#Machine Worship (trope)

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

In their earliest appearances, the Circuit Chaps were shown to have embraced the necessity of using mechanical enhancements to allow them to continue living in an otherwise adverse environment,

but they quickly fell down the rabbit hole that led them to become soulless automatons.

[kathaelipwse]

The barista who stole his heart | K. Mingyu

TROPE: Idol x Non-Fan | Barista AU | Mingyu Falls First | Found Family | Heavy Insecurity to Full Acceptance | Protective Love WARNINGS: Mentions of past toxic relationships | body shaming | Public scrutiny | | mild social media hate | Lots of fluffy affection | soft romance | Mingyu being the ultimate green flag™ | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE WORDCOUNT: 5051 words {Reading time: 18mins} SYNOPSIS: You never expected a regular customer at your café to be a famous idol—especially not one as kind and ridiculously handsome as Kim Mingyu. What started as casual interactions turned into lingering glances, playful flirting, and a slow, inevitable fall. But when your past insecurities resurface and public attention turns critical, Mingyu makes one thing clear: he’s not going anywhere. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one-shot is for anyone who’s ever doubted their worth because of society’s beauty standards. You are enough. You are beautiful. And if Mingyu were for us girlies, he would absolutely worship you. Enjoy this soft love story!

The café, a cozy haven nestled amidst the urban sprawl near the broadcasting station, hummed with a quiet, almost reverent energy. Its walls, painted in warm, inviting hues of cream and ochre, absorbed the city's relentless clamor, replacing it with the gentle whir of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. You, a silent guardian of this tranquil space, moved with a practiced grace, your movements fluid and efficient as you prepared orders. The late shift was your sanctuary, a time when the world outside faded into a distant murmur, allowing you to immerse yourself in the simple rhythm of your work.

The evening was drawing to a close, the last few stragglers trickling out into the cool night air, when the bell above the door chimed, announcing a late arrival. A figure stepped into the café, impossibly tall, his silhouette framed against the streetlights outside. He moved with a quiet weariness, his shoulders slumped, his steps measured. Yet, despite his exhaustion, there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence, a quiet intensity that filled the space.

As he approached the counter, you looked up, your gaze meeting his. His eyes, dark and deep, held a hint of fatigue, yet they sparkled with an inner warmth that caught you off guard. His face, sculpted with sharp angles and softened by a gentle curve to his lips, was undeniably handsome, a fact you acknowledged with a professional detachment.

"Americano, please," he requested, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. It was a voice that held a quiet authority, yet it was laced with a gentle politeness that was almost disarming. The way he looked at you, a quiet searching look, made you pause just a moment longer.

You nodded, maintaining your professional demeanor, your gaze unwavering. "Name?"

"Mingyu."

The name was simple, ordinary, yet it lingered in the air, a quiet echo in the stillness of the café. You scribbled it on the cup, your mind already moving to the next task, the familiar routine of grinding beans and steaming milk. A moment later, you placed the cup before him, the name scrawled on the side in your hurried handwriting: Minkoo.

He stared at the cup, a flicker of surprise, almost disbelief, crossing his features. He blinked, then looked back at you, a subtle question in his eyes. "It’s Mingyu."

"Mingyo?" you repeated, your brow furrowed slightly, as you tried to match the spoken word to the written one.

His jaw dropped, ever so slightly, a subtle disbelief etching on his usually composed face. He looked around the empty cafe, then back to you. “…She really doesn’t know me?” The thought was almost spoken aloud, a quiet, incredulous murmur that hung in the air.

For the first time in a long time, Kim Mingyu, the idol known for his charisma and widespread recognition, was caught completely off guard. He was accustomed to the whispers, the gasps, the immediate recognition that followed him like a shadow. He was used to the way people’s eyes widened when they saw him, the way their voices rose in excitement. But here, in this quiet café, under the soft glow of the overhead lights, he was just another customer, another name to be misspelled, another face in the crowd.

The lack of recognition was a strange, almost liberating experience. It was a novel sensation, a breath of fresh air in the midst of his carefully constructed public persona. He watched as you moved about the café, your movements unhurried, your focus unwavering, and he found himself intrigued. There was a quiet confidence in your demeanor, a self-assuredness that was both captivating and disarming.

He took his coffee, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, a silent question hanging in the air. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter, this simple misspelling, was the beginning of something unexpected, something that would disrupt the carefully orchestrated rhythm of his life.

The "Minkoo" incident, as Mingyu privately dubbed it, became a peculiar sort of lodestar, drawing him back to the café night after night. It wasn't just the coffee, though it was undeniably good; it was the quiet, almost surreal normalcy of the place, and most importantly, you. He found himself inexplicably drawn to your unpretentious demeanor, your calm efficiency, and the way you seemed utterly unfazed by his presence.

He started timing his visits, subtly adjusting his schedule to coincide with your shifts. He’d arrive just as the evening rush was dying down, the café bathed in the warm, golden glow of the setting sun. He'd sit at the counter, a quiet observer, watching you work your magic behind the espresso machine. He’d study the way your brow furrowed in concentration as you measured out coffee grounds, the gentle curve of your lips as you smiled at a customer, the soft sway of your hips as you moved around the small space.

His members, ever vigilant, noticed the pattern. "Look who it is, Mr. Americano," Seungkwan would tease, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Back for more of that… Minkoo special?"

"What? Their coffee is good!" Mingyu would protest, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He'd try to sound casual, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his growing infatuation.

"So is every other café, but you don’t go to those, do you?" Hoshi would chime in, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You only go when she’s working."

Mingyu would ignore them, his gaze drifting towards the counter, where you were engaged in a lively conversation with a customer. He was captivated by your laughter, a warm, melodic sound that filled the café. He was fascinated by the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way your hand gestures punctuated your words, the way you seemed so effortlessly you.

He started trying to engage you in conversation, asking about the daily specials, commenting on the weather, even attempting a few clumsy jokes. He’d try to flirt, subtly, with lingering eye contact, playful touches on the counter as he paid, and compliments slipped into casual conversation. "You have really nice eyes," he'd say, his voice low and sincere.

You, however, remained blissfully unaware of his growing infatuation, attributing his attention to his naturally friendly demeanor. You’d laugh at his jokes, offer him a friendly smile, and engage in polite conversation, but you never seemed to see him as anything more than a regular customer.

The moment it truly hit him, the moment he realized he was falling, was a simple, unassuming exchange. He’d made a joke about his clumsiness, a self-deprecating remark about his tendency to trip over his own feet, a habit that often became a source of amusement for his members. "I swear, I’m a hazard to myself," he’d said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

Without hesitation, you’d said, "Well, I think it’s kinda endearing."

The words were simple, but their impact was profound. For the first time, someone hadn’t teased him, hadn’t made light of his insecurities. They’d found it endearing, a quality to be cherished, a quirk that made him unique. The sincerity in your voice, the gentle warmth in your eyes, it was like a balm to his soul.

And in that moment, his heart wasn’t just beating; it was sprinting, a frantic rhythm that echoed in his ears. He felt a strange mix of exhilaration and vulnerability, a raw, unfiltered emotion that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wanted to know more about you, to unravel the mystery of your quiet confidence, to understand the depth of your kindness.

He wanted to erase the distance between idol and regular customer, to bridge the gap and see if there was something more, something real, something that could withstand the scrutiny of his public life. He wanted to be seen by you, not as Kim Mingyu the idol, but as just Mingyu, the man who found your simple kindness utterly captivating.

The café, usually a haven of quietude, was buzzing with an unusual energy that evening. A small group of young women, their faces flushed with excitement, had gathered near the counter, their eyes darting between you and a certain tall, handsome customer. You paid them little mind, focusing on the intricate latte art you were creating, the delicate swirls and patterns a testament to your practiced skill.

