Those horns curling from his head, those raven wings that stretched with an elegance befitting for the pride incarnate, the diamond birthmark adorning his forehead. He looked every inch the fallen angel. Dangerous. Powerful. But still akin to something recognisable. Something human. That was what you thought his “demon form” meant, or at least the extent of it. 

But the closer you got to him, emotionally, physically—you suspected more. This was Lucifer, after all. The same Morning Star who watched the Celestial Realm itself fracture, the one who waged war and defied his own Father for his sister’s sake. Of course, there would be layers to him, parts hidden beneath polished veneers that he might not want you to see.

The revelation came gradually, though not accidentally. He’d never risk an accident with something like this. It wasn’t just about protecting you, it was also about managing what it would mean for him to be fully seen.

It began one night in his room. His usual form was already on display, horns casting long shadows on the walls as his wings arched lazily behind him. You were comfortable with this version of him, so much so that you’d leaned into his shoulder, tracing his horns absentmindedly as he read aloud from some aged, prodigious book. The question had been on your mind but you didn’t realise what you’d said until the words were out of your mouth. 

“Is there more?” You asked concretely.

He stilled, halting his finger mid-sentence against the page. “More?” his voice was neutral like always. 

“Of… this,” you gestured vaguely at him. “Your form. You expect me to believe this is the Avatar of Pride’s only face?”  

The jest was meant to lighten the mood, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he closed the book and turned his gaze on you. His eyes burned a little brighter—sharper. “What you see now is what I allow you to see. There are parts of me not meant for human eyes,” he said softly. 

“So you’ve locked those parts away?”

“Not locked,” he corrected you. “Contained. Managed.”

That should have been the end of it but you couldn’t let it go. Not after seeing a flicker of hesitation in his face. Or perhaps it was fear. So you would’ve let it go until you wondered: 

What could possibly unnerve Lucifer?

———

The first time he showed you, it was brief. Something of a test. 

“Don’t move,” he instructed, “And don’t look away.”

You stood in his study, your heart pounding as he stepped back, seeing his usual form dissolve into something more. His wings expanded, shifting like spilled ink on water. His horns lengthened, spiraling like gnarled roots of an oak tree, and his skin took on a strange sheen, as though it couldn’t decide whether it was flesh or something far older. 

But it was his eyes that terrified you. The whites were gone, replaced by an endless, tormenting black. You felt like you were being pulled into them, swallowed by the power of something vast and unknowable.

However, there was also heat that felt familiar, pressing into you like his breath fanning over your skin in the dead of night, when his hands explored every crevice on your body. This form, alien as it was, still carried the same possessive hunger. You had to grip onto the edge of a nearby table to steady yourself.  

And then, as quickly as it came, it receded. His wings folded back, his horns shrank and his eyes returned to that familiar crimson. “Enough for tonight,” you were assailed by the sound of his shoes clicking against the hardwood as he made his way to you. 

Something, he thought, was not quite right. You were shaken, yes, but not disturbed. He had expected you to avert your eyes, to flinch or look away lest the weight of his true form crush your sanity. Yet you watched him with defiance in your expression and more unsettling still, he found himself watching you back. What was it that kept you here? What had driven you to face something so unnatural and still hold your ground?

———

The second time was different. 

You were sitting at the edge of his bed with your legs tucked beneath you. His shirt hung loosely on your frame as the scent of him clung to the fabric. Much like other nights, you’d spent this one wrapped around each other until exhaustion claimed you both.

Lucifer suddenly tugged at his shirt and after your eyes fell on him, you felt something gnawing in your stomach. But you were surprised when he only asked with a casual cadence, 

“Do you trust me?”

You nodded like it was perfectly normal to place your earnest trust in a demon like him. You’d already given yourself to him in every way that mattered, baring your soul just as he had bared his body to you time and time again.

Fond with your answer, he stood up and smiled. “Then close your eyes.”

When you opened them, the world felt…wrong.

What you saw had to have been a dream-picture because his form was towering enough to barely fit the space and his wings no longer looked like they belonged to anything earthly. The feathers were shifting, like they had been replaced by shards of black glass catching onto nonexistent light. His horns gleamed like molten metal and his face wasn’t entirely his. It was flickering between the Lucifer you knew and something you couldn’t name but felt in the deepest part of your being. 

The diamond on his forehead began to glow, its light blotting shapes in all angles. And then it split, revealing a vertical slit of an unblinking eye that stared into you—not at you, but into you, through you.

Somewhere in between you must’ve hauled yourself onto the floor and stumbled back because your knees were not on the mattress anymore but on wood. A pressure built in your chest but you simply couldn’t look away.

Lucifer didn’t speak, he just watched you like before but this time you felt as though every secret you’d ever buried was laid bare. It wasn’t until he eventually spoke your name that you realised you were crying.

“Breathe,” he said, kneeling before you. His voice was echoing like it was coming from inside you. “I told you it wasn’t meant for human eyes. We can stop.”

“It’s okay, it’s just…a lot,” you said, trembling but not from the cold.

He approached you, his hand eerily warm against your cheek as he wiped your tears and helped you to your feet. “You’re doing better than most would. I’m proud of you.” 

“Does it ever hurt?” you swallowed hard, like there was rough rope lodged down your throat. The change was not as graceful as you thought it would be. It came ripping out of him like it was something he constantly suppressed. 

“No,” you heard a break of vulnerability in his display. “But it can be lonely.”

“Lonely?” 

“It is a grave reminder that demons exist to fear. Sometimes to worship. But never to love.”

Never to love because defending love was what made him this way.

Once respite had settled, a look of sullen reflection had overcome Lucifer’s face, wondering if this left you with little desire to see more. 

