#I still can't draw very well in the notebook- but I did this when I was getting a anxiety attack at school

[barnacles34]

Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down. 

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?' 

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moans so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluids spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

[moonswolfie]

The HQ!! boys with their number 1 princess

I highly recommend listening to world is mine while reading!!

in case you couldn't tell this is based on the song world is mine (i'm sure my mutuals are sick of hearing me talk about this song atp lmaoooo)

Characters featured: Ushijima, Kageyama, Kenma, Oikawa, Kita

𖦹:･ﾟUshijima Wakatoshi

"Well, are you gonna say anything or not?!" your sudden outburst surprised Wakatoshi.

"Was I supposed to say something?" he asked, almost used to you getting angry for seemingly no reason at this point.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You didn't even notice, did you?!"

"Notice what?" he asked, clearly confused. He simply wanted to know the reason you're angry with him and how he can fix it. He thinks you look much better when smiling, after all.

"You idiot! I got my hair done! I was flipping my hair at you all day and you didn't even acknowledge it!" you turned away from him, hmphing.

"Oh. I did notice the hair." he stated simply.

"Well then say something about it!"

𖦹:･ﾟKageyama Tobio

"Hey, let's- what is that?" Kageyama stopped mid sentence when noticing the drawing in your notebook.

You closed it at light speed.

"Hey! Don't look at things you're not supposed to!" you scolded him, clutching the notebook in your hold.

What Kageyama just got a glance at was your self-indulgent drawing of him as a prince kissing your hand.

"It was wide open for everyone to see!" Kageyama defended himself, clenching his fist.

"Whatever, just- you didn't see anything, okay?" you swatted his chest lightly with your hand.

"Wait, that kind of looked like you-"

"You didn't see anything, okay?"

𖦹:･ﾟKozume Kenma

"Get me pudding. That's an order." you crossed your arms, plopping down on the bench.

His very fortunately colored hair left you with a little craving.

Kenma sighed, going back to walk into the store. How in the world does he always end up complying to your demands, anyways?

After he bought the pudding, he brought it back to you, who was still pouting and sitting on the bench with your legs crossed. When you noticed him and the pudding in his hands, your face lit up.

"Thank you!!˜" you smiled cheerily, snatching the pudding out of his hands.

Oh, now he knows why. That sweet smile is far too addicting.

𖦹:･ﾟOikawa Tooru

"Hey! Look at me, will you?!" you kicked Oikawa with your pretty pair of heels.

You went to hang out and he barely even looked at your cute outfit. This is absolutely criminal.

"Owww, stop that, will you?!" he complained, mumbling about how he can't catch a break from being abused. How does he always end up with friends who hit him, anyways?

"Fine, fine, I'll look." he rubbed his back, finally looking you up and down.

"You look..."

"I look...?"

"Pretty okay, I guess?" Oikawa winked, shrugging, as if he didn't just experience ten consecutive heart attacks from how cute you looked in that dress. Internally, of course.

"You little- Ugh!" you swung at him again.

𖦹:･ﾟKita Shinsuke

You walked away from Kita, who was busy with something else. If he isn't going to pay attention to you, you might as well go pet that cat across the street.

Ohh, it looks so cute and fluffy. You're ready to pounce.

Suddenly, you felt yourself being embraced from behind, flinching and turning your head back to see Kita.

"Uhhhh?!" you stammered out, completely flustered. What in the world?! He's actually hugging you right now! Could this mean...

"You almost ran into that person. Be more careful." he explained simply, letting you go and turning back to whatever he was doing.

Suddenly you're worried about your walking abilities with how much your legs are shaking.

[ozzgin]

Hello again, are requests still open? If they are, can I request headcanons for Izuku, Shoto, and Tamaki with an artist reader? They stumble upon the reader's book full of art. The book also has drawings of them and the reader together.

Yes! I even have your previous ask halfway written in my drafts, which I might just conveniently incorporate it here haha. I'm just very slow to write everything. I do mark the request section as closed when it's the case., so no worries.

BNHA Characters x Artist! Reader Headcanons

Featuring Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shoto, Amajiki Tamaki and a reader whose doodles are rather obvious in meaning. More fluff!

Midoriya Izuku

Deku is not really one to pry. So it was absolutely not his intention to snoop. He'd just assumed that your notebook has generic scribbles made of class notes, facts and observations, similar to his. He didn't expect to find intricate sketches, and of such quality too!

Really, he's mesmerized. He has an eye for detail and will carefully scan every line and every brush stroke. Is this a portrait of your teacher? Fantastic angle you've chosen! The crosshatching adds a lot of depth. He slowly flips through the pages, wondering why you've never mentioned your hobby. He's even a little dejected, fearing you might not consider him as close a friend.

Then he reaches the doodles of him and you together. Oh. Ooooh. He has to look away for a moment, trying to contain his blush. Well, it certainly makes sense you'd keep it from him. He'd like to return the sketchbook and pretend he never saw anything, but...As much as he doesn't want to embarrass you, he can't get the idea out of his mind. To think you like him, too...Can he really hide how happy that makes him?

Todoroki Shoto

Opening your personal belongings was completely unintentional. Todoroki had accidentally included one of your notebooks among his own and swiftly left for his dorm room. As he clumsily dumped out the contents of his bag, he finally spotted the foreign item sprawled out on his desk.

Drawings? He can't think of anyone in class to ever mention such interest. Then he remembers he sat next to you, so it must be yours. He blushes slightly at the idea. It would be most terrible of him to snoop further, but he can't help his curiosity. He'd love to know more about you and a perfect opportunity is shining brightly before him. Just a quick peek...nothing more.

To think you were this skilled and he never noticed. He stumbles upon a portrait of himself. Unexpected. When did you even have the time to observe him so carefully? His lips purse in embarrassment. By the time he reaches the lovely couple doodles, his ears are bright red. Was his crush that obvious? He can hardly believe the coincidence of you liking him back and expressing it so clearly. Returning the sketchbook will certainly be interesting. It is the duty of a Prince, after all (If he is to refer to your little sketches).

Amajiki Tamaki

Tamaki has noticed how you often sneak away from the crowds and assumed you, too, are struggling with anxiety and awkwardness. Upon further inspection, however, it seems you just enjoy sketching by yourself. He feels a little ridiculous, hiding behind the wall and spying on an innocent hobby like this.

Then again, why the secrecy? He always thought you're good friends, yet you never mentioned anything about it. Combined with the fact you frequently praise him or gaze at him uncomfortably long...Are you planning on pranking him or something? No, no, that's just his paranoia talking. He reassures himself as he holds the little book you conveniently forgot behind. This is the perfect opportunity to prove to himself he's overthinking as usual.

Seeing the doodles of you and him together turns him into a fumbling, red-faced mess. His hands are trembling. The polite thing to do right now would be to close the notebook and promptly return it. Still, he's stuck in place, staring at the pages. Is this a joke? You can't possibly like him back. Someone like him. As much as he denies it, the longing won't leave his flustered heart. A man can dream...

[robin-the-enby]

Black butler Ciel with a older sister who rather spend more time reading, writing, spend time in her imagination, or her own self interests than run the company. She has her own business of running a successful book series.

Pairing: Ciel Phantomhive x older sister!reader Warnings: mentions of past trauma (not descriptive) A/N: Thank you very much for the ask and, as usual, I'm so sorry for the delay. If you don't mind, I decided to write this as headcanons. Also, the relationship between Ciel and the reader is strictly platonic. I have decided that I will not write romantic Ciel works anymore, because he's a child. And while I did have a crush on him when we were the same age, I have moved on and it would be highly inappropriate, I believe.

I think it's safe to say that you are very important to Ciel. You are his last living relative after all.

It doesn't matter if you're close or not. I don't think Ciel would appear to want to be close to anyone, even a relative. But that isn't really the case.

Now, he's definitely not clingy. He's self-sufficient, maybe a little too much. He definitelly doesn't need to rely on you.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't like to spend time with you. On the contrary. And since you are the quiet type, it makes spending time together much more comfortable for him.

He would be the type of person to do his own thing and let you do your own, just...in the same space. He could be sorting paperwork in his office, but you would be there as well, just a few meters away from him, scribbling down in a notebook on drawing in your sketchbook.

It's comfortable, it's quiet, and it means the world to him. If he looks past the age difference (and that little voice that tells him that maybe your roles should be exchanged), he almost feels normal. And that type of peace is very rare in his life, so he takes any and every chance to spend time with you like this.

It was very strange to him though, mostly at first, when he returned to the mansion. The way you are so different. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you have no interest in the family company, or that you rather spend time in your own head than in th real world.

He does get the appeal of that, it's just that he thinks it's...foolish. He is a logical person, who always thinks ahead, to rule out any possibility of others taking advantage of him again. If he submitted to the luxury of running away from the past that still haunts him, he would achieve nothing.

But the more time he spends with you and the more he integrates himself back into the regular world (as regular as it can be for him at least), he sees that you're many things, but not foolish. Yes, you're a dreamer, perhaps a bit naive, but not stupid.

In the end, he prouds himself to be your brother. You have a great imagination and sometimes you help him more than you could imagine. If he has a case to solve, you help give him an outside look into things from a perspective he could never even imagine.

He appreciates your art as well. It would depend on your style and whether or not you were spared the torture he went through to determine how much, but he definitely appreciates it and thinks it's beautiful. If your style is a form of self presentation, translation of your shared traumas and deepest feelings, he might like it just a smidge more.

When you present the idea of publishing your own book, he is definitely on board. He likes to read your stories anyway, he can't see why others wouldn't enjoy it. He would definitely help you find the best publisher and arrange the best deal for you (with a little help from Sebastian, if needed).

When your book becomes a hit in London and the readers as well as critics start asking for a sequel, he feels proud. Proud of himself, for helping you make your dream come true, but mostly proud of you. For not conforming to expectations of others, who would assume you'd take over the Phantomhive company, but instead following your dreams and working hard to make them come true. It is that kind of strength he really admires. But of course, he knows how the world works and so he thinks his help was neccesary (and would continue to be in the future).

In the end, you have sort of a symbiotic relationship. Whenever you need anything for your work, Ciel gets it for you. Art supplies, sketchbooks, he can get you anything and you best believe it'll be in the best quality as well. He also helps you make deals with potential publishers or anyone who is interested in your work, making sure no one tries to scam you and that you get the most benefits from your labour.

In return, he asks for nothing. You already give him everything he needs from you. Your company. He gladly takes on the task of managing the family business, if it means that you can still sit by him in his study, scribbling away, as if nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.

[solsticescribe]

Mafia!HarryxLawyer!reader

Warnings: cursing, mafia setting but the worst they do is threatening

Your boss was a real asshole of a man. When you accepted the case he approached you with, you didn't know he was a gang leader. Not certain at least, but now you were stuck working for him and him only. You helped him out of a tough situation in court, which seemed suspicious on its own, and now that you knew too much about his business (and he about you) you had no choice but work for him. At least the pay was nice, even if the man itself was insufferable. Now that he had a good lawyer in his hand, he was much braver with his affairs and even more reckless, which meant endless work for you. The gang itself wasn't too big, they mainly did the dirty work for bigger groups or small affairs of their own but they never got themselves in quite the trouble as this one time.