The illusion of anonymity, the comfortable bubble of normalcy that had enveloped Mingyu during his visits, shattered when one of the young women, her voice trembling with excitement, recognized him. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she whispered to her friends, "Oh my god, you’re Kim Mingyu!"

The name hung in the air, a sudden, sharp intrusion into the quiet atmosphere of the café. The other women gasped, their eyes widening, their whispers escalating into excited murmurs. You paused, your hand still hovering over the latte, your brow furrowed slightly. You looked up, your gaze shifting from the excited fans to Mingyu, who stood near the counter, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"Wait… you’re Kim Mingyu? Like, the Mingyu?" you asked, your voice laced with a playful skepticism. You'd seen the name before, heard the excited chatter from some customers, but you'd never put two and two together. It was just another name to you.

Mingyu braced himself for the inevitable wave of excitement, the squeals, the requests for autographs, the sudden shift in your demeanor. He was accustomed to the instantaneous recognition, the way people’s eyes lit up when they realized who he was. He watched you, a silent observer, wondering how you would react.

Instead of the expected fanfare, you just smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you assessed him. "Damn, if I knew you were famous, I would’ve charged you more."

The unexpected response caught him off guard. A breathy laugh escaped his lips, a mix of relief and amusement. He watched as you returned to your latte art, your movements unhurried, your focus unwavering. There was no starstruck awe, no fawning admiration, just a playful jab and a return to your work.

The fans, initially taken aback by your nonchalant reaction, erupted in a flurry of questions and requests for autographs. Mingyu, however, found himself drawn to your quiet composure, your lack of pretense. You treated him like any other customer, a regular who happened to be famous, and he found it strangely refreshing.

He lingered at the counter, watching as you interacted with the fans, your smile genuine, your demeanor polite but firm. You politely declined requests for photos, explaining that you were working, but you offered to sign a napkin for them.

As the fans finally departed, their excited chatter fading into the night, Mingyu turned to you, a curious smile playing on his lips. "You’re not… impressed?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

You shrugged, your eyes focused on cleaning the espresso machine. "Impressed by what? You’re a customer. A regular customer, in fact. And one who gets his name spelled wrong, apparently." You gestured to a stray coffee cup, a faded "Minkoo" still visible on the rim.

Mingyu chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Right. Minkoo."

The air between them shifted, a subtle change in the dynamic. The anonymity was gone, the illusion shattered, but something new had taken its place. There was a spark of curiosity, a flicker of intrigue, a sense that this unexpected revelation was just the beginning of something more. He was no longer just a customer, and you were no longer just a barista. They were two people, their worlds colliding in the quiet intimacy of a late-night café, and the possibilities were endless.

As the days turned into weeks, a comfortable familiarity settled between you and Mingyu. The initial awkwardness of his revelation faded, replaced by a quiet intimacy that thrived in the late-night hours of the café. He’d linger after his orders, engaging in conversations that stretched into the quiet hours of closing, sharing stories and laughter that filled the empty space.

Yet, despite the growing closeness, Mingyu couldn’t ignore the subtle but persistent habit that lingered beneath your easygoing demeanor: the way you deflected every compliment, every word of praise, as if they were poisoned darts. It was a subtle flinch, a momentary tightening of your shoulders, a forced laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"You look beautiful tonight," he’d say, his voice soft, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your cheek, the way the soft light of the café illuminated your features.

"Pfft, yeah right," you’d reply, a dismissive wave of your hand, a self-deprecating chuckle that betrayed a deep-seated insecurity. "Don’t lie to me."

He watched you, his brow furrowed, a growing concern etching his features. He saw the way your smile faltered when he complimented your eyes, the way your gaze dropped when he praised your laugh. It was a subtle language, a silent conversation of self-doubt that whispered beneath the surface of your confident exterior.

One night, as he helped you close the café, the quiet intimacy of the empty space emboldening him, he decided to confront the unspoken pain that lingered between them. The last customer had left, the chairs were stacked, the counters wiped clean, and the only sound was the gentle hum of the refrigerator.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, his voice low and serious, his gaze unwavering.

You froze, your hands stilling on the cloth you were using to wipe down the counter. "Do what?"

"Act like I’m lying when I say you’re beautiful."

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the countertop. The silence stretched, a tense, fragile quiet that amplified the unspoken pain.

Finally, you sighed, a soft, resigned sound that spoke of years of ingrained self-doubt. "Because I don’t fit the standard, Mingyu. I never have. My exes made sure I knew that."

The words were barely a whisper, a fragile echo of past hurts, but their impact was profound. Mingyu’s heart clenched, a wave of protectiveness surging through him. He saw the vulnerability in your eyes, the raw honesty that trembled in your voice, and he wanted to erase the pain, to heal the wounds that had festered for so long.

His grip tightened on the counter, his knuckles white. "What did they say?"

"That I was too heavy. That I wasn’t what guys wanted. That I didn’t belong." Your voice was barely audible, a fragile confession that spoke of years of emotional scars. "They said I was too much, or not enough. That nobody would love me like this."

Mingyu’s expression darkened, a fierce protectiveness surging within him. If he could go back in time, he’d shake those men until they realized the magnitude of their foolishness, the precious gem they’d discarded. He’d make them see the beauty they’d overlooked, the strength they’d underestimated, the love they’d rejected.

Instead, he made a silent promise, a vow etched in his heart. He would rewrite your narrative, replacing the lies with truths, the pain with love. He would show you the beauty he saw, the strength he admired, the love he felt. He would make sure you never felt that way again.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his touch feather-light, reverent. "They were wrong," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "They were blind. You are beautiful, inside and out. You are strong, you are kind, you are worthy of love. And I… I see you. I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His words hung in the air, a silent promise of unwavering support, a vow to heal the wounds that had been inflicted by others. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, that the years of ingrained self-doubt wouldn’t vanish overnight. But he was determined to be your anchor, your safe haven, your unwavering champion. He would show you, day by day, moment by moment, the truth of your worth.

From that night forward, Mingyu embarked on a quiet mission, a personal crusade to rewrite the narrative of your self-perception. He became your most ardent admirer, your fiercest champion, a constant source of unwavering affirmation. He showered you with compliments, not empty platitudes, but genuine expressions of the beauty he saw, both inside and out. He wanted to re-educate your heart.

He’d trace the gentle curves of your stomach, his touch light and reverent, whispering, "I love how soft your stomach is. It’s warm and inviting, perfect for cuddling." He’d kiss the soft skin of your inner thighs, his lips lingering, his voice husky as he murmured, "Your thighs drive me crazy, you know that? They’re strong and beautiful, and I could lose myself in them."

He’d hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "God, I could hold you all day and never get tired. You feel like home, like the safest place in the world."

And he did hold you, often. He’d lift you effortlessly, his strong arms cradling you, spinning you around just to hear your laughter, a melody that filled his soul with warmth. He’d pull you into his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands tracing the lines of your body, his touch a constant affirmation of your beauty.

"Mingyu! Put me down! I’m heavy!" you’d protest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks, a hint of lingering insecurity in your voice.

He’d just smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief, his grip tightening. "No, you’re perfect. Every curve, every inch, every part of you is perfect."

He worshipped every inch of you, finding beauty in the places others had found flaws. He’d kiss the small scar on your knee, tracing its delicate line with his fingertip, whispering, "This tells a story, a story of strength and resilience. It’s beautiful."

His favorite things:

Kissing your neck, shoulders, and collarbone when you’re tired, his lips leaving a trail of warmth, a gentle reassurance that you were safe and cherished. He'd whisper soft praises against your skin, telling you how hard you worked, how beautiful you were when relaxed.