———

Before the third time came, he warned you about the strain it might put on your mind, “This time might be dangerous.” But you insisted and he remained cautious. 

When it happened, it wasn’t in the confines of his room but outside, beneath the yawning void of the Devildom’s starless sky. He told you it would be safer this way. For both of you.

His transformation hit you like a violent wind. Lucifer didn’t just change, he expanded uncontainably into something monstrous, his body shimmering like a dark mirage. His horns were jagged spires, sharp enough to cleave through the Celestial Palace itself and you couldn’t see where his wings ended and began—only that they were folding and unfolding like obsidian knives. 

Then, there was his mouth that stretched wider than it should have, revealing rows of teeth too sharp, too numerous. They weren’t made for smiling, they were meant to tear and consume, a predator’s maw lurking beneath his visage. And his eyes—or the absence of them—were blackened husks whilst the unblinking eye on his forehead sat like an all-seeing sigil. 

Shadows pulsed into your vision, pooling at your feet and reaching for you like they knew your name. The sheer magnitude of Lucifer’s form left you breathless. If this was the strength of someone who served second to Diavolo, then what maddening power must the Prince of the Devildom truly possess? And beyond even that, the Demon King himself—origin of all darkness. The thought had chills coiling around your spine and you thanked the Heavens he was resting in his indefinite slumber. 

Yet strangely, in all that horror, there was beauty. Lucifer’s voice called to you like a melody and his vibrating presence, for all its terror, might have even felt soothing. It was magnificent. 

“Are you afraid?” he asked from everywhere and nowhere. A question that wasn’t meant to frighten but rather a lifeline, a chance to retreat before you fell any deeper. 

You should have been. Any rational being would have been. But instead, you took a step closer and reached out to the impossibility of his form. You touched something, though whether it was his face, his chest, or his soul, you weren’t sure.

“No,” you said between awe and surrender. “Never.” 

At that moment, you understood what it meant to love a creature who stood at the precipice of an existence that could shatter you with mere thought. 

“You are the first to see this and not run. You reach for the flame, knowing it will burn you,” he spoke like the deep roll of a bell. 

 “How could I not?” You didn’t step back, what was left of your willpower rooted you to the ground. “You’ve never been anything less than this. I could feel it.”

For a fleeting second, you saw the disintegration of his monstrous form, red eyes flickering through black ones as his pride briefly softened in the quiet between you. His wings faltered, a deep inhuman sigh escaping his lips. It was the first time you'd seen him so... uncertain.

“You think you know me so well? They say I am nothing but contradictions. Do you think love could redeem something like me? I could destroy you without meaning to,” this time he laughed but you knew this wasn’t anything he found funny. In fact, it hurt him to think there was any part of him that could cause you to recoil from the truth of what he was.

“But you haven’t because you don’t want to.” Again, his figure quickly distorted into something you were more familiar with. “Has it ever crossed your mind that I never wanted perfection, Lucifer?”

“Then what is it you want from me, if not to run?”

Your heart wound tight, it wasn’t difficult to tell him but you weren’t entirely sure if he’d even believe it. “Just you.”

He said nothing whilst your nostrils flared. “Just you,” you repeated.  

Lucifer's unblinking eye narrowed, its glow dimming just slightly as if your words had managed to reach that inscrutable part of him. “You walk the line between courageous and naive, my dear.” 

“Then I suppose it’s naive of me to hope you’re walking with me.” 

A faint pause. His wings shimmered behind him, his hesitation was palpable but not binding. “If you would dare to take such steps, then you will not tread alone.” 

It was resolute, his words settling like an oath.

Curiosity, they said, kills the cat. But in this case, it didn't. It brought you to a place you'd never thought you'd find. Lurking in the darkness of his true form, where love had no place for so long, you found the first glint of light.

A dark, dangerous light, but a light nonetheless.

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

more a/n: i’m fascinated by eldritch/lovecraftian horror, can you tell?

divider: @/adornedwithlight

networks: @pixelcafe-network @houseofsolisoccasum

tagging you bc you kindly asked eep @sugurouge

[shehungers]

and, finished my fourth book of the new year!

I've had this on the backburner for a while because I wanted to chisel through some of my older tbrs before digging into my newer ones. I'm so glad I was finally able to read this.

this anthology is a beastly 398 pages total, featuring short stories from 27 indigenous authors. there is such a range of storytelling and writing styles here that it really only took me a couple of days to read through the entire thing.

so many of the pieces in this book felt personal; emotions and character experiences described in a way that you could feel. many of these stories can reach real deep into you.

all of these 27 stories are focused on culture, tradition, and family dynamics in one way or another. a theme I noticed on quite a few of the stories is the "invisibility" of some of these characters when it comes to discussion of society. another theme I noticed was community, a sense of belonging, and also the ostracization of folks who are mixed.

if you're wanting to read an indigenous anthology that's just focused on folklore, you're not going to get it here because most of the authors discuss pertinent and persisting issues and struggles within their communities, throughout history, in addition to folklore. many of these authors blend all of these things seamlessly.

quite a few of the pieces in this are REALLY hard to read and quite graphic in their details. there are depictions of violence, dismemberment, molestation, SA, drug use, gratuitous animal death (primarily done respectfully and honorable towards the animals), and idk just... some very sad, cruel realities that can be difficult to stomach.

however, I DO recommend purchasing this to help support indigenous authors, as the oversaturated market seldom gives them the space for their work to be seen.

I think it's also CRITICALLY IMPORTANT and right for us, as readers, to read as broadly as we possibly can instead of exclusively within safe niches. everyone has their preferences and can do whatever they want, but giving minorities a chance for their work to be seen matters.

the stories are good and interesting. it's worth picking up to read.