It all started with your boss calling you to his office, sounding impatient. This usually meant that he fucked up something again. Just great. You found him at his desk, nervously organizing some papers in a file. "Finally you're here! You're nowhere to be found when you could be useful!" He spat at you. "What do you need this time?" "Watch your tone. I have a contract for you to look trough. I want to get out of paying for the stuff and I need you to find a decent excuse for that" You took a deep breath to calm yourself. "I can't just make shit up to solve your problems. I told you already." The man just smirked "Yet you're always doing it. You're an amazingly convincing liar, sweets. Either this or you can always go back to genuine work, helping the needy, defending what's good... just keep in mind that with everything you've done, it will be difficult to find clients that would trust you" He smirked and handed you the contract. You frowned but took it anyway. "That's right dearest. Might not be what you've dreamed about, but still puts a roof over your head, doesn't it?" He laughed out loud, mocking you. "Don't you dare fuck this up for me, understand? Now get out of here." You clenched your fist and left the office before you said something that you would regret later.

Back in your office, you slammed the contract on your desk and started pacing around to calm yourself. You hated doing this. Hated working for this annoying moron, wasting your talent on something stupid like this. Loathed every second but if you really couldn't get out of this situation, might as well make the best of it. Be the best there is.

You took the contract in your hand and started analyzing its content. Once you were at the end of it, the signatures caught your eye. Next to the name of your boss, it was signed 'Styles'. That family was the biggest and most dangerous mafia gang in the whole country if not the the whole continent. Did he really think he would get out of paying them just with a few arguments of a corrupted lawyer? Best case scenario, they get the money by force, get annoyed with you, either kill everyone in the group, together with you OR if you're really lucky you'll just end up beaten and on the streets. There is no point in trying to reason with a gang like Styles'. Or is there? Can you even find a good enough argument to get out of paying? If there is a loophole at all, it's an insanely small one. Luckily, there is nothing better for you to do. You just had to get out of that stuffy office, there was no way of thinking in this small place.

Placing the contract in your bag, you got up and soon found yourself at your favorite coffee shop. Your favorite drink and the cozy atmosphere might kickstart the process. How ironic, wanting to get motivated by a lovely place like this for working with illegal products. You sat in the far corner of the shop, making sure no one could peek over your shoulder and got to work. You laid out the contract and your notebook, making notes of the important parts, drawing up the stakes, outcomes, each unfavorable. As you were very fixated on finding anything that could grant you the upper hand, you suddenly heard a voice. "Is this seat taken?" You looked up and saw a man, about in his twenties with long hair and piercing green eyes looking at you. You couldn't exactly keep working with him sitting across from you, but didn't want to reject him either so you just kept staring at him. "There's nowhere else to sit" He continued. You looked around and indeed every seat was taken. When did so many people get here anyway? "No, no go ahead" You finally answered him and he shot you a smile that made you melt just a little. A lot. While he pulled out the chair, you quickly gathered your stuff and shoved them back in your bag. "Thanks. I didn't want to disturb your work, you seemed focused. Something important?" He asked. "Kind of. It's absolutely hopeless but my boss couldn't care about anything but his own pockets and I'm the one who has to get him out of any stupid situation he gets himself into." You took a sip of your drink which has gotten cold in the meantime. "Sorry. That was out of nowhere. It just builds up. Forget I said anything" He chuckled. "It's totally fine, you got to get it out before you explode. He seems like a real asshole to me" "He is" "I'm Harry by the way" You smiled, his name fit him really well. "YN"

You sat there talking to Harry for the rest of the day. You didn't even realize that it got dark outside. "Shoot, I have to go, sorry. This was real fun though" You got your bag on your shoulder and stood up. "Hold on, let me drive you home." "You don't have to do that. I still have to get some stuff from my office and it's close." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I don't want to bother you" "You wouldn't, but if you insist. Hold on a second, can you give me a pen?" You took one out of your bag and handed it to him. He scribbled something on a napkin and gave you both. "Promise we'd repeat this? Like a date that is." You smiled as you put them in your bag. "Might as well. It was nice" "Well then, looking forward to it beautiful" You said your goodbye and left blushing.

The next few weeks went by a blur, you were completely focused on the contract, occasionally texting Harry but sadly you couldn't find a time to meet up again. Still, he was so sweet all the time. You figured once you were done dealing with this you two could actually go on a date. The boss told you that he scheduled a meeting with the head of the Styles' to discuss his late payment. This not only gave you the extra stress of a deadline but the thought that you had to reason with the leader of the most feared mafia group of the country didn't exactly help either.

The night before, you laid in bed stressed out of your mind. Not really for the future of your boss or his gang but more for what will happen to you. Best thing that came to mind was text Harry and vent, staying general and unsuspicious, pretending you're a normal lawyer with a normal client. "I'm not convincing anyone with these half-assed arguments that I managed to scrape together" You wrote. "Don't say that, you'll do amazing. You worked on this for so long, you're going to blow everyone's mind." He answered not even a minute later. All night he kept reassuring you and as you fell asleep, you managed to believe everything will be alright.

As you were waiting with your boss in his office, you couldn't decide which of you was more nervous. Your boss was pacing around the room, rubbing his hands together and muttering nonsense. You leaned against his desk with your arms crossed, looking at him. You took the chance to annoy him and stroke your ego a bit. "Seems like you're doubting me" "You better bring your 'A' game today, you have to be better than ever. Understand?" He seemed like he was on the verge of breaking down. "Maybe we wouldn't be here in the first place if you would just-" the door burst open and in stepped a lot of guards and among them stood...Harry. Your boss jumped to greet him and you were stuck in place just staring at him. You felt betrayed and straight up angry. So this was his plan after all, get you to fall for him, be all friendly just to get you off track. Unfortunately for him, you were not gonna let that happen. You are going to bring him down at the end of this no matter what takes. When they finally acknowledged you, you were glaring daggers at Harry. "Hi" You greeted him with a sarcastic cheerful tone, forcing a smile on your face.

After another round of formalities, it was finally your turn to speak. You gathered every ounce of your confidence and kept looking straight at Harry's eyes. You couldn't read his expression but he almost seemed...proud? "Well, that was convincing enough. I get her, you don't pay and keep your lousy little business as long as you never make business with me or my gang ever again. Deal?" You were taken aback. The audacity of this absolute- "Her? You don't want her working for you. She's mostly useless, today she just got an attitude, no idea where from-" "I'm perfectly aware of what she's capable of. You're not exactly subtle when destroying evidence of crap you messed up. She got you out of death sentence more times that you would like to admit you piece of shit and you give her no credit" Your boss was speechless and so were you. "It's not like you have much of a say anyway. Get out of here so I could talk to her." At his words, his guards immediately took your boss out of the office. As the door closed behind them, Harry stepped closer to you, taking your hands in his and lifting them to his mouth to press kisses against your knuckles. "You were amazing. I never doubted you" He said between kisses but you pulled your hands away from him. "And you're a fucking liar" You spat angrily. "What did I lie about?" "Well you weren't exactly truthful." "You would have never talked to me if you knew who I was. But okay, you want honesty, here it is: when I approached you that day my plan was to just get you to work for me, but now... I want much more than that." You avoided his eyes. "Just give this a chance. You know you would be better off with me than that moron" "You're not much better" He rolled his eyes with a smile. "I love that attitude of yours. So what will it be? Remember you still owe me a date" He laced his fingers with yours. "We'll see how this goes but for now, you got yourself a lawyer"

[monstercampus]

Harpy Professor - First Meeting

(cws: slight alcohol mention, brief lewd references)

wc: 3.5k

Last night was a mess. Priam had been out all night partying with his friends, while Antón had been rage-cleaning the apartment in a frenzy in order to have everything spotless before the first day of term. The two of them you've gotten used to, of course, but their habits still tick you off when you're not in the mood to deal with them. Priam's drunken stumble back into the dorm at 4 AM didn't help either, as your vampiric roommate got into an argument with him over leaving the living room a mess. Exams have been over for weeks, and yet the two of them still find stupid things to fight about in the heat of the moment.

And you were left to endure it as best you could, your pillow clamped over your ears for half the night and your blanket pulled down over your feet by your shadow friend–who also seemed to be quite frustrated by your other tenants and their noise, trying vainly to block out the light and seal your door in his mist to try and muffle the ruckus. Either way you weren't going to sleep, not well, so now you've stepped into your first class of the new semester with bags under your eyes and half your school supplies forgotten. Just get through it today. Tomorrow will be better.

First on the roster this morning is Monster-Human Relations–a class you knew would be small, but not this small, with barely ten or so seats filled so far in the mid-sized lecture room. There's only about five rows of staggered desks on a slope anyways, with a curved, connected desk to separate the section from the front of the class and the podium. And you're a few minutes early, so you anticipate there'll be more students filing in as they wake up from their respective hangovers or hangovers-by-association, like yourself. Being an advanced class, though, it's not going to be much bigger than this. The only reason you're even taking this class was because the professor made a request for your attendance, and gave you special permissions to attend based on your unique species allocation. And lo and behold, even so, there's a face you recognize right as you walk in the door, his piercing eyes perking up as he lifts his head at the sound of your footsteps. It's Nick. Gods you are glad to see him. He peers at you through a few loose strands of dark hair, and at the sight of you a smile flashes across his face.

"Hey," He brightens up, pulling on the back of the chair beside him to offer you a seat. "Didn't know you were in this class too." He chuckles, though your look of relief doesn't seem to entertain him enough not to notice the weight of weariness you carry in your slumped shoulders. You're quick and eager to drop your bag on the table and slide into the chair, but Nick's worry stops you in your tracks. "What's up, buttercup? You look exhausted. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Roommates kept me up," You sigh, flipping open the lip of your bag to pull out your laptop. "But I'm okay. Can't miss the first class, anyways."

"Of course you can." Nicky's grin returns as you hoped it would, but it's gentler this time. "Besides, Wellwright's a big puffball. You can pretty much do whatever you want in his classes."

"I don't wanna be rude."

"You don't have a rude bone in your body." He's not flippant about it, but he does avert his eyes as he makes his comment–although it could just be because he's scribbling the date and the course number down in his thick notebook. "Wellwright's a super sweet guy, he was my mentor in Commonspeak class. He'll love you."

"You took Commonspeak?"

"Sure did." Those pearly teeth make an appearance as he chuckles, pride swelling his chest. "Barely spoke a word when I got here. Now I'm the most voracious person you probably know."

"Voracious?" You laugh, and he joins you, though as uplifting as it is it doesn't last for very long. You're grateful for it even so, your chuckling devolving as more people filter in and drawing to a close as the door to the classroom nearly slams off the hinges.

One moment of peace turns into chaos like the flip of a light switch, a pair of huge, strong wings entering the room with a scraggly, rough-looking man stumbling in alongside them. A tornado of feathers seems to cascade over the front of the room, flying off and whipping up with the breeze as those enormous wings flap and fold in an attempt to keep their host on his feet. Both you and Nick have to grab hold of your notebook and laptop respectively just so they don't fly off the table.

"My apologies!" He squawks, arms full of books and papers that also seem to be flying everywhere as he makes his way to his desk. You spare a glance over Nick's shoulder as he checks his watch, to which he taps and mouths "late" to you to elicit another giggle.