Back hugs while you cleaned, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, murmuring soft praises into your ear, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering insecurities. He’d tell you how much he admired your work ethic, your dedication, your quiet strength.

Tracing his fingers over your stomach folds, his touch light and reverent, grinning as he whispers, "So soft, I love this," his adoration palpable. He’d kiss the soft skin, his lips lingering, his touch a silent declaration of his love.

Resting his head on your thighs, looking up at you with pure adoration, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words. He’d tell you how much he admired your strength, your intelligence, your kindness.

Holding your hand while you walk, his grip strong and reassuring, a silent promise of unwavering support. He’d intertwine his fingers with yours, his touch a constant reminder that you were never alone.

Pulling you into his lap when you're sad, whispering sweet nothings until your tears cease. He'd hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his touch a comforting presence.

Kissing the inside of your wrists, and the soft skin under your ears, his worshiping kisses a silent prayer of adoration. He’d linger over the delicate pulse points, his touch a reverent exploration of your skin.

Falling asleep with you in his arms, his hold tight but gentle, as if he's afraid you'll slip away. He'd hold you close, his breath warm against your hair, his presence a comforting weight.

Running his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and soothing, a silent lullaby that eased the tension from your shoulders.

Making you laugh until your sides hurt, his playful teasing a constant source of joy, a reminder that life was meant to be enjoyed.

Gaze at you while you work, his eyes filled with a soft adoration, a silent appreciation for your dedication and skill.

When he pulls you close, and kisses you deeply, a kiss that tells you how much he loves you, a passionate declaration of his unwavering devotion. He will sometimes pull back, and just stare at your lips, like he is memorizing every curve.

He wanted to rewrite the narrative of your self-perception, to replace the lies with truths, the pain with love. He wanted to show you the beauty he saw, the strength he admired, the love he felt. He wanted to create a safe haven within his arms, a place where you could finally believe in your own worth.

As your relationship with Mingyu deepened, the inevitable public scrutiny began to surface. Whispers turned into rumors, rumors into articles, and articles into a full-blown media frenzy. The internet, a double-edged sword, became a battleground of opinions, some supportive, many cruel.

When dating rumors surfaced, accompanied by candid photos of you and Mingyu sharing a quiet moment in the café, not all fans were kind. Some comments were venomous, laced with jealousy and prejudice, questioning why an idol, a figure of perfection in their eyes, would choose someone like you. They scrutinized your appearance, your background, your very existence, dissecting you with cruel precision.

The harsh words echoed the insecurities you’d carried for so long, a cruel reminder of past hurts. They whispered doubts you’d tried to bury, amplified the voices that had told you you weren’t enough. The online vitriol began to seep into your daily life, a constant barrage of negativity that threatened to erode the fragile confidence Mingyu had worked so hard to build.

Mingyu, however, didn’t stand for it. He was a force of nature, a shield against the storm of negativity. His response was swift, unwavering, a public declaration of love that sent shockwaves through the internet:

"If you can’t support the person I love, then you don’t support me either."

The statement was bold, a clear line drawn in the sand. He chose you, unequivocally, without hesitation. He chose love over the fickle adoration of those who couldn’t see beyond their own narrow perceptions. He made it clear, your happiness, and safety, were his priority.

Behind closed doors, in the quiet sanctuary of his apartment, he held you tighter than ever, his embrace a silent promise of protection. He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch soothing, his presence a comforting weight against the storm raging outside.

"Don’t listen to them, baby. They don’t know you," he’d whisper, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "They don’t see what I see. They don’t see your kindness, your strength, your beauty. They don’t see the way you light up a room, the way you make me laugh, the way you make me feel like I’m home."

"You belong here, with me," he’d murmur, his lips pressed against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. "You belong in my arms, in my life, in my heart."

He’d hold you close, his arms wrapped around you, his touch a constant reassurance that you weren’t alone. He’d kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, his touch reverent, his lips a silent prayer.

He’d spend hours talking to you, reminding you of your worth, of your strength, of your beauty. He’d recount the moments that made him fall in love with you, the small gestures, the quiet kindnesses, the unwavering strength that shone through your vulnerability. He’d remind you of the way you laughed, of the way you smiled, of the way you made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

He’d cook for you, even though he was terrible at it, just to see the smile on your face. He’d play your favorite music, holding you close as you danced in the living room. He’d watch your favorite movies, even the cheesy ones, just to cuddle with you on the couch.

And slowly, little by little, the walls you’d built around your heart began to crumble. The doubts, the insecurities, the ingrained beliefs that you weren’t enough—they began to fade, replaced by the unwavering certainty of Mingyu’s love. He was your anchor, your safe haven, your unwavering champion, and he wouldn’t let anyone, not even the cruelest of online trolls, take that away from you. He made sure you knew, his love was a shield, and he would always protect you.

As the storm of public scrutiny subsided, a quiet peace settled between you and Mingyu. The initial intensity of his protective fervor mellowed into a gentle, unwavering love that permeated every aspect of your lives. You began to see yourself through his eyes, to embrace the beauty he saw, to believe in the worth he so tirelessly affirmed.

One day, Mingyu called you beautiful, his voice soft and sincere, his eyes filled with a quiet adoration. And for the first time, you didn’t deflect, didn’t dismiss, didn’t shrink away from the compliment. You simply smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up your entire face, a smile that reflected the newfound confidence blooming within you.

And in that moment, he knew—this was love. Real, unwavering, unshakable love. A love that transcended superficialities, a love that embraced every imperfection, every vulnerability. A love that was built on a foundation of acceptance, respect, and unwavering support.

Their relationship blossomed, a quiet intimacy that thrived in the small, everyday moments. Late-night conversations over steaming mugs of coffee, stolen kisses in the quiet corners of the café, hand-holding during long walks through the city streets, shared laughter during mundane tasks. They found comfort in each other’s presence, a sanctuary in each other’s arms.

Mingyu loved to trace the lines of your body, his touch a gentle exploration, his lips whispering praises against your skin. He loved the way your laughter filled the room, a melodic sound that chased away the shadows of past insecurities. He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy, a reflection of the joy he’d helped to cultivate. He loved the way your hand fit perfectly in his, a silent affirmation of their connection.

He’d bring you flowers, not just roses, but wildflowers, sunflowers, and other unusual blooms, each one handpicked and chosen because it reminded him of you. He’d leave small notes around the apartment, tucked into books, slipped into pockets, reminding you of your beauty, your strength, your worth. He’d cook for you, even though he was terrible at it, the burnt edges and lopsided dishes a testament to his love.

You, in turn, learned to appreciate his quirks, his clumsiness, his infectious laughter. You learned to see the quiet strength beneath his playful exterior, the unwavering loyalty that anchored his heart. You learned to trust his love, to believe in his words, to embrace the woman he saw within you.

Their love story was a quiet revolution, a testament to the power of acceptance, the beauty of vulnerability, and the unwavering strength of a love that defied all odds. It was a love that found comfort in imperfections, strength in vulnerability, and a forever in the quiet moments shared between two souls destined to find each other.

It was late, the café bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside. The last customer had long since departed, leaving behind a quiet stillness that hung in the air. Mingyu sat on the counter, his eyes fixed on you as you wiped down the espresso machine, his gaze filled with a quiet adoration that spoke of a love that had deepened and matured over time.

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, you turned around and said it. "I love you."