[lapdogchase]

i think weight loss ads should be illegal and im not kidding

[byelacey]

oh my GOD you can’t just ask someone why they’re barking

now on instagram!

[shehungers]

Lmaooo Lore, I'm kinda just crash landing into this, not really knowing what's going on, but oh my gooooooooood—this was so fucking delectable. Anytime I read your writing is such an enormous treat. Your writing has this sort of balance between absolutely beautiful, lucid descriptions that are excellently well-placed, while also having maximum efficacy. I adore your writing style and admire it greatly, my friend 💖

I am not the best person in the world to make comments about smut and sex in general, but, you wrote it in such a way that didn't feel insanely over the top and unrealistic. There were a couple of spots where you mentioned mc feeling it in the "guts", which is absolutely true but one of those tiny details that drove me absolutely buckwild.

I know next to nothing about Jing Yuan as a character, but this gives me the impression that while he is searingly infatuated and adoring and soft for mc, he is also a fucking menace somehow, a little bit cruel when he wants to be. Particularly with the whole "patience" stuff which makes me *bites knuckles*.

Jing Yuan going to pound town there at the end? 💯 Would recommend. Come again.

I'm sure there's a lot of context I'm missing from this piece, so I'm just giving my impression not knowing the rest of anything preceding it.

This was a lot of fun to read, Lore. Ty for writing it, Lore 😚😚😚😚💖

playing pretend

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || loss of virginity roleplay || wc: 2k  || ao3 ||

You and jing yuan rewrite a memory.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

(a continuation of this piece)

notes: hello loves!!! this is a finished comm <3 lovely commissioner asked for an expansion and continuation of my first!! jing yuan piece, way back from 2023, linked above!! this was a really fun dynamic and concept to revisit :3c oh jing yuan, how adept you'd be at leaving behind a lovely memory in the place of one less kind. thank you for the comm and enjoy my dear reader!!

CWs: gn afab reader, roleplaying, specifically loss of virginity, soft soft sticky smut, minor references to an unpleasant first sexual experience

You hadn’t expected Jing Yuan to seriously follow through with anything, following your drunken confession. In retrospect, this is deeply foolish of you. Jing Yuan is nothing if not a diligent man, even if the way he is diligent is nearly silent and hidden. He is a master strategist, after all. You feel silly for thinking that your fantasy would only stay as raunchy dirty talk and not something he would indulge fully.

Jing Yuan brings it up a few weeks later, after a bath you share. He does so casually, it catches you off guard. He uses it to his advantage, plying you with kisses along your shoulders and up your neck.

The man wants expansion. Candid desires and details. Confirmation that you really do want a redo, with him. As calm and mischievous as he tends to look, there’s a gleam in his eye that is stunningly earnest and hopeful.

So you tell him all. You craft a night together to be shared.

...

You’re laid out beneath him, every part of you bare. 

This part of sex sometimes scares you. The exposure of your core, the softness of your belly revealed to one who could, theoretically, gore you in ways that go beyond physical.

(Perhaps you carry this perception from your real first time. That as much pleasure as this act can bring, and has come to bring you, there’s a blade edge of danger that you can’t ever unsee.)

In this moment, you aren’t so worried. Jing Yuan is good to you. He always is. It’s easy to forget now. To lose yourself in the moment that Jing Yuan has built for you.

He cups your cheeks, and pets over the apples of them with a smile that’s soft and shiny even in the low light of your bedroom. 

“I’ll take good care of you,” he says so softly; you’re certain not even the light breeze within the bedroom heard it. His hand slips between your thighs, hovering but not yet touching. “No one has touched you here, right, dear?”

You melt at his words, the finer details of the past and the world out of your cozy bedroom are welcomingly lost on you.

You nod dumbly as his thumb swipes over your wobbling bottom lip, “Uh-huh.”

“Just me?” He tilts his head sweetly. 

“Just you.”

“A virgin,” he hums, a lacing of sweetness in his voice that you can feel on the sides of your tongue. He noses into your jaw, drawing his lips in the form of half-there kisses. He squeezes the plush of your inner thigh. 

You whine, squirming with his words. You are a virgin for him now, untouched and woefully unfamiliar with the indulgences of physical pleasure. 

Jing Yuan draws his knuckle over the seam of your cunt. You gasp, thighs closing around his hand. He hushes your worry, your shyness, and kisses the base of your throat. He sucks a bruise there, laving over the tender spot with his tongue until you’re writhing, grasping at his shoulders for some type of purchase. 

He pulls away, lips wet and the honey gold of his eyes swallowed by his pupils.

“I’ll take good care of you.” He assures. You know he will. You don’t think you’ve ever been more confident in something else before this moment. “We’ll make sure you’re ready, hm?”

And he does. He does. 

Jing Yuan slicks his fingers down first in your mouth, teasingly pressing the digits to your lips before slicking them himself. He wets his fingers with a suck, making sure they’re dripping, before returning to tend to you.

The first finger he eases into you doesn’t hurt, not really, but there is a stretch.

(You’d held off on sex, or any touch of this kind, for a few weeks. It helps with the immersion, how your body must acclimate to Jing Yuan’s touch again.)

He slinks down the length of your body, leaving kisses in his wake as he thrusts his first finger in and out of you, adding a second when you’re wet enough for it to be obscene and audible. He reaches your navel, trailing further down to kiss your clit. Gentle, teasing, so thoroughly undoing. 

Two fingers aren’t enough. He withdraws the soaked digits only to drip a glob of spit onto them and third, before returning to you. He gives you even more, lapping at your clit with your thighs shifted onto his shoulders. 

It’s— a lot. All of it is. You like that it is.