Raven Wellwright, a harpy of considerable acclaim, is definitely a name you've heard beyond the professor hastily scribbling it up on the whiteboard. Not only is he one of very, very few male harpies known to the world, but he's also very conveniently one of a handful of experts on the field of monster and human cooperation. He's penned a library of papers, articles, and books on the subject, won awards for his aid in developmental projects and awareness campaigns, and he's even been the first monster to be welcomed into a previously human-exclusive collegiate of considerable prestige. He's a rarity in all senses of the word…a rarity that's molting his feathers all over his desk, sweat gathering at his collar as his short waves of strawberry-blond locks falling haphazardly back into place while he shuffles around.

"Right!" He bellows out to the three-quarters-empty classroom, the tak tak of his papers hitting the podium echoing off the walls like glass marbles. "What was I saying?"

"You haven't started yet, professor." Nick calls out, and although it's certainly an awkward air in the room the harpy seems somewhat relieved that he hasn't already forgotten what just came out of his mouth.

"Right, thank you Nicholas. Nicholas!" He suddenly bursts into a frenzy, a smile plastered over his glowing face and his eyes sparkling with grateful familiarity. "Nicholas will be our note-taker this term, as well as your TA! Take a bow, Nick!"

Funny enough, even confident-and-cool Nick boasts a spot of shyness and a dark flush to his ears as he's encouraged to stand, turning around to wave at your fellow students who eye him up with varying degrees of interest, all while Raven claps with an eagerness to him that lasts until your friend reclaims his seat. Whispers dominate the classroom while Raven's head is turned, though it doesn't seem like they're just regarding the scatterbrained professor and his handsome assistant–especially not when he turns back and his square glasses-framed eyes land directly on you.

"Oh," That soft puff of air could just as well be a gunshot with how loud it feels to you, Raven's lithe fingers trembling slightly as he pushes his lenses higher up on his nose. For a split second, even with Nick's comforting words in the back of your brain, a tense knot of worry tightens in your stomach as you wonder whether your presence will be met with disdain.

"H-Hello! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," And yet that concern evaporates the instant he skirts around the podium, features bright and his wings rustling excitedly as he hustles towards your desk and thrusts his hand out to yours. You barely have to hold his at all with how violently nervous his grip is, fingers clamped down so tight you can just barely feel the itch of his filed claws for nails against your skin. "Raven Wellwright, P.H.D! I'd like to welcome you to our university–it is a joy and an honour to have you here!"

With one last tight squeeze of his unusually cool hand, he pats your arm and releases you from that iron grip to scurry back to his podium. As luck would have it, all he's got prepared for today is a review of the syllabus, which soon flies by despite being peppered with occasional comments and brief anecdotes to supplement it, courtesy of a now hyper-focused prof who clearly knows what he's talking about. It's almost a little intimidating to watch him switch so quickly from anxiety to decisiveness, the nervous shakes vanishing as he briefly divulges the core topics of the material you'll be going over. It actually helps to stir you a bit from your exhaustion, though the half-smushed granola bar in the bottom of your bag also helps once he reiterates that eating in his class isn't a faux pas.

"I'm sure you're all readily familiar with the plagiarism policy and academic conduct sections as well, yes? Any questions?"

A revolution of head-nodding round the room seems to suffice, and with a quick glance at the clock by the door Wellwright rolls out his shoulders and drops his papers against the podium with a refreshed sigh.

"Well, that's good enough for me! Take an early lunch and enjoy the rest of your day, we'll start with our introductory lecture next class–oh, and could you two come to my office for a spell?" As he passes by your joint desks he gives them a tap, making eye contact with both you and Nick with a reassuring smile as the rest of the class shuffles their bookbags and lets their chair legs squeak as they get up from their seats. Your heart kicks up with a nervous thump, thump, thump, but whether Nick can smell it or hear it or is completely oblivious to it he pats your thigh under the table and nudges your shoulder playfully.

"No worries. He probably just wants to gush over you." He whispers into your ear, and with a half-smile conjured up from your dwindling pool of strength you gather your things in kind and follow alongside the werewolf as you both make your way to Wellwright's office, the path known well enough to him that he can chat your ear off the whole way there, and still make it in time to watch the professor hustle along down the corridor with his bag in tow as the two of you wait for him to unlock the door.

"Come in, come in! Take a seat–anywhere is fine–and have a snack! I've got tea…uh, somewhere! Just give me a moment.."

It's most certainly more haphazard being around him in the cramped office than it was in the lecture hall–as Wellwright hurries in and you two follow behind, Nick has to bring his hand down firmly on your head for you both to duck, just barely missing the professor's wing as it swings around and nearly collides with both of you. And with the size and strength of those muscles and that coat of healthy tawn-coloured feathers, you don't even wanna know how hard it would hurt to get smacked with one of those things.

But, oblivious to your plight, the avian totters around his office chirping up a storm while the werewolf at your side leads you–with your heads appropriately bowed under his wing line this time–to take your seats in the two plush chairs across from his spacious corner desk. Raven busies himself by the window with what looks to be a teapot on a portable burner for a minute or two, before the spout starts to whistle a familiar tune and he expertly tips it out to pour three steaming cups of fresh tea. Ginger-flavoured by the smell of it, the scent pervading your nostrils in an oddly relaxing way as he lays out each cup in front of all three of you. Curious, you watch as he takes his own seat, and notice that the arms of his chair dip towards the back for each wing to settle comfortably in the empty slots. Monster creativity truly knows no bounds, no matter how benign the design.

"-Anyways, that's quite enough about me! I'd like to know more about you." His bangs flutter over each brow as he turns to meet your eyes, not an ounce of enthusiasm missing from his gaze as he takes a sip from his cup–and proceeds to splutter and cough with a napkin pulled up to cover his mouth, mumbling in a half-lisp about burning his tongue. When you follow his lead with a giggle you make sure to at least blow on yours, and it's actually rather sweet despite the strength of the ginger threatening to overwhelm you. "I–we–are well and truly excited to have you here! I can't tell you how integral your presence will be in the pursuit of monster-human cooperation–you are sincerely a gift to this establishment, and I cannot thank you enough for taking the plunge and attending despite the odd circumstances."

Somehow–perhaps it's an effect of the tea–the mouthful of praises the professor drops are free from his usual stutters and vocal stumbling, as if the topic of you is yet another subject he can't help but be eloquently passionate about. You, on the other hand? You're not even sure what to say to that...such high praise feels uncalled for, not that it's unpleasant in nature, but that it should be reserved for someone that's actually done something to deserve it. All you really did was go with the flow and refrain from kicking up a fuss.

"I, uh…th-thank you, professor, but I really didn't do much…" You shrug shyly, suddenly wishing you could disappear from the awkwardness and hide inside Nick's jacket for comfort. But the silent moment passes not in a hollow, nerve-wracking way, because it's filled by Raven's easy smile growing into something a little more intimate, his feathers settling to lay flat as he reaches over the desk and gently clasps both hands over yours.

"You took a risk, my dear. Unsure of what lies on the horizon, you chose a path seldom travelled yet long overdue for progress. That in itself is worth a world of praise."

You knew he could be eloquent, but that…that was poetry. And could that warmth tipping his pointed ears be a blush, coincidental with how his fingers retract from touching you? Worried his touches may come off as something more the longer they linger? Or are you simply reading into things?

"Maybe I should go," Nick teases, and that thankfully eases the tension enough for you to snap back into the reality at hand–and for Raven's feathers to ruffle in embarrassment as he leans away from you just to bump his head painfully on his overhanging lamp.

"Sweet Chaos–ah, I'm fine, I'm fine!" He waves away your worry while Nick erupts into a cheeky laugh beside you, the professor's unyielding clumsiness proving too much for him to keep it all sealed in. Especially hearing a string of curses fly from such a sweet, kind-hearted man's mouth, who wouldn't hurt a beetle even if it bit him. "Before I injure myself further, perhaps I should just get to the point." He sighs with a palm pressed to the back of his head, rubbing the soreness off the fortunately very minor bump there.

"It's the MHC thing, right?" Nick pipes up, sobered from the giggle fit but still grinning from ear to ear.

"Just so." Raven nods, those cotton candy-pink eyes shifting back to you. "My dear, I have a favour to ask of you. Would you consider being a human ambassador on my behalf?"

"...Ambassador? As in..?"

"Oh, i-it's nothing too taxing! Allow me to explain: being an ambassador simply means you would be willing to speak as an individual of your species for MHC conferences. It would really just involve me calling on your opinion and presenting it to the Monster-Human Commission–most of it will just be in writing, no more than a sentence or few."

"You mean 'sentence or two', professor." Nick cuts in, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. If you weren't mistaken, you could swear there's a glint of something fierce in the harpy's eyes as his gaze flits over to his protégé–but it's there and gone in a moment, and you try not to let the thought linger for fear of how it might make you wonder.

"Goodness! Surpassing your mentor already, eh? Maybe you should be the one teaching commonspeak, Mr. Wolf." He soon returns to the comfort of your gaze on him. "By no means is it a necessity, but it would be of brilliant use to my colleagues in the commission. Take some time to think about it, okay? There's no rush. You can start and stop whenever you please."

"I, uh…yes, thank you, professor. I'll give it some thought." Wellwright nods with a happy grin, and allows you to finish the rest of your tea with a few occasional spurts of scatterbrained conversation peppered in between. He's so courteous and well-spoken, gentle and kind…there's no wonder you've heard giggling from the harpy girls on campus when he's brought up, his dreaminess a total diamond in the rough for any self-respecting monster. An absolute gem. A-

"Hey, professor, I can't quite remember–are we reviewing interbreeding this term?"

As if burning his tongue and bumping his head wasn't enough, Wellwright balks at Nick's unforeseen question and nearly chokes on the dregs of his tea, the liquid splattering his chin with a cough that he's quick to wipe with the back of his hand. If it crossed your mind in time, and if you weren't so tired, you'd have half a mind to give Nick a pinch under the desk for torturing the poor man.

"C-Cross-species mating? Uh, ye…yes, we are.."

"Mmh. Gotcha. We've got a human this year, so maybe we can do our independent study on it? That'd be pretty helpful for your research, huh?"

What hits you right away is that he doesn't say no. Not that it's not his first reaction, but that the word doesn't even cross his lips. The slightest twinge of his brow has the harpy narrowing his eyes at the werewolf, and for a brief spell you think the professor might be humouring the exact same reaction as you were.

"Th-That would depend on the human's decision, Nick–and that is certainly not the full extent of my research, I might add!"

"Y-You, um…you study interbreeding, Dr. Wellwright?"

Your query flits out like the most timid of butterflies, curious and interested in equal measure. It must be so easy for both of them to pick up, but you can't really help it–the idea of such a sweet professor pursuing such a lewd scholarly topic is…fascinating, to say the least.

"He does. In great detail." Nick leans over to whisper into your ear, and the air in the room seems to change as Raven squirms anxiously in his seat.

"I-It's a necessary component of my research…" He mumbles, suddenly unable to meet your eyes as the heat in his face stretches to reach the tips of his pointed ears.

"So necessary." Nick adds with a shit-eating grin.

"Nicholas!” Raven finally huffs, brow furrowed and eyes dimmed of their sparkle. Oh, now he's mad. And yet, with a glance over at your companion, Nick couldn't look more enthused about the prospect. They certainly seem to be on familiar terms with how much teasing your friend knows he can get away with. Ripples start to part Wellwright's feathers like shudders, and almost under his breath, he quietly asks if you would give him a moment with his T.A–and you have never been more quick to oblige, setting down your teacup at an earnest pace before your bag is slung over your shoulder and you're soon closing the office door firmly behind you. The click of the lock echoes in the otherwise empty corridor, and though you'd like to wait for Nick out of courtesy, the hushed whispering that ensues followed by the flap of your professor's wings clues you in that perhaps it would be better to give them some…privacy.