The words were simple, yet their impact was seismic, a ripple that spread through the quiet space, altering the very fabric of their world. Mingyu froze, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

Then, his knees buckled, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he gripped the counter, his knuckles white, his gaze fixed on you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, a plea that trembled in the stillness.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes filled with a love that mirrored his own. "Mingyu—"

His hands found your waist, gripping like he needed to ground himself, his touch both tender and desperate. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, his body trembling with an emotion too profound for words. "Say it again, please."

So you did, your voice soft but unwavering. "I love you."

Mingyu laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound that echoed through the empty café. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his lips curved into a smile that radiated pure, unadulterated joy.

"God, you just—" He shook his head, unable to articulate the depth of his emotion, before crashing his lips to yours, a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of a love long held in check, a love that had finally found its voice.

When he pulled away, he cupped your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words. "I love you more. So much more. So much, it actually hurts."

He showered you with kisses, his lips tracing a path across your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, his touch reverent, worshipful. He kissed your eyelids, your nose, the soft skin beneath your ears, his touch a silent prayer of adoration.

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you, his body a warm, comforting presence. "I’m never letting you go," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re mine, forever."

And in that moment, in the quiet intimacy of the empty café, surrounded by the scent of coffee and the warmth of their love, they knew—their forever had begun.

[schizophilus]

i cant ship dr ratio with aventurine because in my head him and screwllum are loyally married to one another i actually love them sm the machine that worships humanity x human that worships AI trope is killing me like yes we are machine in carbon and machines are we in code and love will find its will as long as there is thought, as long as “you are” or whatever cogito ergo sum is

yes dr ratio we are machines in carbon and yes screwllum machines are we in codes

i love divine machinery / ai so much bro this is an awfully short post from me but screwtio appreciation like yes king suck that metallic sheet of a face til it rusts

[waokevale]

Looks at you with my eyes sitting in front of you like I'm interrogating you (but it's actually a really nice cozy room). I have heard tale of this WXwood ship. Tell me what you find compelling about the ship I'm considering joining you in WXwood land. Literally just say words at me I'm listening

Alright, very well then, so I shall! 🫡

At first, I only shipped them ironically, because they seemed like the classic "opposites attract" trope, which I favor 👍

But then I got digging, and I realized they're not actually that different after all. In fact, they share plenty of common traits and interests. What many people overlook initially, is that neither of them is actually a black&white character. None of the DST cast is, to be fair. 🩶

So it was inevitable, I became enthralled with this ship and now it's probably my nr 1 of all time.

Here's a list of my reasonings and what I found out about these guys thus far (updated):

1. WX-78 is actually a bit of a softie if you spend some time reading through their quotes. They act tough and logical to presumably hide whatever ounce of empathy they have left, that didn't escape them completely. (But they're not doing too good of a job)

They either use this uncharacteristically soft tone or hide a kind gesture or well-intentioned thought behind robotically constructed sentences and insults.

Even when they are threatening someone/something, they're all bark no bite. They might be very rude, but most of the time they won't actually go through with what they say.

And of course, I don't think I need to show the quotes for machines or metallic structures, since WX-78 openly sees them as their family and acts basically the same as Wormwood does with his plant friends.

2. Speaking of, Wormwood isn't always an empathetic creature. He can sometimes be callous, apathetic and even have favorites amongst plants (and people too), though he doesn't directly state that. He also isn't as dumb as he portrays himself to be, he definitely knows something, but either has too limited English speaking skills or is actively choosing not to say much.

He often sobs or cries when a creature dies, but there are times he reacts with either "whoops", "oh" or "too bad" like it's a small inconvenience at best.

And those are only some of the examples. If you'd like I could always try and find more of these specific quotes at another time.

3. Despite seeming vastly different at first, they would eventually become good friends.

And why do I think that? Because WX-78 actually likes plenty of things that correspond with Wormwood!

Bees (If we were to go back to their previous quote I've shown). Fun fact, WX-78 has a lot of quotes where they express how much they like/respect bees! And since Wormwood blooms, there's countless of them surrounding him at those times. It's a welcome bonus while hanging out around him. (Though maybe not in Spring)

Their quote for green gem is: "PRESSURE AND IMPURITIES HAVE PRODUCED PLEASING PERFECTION" which is. well. Something.

They're very fond of pumpkins, describing them as: "IT HAS A PLEASANT SHAPE" while their seed as "IT IS A SOURCE CODE FOR PLEASING PLANTS" And guess who just happens to have a pumpkin skin ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

The lunar affinity. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume WX-78 was outright worshipping the moon. They have dozens of quotes describing how THE MOON IS SUPERIOR, INORGANIC AND GOOD, I wouldn't be able to fit all of them into this post, (just trust me on that). Regardless, they're still deeply attached to it. it wouldn't be surprising that, if they found out about this aspect about him, they'd become very fascinated with him, because c'mon, it's the moon, and he's from it!

Despite acting like it, WX-78 doesn't actually hate all organic life. Plants in particular, are actually some of the organisms they seem to hate the least. They're partial to potatoes and lureplants; the former because they say they can relate to them, and the latter because "AWW, IT'S JUST AS EVIL AS I AM". They even recognize the beauty of certain flowers, even if they say it in a mocking tone. So then, would it be too farfetched of a concept for them to grow to appreciate organic life with Wormwood's influence ?

And yeah, they might not like him at first due to the whole "Filthy Organic" attribute, but that's just how they are with everyone! And that's what we're here for! That slowburn! With the two of them getting to know each other and realizing they have shared interests and know similiar struggles!

Going back to Wormwood. His quote for the W.A.R.B.I.S armor and head gear suggests that he highly admires WX and would like to be strong like they are.

–Wormwood, examining the W.A.R.B.I.S. Head Gear: "Just like robot friend!"

–Wormwood, examining the W.A.R.B.I.S. Armor: "Be strong, like robot friend!"

There's also his quote for the Nautopilot where he's the only one who shows genuine concern for WX-78's perturbation:

–WX-78, when examining the Nautopilot: THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA

–WX-78, when examining an active Nautopilot: I THINK THAT RIDICULOUS SCIENTIST IS TRYING TO KILL ME

–Wormwood: Robot friend doesn't like Pull Rock

5. The survivors' farming animation is quite charming, I certainly loved their small interaction there. They're also shown in the official Return Of Them vignette, farming on the side.

6.. I like the fact that one of them is afraid of water and the other of fire. Adds an interesting dynamic.

7. As @benzybenny mentioned, it's a cute idea that they could make each other's favorite foods. Wormwood has the resources for making a butter muffin practically instantly available, due to his Bee King and Berry Bush crafting skills. And WX-78 is perfectly fitted for the ruins, yes! Them fetching bananas (definitely only to spite the monkeys, not for Wormwood and Wendy specifically) sounds very plausible to me. 😁

8. They just work. Despite claiming they want to "DOMINATE ALL ORGANIC LIFE" WX-78 appreciates people who can stand up for themselves. I'd guess Wormwood would be a huge pushover at first, no doubt, but with their influence, he would certainly have to grow a spine (metaphorically speaking)

Likewise, WX-78 struggles to show kindness to non-robotic creatures, because they fear they might come off as WEAK and SENTIMENTAL. Things they loathe to expose about themself. Wormwood could help them show that it's okay to love organic friends and be nice to others! (sometimes at least.)

I'd say they balance out each other perfectly and that is quite rare to see in modern ships.

While they'd definitely struggle to get along at first, they'd surely grow fond of the other one day :)

I hope this convinced you. if not, I'll try and dig up some more stuff. Then again, keep in mind that there aren't many canon character interactions besides whatever crumbs we've got from their quotes and official animations.

[spencer-sweets]

House MD Fic Recs | House/Wilson

[Part 1] [Part 2]

so... my first foray into this fandom after passively watching clips of it on youtube growing up. finally got around to watching it even though i have spoiled myself with all of the fan content i consumed before even finishing season 1. this is just some of my favorite fics i have compiled here. :) hope yall feel old knowing this show is older than me - and i can vote.