It does feel like this is your first time. Nervousness brews in your belly, nestled alongside hearth-hot arousal. Both are so instantly balmed and held by Jing Yuan. So lovingly, so easily, and without anything other than care and patience. It’s— it’s so much better—

“I’ll teach you such pleasure,” he tells you, stretching you slowly, cooing when you gasp at the stretch and little sting. “Would you like that?”

“Y-Yes—” Your voice wobbles. “Please—”

He muffles a chuckle into your cunt, “Are you feeling desperate, dear?”

“Maybe.”

“Patience.” Jing Yuan curls his fingers, playing with the idea of orgasm but not giving in to it. “Let me treat you well.”

(Jing Yuan enjoys extended foreplay. His own refractory period is relatively long, and his orgasm isn’t something he chases in the way that past partners of yours have. The act of lying together, exchanging pleasure like blows traded during a particular steamy spar, is one of his favorites.)

In your foggy, blissed-out mind, you’re learning this about him for the first time. You want more of it. More. A greedy thing, you are. You shake as you twine your fingers in his hair and tug, dragging him somehow closer to your cunt. 

Your hips roll down— for more of his fingers, more of his mouth. He groans as you do. Fucking his face like this feels dirty, but it feels so good too. Pleasure runs from your guts to your spine. 

Jing Yuan, however, only lets you indulge so far. He clicks his tongue, bracing your hips down with a single broad forearm before extracting himself, at least somewhat, from between your thighs. 

“Didn’t I ask for your patience?” He tilts his head, sly and cute all at once. 

“... Maybe.”

“Perhaps I must teach you to listen better,” he muses. “A lesson for another day, hm? If you’ll have me once again.”

“Of course—”

It’s a given. He knows this. It shows in his molten gaze as he regards you with nothing but fondness. 

...

Jing Yuan fucks you like it’s really— really, your first time. Your legs are bracketed around his hips while he kneels between your thighs. One of his hands fists around his cock while the other braces against your hips, rubbing little circles there. You tremble with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, all bundled into one. Your cunt drools with a mix of slick and leftover spit.

You shiver.

Jing Yuan’s cock is so hard that the tip looks almost purple. He has a nice cock— a good length and a girth that guarantees a stretch. Now, he slicks it up with lube, looking at you sweetly as he does. 

“We’ll go slow,” he says. “Let’s take our time.”

You squirm.

This is your redo, isn’t it? You deserve the slowness, patience, and care that Jing Yuan gives you without hesitation. It’s the reason for this dance. 

Jing Yuan settles closer, the head of his cock nudging your cunt. You whine and he hushes you as he slowly presses forward.

His hand leaves your hips, instead wrapping itself around one of your own. Your fingers lock together as he rolls his hips. It’s weighted, measured movement. It aches but in a good way. You know you’ll be sore tomorrow as a lingering reminder. You crave it.

A shattering gasp works its way from your lips and you squeeze Jing Yuan’s wide hand within your own. Each grind of his hips fucks his cock a little deeper inside of you. He’s so warm— scalding in all the right ways. The girth of him, the heat of him— it’s rewriting you—

(Just like you wanted.)

By the time Jing Yuan is fully seated in you, you’re both gasping, grasping at each other. Your cunt flutters around his cock, so deep in you that you think you’ll bruise. You want it to. You want to be carved out in the shape of him, forever, like it has only ever been him inside you. It’s a particular type of claim, one you have a difficult time verbalizing explicitly.

You’re glad Jing Yuan understood enough to actualize it as this, though.

When he starts moving, you can’t help but look down between your bodies for the view of it. Jing Yuan’s cock is soaked and sticky with a combination of both of you. It’s hypnotizing to watch him move in slow, deep strokes. The slick sounds mingle with his harsh breathing, and the little gasps and whines muffle against your lips. 

They mix with your own, sweet like syrup that you want to drink down as nectar.

You’ve been on the edge of— something— throughout this entire evening. Maybe you’ve been turned on since Jing Yuan led you to the bedroom, secure in the knowledge that you’re going to be fucked and held like he always does, but under the veil that it’s been like this since the beginning. Maybe, you’ve been horny since Jing Yuan so sweetly pressed you for more details in the bath a few weeks back. Maybe, you’ve been horny since that tipsy night when you gave Jing Yuan a confession that you’d never given any lover prior.

It’s all liquid now, unimportant details as it all culminates in a cresting type of pleasure, low in your guts. You’re close, probably. 

Jing Yuan pulls out, leaving you empty, sitting back on his haunches.  It's a brief, but important motion. He rearranges your legs so your ankles rest by his head. His front braces against the back of your thighs, the full weight of him laid into you. His hands come to rest behind your knees. 

You hardly have time to register the distressing nature of your sudden emptiness before he folds you in half effortlessly and fucks into your against deeper and harder. A sound rips from your throat, desperate, like a sob that you can’t contain. Slick sticks between the two of you, lovely words pour from Jing Yuan’s lips like honey wine. You can’t make out specific words, or phrases, just the notions of care, of desire, of overwhelming pleasure that’s coming to a peak.

His hand lips between you and with a few well-timed thrusts and circles of your clit, you’re cumming on his cock. Your back bows and you tug at his hair, scratch at his shoulders. You maybe beg for more, beg for—

(Him to not go, to not leave, to keep and you have—)

He muffles your words with a kiss, his tongue breaching your mouth and stealing away any doubts in an instant. It’s unfair, how easily he sates and assures you. You shake beneath him, Jing Yuan’s thrusts grow erratic, the sounds he gives you becoming more desperate and high and airy— (pitches only reserved for you—)

He cums with his own cry, ducking into your neck as he pumps into you. You feel the flood of warmth and sticky sounds. 