Although, at the very least your phone buzzes before you've even left the wing, a glance down at the messages revealing that Nick's gonna be tied up for awhile, but he's alright. His words echo in your head, “Wellwright's just a big puffball”, and it loosens a pleasant sigh from your throat as you let your shoulders relax. The last thing you want is to get anyone in trouble, which you seem to do quite easily by your very nature of being human.

This class may end up being a different story though, if your professor's…enthusiasm towards the human race is anything to go by.

[cassoliravioli]

INTRO!!

Hello! I am Cassoli and I am crazy obsessed with POSTAL

(Yes TF2 kinda died out a bit for me I'm sorry 😞)

I have 2 other blogs, so when I follow you, don't be scared on 2 more additionally following you lmfao ☹️

DNI:

Just don't be weird and people who have some sort of prejudice against alt people and minorities, please, be a kind person, not everyone is the same and people have their way of expressing themselves 👍

Child likers, proshippers etc etc

Basic info :3

I go by Cassoli, Ravioli or Runner (my pfp is me irl fr), btw funfact cassoli is my very cool surname

I am cis girl but idgaf to pronouns honestly

I am 15, but I wanna warn you that i am not innocent, nor I am afected (generally) to +18 stuff (NORMAL STUFF BTW), so DONT get a jumpscare if I post something a bit horny 😭🙏 since COME ON sex is a normal thing yall

I am 🇧🇷, my first language is portuguese so my english sucks

I study in a military school and try my best to go very well at it (trust me I am very smart! -> 🤓☝️) and I am a track athlete so I don't post very often of how occupied I am... and sometimes im just lazy 🤑

But I want to be clear: something i've seen that is very common for teenagers my age to do is to interact and chat with people older than them, HOWEVER I am an exception, that means that I'm on tumblr strictly for posting my stuff, I have absolutely 0 interest in chatting with anyone besides my irl friends, so don't dm me unless is necessary 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

FANDOM INFO YEHAW

POSTAL: how the fuck did rws make postal dude so hot and for what 😭💯 current hyperfixation, since november 2024 I've been ONLY posting postal. Yeah call me obsessed baby cuz i am

Metalocalypse: this thing looks like it was exactly crafted for me, it's literally made for me what the fuck 😭 also, pickles and nathan explosion my beloveds 🙏

Murder Drones: cool asf show, highly recommend if u like horror 🥸

Team Fortress 2: i LOVE this game to an insane degree, I may be more mentally unwell about this game than any of the mercs to be honest 😭🙏

FNAF: hurhurhurhur (my favorite character is bonnie)

OFF: batter is charismatic. AND THE LORE OHMYGODDD 🗣🗣

Chainsaw man: the only anime I like 😔

Sonic: first fandom, I still love it dearly

Happy Tree Friends: I love it SOMUCH goddamit I cannot even put into words 😔 I know its gorey and stuff but ITS THE CHARACTERS FOR ME SORRY ☹️

POSTAL INFO🔪

My favorite postal game is postal 2

My favorite dude is postal 1 dude, but I love all dudes 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

I have currently finished postal 2 (+ apocalypse weekend and paradise lost) and postal redux

I am in the process of finishing postal brain damaged and postal 1

My notebook can't run postal 4 🔥

I'm afraid postal 3 will explode my notebook so I wont be playing it 😞😞

I have a fandude! His name is postal soldier!

TF2 INFO HELL YEAH 💥

I am

Unhealthly obsessed

with scoutcest. Its my favorite OTP from all time

btw when I draw them I often feature my BLU scout oc (they are presented as different people then), but any interpretation of scoutcest is VERY welcome (MINUS THE INCEST ONE.)

Medic main, I SUCK at TF2 so the only class I can play really well is medic 🤑 and my mvm main is Heavy!

My favorite character is the scout, idk if I want to be him or be with him ☹️ (I am his n1 fan btw!!!)

I LOVE THE BLU TEAM!! (I have an army of BLU team ocs)

TAGS

My reblogs don't contain these tags below, so you can find my original content in them:

#cassoli comments -> text posting

#cassoli arts -> art posting

#ask -> asks I recieved

#oc art -> oc posting

#blu scout lore??!?1? -> blu scout lore posting

My sideblog is @holyraviolis

BLU Scout's askblog is @matt-blu

[iu-xo]

"Like we've always hated each other"

Tantrum.

intro part 1 part 2 part 3

It took much less time than expected! I hope it's enjoyable to read, god this is so slowburn, so they still hate each other! But... do they really?

The sun... the sun that comes through the window... the fucking sun.

The most recent being to move into the hotel after its restoration, he was fighting a battle to the death with nothing more and nothing less than the sheets of his bed, nothing new for the king to say the least, In his mind it was the eighth time he told himself he would get up, And this was the real thing, he thought for the eighth time...

When he heard a door suddenly open, and even though he loved his daughter with all his heart, he couldn't wish for anything other than that she would leave him for another hour to rot for a little longer in his nest of depression and procrastination, Which didn't happen that way.

-DAD! I'm sorry to bother you... I know you were still sleeping and stuff! despite being past noon.. But your help would reeeeaaaally help me a lot rigth now!

Even though his body betrayed him and made him want to sink and become one with the mattress, knowing that his daughter needed something from him gave him enough motivation to sit up in bed.

-Whatever you need honey..

His voice was still hoarse and sleepy, revealing his little to none desire to exist at that moment, but surely when he did something he would feel better... he hoped.

The princess gave a happy squeal to take out some notebook pages with lists and colorful crayon drawings, and grabbed one in particular which she put on her father's nightstand while she put the rest away with some clumsiness.

-Today I have an activity planned but I mixed up my schedules with next week's, so I have nothing to start with!

The blonde looked very worried about this problem she had, and Lucifer thought that maybe she would ask him for things to buy and he could just magically appear them, piece of cake.

-So while I fix this I wanted you to put these flyers in the businesses that already gave me permission!

Wait. What?

the angel really thought He could get away with doing this quickly with a little magic trick, but he really had no way of appearing flyers in specific places which he had no idea where they were..

-erm.. Dear.. Can't we just put them in... I don't know... everywhere?

-Nop! Because today's topic is... consent!

She said while making a rainbow in the air with her hands , Therefore, the little angel had no choice but to personally walk through the disgusting streets of the pride ring... his ring. While he was hanging little pieces of paper on the windows of the shops of the ungrateful sinners that owned them. But... it was for Charlie... so how bad could it be, He stopped thinking about how bad it would be and instead saw Charlie's smile explaining how she wanted to deal with today's topic, he saw her eyes full of sparkle and got out of bed.

-Count on me char-char, I'll take care of it!

Charlie smiled from ear to ear and hugged him, leaning down, he had taken Lucifer a little by surprise but he gladly reciprocated

-Thank you.. means a lot.

They both felt a silence after that, it wasn't awkward, it was like they were telling each other without words that they were trying to heal something, And even if it couldn't happen overnight, they were trying, Charlie knew they would make it, Lucifer... he could only hope so.

But after that charlie decided to left the room to let her father get ready, she also had too many things to do, time was against her and she wasn't going to waste it.

-Well.. see ya!

She said goodbye with her hand, while her father did it in the same way, Once she was outside, the angel walked slowly to his closet, looking for something more casual, but ended up wearing his usual outfit but without his white jacket, he rolled up his sleeves and headed to the bathroom to fix his hair, he saw himself in the mirror for a moment, a wave of melancholy drowning him for a few moments, He saw himself worn out, tired.

He washed his face with cold water as an attempt to wash away the draining thoughts, it just... everything used to be so simple for him, at least sometimes... He left the bathroom and opened a window in his room, looking to breathe something other than his own self-loathing, A burst of sulfur aroma was what he found, he sighed, At this moment he missed the aroma of fruit and freshly wet grass... he may not be missing the regime of heaven but... that garden and it's smells sure were something else

He realized that he had gotten quite lost in thought, so he washed his face one last time Seeking to return to reality, and avoiding the hassle of seeing so many faces at the reception... he opened a golden portal under his feet that left him at the exit of the hotel, now he only had to...

walk.

Lovely.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

-WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT.

A demon twice his size was shouting at him in the middle of the street, the lamb-like demon had bruises he was bleeding and holding the demon's hand that grabbed him by the neck while lifting him off the floor, he didn't seem scared, in fact he didn't feel the slightest bit of fear despite the dangerous situation he found himself in, as if he believed that at any moment one of his exterminators would arrive and take him out of there, or simply as if it didn't enter his head that he wasn't untouchable.

-F-FUCK YOU.. YOU.. FUCKING PUSSY!

He tried to get free even with less oxygen than required, he increasingly gained strength to kick his attacker into the pit of his stomach, leaving him breathless momentarily and falling to the ground, he took a deep breath and before the opponent could notice Adam was half a block away, he may have been out of shape, but he managed to ran into an alley and lean against the wall, while he saw the idiot run past him.

-SHIT- FUCKING- DAMN IT!

He dropped to the floor sliding down the wall, wiped the blood from his nose, then saw the blood on his hand..

Red.

His blood was... Red. Did he feel.. anger? No.. sadness? Of course not.. he was not a pussy.. He felt... To hell with what he felt all this was bullshit and he shouldn't be going through this! He shouldn't be here! He Should not.. he shouldn't be here...he was the first man...God's most beautiful creation! Fuck..he couldn't be rotting in this shit hole together with all these pieces of shit! They all came from him. where is his respect..

Interrupting his internal monologue bar existential crisis, he heard footsteps and unconsciously clung to the wall with his new claws, since he had arrived he had already escaped from five guys who were looking to kick his ass, perhaps a sixth could be avoided.

Humming a catchy melody, a familiar face passed by looking for something, looked at a sheet of paper, then at the shops, Then he approached the window of the establishment and stuck a flyer on it, without realizing the stare he had on him, Although of course, many people had looked at him since he left the hotel, he had had to send a couple flying, so it wasn't something especially peculiar

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

of all the habitants of hell... IT SHOULD BE FUCKING LUCIFER THE FIRST FAMILIAR FACE HE SEES?! This day, this place and all of this it's nothing but a stupid damn joke!

What the fuck is he doing? Hanging ruffles? Last time he tried to sell him that he was such a big deal, what was he doing hanging fucking pamphlets in the disgusting streets full of shit?

The gaze that Lucifer felt on his shoulder felt heavier and heavier, when he looked out of the corner of his eye he noticed a sinner looking towards the flyer he puted on the glass, and an idea crossed his mind, what would be better than advertising the hotel? Well, make it work of course! He could do this, it was just... talking to a stranger! Perfect, and the bad thing was that... he had to talk to a stranger. come on morningstar! For your daughter's approval!

-Heey you.

They both remained in total silence, panic could be seen on Adam's face, had he recognized him? It seemed like no... everything pointed to no, but that didn't stop his brain from wanting to run away and leave him alone in that moment, Lucifer had an ackward face and it shows in the way his eye twitched that he regretted his decision ever since the words left his mouth, but there was no way to take it back now, meanwhile Adam considered the possibility of just running away.