I'd Make A Deal With God (I'd Get Him to Swap Our Places) by TheFandomLesbian (ao3) Teen+ 11,357 Summary: When Wilson receives his terminal diagnosis, House flees to the hospital chapel. He doesn't know how to pray, but he strikes a deal: his soul for Wilson's life. When Wilson goes into remission, he has no choice but to uphold his end of the bargain. In which House learns nothing about God, but everything about worship, in the arms of his husband.

as someone who has a very complicated relationship with religion, this fic warmed my heart. the devotion from house in this fic to be able to put aside his own feelings towards religion in the small chance that he really does owe wilson's life to a higher power blew me away.

Riddle Me by magie_05 (LJ) R (I would say Teen+) 12,300 House loves puzzles. Wilson…doesn’t. When House starts asking his friend seemingly pointless questions that get progressively more confusing, Wilson’s left to wonder what (if anything) it means.

i loved the way they communicated in this fic and it was fun to try to figure out the riddles with wilson

fifteen minutes by eating_custardinbed (ao3) Mature 11,907 When James Wilson came to work this morning, he was expecting a normal day. That is, he has been expecting to tell a few people they were dying, getting bullied into buying his grumpy best friend lunch, maybe flirting with the new nurse in radiology to make him feel just a little better about his third divorce. What he has not been expecting is to be locked in his office with a madman, staring down the barrel of a gun. or, wilson gets shot and locked in his office. he and house have a conversation

oh, my beloved trope of one character thinking the other is about to die but not wanting to show how scared they are. hurt/comfort and wilson is hurt - right up my alley.

Defensive Strategies by m_butterfly (Wayback) NC-17 (Explicit) 14398 In which Wilson has a problem, House has a cunning plan, girls hunt in packs, chocolate cake has unexpected dangers, furniture is unintentionally ordered, several conversations occur, and dinner is repeatedly served.

this was a cute getting together fic that was funny and heavily recommended back in the say - at least from my sleuthing.

House-opathy Series: Diagnosis: Wilson, Patient Write Up: Cameron, Chase Foreman, Treatment: House by Commodoresexual (LJ) PG13 (Teen+) 14498 Wilson gets more than he bargained for when he lets the ducklings diagnose him - Cameron, Chase and Foreman delve into the healing process for Wilson - You can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.

these were cute fics that were admittedly written prior to my conception. i enjoyed reading them - it follows the ducklings as they diagnose wilson with being in love with house and how the two get together.

Lost Causes by Eos (Wayback) PG13 (Teen+) 17164 An unguarded comment from Wilson proves to be quite unsettling for House's state of mind. Has three sequels, Same as It Ever Was, Reverse Psychology, and Foolish Hearts

this fic is older than me by almost half a month... that being said it can only be found in the deep recesses of the wayback machine. i enjoyed this fic and its sequels when i read them - it is mostly house coming to terms with his feelings for wilson following an accident in the first fic

Things That Go Bump by peg22 (ao3) Explicit 18,381 Wilson has nightmares. House gets a headache. Everyone tries to diagnose just what's going on between them. This story is set in Season 2, before House got shot, before the first ducklings left us, before Amber, before House/Cuddy . . . those halcyon days where House and Wilson were just . . . House and Wilson. Wilson is sleeping on House's sofa, after moving out from cancer patient, Grace. "Wilson just shook his head and limped back into the kitchen. He unloaded a sack of fresh produce. Good produce. Endives and garlic and tomatoes and asparagus. He moved on to the next sack. Beef. Good beef. Brisket and rump roast and ribeyes . . . he was halfway through the third sack of spices and imported cheeses, whistling and daydreaming about braised salmon with fresh asparagus when it hit him. He was being seduced. Through groceries. By groceries. By House through groceries. And he was falling for it. Hard. Lox, stock pot, and basil."

was actually reminded of this fic while digging through the recesses of old livejournal fic recs for house. i thought "hey wait.. wasn't that also on ao3?" it is! which saves you all the formatting of chapters that aren't linked and are spread across the original livejournal page it was uploaded on. but this fic is sweet and is a hurt/comfort nightmare fic done well. very dialogue heavy but very much in character.

R.I.C.E in Reverse by Phate Pheonix (FF.Net) Teen+ 22,000 An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.

i remember this fic being longer than it was but i also remember really enjoying this fic. cuddy is a bit of a bitch in this but i don't find it to be bashing or anything - they (house & cuddy) are the same as they are in the show they just don't end up together like they do in the episode this is based on. also wilson coming to terms with his feelings for house. the writing is great and feels like it could be out of an episode of house.

buy some time, it's on my dime by ORiley42 (ao3) Explicit 27,034 Well, this took a longer time to write than I expected! Probably because it's five times longer than I intended lmao Wanted to try my hand at something more AU-ish. Though, because House is an ornery bastard and won’t do what I say at all, the setting is still broadly the same. The main difference being that House and Wilson have never met… I’d say this has season 1 vibes, but no actual timeline or plot refs. Also, AU idea sparked by I57371’s lovely “Phoning It In.” Also-also, title from "Nothing New" by Fly By Midnight.

this is not the only time you will see this author on this list - for good reason. i'm traditionally not one for au's or for strangers to lovers fics... but this one pulled it off. very smutty but the plot is still fun.

Witness, Witness by SkyeBean (ao3) Teen+ 29,111 It was past midnight when Wilson arrived, and House’s team had all left hours before. Cameron was the last to go, shooting House a pitying look as she pulled her coat on, but House had ignored her. A Wilson who’s been dating House for years doesn’t work at Princeton-Plainsboro. It takes House’s team years to find out that their boss is dating someone, let alone who, but they see more of the relationship than they know.

cute! what-if house and wilson did not work together but were together prior to season one. its a fun secret relationship fic.

Something to Prove by orphan_account (ao3) Teen+ 30,700 When House suddenly wants to initiate a relationship with Wilson, Wilson is overjoyed. The feelings he'd held for years are finally mutual. Or are they?

if you don't like angst this one isn't for you. house is kind of a massive dick in this one and spends the rest of the fic trying to make it up to wilson and win him over. has sequels that i did not read.

little glass vial by SupposedToBeWriting (ao3) Mature 39,093 House and Wilson have a peculiar friendship - though if you asked Wilson, sleeping together once while one man was reeling from a traumatic surgery slash breakup and the other was in a failing marriage isn't all that unusual between friends. They manage to make it work, mostly by never bringing it up again. While out, a patient's grieving brother approaches Wilson and injects him with an unknown compound. Wilson is rushed to the hospital. Though initially fine, he begins to exhibit strange and deadly symptoms. House is swept into a case that he cannot emotionally distance himself from, with a patient that he has exceptionally complex feelings for. Wilson clings to life as House hits brick wall after brick wall, desperate to save the one person he can't lose.

hurt/comfort with sick!wilson. Its also a case fic with a race against time that i enjoyed.

A Patient's Guide to Living with ICS by ORiley42 Explicit 40,071 House and Wilson share a hotel room at a medical conference. Read on for goofy acronyms, endless banter, horny middle-aged men, and more!

smutty work conference + friends with benefits to lovers fic. also!!! this author is generally just great with house fics.

A Modest Proposal by ignaz (ao3) Explicit 55,649 Tritter's case against House still depends on subpoenaed testimony from Wilson. To save House from losing everything, the doctors of PPTH decide on an unusual solution, which in turn leads to unexpected consequences. This is a story about the sacrifices we make that turn out not to be such great sacrifices after all. (Contains spoilers for everything up to and including "Merry Little Christmas.")

its on everyone's rec list - i know. but this is my rec list and i enjoyed it so its going on here. marriage of convenience trope my beloved. it has a sequel that everyone says is great but i haven't gotten around to it... yet.