You pet his hair as he comes down along with you, not stilling until his cock is properly soft and slipping out of you. 

“F-Fuck,” his voice shakes. His arms wrap around your shoulders, caging you, as he drags you under the sheets, beneath him. 

“‘S good?” 

“So good,” he tells you. “I’m not done with you, however.”

“I-Is that so?”

“Give an old man some time.”

He says so with mirth, voice all gravely from pleasure. You luxuriate in it, feeling cored in the way you so craved. 

(Only his. Only, only, only his.)

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes:

Updated 9th September 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

Eating

Drinking

Warm/Hot

[gayvampyr]

no offense but you guys need to learn the difference between someone implying their experience is universal and a post simply just not being about you

[leggalese]

A doodle regarding the Tumblr Fandom 2024 Year In Review...

Based on this:

[shehungers]

Ah, Vin. Here we are obsessing over the same beautiful vampire. I love him. I love you. This was a lot of fun to read!

You set up the scene quite well with describing the environment is certainly unkind and already disadvantageous to the reader-character. The little mention of the cloak sodden, clinging to them are those little details that just give so much oomph—I love!

Probably one of my favorite things about this little fic is that mc is, theoretically, a skilled archer, which speaks to my soul as someone who practiced archery once upon a time. If you continue with this story, I'd absolutely love to see more of mc using their bow and arrow! It's absolutely not surprising that mc didn't make a hit on Alucard bc they probably never would've stood a chance to begin with, but the effort was THERE 😭😭😭

I really enjoyed you mentioning the height and spires of the castle. Really gives that melancholic, borderline gothic vibe that SOTN Alucard gives off, y'know?

Definitely the high point of your fic here is the banter between the two of them towards the end, but mainly the sword fight! I loved that! The language that you utilized for it was perfect—fast-paced, snappy, really conveyed a sort of sense of urgency to it and how hard mc was having to fight back against Alucard's sword.

Mc tripping over their own feet during their banter was 🤌🏻💋 my fav, and I think you got Alucard just right throughout the entire thing, but his aloof suspicion was absolute perfection.

Ty for writing this bc it was just a delight!!!💖💋

HOW TO KILL A VAMPIRE

MASTERLIST | I. YOU | NEXT PART

WC: 1k

It's a dark and stormy night—thunder rolls and lightning strikes throughout the sky as rain pelts against you, leaving your black cloak clinging against your body.

You've been sitting outside in the cold, harsh rain, underneath the canopy of the forest, for what feels like hours now, simply watching—watching the ominous castle that stands tall, probably hundreds of thousands of feet tall, with twisting spires and pointed edges that come out in claw-like shapes—for the vampire that lurks within the sinister structure.

You're not sure exactly who you're looking for, but all you know is that the son of Dracula lives there, as you've heard from the people who live in neighboring cities in Wallachia.

The son of Dracula.

That title alone was enough to make you intrigued, in fact, somewhat fascinated that the son of Dracula was even alive, considering that Dracula went on a mad hunt to kill the entirety of humanity because of his wife's unjust death.

Now, though, you're on a hunt yourself, to slay the son of the vampire that slaughtered the sons and daughters of Wallachia.

The hunt, so far, has been long. You've tracked him down in this castle to this very spot. You've heard he doesn't leave his castle often but—

There.

You see ahead, leaving the castle in a big, black, billowing cloak, is a tall man with blonde hair that reaches just past his shoulders. You notice he walks quickly with his pace, probably to get out of the rain, as he makes way towards his horse.

You narrow your eyes and you take a deep breath as you watch your target.

Slowly, you reach back into your quiver, and you gently pull out a silver-tipped arrow with one hand while your other hand reaches for your bow. You grab the bow, your hand, touching wood as you grip it, and you pull it towards you, slowly. You then bring the bow up, and with your other hand, you line the arrow up, pulling it taught against the string, and you pull it back, hearing the familiar stretch of the bow, you line it up with the vampire.

Your arrow follows the vampire as he still walks towards his horse, but then, suddenly, he stills.

You swallow thickly, wondering why the vampire had stopped moving.

Had he heard me? You wonder, but you shake your head. No, impossible. The rain is far too loud for him to hear me.

You pull the arrow tighter.

You feel your palms begin to sweat as your eyes narrow even further.

Then, with a quick flick of your hand, you let the arrow go.

The arrow soars through the air, moving through the rain with ease. You watch closely, until finally it...

...Misses?!

The vampire vanishes from sight, and you quickly rise to your feet, slinging your bow across your back. You scan the area with a panicked intensity, whipping your head around in all directions, yet the vampire remains nowhere to be found.

Shit, shit, shit!

Quickly, after gathering your things, you begin to run out of the forest, and into the clearing, racing towards the castle, hoping to draw the vampire out.

You draw your silver sword, and you grip it firmly in both hands, praying to whatever god is out there that the sword won't slip from your hands.

"I know you're out there! Come fight me!" You shout into the distance, but the sound of the storm drowns out your call.

Suddenly, in response to your cry, a long, silver sword hurtles through the air, sailing towards you. In an instant, you brace yourself, parrying the sword with your own.

The sword fights back, attacking once again, swinging at you with brilliant power, and each time you block in a frenzy, feeling almost clumsy with each swing, as your swordsmanship skills aren't really up to par, but with a bit of luck, somehow you're able to manage to block every oncoming swing.

Your eyes follow the silver sword, and with furrowed brows, you pay attention to how the sword moves, bringing your arm inwards as your continue to parry the swords movements, listening to the clanging metal.