-I see you... watching from there! You can... read it. You know.. it's a pamphlet. They are for... reading-

He could easily smash his hand against his face in an exaggerated way, but this wasn't the time for that, if he brought a guest to the hotel today Charlie would be so happy! he can do it, it was like selling, It's not that he knew how to sell things... but how hard could it be

Meanwhile Adam looked at him with a disappointed face, his communication skills were as deplorable as they had always been, but he glanced at the pamphlet, of course, their fifth class hotel.

-It has everything! You should tell every person you see in hell about it.

Adam's disgusted face spoke for him, while Lucifer sighed, obviously it wouldn't be that easy to bring someone to the hotel in one day, but for Adam everything was going wonderfully since at least he didn't know it was him.

The feeling did not last too long, as he felt a figure forming behind him, heat emanating from near his back, the lamb-like demon feared the worst, and unfortunately he was right.

-To claim to be the first dick you are quite the pussy.

Said a demon behind him, twice his size, Shark-like, It was the guy from before for sure, shit-

-wait. what was that first thing you said?

before the words had a chance to come out of the angel's mouth in their entirety, He felt a gust of wind pass by him but as far as he was concerned, the wind doesn't scream.

As he turned around at the speed of the wind itself, he could briefly see his future guest crashing into the brick wall at the hands of the stupid demon who had interrupted his negotiation attempt, in a moment six wings came out angelically from the sovereign's back to place himself just in time between the two demons with a flutter of his wings, whit one hand he stoped the inevitable punch destined to hit Adam's face.

-Nobody taught you not get into the grown up's conversations... right?

He said this while a grin formed in his face, showing sharp teeth which this guy would remember all his life, Lucifer released the guy's fist to hold his wrist and with a twist of his hip he easily sent him to the other side of the pentagram.

-now. where did you get that phrase from?

When the angel looked behind him he could see nothing more and nothing less than two hooves walking away two meters away

-Shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!

Although Adam's intention was to lose sight of the small man following him, when he looked back all he could see was his imminent arrival to the ground, receiving a tackle from Lucifer, they both fell rolling around as if they were two little children fighting in the school garden

-SPEAK FILTHY CREATURE

He demanded, standing on top of the lamb, despite it being half his size and looking humorous, the truth is that Adam couldn't get out of his grip no matter how hard he tried.

-STOP BEING SO DAMN DENSE BITCH!

Oh God. He recognized that voice, he recognized that stupid self-nickname, and worst of all, he recognized that stupid tantrum.

-how the hell. are you here rigth now.

-Why should I say that to you, huh?!

-maybe because YOU DON'T HAVE ANOTHER OPTION?! MAYBE??

Both continued to struggle with each other, one to escape and one to have answers. Lucifer was afraid of letting him escape and that he could cause some trouble, although thinking about it carefully... he looked at his lamb's ears, his hooves, his eyes and his teeth... now he was a simple sinner, There wasn't much he could accomplish even if he tried, he'd probably be screwed, he may already had taked a few beatings even.

-Well, I have no idea! I hope that helps sucker!

He said and spit in his face, something he didn't thought about properly, or didn't thought about at all, The ruler's face was irritated, as if he were putting up with a spoiled child, well... that's practically what he's doing.

-That's all, Let's go.

He cleaned his face whit his sleve and grabbed him by the collar of his clothes and began to drag him along the sidewalk, he had an exhausted expression as if he didn't have what it took to face this situation today, although he probably wouldn't any day.

-the FUCK. ARE YOU DOING?!

He said, fluttering his black wings everywhere, managing to irritate Lucifer by obstructing his vision, forcing him to stop, to which he grunted in annoyance.

-Well. taking care of you! What else am I supposed to do! It's what I should always do! because it seems like your entire existence is made to cause me problems!

Adam's gaze could be nothing but anger, he struggled away from Lucifer's grasp, which was curious to see due to the difference in sizes, once free he turned around to look at him from the front

- YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, I WAS MADE TO BE FUCKING PERFECT! YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT.

-If you were as perfect as you say, how do you explain this eh! How do you think this happened?! You are not in this putrid pit for being the dick of the dicks PAL!

The lamb growled in exasperation as he stamped on the ground with his right hoof, after pulling his hair looking to escape from his angryness he lookef at the little one in the eye.

- IF I DON'T CARE, WHY THE FUCK SHOULD YOU CARE, YOU PIECE OF CRAP!

He felt a lump in his throat, but not as painful as the lump in the throat of the king of hell himself, Why should he care? Why the fuck should he care??

-Oh then i saw You die a fucking WEEK AGO. and You expect me to see that You are alive and let you wander through hell knowing that any demon is out there KICKING YOUR FUCKING ASS?! A THANK YOU WAS ENOUGH!

Lucifer screamed as his eyes turned from yellow to red from how infuriating he found having to argue with this idiot, he was never particularly reasonable but right now he was more irritable than normal and had no idea why

- THANK YOU?! OH SURE THEN YOU THINK YOU CAN TREAT ME LIKE A CHARITY CASE FOR YOUR BRAT'S SHITTY HOTEL HUH!? Well I have news for you DUDE!

Adam He kicked dirt from the street, dirtying Lucifer's clothes, who coughed in response to the cloud of dust

-im not your fucking guinea pig.

He narrowed his gaze in disgust, looking down literally and metaphorically at his contrary.

-Are you allergic to kindness? or why is it that you can't accept a fucking favor!?

Adam's Contemptuous face became one of intense anger and he took a step forward and brought his face closer to the angel's.

-from YOU? Of course. Good joke.

Lucifer had enough, he wouldn't wait to know where this reunion could go, It's not even worth wasting his breath on... Adam. Or at least that's what he thought.

-you know what? It's fine with me. It's not like you're not used to everyone leaving you, stay like that, as always, stay alone.

The king shook his clothes to remove the dirt, with one hand he snapped his fingers and as he arrived he left, Adam was left with an unreadable expression, he didn't move from there, he just stood there.

still and quiet.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The golden portal opened above the hotel's front door, since he had avoided greeting people in the morning he assumed he could say hello in the aftern.. nigth, it was nigth.

Well, anyways, he would greet them at night then.

Opening the door abruptly without worrying about whether it was timely or not, he stepped into the hall.

-HEELLOOO everyone! How does the night treat you all?

From there you could easily see the bartender behind the bar along with the little maid sitting at the bar playing with some dead bug, on the sofa lay their most exotic guest and a certain deer showed no signs of being close, much to the king's liking.

-we have been better short king, But nothing that a drink can't fix, rigth wiskers?

The feline rolled his eyes but smiled at the end, and began to mix different liquids, When he looked in the direction the king was his eyes widened in surprise

- wow. It looks like you were hited by a truck.

Angel Dust looked in the same direction realizing what the bartender was referring to, It really looked like they had made him crawl on the floor, well, in fact something like that happened-

- someone played too rough whit ya~?

Husk put his palm to his face as Nifty leaned over the bar counter

- I like rough.

She said, sketching a sinister smile, to which Lucifer reacted with a certain degree of displeasure, and Husk put a donut from the bar counter in her mouth to make her shut up for a little bit

- umh.. rigth. Well no, I wasn't hit by a truck, and no! Neither, the other thing. I just ran into a few issues. Nothing to worry about.

While this small exchange of words was going on, footsteps could be heard in the distance approaching faster and faster, ending with a hug from behind to Lucifer's surprise.

-DAD! What happened? It took you hours to come back!

-Oh come on, come on... it's nothing at all! A few small issues, a few hours! But everything is fine now.

While the angel convinced Charlie that it was nothing, sounds of static reached everyone's ears, covering them in the act, everyone anticipated the arrival of you-know-who, it was nothing new for him to arrive in such a dramatic way, especially if the king was there prior to his arrival

-How interesting... I would swear it would take more than a few small matters to delay the big boss.. a couple hours.

The one who had just arrived in the room exclaimed very arrogantly, with a smile from ear to ear per usual , Charlie watched him appear on the spot and waved happily, only to receive a greeting from the deer-like demon in return.

-oh oh oh If you only knew You little shit.

Lucifer smiled evilly knowing that if Alastor ran into Adam again the last thing he would do would be act with that arrogance so characteristic of his

-Honey there is someone at the door.

Vaggie entered the room and to the conversation to warn her girlfriend about the presence of someone outside, so charlie left the two old men arguing to answer the door

-Oh but tell us your highness, what were these "issues" then.

-Nothing that your walnut-sized brain can understand piece of-

Two brown hooves entered, stepping on the red carpet that covered the hotel's entrance hall, to which Charlie said very excitedly and taking small jumps until they reached the area where everyone was, her girl on one side of the stranger and her on the remaining side.

Lucifer's sight changed from being fixed on Alastor to seeing the newcomer and although the king was already prepared to smile at the person to receive them, when he looked at him carefully, the only thing that came out of his mouth was..

-FU- ADAM?! THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE.

When everyone heard who he was talking about, they stayed cold and glued to the floor. With his new demonic form, no one would have guessed that it was the leader of the exorcists in person, or rather... in demon.

-ADAM?!

-adam??

-THAT ADAM?!

-OH OH estás muerto CABRON!

-Mhhh..

After the domino reaction Adam with lowered ears tried to talk keeping his dignity and pride, not very successfully, with a stupid smile on his face he speak

-heey bitchees.. so.. what's for dinner?

You could swear there was the sound of a cane breaking in the background followed by a static sound.

[messysketchyobeyme]

This is a very important meeting, Lucifer thinks to himself as you jot down notes on Barbatos' presentation.

Very important.

In between pauses, you find time to doodle some quick drawings in the margins of your notebook. They are mostly random, consisting of scribbled animals or little faces.

He should be paying more attention to what Barbatos is saying.

Though, if he squints, it sort of looks like some of the doodles are of him. Some of them do have his side part and perpetual frown. Hmm...perhaps if he tilts his head to the left...

After all, it is about providing more funding to the cafeteria.

This is childish behavior that he usually scolded coming from Mammon or any of his brothers, but it is oddly charming when you are the one doing it. Yes, you have a way of making some of your more annoying habits seem sweet and endearing. You constantly use it to your advantage, but he can't even find it within himself to be upset.

Or perhaps it is about the books in the library that have been cursed to fly out at anyone trying to read?

If you are drawing him, this means, Lucifer realizes with a sudden (and fluttery) skip of his heart, that you're thinking of him during this meeting as well. Do you get distracted during work as much as he does? Do you ever have to get up and pace around the room because the mere thought of him is making you go insane? Do you spend your time daydreaming about how soft his lips must be and what it'd be like to finally kiss them?

Either way, he really, really should be paying attention to this presentation.

You're squinting now, evidentally confused by whatever Barbatos just said. Your lips slightly pucker up as your nose scrunches. You tap the pen against your temple a few times before your face brightens up and you're furiously writing the next set of notes. Lucifer wishes he could capture this moment in a picture.

This is a very important presentation, after all.

"Lucifer?"

He tears his eyes away from you and looks at Barbatos, who is still standing at the other end of the table. "Yes?" Lucifer asks. By the looks of things, Barbatos is wrapping up.

His hands remain perfectly folded behind him. "What are your thoughts on this matter, Lucifer?"

Lucifer presses his mouth into a thin line. He glances down at his own notes, which are embarrassingly nonexistent. "I believe that..." Lucifer hesitates, "...this is an important issue worth discussing. I'm glad you have brought it up." He isn't sure whether his response is relevant to whatever Barbartos asked, but it would have to do.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Barbatos sits down. Before he does, he flashes Lucifer a small, almost mischievous smile. Did that bastard ask him that on purpose?