Gaseous Nebula by TheFandomLesbian (ao3) Teen+ 77,372 After a hard day at work, House and Wilson intend to spend their evening watching the Princeton Philharmonic Orchestra. Instead, the building collapses, leaving one of them trapped in peril and the other desperate for answers. The chaos drives them to revelations about themselves and each other, but it may be too late.

another hurt/comfort fic that i absolutely adored. also, the second time this author is on the list! god i enjoyed reading this one - it had me on the edge of my seat despite how fantastical it is sometimes. felt like quality television surrealism with how bizarre some of the coincidences are but it tied everything together and had a happy ending.

there is a sequel but I have never read it and it is incomplete.

either love is a shrine (or else, a scar) by jamesevanwilson (ao3) Mature 79,985 House has a brilliant plan, and he needs Wilson's help. Wilson is a chronic enabler. Getting married for the fourth time should be relatively easy.

fake marriage in order to get money from house's dads will with a heafty dose of miscommunication and mutual pining between these morons.

It Will Find You in the End by junkyard_angel Mature 146,954 Gregory House is a misanthropic bastard with trust issues, who doesn't do feelings. But he's pretty sure he's in love -- or lust -- or something anyway -- with his best friend. Life is funny, in a not-funny way.  *UPDATE* -- Here's a link to the Spotify playlist of all songs referenced in this fic to date. Happy reading/listening! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/76B4n4UUncNYJG8scmKqVc?si=e5cd5de147924fb5 Thanks as always for reading, and feedback and comments are welcomed.

god this fic was long (not that thats a bad thing). they finally get together but then they also break up and then get back together so if angst isn't your cup of tea...

Here is a link to a great fic on ao3 with links to old house fic recs https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826263

I will update this as I read more/comb back through the LJ and FF.net archives that I slouthed through. I didn't keep track of most of those before i decided to make this list :/ sorry

originally posted 8/13/2024

[ewingstan]

Tell me what philosophical thought experiment I should get really opinionated about: Doctor Mother

SEND ME A WILDBOW CHARACTER YOU LOVE. I WILL TELL YOU WHICH PHILOSOPHICAL THOUGHT EXPERIMENT YOU SHOULD GET REALLY OPINIONATED ABOUT (SLASH DEVELOP A PSYCHOSEXUAL FIXATION ON)

Well lets see. Cauldron is an interesting spin on the "secret society that controls the world" trope. The formulation it's working from is "cabal of important world leaders and their unseen puppet-masters who all worship an evil god/are alien invaders/are otherwise jewish coded because really all these conspiracies are just The Protocols with a new coat of paint hastily slapped on." Cauldron doesn't fully depart from this space; antisemetic conspiracy theorists from Terrats to Icke have had too much influence on the popular conception of secret societies for any derivation not to share some of that DNA. But it departs from it in some important ways: first of all, its remarkably small. It has a wide number of important people indebt to them, sure—but the number of people who actually know whats going on is what, five? Secondly, its members have almost nothing in common; certainly nothing to fit them in as a stand-in for a religious/ethnic minority. Thirdly, there's no narrative of good vs evil, no righteous undercurrent opposing a purely malicious group: most of the case 53s want Dr. Mother and her crew dead, but they're hardly positioned as righteous warriors of the light or anything by the text, and Cauldron's ultimate goals fall far short of the evil-for-evil's sake New World Order shtick.

Finally, while Cauldron is an incredibly major player with a hand in every major event in the world of parahumans, they are not proper masterminds: they're hypercompetent in their specializations for getting things to go their way, but they often either don't know why they're doing what they're doing or can't predict the effects of their actions. Nothing in the story could happen without them acting behind the scenes, but they're less the authors of what happened and more the people knocking over dominoes and hoping the rube-goldberg machine spits out something akin to what they wanted to happen. They can give people faustian bargans, but as Battery's case shows they don't always have the power to ensure the bargains are met. They can create disasters for their own ends, but they unleash disasters on accident nearly as often.

Doctor Mother represents this tendency more than any other member of Cauldron, lacking Contessa and Number Man's predictive abilities yet directing them and the Triumvirate to enact worldwide change. The least powerful member in literal terms, but for all that no other character is so directly behind the world events of earth Bet. She's almost more responsible for Earth Bet's divergences from the real world than Scion; everything comes back to her in some way. Doctor Mother moves, and the world moves with her.

All that to say, Doctor Mother stands stans want to fuck The Unmoved Mover from Aristotle's Metaphysics!

(Other answers here)

[empress-of-time1109]

Track II. Is every villain a monster [Madara Uchiha]

In this quiet corner, all soft lighting and warm, weighted silence, I sat with a mug of tea that’s been cooling for the last hour. It’s cold now, which is an oddly appropriate metaphor for the conversation I’ve been having with myself, my brain going in circles while I stare at the steaming cup. The kind of silence you only get in those awkward moments when you’ve spent too much time alone and suddenly, talking to a teddy bear seems like the most sensible option. It’s not even a real teddy bear, mind you. It’s one of those big, plush ones that are more decoration than anything else. Still, it has those button eyes that stare back at you in a way that is simultaneously comforting and eerily knowing.

“Okay, bear. I need to talk about Madara Uchiha,” I said, rolling my eyes even though no one was there to see it. Not that the bear would judge. Maybe it would, if it had opinions. If I could talk to it, I mean.

I took a sip of my now ice-cold tea. Gross. “I get it, you know? I really do. The whole ‘I want to fix the world’ thing? It’s such a classic trope. That whole ‘I have a vision’ speech that every villain loves to throw around, like anyone else could possibly not want to reset the universe to their version of ‘perfect.’ Seriously, bear. Every time he says that line, I’m just waiting for him to hand out some kind of bumper sticker that says, ‘World peace through destruction.’ Classic Madara move. Everyone’s got to have their signature catchphrase, right? Mine’s probably something along the lines of, ‘Why does my life always have to be a disaster?’ but whatever.”

I paused for a second, eyeing the bear like it was going to come to life and give me a piece of its mind. It didn’t. It just sat there, its fluffy arms draped over its body like a sad, stuffed sentinel.

“Madara though,” I continued, resuming my internal rant, “is a special kind of mess. Like, okay, there are villains who are bad because they want to be bad. You know, the ones who relish in the chaos, who are all ‘I’m evil, look at me be evil,’ but Madara… Madara is like, the villain who’s absolutely terrifying because he’s not doing it for fun. He’s not laughing while he blows up villages or cutting off people’s heads like some melodramatic monster from a B-grade horror movie. No, no. He’s all about the endgame. And that’s what makes him so unsettling.”

I looked down at my bear, and for a moment, I felt like I was giving the world’s most unnecessary TED Talk. “The thing is, you know? He’s not wrong. At least, not in his logic. I mean, everyone’s a mess. We’re all walking contradictions, stuffed to the brim with trauma and idealism and some kind of desperate need for validation. Madara just had the fortune of being born into the absolute worst set of circumstances. Like, okay, he was a warrior in a clan that’s built around violence. And then he got tossed into a world where people didn’t even bother to pretend there was peace. That’s the environment that turns someone like him into… well, what we see in the later parts of the story.”

I sighed dramatically, leaning back against the plush cushions of the couch, my legs crossed in a way that was probably too comfortable to ever be productive. “I mean, imagine being Madara. You’re born into a clan that practically worships violence as its currency. Then, you grow up watching your family get obliterated, seeing your brother, your only family member left, just turn into this… walking ‘peace at any cost’ machine who just wants to see the world burn. Of course, you’d end up jaded. Anyone would.”