The sword fight intensifies, the clash of steel echoes. While your focus remains solely on your opponent, what you don't notice is the slow, ominous figure silently approaching from the woods. The figure's black cloak billows in the wind, fluttering as the unseen presence takes measured, deliberate strides towards you, until finally it reaches you, just beyond the silver sword.

"You're clumsy," the cloaked man finally speaks, lowly, while you try to do your best while fighting off the sword in front of you.

"Yeah? No shit," you retort as you continue to parry the sword in front of you.

"Your foot movements don't—"

As if speaking it into existence, you find yourself tripping over your own feet and crashing to the ground beneath. You land hard, the wet, mucky grass providing little cushion from the impact, your body making a loud thud on the ground, which quickly erects the sword, with the blade at your throat.

With heavy, panting breaths, you swallow thickly as your eyes dart to the tip of the sword, to the man before you who stares at you with golden eyes.

"My bow skills are better."

"Oh? Is that why you missed me, earlier?"

You huff and you look away, ashamed that you missed him in the first place.

"You know, I should kill you where you sit," the vampire says, sternly, which makes you look back up at him.

You see him frowning with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

"Why have you come here to kill me?"

You scoff, continuing to look up at the vampire. You make a face of disgust.

"Because, you're a vampire, son of Dracula. I've come to avenge the people of Wallachia; the whole of humanity. I'm here to finish off the Tepes bloodline, once and for all."

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

Goncharov coming third in tumblr's top 100 movies of 2023 is so damn funny. Imagine being a film studio exec who spent millions making some of the other 97 movies listed below it only to be beaten by a film that cost exactly zero dollars to make and doesn't exist

[ducktracy]

sharing a very sage bit of advice from The Simpsons' own John Swartzwelder that i've been trying to hamper down in my writing and drawing alike. let your inner crappy little elf do his worst

[catbrarian]

cats and libraries ۫ ꣑ৎ

[shehungers]

cracks knuckles

so, I'm personally not a big fan of anything isekai, but I do see the appeal in them and I found this a really fun premise for one! absolutely hilarious that the background info is that mc was fighting with someone on tumblr over the BNHA ending and then the whole heroes vs villains morality discourse. I liked the details about mc trying to put themselves "better than" the person arguing, but they're both sort of cut from the same thread, it sounds like.

the descriptions you included about the moments before being isekai'd e.g. the cracks in the sidewalks seemingly appearing out of nowhere and getting bigger. loved the step back into empty air and screaming into a void, and then basically reawakening to falling from a fourth story window! very nice. cohesive. flowed into itself well!

already, when mc gets knee'd in the back and cuffed, it just instantaneously gives off that vibe that you're lesser than—you're a criminal, you're scum. you used a lot of potent language to get that across as well, but, predominately, the section where you mentioned mc kinda just being thrown onto the gurney even with the EMTs present stood out to me.

about the hospital: you really give it a gritty feel. subpar. forgotten. loathed. less than. loved it. also loved the little scene with the student nurse and how she seems to hate the mc a little less than the cop, but still found an opening in the conversation to get a derogatory jab in about mc being a villain. thoughtful. subtle. effective!

probably my favorite part of this and of all the details you wrote was anytime mc tried to talk about who they truly were—they're basically published by their own brain, almost like after being isekai'd, their brain is forcefully rejecting their "old reality" for the one they're living now as a lowly criminal. I also like that the reaction to mc trying to reveal themselves is actually PHYSICAL and painful as opposed to some sort of amnesia with vague, needling snapshots or intuition. very refreshing!

this was a fun little read, grace!! tysm for asking me to read through it 💖💖💖

Designated Villain - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (cross-posted to Ao3)

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

Chapter 1

You stare down at the screen of your phone, not so much in disbelief as amusement. You’ve been debating back and forth with somebody on Tumblr for the last day or two, and while you were in therapy talking about how you’re going to end the argument by being more mature than they are, they went full copypasta unhinged on you. And over what? A post you made about BNHA, and BNHA’s ending. A post that was a joke. But some people are still bent out of shape about an ending they should have seen coming from a mile away. BNHA is about heroes. The person you’re arguing with should have known better than to stan the villains.

Not that they’d ever recognize that they’re the problem. They’re too busy trying to call you out for caring more about Deku losing his quirk and Bakugou crying about it than you do about the death of a villain who killed thousands of people. In spite of your desire to be the bigger person here, you’re starting to get annoyed. Who do they think they are, telling you you’re compassionless? You’re really compassionate. You care about other people. You help your friends and you’re nice to strangers. Just because you think Shigaraki — a mass murderer — got what was coming to him doesn’t make you cruel. They’re the dumb one for ignoring all the people who suffered because of the temper tantrum Shigaraki threw.

You keep scanning the reblog, and right there at the bottom of it there’s two sentences that makes you see red. You think you’re better than they are, but you’re wrong. If what happened to them had happened to you, you’d end up just like them.

Screw being the better person. You type out a response of your own. They made a choice to be villains. I’d never choose that in a million years.

They’re probably going to respond with something even more unhinged, and you don’t want to hear it. You block them and tuck your phone into your back pocket. You’ve got better things to do than fight with some internet loser who needs to go outside and touch grass. You don’t need to touch grass. You’re a college student with a 3.8 average and a campus job and a social life, and you know right from wrong as well as anybody who doesn’t spend all day reading villain smut on Ao3. Compassionless? No way. You start the walk back to campus and try to put it out of your mind.

It’s been a few weeks since BNHA ended. You liked the ending. Sure, you were a little disappointed that none of your ships ended up canon, and maybe you wanted to see a lot more of Hawks than you got to, but it was a good ending. Hero society came back better than before, and Deku gets to be a hero, and the stupid villains get to rest in peace instead of rotting in prison forever. What did that moron think would have happened if their blorbos had lived? Nothing good. The ending they got was the best they could ask for.