Lucifer sighs and sits back in his chair. He could feel a new headache coming on.

If Lucifer knew how much of a distraction you would be as an official student council member, he would have shut down this entire idea from the very beginning.

[zimt-deathnote]

Hi Zimt!

So. You know how Near went to public school for a bit?

Do you have any headcanons on that?

I often imagined him in that scenario and the result honestly is pure chaos.

First of all, I think he kept tabs on everyone on a notebook, from the teachers to his classmates, and at some point someone finds his notes and he gets in real trouble because he was really straightforward about it. When asked why he was doing it he answered that it was a writing exercise, but actually he was just practicing reading people. Which lead to him writing down lots of awkward hypothesis on people’s behaviour that ended up offending them. Also he guessed a lot of the most embarrassing stuff about the school staff, like secret shenanigans and who hid a secret stash of cigarettes where and things like that.

He definitely had a fight with a teacher because he would be doing complicated stuff without following the instructions, like:

N: But Miss, the answer to 47x8 really is 376

Teacher: Nate, there is no way you could guess that out of thin air, please (very frustrated) just do the operation like I explained you.

(No idea if in your AU he did enough elementary school for his class to do multiplications, but still)

You could draw a parallel with Mello on that one, or with Light even.

In a normal classroom they probably would have been able to respectively show up the teacher about the stupidity of the question and show off to the teacher about how easily he handles it. Near however would not even be able at that time to understand why it is being asked in the first place, because he struggles to fully grasp the fact that the other children are not at his level. It all seems so easy to him.

Which lead young Nate to pick the lock of his teacher’s desk drawer to read his classmates’s child-level answers to tests and understand what they were doing right that he was apparently doing wrong.

He got in trouble for that too.

He said that he was doing research.

His teachers were very frustrated with his attitude. It’s the nineties, so they don’t really know or care on how to deal with his autism.

Also, do you think he got bullied?

Since children can really be jerks probably yes, and with that sassy attitude he probably spent his share of hours inside a locker.

He definitely corrected all the insults directed to him, (often mistaking insults for simple errors) like:

“No Jason, I am not retarded, I am autistic, asperger autistic, which means that it’s not that evident, but it doesn’t affect my cognitive abilities in any way-“

“Don’t be ridiculous Charles, of course I am not a girl, why would you make such an assumption? We go to the same bathroom.”

Etc.

Also, this one might be a bit exaggerated, but I imagine him being so bored of his own homework that he corrupted one of the older kids to let him do theirs, and when people started to get suspicious and they wanted to back out Nate threatened to let everyone know their secret plus other stuff he found out about his accomplice to use as blackmail for this specific scenario.

The kid reached out to an adult as he was very scared of Near.

Near didn’t mean to scare them, he was just testing if something he saw on TV actually worked in real people.

Poor kid probably had to change a lot of schools.

What do you think?

I can't muster up the energy to draw something for this but I don't want this to be rotting in my ask box any longer cause I think it's absolutely lovely <3 It's so well thought through and lively, I can see all of that happening!

Must be so frustrating for a nighly gifted kid to be constantly corrected and critisised despite knowing they're in the right. I wonder if it made Near feel like he's dumb at some point.

[sparklingbutterflies]

enemies to love with monica mayhaps? 👀 maybe you're a food critic and you make snide comments or something about her work and shes determined to prove you wrong about her not being the best of the best (I love when monica goes out of her way to prove people wrong)

cake by the ocean

synopsis: you are a food critic, who rubs monica the wrong way.

tags/warnings: fluffy, chef monica, g!n reader

you unfortunately drew the short end of the straws between your coworkers which meant you had to review monica geller's restaurant. you have heard of rumors of her being a very good chef, but was completely incapable of taking critism. this meant that nobody wanted to critique her because she could get a little bit intense about it. you and your coworkers tend to draw straws often if it was a chef that couldn't handle it well. the range seemed to be from monica geller to that nasty chef who threw two spoons at your back. for the past few years, you've somehow managed to miss the restaurants she worked at - so you are excited. you do know she generally gets 9s and 10s across the board, so you feel it shouldn't be too bad. maybe your coworkers are just being dramatic.

it takes a while to walk there, but you finally reach her restaurant. some people at your company liked to inform the restaurant right away who they were, but you didn't. you hated special treatment. you decide to sit in the corner and whip out your notebook.

the waiter comes over right away and slides a menu to you. you take it graciously and start flipping through it. you might as well order an appetizer, main course, and dessert.

when he comes back around you tell him your order.

"could i have stuffed mushrooms, some fettuccine without chicken and dessert later?"

he nods at you and then asks if you would like a drink as well.

being on company time meant you couldn't have alcohol so you opted for a water with no ice.

he leaves and you take some time to write down your thoughts. so far you felt the service was pretty darn good. the atmosphere felt right and relaxing. it did feel a little bit fancier than expected, but you didn't mind. as you continued to scribble out your feelings, the waiter came back with your mushrooms.

you take your fork and stick it into one quickly. the flavors were delectable and you enjoyed how it tasted. it was cheesy, garlicky and just right with the wine sauce. you rate it a solid 10/10 since you gobbled it up pretty quickly.

the server comes by now with your fettuccine and it looks amazing. you twirl your fork into the pasta and dive right into it. this time you feel the pasta is not exactly cooked to the way you'd like it to be. of course al dente is the ideal firmness, but this is too soft. you note this down and rank it a 8.5/10. the points were still high since the sauce was impeccable.

the waiter comes back again when you finish the pasta. he hands you a small dessert menu and you thumb through the pages. you decide on tiramisu, a classic dessert.

it takes only about five minutes for them to bring it out to you, which is truly exceptional in your eyes. the amount of cream on top truthfully was a little bit too little for your liking so you took off a point for that. the rest of the tiramisu was perfect however. the lady fingers was soaked in espresso at a perfect amount. in conclusion, it gets a 9/10 for you, which feels pretty high in your opinion. you write your finishing thoughts on it and wave for the check.

since you are busy writing down your thoughts, it doesn't occur to you that the restaurant is winding down. it is late at night now and there are just a few customers left. a gorgeous woman comes out of the kitchen and you can't help but stare at her. the way she talks to each person indvidually makes you nervous for your turn.

before you know it, she's at your table. she's about to open her mouth when her eyebrows narrow at the table. before you can blink she picks up your notes and starts scowling.

"what do you mean the fettuccine is a 8.5/10 and the tiramisu is a 9/10?"

you are taken back by her rudeness and think of a way to respond kindly.

"also al dente may be dependent on one's preference, but i am certain that mine was satisfactory to everyone's taste.

she lets out an annoyed sigh at you which irks you a little bit.

"yeah and the whipped cream note? that's just because you haven't had it italian style. that's pretty surprising considering we are in new york city and every corner store here has it made that way.

you snatch the notepad from her and glare.

"just because you think the pasta was al dente doesn't mean that it came out that way? it was just not firm enough by 30 seconds. it's an error that happens all the time."

you stand up from your seat as well and jab a finger in her chest.

"for the record, i taste tons of tiramisu on a monthly basis. your cream just was a little bit more than what I expected. critics are allowed to have opinions you know."

she rolls her eyes at you and scoffs.

"okay sure whatever you say to make yourself feel better. i know for a fact that you are wrong."

you bite your lip hard to not make a nasty remark towards her.

"who are you anyways to be arguing with me about my opinions."

she looks at you in surprise and gestures at her apron. oh. you didn't even realize that she is the chef.

"'i'm monica geller."

you groan internally and understand why your coworkers decided to pull straws. she was really stubborn, opinionated and beautiful to boot.

"well monica geller, i'm sorry we are meeting this way, but i have to get going now."

she tugs on your sleeve and her eyes softens a little bit.

"well, could you maybe reconsider your rating?"

you frown at her and shake your head.

"that would be lying. plus, an 8.5 is not bad at all."

her lip juts out and you can tell she's close to tearing up.

"i have never gotten below a 9 in five years. you are the first person to feel like the pasta is too soft. i understand the tiramisu being a 9, but pasta is subjective."

you look into her eyes and find yourself faltering. they remind you of the sea and the desire to to drown in them is quite strong. you let out a sigh and grumble to yourself a little bit.

"alright fine, why don't you make it again, and i'll taste it. if it's soft again though, i am sticking to my 8.5 rating."

she lets out a giant grin that leaves you dazzled. admittedly, she is quite endearing and you find yourself wanting to give her another chance.

everyone slowly starts wrapping up and all the customers have left at this point. eventually, the other employees vanish as well. its just you and her now. the silence in the restaurant lingers for a moment and you allow yourself to look at her. the dimmed lights make her look even more beautiful than she was when you first saw her. you can't stop thinking about the dimples that popped up when she smiled at you. her cheekbones look particularly striking as well.

she is wiping down tables quickly and humming to herself. you want to help her but you know it's not your job. you instead quietly hum along with her. she finishes up and then places her hands onto your shoulders. her hands feel firm and commanding. she steers you into the kitchen and looks for a big pot.

she places it under the tap to get the water that is needed and grunts to put it back on the stove. as she takes her time to make the pasta she talks to you gently. she asks you about where do you live, how did you start working for your company and who are your favorite chefs.

"i hope i can be your favorite chef now."

you let out an amused giggle and stare at her hands instead. that was easier than looking too long into her eyes.

"why do you keep avoiding my eyes? is there something wrong with them?"

you feel your cheeks flushing and think of a response quickly.

"there's nothing wrong with your eyes, it just seems best to let you focus."

she raises an eyebrow in your direction and continues to make her pasta. you notice that she's is very determined to get the timing right this time. everything is set to the side as she starts making the sauce.

"i remember you wanted no chicken. you can eat this batch at home, just think about how right i am when you take a bite."

you look at her in amusement and shrug. you didn't want to feed her ego in this moment. it was sweet of her to remember you didn't want chicken in it.

she continues to make the pasta and after a few moments it is ready. she slides the plate in your direction and looks at you expectedly.

you resist the urge to tease her and take the fork that she hands you right away. you spin the pasta around and take a careful bite. you didn't want to burn your mouth. it happened to you a while ago which was the worst. eating food was hard when the skin flaps from the roof of your mouth.

as you chew the pasta, monica is pacing across from you. the pasta is not soft at all this time. it is actually the perfect metric of what al dente pasta should taste like.

"alright monica, this is really good honestly."

she lets out a giddy noise when you say that and beams at you.

"i told you so."

you take out your notepad and cross out the 8.5 rating. you jot down that it was a 9.5 instead and to emphasize how wonderful it was. the sauce was even more silky and smooth than the first time.

with the way her chest is puffed out and her eyes are twinkling pulls a smile out of you as well. you want to kiss her so badly in this moment but you aren't sure if she wants to as well. even though you barely know her, the chemistry you felt was undeniable.

she glances at you and then walks closer. her blue eyes are so pretty, they remind you of stained glass that you see in churches.

"would you say that perhaps, i'm your favorite chef now?"

you barely can hold back a mischievous look at her and pull the collar of her apron close to you.

the tension between you both is unbearable. her gaze is heated and expectant. you swallow thickly and lick your lips slightly. it is so hard to breathe right now so all you can do is lean close to her face.

you cup her jaw gently and then press a soft kiss on her lips. she wraps her arms around your neck and slides her tongue inside you. there is no battling for dominance, instead it feels comforting. like two people who are swimming side by side instead of trying to compete. this was the first time a kiss felt like home to you.