The bear did nothing. Not even a shift in its stance. Honestly, it was a great listener, but it really needed to show some more enthusiasm.

“Do you know what’s terrifying about Madara, though? It’s the fact that I totally understand where he’s coming from. Not agree, mind you. I’m not about to go marching into a warzone and start preaching the gospel of Madara Uchiha. I do have a shred of dignity left. But when you really think about it… he’s the kind of guy who would have been okay if life hadn’t completely fallen apart for him. He wanted a better world. He wanted peace, but the really messed-up part is that he genuinely thought the only way to get there was by literally wiping the slate clean and starting fresh. And, you know, people like him? They don’t even realize they’re becoming the very monsters they set out to destroy. It’s… it’s just classic hero-turned-villain stuff, except more tragic, because Madara’s entire existence is basically one giant ‘misunderstood’ sign flashing in neon lights.”

I could feel my mind spiraling into the abyss of philosophical rambling. Sometimes I wondered if I was just talking to fill the space, pretending I had all the answers while really just procrastinating life. But no one in the world could know that, could they? Except, of course, the bear.

“I mean, just imagine it,” I mused, my voice a little too enthusiastic now. “Madara Uchiha, the guy who could have been the ultimate superhero, the perfect anti-hero, the… whatever. But nooo. He chose to take the ‘more dramatic’ route, which, fine, okay, who doesn’t love a good monologue about revolution? It’s honestly like he couldn’t just chill with his ideals and go, ‘Hey, maybe I can just make some real change.’ Instead, he goes full nuclear with the Infinite Tsukuyomi because, why not? Destroy reality, rewrite the entire thing… and boom, perfect world, no more war, no more pain.”

I paused and took another sip of my tea—gross, still cold. “Sure, it’s an admittedly bad solution, but when you’re that far gone… it kind of makes sense. Like, maybe he just gave up on finding a way to fix the system. Maybe he thought, ‘I’ve tried everything, and the world keeps failing me, so I’m just gonna burn it all down.’ And, honestly? I’ve had a couple of those days myself. You know, the ‘screw it all’ kind of days where you wonder if the universe has just been trolling you for its own amusement. Not enough to go full Madara, but you get what I’m saying. Sometimes I get why someone might just snap.”

The bear, ever the silent observer, seemed totally unhelpful at this point. I wasn’t expecting it to offer a hug or anything, but maybe a little empathy? Maybe just a small nod of acknowledgment?

“But here’s the kicker,” I continued, warming to my increasingly unhinged rant. “Madara’s entire view of the world is based on one tragic misunderstanding: he thought peace could be built on a foundation of control and domination. Force. And that’s where things get… complicated. Because let’s be real, how many of us think that if we had enough power, we could fix everything? How many times have you looked at a mess in your life and gone, ‘If I could just force things to be right, if I could just make the world submit to my version of perfect, everything would be fine?’ Madara’s just the poster child for that kind of thinking.”

I laughed, though it was more a hollow sound than anything else. “And that’s the real horror, bear. The fact that we could all be Madara. We all have that capacity within us. You get pushed to the edge far enough, and who’s to say that we won’t all just snap and try to rewrite the universe in our own image? The scariest part about Madara isn’t that he’s evil. No, no. It’s that he’s… human. He’s just a guy who made a few really bad choices, got too much power, and lost touch with what it really means to be alive.”

I leaned back, letting out a long breath. “So, yeah. That’s Madara Uchiha for you. A tragic, flawed, deeply messed-up guy who, in another world, might have just been the hero. Maybe. Who knows? All I know is that the scariest villains? The ones you have to really worry about? They’re the ones you can understand. You don’t even have to agree with them, but there’s this little flicker of, ‘Oh shit. That could have been me.’”

I looked down at the bear again, blinking in realization. “I mean, don’t get any ideas, okay? I’m not going full Madara. But if the world ever goes off the rails… I’m blaming you.”

The bear stared back at me, its button eyes somehow imparting a judgmental stare.

“Fine,” I muttered, sinking into the cushions, “Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s the world’s fault.”

But in the end, I knew. Even in my little cozy corner, with the tea growing cold and the bear offering no answers, the scariest thing wasn’t Madara Uchiha. It was realizing how much of him was still me.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Burnout, exhaustion, overworked (aren't we all?) shit gets a wee bit too relatable

A/N: Did I spend too much time looking through how the gods were worshipped? Yes, yes I did. Do I finally have a way to vent the weird feelings I have about the angry bird man? Also yes.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 1:

Dust and Echoes

Day after day, night after night. The dreadful tedium of your life was not lost on you. The same job every night, the same work that left knots and tension in your back and muscles, your arms feeling like they were about to fall off and your feet feeling like you had holes drilled into the bottoms...

You couldn't work during the day, it was just simply not in your schedule. No matter how you tried, it was hard to stay awake during the day.

You had a severe case of insomnia, no doctor you went to (when you could afford them, which you barely could) could prescribe anything that would help you sleep. You even tried hypnosis. That was wild.

The dude said you flipped out and started talking in another language, and he was half tempted to call the church on you! That memory was always good for a laugh.

Could be worse, you supposed.

After all, your night job was cleaning a small office building (four floors, and your coworkers almost never helped) which meant mostly deserted floors and dozens of vacant cubicles.

It was kind of relaxing in a way, you could plug in your headphones, blast your favorite tunes and just go off into your own little world while you cleaned.

The world which you concocted was one many overworked and underpaid individuals such as yourself dreamt. A nice big house, food in the fridge, never having to worry about missing the next bill payment or not being able to afford insurance...

But you always had to wake up from that dream world.

You hated that part of your night.

While yes, you have always found the comfort and coolness of the night soothing, there were still dangers lurking out there in the dark.

You'd taken some half-assed self defense classes (you had to drop out because of your sleep schedule), but your skills were lackluster at best. So, you opted for your mace and taser as your trusty companions.

You'd been attacked and mugged five times in the last year and a half. You learned to stop carrying your money on you after the second time, only keeping your metro card on you.

You wondered why, why of all places, did you decide to move to New York? You were a country girl blinded by the dazzling lights, a stupid cliché trope you hated yourself for existing in.

And what did your naivete earn you? A shitty one room apartment that was barely the size of most motel rooms. The only reason you stayed was because at least your apartment had that small kitchen, compared to the rathole hostels you'd unfortunately been victim to before.

Your landlord was shrewd and strict, but at least the rent was affordable. That was the only blessing. Because your electric and other utilities were covered in your rent, you really only needed to worry about money for food. Which... you had been subjected to a rather unhealthy diet consisting mostly of tv dinners, dollar menu fast foods, and cheap Chinese takeout.

Half the time you felt like there was more to this, but logic always kicked in.

Then again, everyone felt like there was more to life when their life consisted of being a faceless, nameless, replaceable cog in the corporate machine.

But for you, even despite your logic, you just... you could feel there was more out there for you. Something meaningful.

You couldn't place your finger on it, but you just knew. It was like an itch under your skin, a tingling in your fingertips.

You were special. You just... you knew you were. Sometimes you could predict what somebody was going to say before they said it, sometimes you could fix things you'd never even looked at before, sometimes, you swore you could see things before they happened.

Oh, and then there were the dreams. Those dreams gave you the willies.

Usually in those dreams, you were floating in a black void, blinking until things came into focus. Looking down at your feet, it was like you were walking on perfectly smooth water, stars blinking to life one by one, reflected on the surface like an inky black mirror, your own reflection not able to be seen.

You would walk and walk and walk... but never reached a destination.