You almost stumble, then glance down to see a crack in the sidewalk. A really big crack. Somebody should fix that. You avoid it, then avoid the next one, which wasn’t here the last time you walked this way. Cracks in the sidewalk don’t usually show up that fast. And they aren’t usually that big. You pick up the pace a little bit, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk in front of you so you won’t trip again. Tripping and falling is bad enough. Doing it because you were too stupid to watch where you’re going is even worse.

But you could have been looking from a mile away, and you still wouldn’t have been able to avoid the next crack that opens up. It’s enormous, even bigger than the others, and it’s spreading right before your eyes, widening out from the gutter until it consumes half the sidewalk. You stare at it in horror. What is happening?

It doesn’t matter. It’s still big enough to step over. Or jump over, if you don’t hurry up. You take one step back, then two, readying yourself to jump the crack in front of you. It’s getting wider. You need more of a running start.

But when you take a third step back, your foot lands on empty air, and you’ve got too much momentum to stop yourself from tumbling backwards. You brace yourself for the landing, already beating yourself up for being so dumb, but you don’t land. The concrete doesn’t rush up to meet you. Instead you keep falling, through a crack in the sidewalk that you didn’t even see, without even a chance to call for help.

You call out anyway — you’ll need help getting out — but no one comes, and you’re still falling. The sky dwindles rapidly away from above you, and you reach out to either side, grabbing for anything that could check your fall. But there’s nothing. No pipes, no roots, no chunks of rugged concrete that you could get a grip on. You’re falling into a void, so deep and dark that it swallows your screams for help completely. No one’s coming to help you. No one saw you fall, and even if they did, there’s nothing they can do. You scream until your throat goes raw, thrash desperately in midair, and all you manage to do is flip yourself over so you’re falling face-first instead of back-first, and then over so you’re falling back-first again. There’s nothing below you. Only blackness. You close your eyes.

It feels like you’ve been falling forever by the time you land, and you land hard. So hard that you’ve got an instant headache, so hard that you bite your lip and your mouth fills with blood. You’re sprawled out on concrete, and bright, flashing lights are filling your vision. An ambulance? A surge of relief overtakes you, and you start trying to sit up.

“Holy shit,” someone says from nearby, and confusion pierces through you. They aren’t speaking your native language. They’re speaking — Japanese? “Hurry. Before she gets away!”

Get away? Who’s getting away? You look around, trying to see who the man — the police officer? — is talking about. A hand comes down on your shoulder. A knee strikes hard into the center of your back. You barely have a second to turn your head before you’re slammed flat onto the concrete again.

“Stop resisting,” another voice says. This one’s speaking Japanese, too. Whoever it is grabs your arms and twists them behind your back, one after another. “It’s over. Don’t make me hurt you.”

What is going on? You feel metal around your wrists and hear the distinctive click of handcuffs being locked into place. They’re cuffing you? Why? You’re hurt. You need help. “I’ll call for transport,” the police officer says. “Damn. I thought she was dead for sure. That would have been a ton of paperwork for you, Woods.”

“She ran from me. I pursued her.” Woods’s voice sounds weirdly familiar to you. “Only a criminal would think jumping out a window was a good alternative to facing justice for their crimes.”

“She jumped, huh?” You don’t recognize the third voice. You hear a camera shutter, click. “Backwards, out a fourth-story window? That’s not what I saw.”

“No one cares what you saw. Get out of here,” the police officer says. You hear sirens in the distance. “This is a crime scene. Stop snapping photos.”

The shutter clicks again. “This street hasn’t closed. I have a right to be here. And I think people have a right to know what happens when criminals are apprehended. Nonviolent criminal knocked out a window by Kamui Woods. Catchy headline, don’t you think?”

Kamui Woods. You turn your head, trying to get a better look, but he’s behind you. The texture of the hand gripping your arm isn’t skin, it’s wood. Kamui Woods. Everyone speaking Japanese. Another shutter clicks, and this time, you see the man who’s taking the photos. But he’s not holding a camera. There’s a lens protruding from the outstretched palm of his hand. “She used her quirk on me,” Kamui Woods is saying, and you feel a scream rise in the back of your throat. “I would have been able to catch her if she hadn’t.”

The sirens come closer. An ambulance skids to a stop, and Kamui Woods and the police officer start to haul you upright before the EMTs stop them. They roll you roughly over and load you onto a stretcher, discussing your transport to the nearest designated hospital, and all the while the shutters click on the bystander’s camera, taking picture after picture after picture. All you can do is lie there, frozen with horror, as the true picture of what’s happening dawns on you. You don’t know how you got here. You don’t what happened before you hit the ground. But you’re pretty sure you’ve somehow fallen into the world of BNHA, a world of heroes and villains and quirks. And you’re not a hero, or a civilian. You’re a criminal. You’re a villain.

You vacillate on the conclusion at least eight times on the transport to the hospital — a villain hospital, not one for normal people. BNHA is fictional. It’s not real. Getting isekaied is something that happens in manga and anime, not to real people in real life. You tripped and fell on the sidewalk. You probably hit your head. This is probably all a hallucination. Any second now you’ll wake up in a normal hospital in your world and everything will be fine.

Except you’ve hallucinated before — one time when you were sick as a little kid, one time in your freshman year when you drank something that definitely had something more than alcohol in it — and when you’re hallucinating, your senses are dulled. You didn’t feel pain, and right now, you’re in a ridiculous amount of it from a fall you apparently took out a fourth-floor window. A fall nobody expected you to have survived. You, or whoever the person whose body this is was before.