"i definitely think you are my favorite chef now."

note: omgggg this was so fun and soft to write i hope u like it aeron <3

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @blarrghe  |  [AO3: blarghe

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Tortured Man More Tortured by Having To Endure the Best Week of His Life

Blarghe and Dema talk art imitating life writing, romantic foils, and the Platonic Ideal Dorianmance 

Dema: I'd love to begin in OC land with you. As someone who is both an artist and a writer, do you find that making art of your OCs informs your process? Or are those pretty separate for you?

Blarghe: Hmm. That's a good question.

Dema: Why, thank you!

Blarghe: My feeling has always been that I'm a better writer than I am an artist, so maybe the writing informs the art, more. I am always getting very visual ideas, like maybe some comic-panel type storyboards in the brain, and I can't really illustrate that to the degree that I want, so it can be like it is in my head. But I can more easily make words do that.

I'd very much like to do some illustrations for my own stuff, and I love drawing my OC and some things have helped in the other way, like designing his vallaslin on paper did give me something better to describe from in writing. I'd really love to reach the point of being able to do a few comics. There are a few scenes I really see that way. I try to be quite visual in my writing in the meantime I guess, haha.

Dema: That makes sense! I have the same dream. Comics are very intimidating. So it sounds like you write your OCs before you draw them?

Blarghe: Yeah, generally. I think since we're going from a video game and I already have seen the characters that way, there's that. Though I have OCs I have not made in the character creator. I haven't invented a ton of non-canon side characters but there are a few. I think I can picture them pretty well. I wind up drawing them after falling in love with them through writing them, rather than like, designing a character visually/on paper/in the cc before putting them in a story. Honestly, I put down DA:I for a looong time while still writing da:i-inspired fic with my OC and other canon characters. So I guess I don't have to look at him that often.

Dema: I have asked several of our writers if they make all their OCs in the CC, and if that's step 1. I'm curious, too, at what point you knew you were going to make fan content of your OC and participate in fandom. Did you finish the game first? Did you come in with a foot already in the fandom?

Blarghe: Ok long answer: I was into the games first. I started playing in maybe 2015, shortly after Inquisition came out. My partner already liked the games and was excited to play it, so I wound up watching some of that and being intrigued. But I started with Origins, loved it, and wound up loving and playing all three, all of them with more than one OC, to varying degrees of completion. When it comes to writing fic, I had ideas, like, little comics and some additional fill-in-the-gaps scenes written into notebooks and stuff for all three games. Mostly expanding on the personal relationships and romances, as you do. I'd done that kind of thing for other media I liked, but never really been in "fandom" about it for anything. I've always done creative writing and original fiction as a hobby and it was just a way of getting back into that on a personal level. I wrote the most after finishing DA:I for the second time... I kind of did a playthrough I wasn't super happy with, then made a new character specifically for a romance (Dorian's) then... wasn't super happy with that character either, THEN made Taren who is my current OC obsession, and wrote like 30K words of canon-divergence fic with a whole other OC companion inserted and just had fun with it. I forgot about that until 2020, when I found it in my docs and re-read it and decided it was actually pretty good and that I could maybe try to post online, find community, etc. I've since completely scrapped and deleted that fic from AO3, but getting out there got me into doing writing prompts and writing other stories, and now here I am. (I still haven't actually finished my Taren playthrough. I will before Veilguard lol) I was definitely motivated by COVID, thought I might go insane without community, so I picked a couple things I was already into (writing and dragon age) and went looking.

Dema: I'm guessing most of the art and writing you've done for DA has been DA:I?

Blarghe: Most, yeah. If only because my long fic is a DA:I inspired modern-au. Honestly it's fairly divorced from canon lol. Most of my canon writing is for DA:O actually. And I'm obsessed with Taren, I've drawn him more than anyone ever. He is very pretty, you see.

Dema: He is very, very pretty. Is DA:O your favorite game in the franchise? Everyone hates this question but I GOTTA KNOW hahaha!

Blarghe: Yeah it is! I love them all for different aspects, but it's got that first-game start of the obsession nostalgia. I also love a finicky, strategy-heavy RPG so to me the usual combat complaints aren't really a thing. I like the pause-every-two-seconds combat hahaha. I do really love running around through the scenery in Inquisition though, and I like the characters, and the fun flashy rogue stabbing too. But I have a soft spot for Origins for really gripping you into that story and world. It's a great balance of silly and funny and dark and difficult choices.

Dema: I haven't asked anyone else this yet, but are you finding the Veilguard announcements and previews are refreshing the inspiration? Or are you avoiding all spoilers and pretending it does not exist until the release? Or some secret, third thing…

Blarghe: Somewhere in between. I've been here the whole time lol, I don't know that it hyped me up any more, but it's nice to finally have news. And I'm excited that it will mean new people in the fandom and a resurgence that way. I am not totally avoiding spoilers but still kinda keeping my distance for my own sanity. I'll definitely lock down the spoiler tags once it's actually out.

Dema: So valid. I am feeling very inspired, myself, but I think it may be more the energy of the fandom around me reaching such a fever pitch. We're like a flock of ducks getting a whole loaf of bread after years of crumbs. 

Blarghe: So true haha. I am really excited about how it looks. Can't wait to play it!

Dema: Same! Returning to Taren a bit because, well, he's pretty: you said you went through a few iterations of OCs for a Dorian romance before him, and then were hooked. What is it about Taren that makes him a favorite? Was there a particular inspiration for him?

Blarghe: Oh boy. Not a specific inspiration. I played DA:I three times, counting the Taren one that I'm not technically finished, and the first I completely missed any romance (thought I could get Harding until it was too late) but I loved Dorian's character and his personal arc hit so hard that I immediately made a new character just for him. He was like a sassy Trevelyan who didn't really wanna be there, trying to pull kind of a rogueish charming sarcastic irresponsible pretty boy to hang with Dorian but I really didn't like how that clicked. I know it's a pretty common character archetype esp in a Dorian romance to do sassy x sassy so no hate but I found the Inquisition storyline and dialogue options just wouldn't let me be that irresponsible and funny, which makes sense. I really liked the themes of how the game pushes you into this impossible role where the only thing you can do is become a big responsible hero figure. I'm sure there's a compelling story there for the kind of character I'm talking about, but since mine fell so flat to me I decided to lean the complete opposite way. And Dorian inspired it too. The more I played and considered it the more I felt like I wanted him to have kind of a counterweight romance, you know. Opposites attract kind of thing. So Taren started as this very responsible, serious character who has always been prepared for leadership, being a First, and takes all that really seriously. He's also very Dalish and has reason to distrust and argue with him, which is great for Drama, but very very sweet and genuine and wholesome, which is so fun to contrast with all Dorian's trust issues. Dorian's quite emotional and idealistic, really, so they match in that way and it's very romantic. Taren's also a bit aspirational. Part of why I like Dorian so much is that I relate to him a lot, and I was struggling with trying to become less arrogant and more genuine, so Taren embodies a lot of that for me. Part of what makes him my favourite is probably the blank-slate of it all, too. Not having the Origin and getting to make stuff up. The whole romance plot is really compelling. I stuck him in some AUs and got carried away by worldbuilding, too. And after so much time spent with him he's just the fave now. But yeah, he's not my usual archetype. I think I've made a lot more sarcastic rogues than genuine sweethearts. He has like, anxiety and trust issues and I keep throwing him in situations to give him Trauma, but that sort of, happy, sweet, genuine, and healer-class character was all new ground to me and I wound up just loving the different-ness and challenge of it.

Dema: I did want to tell you that your "This is a story about trauma and relationships and socioeconomics and questioning belief and searching for balance. It's also about finding your soulmate on grindr" summary absolutely sent me.

Blarghe: Thank you, I'm very proud of that.

Dema: Speaking of which, can you come up with a clickbait title for your bang fic?

Blarghe: Something like Tortured Man More Tortured by Having To Endure the Best Week of His Life [[REDACTED]] you can cut that last part because it does make it obvious.

Dema: A+. Thank you for the lovely interview, it's been a treat chatting!

Blarghe: Thanks! It was very fun.

[quicksilverdrabbles]

Taliesin: I must say, you've a very good nose for finding injured people, Inigo.

Inigo: Thank you. They are just up this hill.

Kaidan: Peak's Shade?

Lucien: Oh dear, I hope S'vashni hasn't killed anybody again..

Xelzaz: No, this one is still alive.

Inigo: There they are!

Gore: *sitting on the ground with his leg caught in a bear trap*

Lucien: Oh gosh. I suppose asking if you're okay wouldn't be very helpful here.

Gore: N-Not really- *sees Morana standing near the front of the group* Uh.

Morana: *sighs, shaking her head. She pulls out her notebook and begins writing in it, showing the finished phrase to Gore* Hello, my name is Morana. No I am not here to kill you or lead you to your death. *she tilts her head, considering, before turning the notebook back towards her and adding more* Or enslave you.

Gore: You- What? I mean, the killing or leading me to my death I would have believed, but where did enslavement come from?

Morana: *points at Yaksha* That one.

Yaksha: Haha. She saved me from a slaver.

Gore: That.. makes more sense. But, if you're not here to kill me, then... *he stares at the group, confused. His gaze finds Taliesin, and his expression falls into a glare* You're here to imprison me. You're with the Thalmor.

Taliesin: What.

Morana: *waving her hands frantically* No, we're not. *turns to Taliesin* I told you to stop wearing those robes!

Taliesin: Well I don't have anything else to wear!

Morana: I just bought you new Vagrant robes!

Taliesin: When???

Morana: Like a week ago! I told you about them!

Gore: What is happening.

Lucien: Ah, Morana can't speak very well, so she uses sign language. Me, Taliesin and Yaksha can understand her, and the others are learning.

Kaidan: *speaking over Taliesin's arguing* Anyways, Taliesin won't imprison you or anything. If he were still a Thalmor Justiciar he wouldn't be alive right now. I'd have made sure of it.

Inigo: Yes, do not worry.

Gore: ... Right. I suppose I'll believe it for now.. Um. *he winces* Can you guys- just get me out of this thing?

Kaidan: Oh shit I forgot about that- Yeah, we'll get you out. Yaksha!

Yaksha: Right here. Please bite down on this while we get your leg free. *hands him a leather strip*

Gore: Thanks..

Morana: *looks over at Gore's muffled yelling* Oh, you got him free.

Xelzaz: *sigh* No thanks to you!

Taliesin: Don't you look away from me, I am still talking to you!

Morana: *shakes her head*

Taliesin: Don't roll your eyes at me!

Morana: I wasn't even looking at you!

Yaksha: *checking for broken bones and applying healing salve to Gore's wound* How does that feel? Better?

Gore: Very much so. Thank you, er..

Yaksha: Yaksha. And that's Kaidan, Lucien, Inigo, Xelzaz, Taliesin, Styx, and Morana.

Gore: Quite a crowd you all have. Cute nightmare dog.

Lucien: Isn't she?

Styx: *barks*

Taliesin: *still rambling* It's not as if it is my fault the Thalmor hunt anyone suspicious! Of course people like Kaidan are going to be targeted if they stand out enough!

Morana: You're really not helping your case here.

Gore: Er, my name's Gore.

Inigo: Gore? That is quite a strange name.

Gore: It's a long story. Any chance we could talk about it back in town?

Lucien: Oh yes- Yes of course! Is he well enough to stand yet, Yaksha?

Yaksha: I am unsure. If need be, I can carry him.

Gore: I don't think that'll be necessary, big guy.

Morana: *still arguing* For claiming to know so much about fashion, you're certainly attached to those ugly robes.

Taliesin: UGLY?! Why you-!

Morana: *perks up, hearing twigs snapping at the bottom of the hill* Wait shut up.

Taliesin: You dare tell me to-?!

Morana: I said shut up!

Inigo: You heard it too?

Morana: *nods* ...

Kaidan: Yaksha, watch the lad.

Gore: Who the hell are you calling a lad-?

Thalmor Soldier: Well the mutt couldn't have gone off far! Spread out and search for him! And be careful, there are hunting traps everywhere.

Inigo: *whispers, sword drawn* We go on your signal, my friend.

Morana: *nods, drawing her dagger and dousing it in poison* Go.

~

Morana: *taps Gore's shoulder*

Gore: *sitting by the fire, leg bandaged* Hm? What is it?

Morana: *showing him her notebook* How's your leg?

Gore: Fine. Your healer works wonders.

Morana: Yeah, he's the best we could ask for.

Yaksha: *competing with Inigo to see who can fit the most honey nut treats in their mouths*

Morana: ... Assuming he doesn't choke to death himself.

Gore: Haha! I can see there's no end of excitement with these ones.

Morana: Are you sure you're okay travelling with someone who used to be a Thalmor? I'll understand if you don't want to.

Gore: Hm, well.. It'll take some getting used to. I think I'll survive, though. As long as he doesn't try anything funny.

Morana: You sound like Kaidan.

Gore: Ha!

Taliesin: *walks out of the tent wearing his new Vagrant robes* ...

Morana: Well, how are they?

Taliesin: ... They are. Acceptable. I thought most Vagrant robes had conjuration enchantments though. Are these destruction?

Morana: I enchanted them myself.

Taliesin: ... I suppose I must thank you, then.

Morana: I suppose so.

Gore: I'm really gonna have to learn your sign language so I know what you're saying without that book.

Taliesin: It seems Lucien has taken up the mantle of resident sign language teacher, if you'd like to ask him.

Gore: I'll be sure to do that.

[warpaway]

“Oh! There you are, Linhardt!” When Maria approaches, it’s with a bundle in arm: some folded stack of cloth and an orange on top of it, as well as an easygoing grin sprawled across her face. The moment she draws to a stop in front of them she offers the fruit.

“It’s not much,” she apologizes, because much is not something they have, “But I hope you like it! I can go grab something else if you don’t like oranges, though!” Soon enough she moves onto brushing dust from the cloth still held in her arms. “I wanted to say thank you! You did most of the healing out there, and I’m really grateful. Thank you, Linhardt.”

There’s no question in her mind it would have been worse without them around — at the very least, she’s sure she would be much less able to run around as she is now without their help. She holds up the cloth; whether or not it was a blanket before, it is now.

“And… here! You seemed really tired before.” A smile, earnest and bright. “Hee hee… get some rest!”

when he hears his name, he's in the middle of sketching the crest of blaiddyd into his notebook. he has all the crests memorized, of course, but never before has this one interested him so severely. he needs a nice picture on the page before he interviews lambert.

"maria," they greet her with a smile. with a distraction, they're much more chipper, and it shows on their face.

"thank you so much," he says, accepting her gifts. "you're right - i fell asleep once or twice on my feet out there. don't tell anyone, eh?"

linhardt closes his notebook and takes both, tucking both the 'blanket' and notebook under his arm in order to begin unpeeling the orange. he's not sure if he's actually hungry, but he also isn't sure the last time he ate, so certainly it can't hurt anything.

"i appreciate this, but it feels a little undeserved," they continue, digging their fingers into the orange's flesh to remove a slice. "you see, i'm not much of a fighter at all, anyway... so it was always going to come down to me healing you all. it was the least i can do. you certainly did a number on those monstrosities - that, i feel is far more important."

[theanoninyourinbox]

198

-counting songs-…ah Banjo Bloodbath by Appalachian Anarchy!

This has unlocked The Ancient Lore...cast your mind to the far years of 2002 to 2004...I had recently discovered zombies existed, and had a little notebook to doodle in...22 chapters and just as many drawings were made before I lost interest...but this song, with its cover art of a zombie playing the banjo, made me think of The Thems and dig out the little notebook...the Zombie Fighters...

Ezekiel Hunter, our main character, is an amnesiac zombie(?) with a heart of gold and a love of guns and leather jackets. He was found in a pond by the reclusive religious Titus, who named and nursed Ezekiel back to health. They resided in an gigantic old monastery with ample food, water, and a small farm, but Ezekiel kept venturing out to look for survivors. Which is where Ezekiel met Officer Grey, Doc Frank, and their 19 survivors. After a short standoff and squealing over Officer Grey's Desert Eagle, Ezekiel led the survivors to the monastery and safety. But Officer Grey was missing his twin sons, who had been in the care of his partner Officer Alex. So Grey, Frank, and Ezekiel went back out, found the trio and some other survivors, and brought them back to Titus' home. It stops right after Frank finds a daisy, the first flower, and implied first new growth outside of the monastery, and Grey stays back with his sons, and the new trio going out to find more survivors, like Frank's mother.

Now some character details and changes!

Ezekiel has changed very little - still a zombie, still has a partly split face, and still has the same outfit save the shoes and shirt color; originally described as "black leather jacket with silver spikes running from shoulder to wrist. White wifebeater with a large red and black cross. Black jeans with a grey patch on the left knee. Grey sneakers with mud splattered all over them." His shirt is now black, and he wears big ol boots. I also gave him Strabismus, because it deserves more rep - my current head teacher has it, and so does an internet friend! (@ me I genuinely can't remember RN I think it's Cham). The daisy represents the daisy that Frank found. The anime bangs are altered from his old one-lock anime look.

Titus has changed little - bald Asian monk-like man with strong faith, wearing a turtleneck. I'm thinking Korean or Filipino, but I'm undecided there. I am changing his hermetic life - the monastery has more people (farmers, monks, visitors that got stuck) living in it, and it's accessible through one tunnel that the zombies get trapped in and are dispatched. Titus got his scar before joining the monastery commune, and will not talk about it, or why he always wears long sleeves.

Officer Grey was a spiky haired skinny guy, which I had to remedy. He's now a dad-bodied man with angst-face and freckles. He misses his kids so much, and the survivor group being half kids has not helped much. Grey (is that his first or last name? I Do Not Know) was the only one with any protective training or gear (Kevlar works surprisingly well against zombies) and is just So Tired. He was considering leaving the force to spend more time with his kids when the Zombies Happened, and getting them back and having a safe place to rest has given him the chance to rest. His kids are named Jay and Marco, and there's never any mention of their mom.

Frank has changed quite a bit - young me did not know how to respectfully represent Native American culture so I'm throwing his original last name Red Deer out the window. He's still Native American, and still a medical professional, but now he's a coroner! Much funnier that he's in charge of patching everyone up this way. He's extremely close to his mother, and not knowing if she's safe has affected him greatly. In the old story, he kept having nightmares about a mystery figure, and I think I'll keep that going...

Alex! The only woman on the team (fixing that), and an honorary aunt to Jay and Marco. No romance involved with Officer Grey, they've been partners for years, and Alex was emergency babysitting when everything started. She gathered some survivors and hunkered down, and was beyond overjoyed to see Grey again. In the OG story, she was a man - do with that info what you will...

Anyway, if you're interested in the old story, flaws and all, let me know!

[vadapega]

Rummaging through my old room I find this, a traditional flip note of Pantufa the Cat from 2011 or earlier, with rusty staples and, according to the numbers on the corner, missing frames.

For detailed ramblings of hidden memories this unlocked, click for more

I've always wanted to be an animator and, while I didn’t have the software or hardware for digital animation, I wanted to practice is as much as I could. This was the best I could put together at the age of 16.

I would do small scale animations at the edges of notebooks or draft ideas in comic form with notes before I knew what a Storyboard was. Back then I didn't even have a stable internet connection in the first place, this was around the time I had to share a PC with my older brother who would kick me out at any opportunity and hog the PC for the entire day, only letting me on at the last minute, where I would get an earful from my parents and be told to go to bed, it was a nightmare to do anything digitally...

The first drawing tablet I got was considered scrap the moment I got it for Christmas. No screen, wobbly inaccurate pen (can't draw a straight line without it looking like lightning), Silvercrest branded (basically, LIDL), it was as cheap as it could be but it was my introduction to "not using the mouse to draw" which it did not help with as even today revisiting it makes me want to draw with a mouse more.

Things were very strict and if something did what it needed to do, it didn't need to be replaced. "That's what I had been taught"If it ain't broke, don't fix it" was the motto for my family and that mentality stuck to me even to the present day. I still find myself using MSPaint for Pixelart or drawings, as spending for anything greater is hardwired in my brain as "unnecessary" or "wasteful", hell, I wasn't even allowed to spend money outside of school purchases such as at the cafeteria (they had a kickass card charging system which made the school I attended in Germany around 2016-2019 look medieval in comparison which is incredible since Portugal isn't the first thing you think of when it comes to technological advancements), so any money I would get for Christmas or birthdays was practically useless and I never learned to manage income. I would sometimes find my mom take the money off my piggy bank for groceries and other goods when she was running low, she didn't try to lie, she had no reason to.

Anything I can get for free is what I stick by and I'll only spend money if I absolutely have to or, more recently, if it benefited close friends in any way, as I've learned to have no regard for my own well being and should be ashamed for even considering it, others always take priority.

So when it comes to animation today, I have a "yar har" version of Toon Boom Studio 8.0 for bigger things (I've tried OpenToonz but it's very crash happy and I've lost hours of animation with it even with the backup and auto save features on, back in the day I had a a copy of Flash CS4 I grabbed from the school computers that I got to work after some tinkering and a well placed crack) and for Pixelart I just use Windows XP's MSPaint and abuse scroll-wheel and window resizing shenanigans to advance frames. I don't get much time to practice animation and I get easily excited to have a chance at it.

I'm under my own mental shackles at all times and that's not going to change, only further cemented by the elitist mindset the Sonic Hacking community and SRB2 had taught me, a mindset I regret adopting and one I catch myself going back to and feeling ashamed of every now and then, leading only to depressive episodes that are best left for a psychologist to deal with... should I ever find the opportunity to seek one without time and language barrier issues.

As the years go by and I find myself doing or just refining Pixelart than to do animated pieces, I've given up hope in being an animator in the foreseeable future, only dedicating animation to those done in private between friends, never allowing myself to clean up or refining it in any meaningful way unless asked for because I shouldn't. It's why I tend to ask for suggestions or characters to add for animations I plan to do, cause I don't want it to be for me, I want it to be for those I can make happy to see it.

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Before I hit "Post", a reminder that there are people much worse off than I am, these are just memories and 1st world problems and should be nobody's priority. Please support growing young artists and animators, they need it more than some washed up wanna-be animator that is known for nothing else but basic Sonic ROM hacks disguised to look impressive via a coat of MSPaint.