The pain isn’t your only evidence. You know a little Japanese, like any self-respecting weeb, but you’re nowhere close to fluent, and right now you are. You’re not speaking with an accent or stumbling over words — your Japanese sounds like everyone else’s, like you’re a native speaker. And at the same time, you’re not thinking in Japanese. You’re thinking in your native language. Even when you think about whatever happened to lead you up to that window.

That’s your next piece of evidence. Memories. Memories that don’t feel like yours, but are yours — a whole life you haven’t had even a second to sort through. So far, the evidence that you’ve been isekaied is pretty compelling. You’d be a lot more excited about getting isekaied into your favorite anime if you weren’t apparently a criminal.

Isekais aren’t your favorite genre, but you’ve read and watched enough of them to know that most people don’t just get isekaied for fun — and that the type of person you wind up as in the target media is kind of important. In a story that’s all about heroes, you wound up as a villain. And you don’t know when you wound up. BNHA is over in your world. Are you here after the story ends? Or before?

The hospital they take you to is awful, dingy and dimly lit — and it’s packed. You don’t remember the hospitals in the anime looking this bad, but then you remember that you’re a criminal, and this is a designated villain hospital instead of a normal one. You saw a Tumblr post getting bent out of shape about villain hospitals a while back, and you remember rolling your eyes. Villain stans are the most dramatic people on the internet. But as the EMTs park you in a corner of the ER and seclude you behind a stained curtain, you realize that whoever was making the post wasn’t exactly wrong. This hospital is subpar. You spend an hour cuffed to the gurney, an increasingly crabby police officer watching over you, before someone comes to take a look at you.

Your injuries are…injuries. They’re not consistent with a fall like the one you had, and the doctor who examined you asks if you have a regeneration quirk. You’ve been so consumed by the fact that you’re apparently a villain that you haven’t even thought about what your quirk is, even though you and your friends have spent literal hours analyzing what your quirks would be. “It’s not regeneration,” the cop says. “Some kind of flash-bang thing. She just got lucky.”

“Right. Where’s she headed after this?”

“The prefectural jail, so don’t prescribe anything she can sell.”

You’re going to jail. Panic wells up within you, and words spill out of your mouth — in frantic and flawless Japanese. “What are my charges?”

“The judge will work that out. How hard did you hit your head?” The cop sneers. “I’ve seen your rap sheet. You know the drill.”

You have a rap sheet? Incidents flash through your memory, but you need time to study them, to get your story straight, and you don’t have time. “I don’t,” you say desperately. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not — I might look like — I’m not. I’m from –”

Your mouth clamps shut of its own accord, cutting you off. When you try to speak a second time, your jaw clenches tight. What is happening to you? You cough, clear your throat, try again. “I’m someone else,” you start through clenched teeth. “My name is –”

You feel a quick, bright snap, a flash of light behind your eyes, and your mind goes dark. When you wake up again, the cop is gone, and there’s a student nurse in watching you. You have an IV in the back of your left hand. The nurse looks up when you stir. “Seizure,” she says. Your stomach drops. “We took you to CT while you were out. Nothing’s broken up there, but they’re going to keep you overnight anyway. It sucks, but better than jail, right?”

“Right,” you echo. This nurse seems like she hates you less than the others have. Maybe you can get some answers — like where you are in relation to the story. You could ask her which year it is, but you don’t actually remember what year BNHA starts in. “Um, who’s the number one hero right now?”

“All Might, duh,” the nurse says. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“I just — are you sure?” You have confirmation that it’s the All Might era, which overlapped at least a little with the Kamui Woods era. “Is he doing okay?”

“Of course he is. Better than ever.” The nurse pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Here. This is what he did today.”

The video’s blurry at first. The person who’s holding the camera is moving around a lot, either trying to get a better angle or to get away. But eventually it focused, and through the smoke and the fire flickering at the edges of the screen, you can make out three figures. One’s a monster, huge and gelatinous, and there’s another, smaller figure trapped within it. And a third, even smaller figure streaking towards them both, already pulling his backpack from his shoulders.

Your mouth goes dry. “This was today?”

“Yep! This afternoon,” the nurse says. She takes her phone back. “Nobody’s as good as he is. He’d never let anybody be hurt on his watch. Not even somebody like you.”

Somebody like you. That stings, but in the face of the knowledge you’ve just gained, you can barely feel it. You didn’t get here after the story begins, you got here the same day it begins. That has to mean something, right? You’re certain it does. There’s something you need to do, some reason you’re here. But if that’s true, it also means there’s a reason you were brought here as a villain. You know how the world of BNHA treats villains, which is fine when the villains deserve it. Even before you’ve actually gone through your mental rap sheet, you know for sure you don’t. So step one is to clear your name. That should be easy, as soon as you can explain what happened.

You look to the nurse. “I’m not who you think I am,” you say. Your jaw clenches tight again and you force it open. “I don’t belong here.”

The others ignored you. She gives you a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“I come from –” Another country? Yes. Another world, that too? A world where her world is just a story? “A world without –”

There’s that snap again, like the sound of a bone breaking. The world whites out, and you wake up in intensive care this time. It takes two more seizures, two more heavy doses of Ativan dumped into your veins, before you realize what’s causing them: Trying to talk about your past, about who you really are. It’s not just that you shouldn’t, or can’t. It’s that your mind shuts down when you try to force the issue. You’ve never heard about that happening in an isekai before, and as you lay there in the hospital, your head swimming from the anticonvulsants, you feel foreboding settle deep into the pit of your stomach. You can’t tell anyone, anything. Clearing your name is going to be a lot harder than you thought.

[luhvrlis]

big 4

[envelopandkissme]

this fucks