That's when you would feel something. Like the first winter chill creeping into the autumn breeze.

A voice. Deep, raspy... mournful.

You could never make out what the voice said, but whoever it was, they sounded lonely; almost in pain.

But then all at once you would be swallowed up into a light, almost like you were falling back to the very Earth itself, waking with a jolt, your clothes soaked with sweat, your hair dripping with it.

Yeah. Those dreams were the worst. You never felt rested when you had them...

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Today was one of the rare days you forced yourself out of bed and ventured out into the light of day. After all, humans need sunlight. And you were starting to look dreadfully pale.

You were confident you looked like some sort of ghoul, the way people gave you such sideways glances...

You shrugged your bag over your shoulders, looking into the storefronts curiously. You weren't looking for anything specific. You were aimlessly wandering at this point, really. You had two days off (only because your boss flat out told you you've hit overtime twice this month, and even he was concerned for your health) and figured, hey... may as well get some vitamin D while you're at it.

You shoved your hands in your pockets, your pinky poking through the hole on the inside of the pocket on the left side. God, you thought, I should make a trip to the thrift store today, get some decently-used jeans. Need some with less mileage on em.

The smell of incense burned your nostrils, crappy "spiritual" flute music croaking over a speaker well past its prime, wind chimes toning lazily in the breeze.

You lift your gaze and spot the shop, some kind of "witchy aesthetic" kinda thing. Pentacles, Celtic symbols, as well as some Norse-Pagan paraphernalia littered the front window. As well as the gauche lettering depicting palm readings and fortunes, and of course "magic".

Pah. Stupid.

You were about to walk by when two young women clad in black walked by, happily chirping to one another about offerings, smudgings, or... whatever it was. It wasn't your business.

As you watched them go, you turned to continue on your path, but a hand gripped your wrist.

The owner of the appendage was a woman. Her brown hair streaked with gray, her olive-green eyes seeming like they were focusing on something far away rather than at you.

"Uh..." You said, slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh! Forgive me, dear..." She laughed, taking your hand in hers and patting the back of your palm with her free hand; the thick leather bracer on her forearm was an odd fashion choice, you mused.

"Would you like to come in? I have something for everyone!" She winked.

"Er, well, I'm not really into... this whole thing." You chuckle nervously.

"Oh you don't have to be, sweetheart. No harm in looking, is there?"

"....Alright." You concede. She had a good point.

Your noticed as she let your hand go, your "funny feeling" was starting to tingle your fingertips.

And as you walked past the threshold of the front door? Your whole body felt like it was tingling.

Wall to wall, the small shop was filled with things that dazzled the senses, both visually and you were certain in other ways.

The woman hummed as she led you deeper into her shop, gesturing for you to walk into a dark room that was bordered with a beaded curtain in the door.

Yeah. That was how dumb people in horror movies got murdered. No, thank you.

"Look, I can just... uh." You try to find an excuse to turn down the woman who treated you with such polite words and demeanor.

But something about her had you so, so curious. Your "feeling" could not anticipate this woman, anything she said or did seemed a mystery to you.

"You seem tired, dear." She smiled sweetly, her hands clasped in front of her.

"I... well. I'm..."

"Overworked. I assume this is your first day off in days? Weeks, maybe?" She sighed, a sympathetic look on her face.

"How did you--"

"You are very pale, dear. Here, come. Come. Sit with me, hm?" She giggles, reaching out to bring you past the beaded curtain and into the dark room.

Her name, she told you, was Jezebel.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Goddamn you and your curiosity. The things this woman were telling you were compelling you. It was insane, the things she knew about you. She was right on the nose.

Even about the muggings.

That was when she brought up the subject of protection. When you brought up your self defense and "weapons", she chuckled and waved it off, simply saying that she didn't mean "that" kind of protection.

When you asked what she meant by that, she walked into another room connected to the dark room you were in, the table draped in a velvet cloth with tarot cards laid meticulously set.

She came back with something wrapped in a black silk cloth.

"Here, child. Try this." She hands you whatever it is, and encourages you to unwrap it.

Wrapped inside was a small, old-looking (Ancient, if you were honest) statuette of some sort. You could tell, even with your uneducated eye, that this was done in some kind of style reminiscent of the statues of ancient Egypt that you'd only glimpsed in documentaries. At first you thought it might be Horus, but the head was all wrong...

"Pray to Khonshu, and he will protect you during your travels in the night." She said sweetly.

"I..." You can't tear your gaze away from the statue.

"I can give you prayers, incense, an altar cloth, and basic offerings to get you started, sweetheart. Wait right here."

Before you can reject her offer, she vanishes elsewhere in the store...

And before you know it, she hands you a burlap bag, putting the statue, plus the other items in the bag for you.

"I... I can't pay for this, I..." You stammer.

"Trust me, my dear. This is on the house. You need this." She winks, patting the back of your hand again.

"Now, go. Set up the altar when you get home, get some rest, and say a prayer. Do this every time you leave during the night, and Khonshu and his Fists will protect you."

Somehow, you felt compelled yet again to accept her word, leaving her shop, your brain in a fog.

As you walked, you felt something.

Like a soft voice whispering on a desert wind.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Jezebel watched you leave, a satisfied and happy smirk playing on her lips.

Above, she heard the croaking of a crow.

She made a soft whistle and held out her arm, the one wearing the leather bracer.

And in a blur, a crow, white as snow and eyes as red as blood, landed on her arm, making very happy noises, almost singing at her, in his own way.

"Yes, I know, Zephyr." She smiled wider as she walked inside, Zephyr waddling up her arm to sit on her shoulder.

"I could sense it, too. Perhaps He will answer that girl..."

She then pulled the leather bracer off her arm, and looked at the mark on her inner wrist.

When she looked at the scales, Jezebel smiled.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 2: Link

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

In ‘The Arse of Good’, a simple people worshipped an artificial intelligence named Herma,

not realising that it had actually enslaved them to its own ends, and only the Inspector’s unplanned visit freed them from Herma’s control.

[deramin2]

Joseph Campbell's Heroes Journey is a pretty useful scaffolding of narrative tropes to tell a decent story that modern westerners apparently never get tired of.

But 1, the idea of a monomyth is complete horseshit that has to ignore significant cultural and narrative complexity in order to break everything down into the equivalent of flat-pack furniture with a sledgehammer.

And 2, I am so fucking sick of that one goddamn story. Please for the love of every god ever worshipped tell another goddamn story. Stop punishing people for telling a different story with a completely different structure because your expectations can't comprehend anything else existing. I am so tired. The few post-Campbell stories I find that aren't that leaning on the Heroes Journey are so refreshing until I notice the reviews trashing it. It's so boring please develop real taste instead of exclusively eating ice cream for dinner.

As much as I enjoyed reading The Hero With A Thousand Faces as a teenager, it's high on my list of books I might seriously consider using a time machine to sabotage the publication of. It fucked up the study of mythology and the craft of writing (and especially film making) so badly.

[lunareiitic]

ACTUALLY, speaking of those tags I just put on a post:

Since we already know that The Family of Penacony is a Cult-Cult (this is not a spoiler; we have known this since 1.0 please read light cone descriptions) and the Annihilation Gang also styles themselves as a "family" with religious imagery... Are we about to get a plot deconstructing the notion of "family"? Since the Harmony Family under Xipe is very Shin Megami Tensei Law Route type cult. Very "give yourself over to Harmony, lose all individualism and become a cog in the endless machine of God", even having a music motif that we've seen in SMT games since 2003 at the very least: this is not new ground, this writes itself.

But the Annihilation Gang are a Family-Cult with a decidedly individualistic bent. They worship The Destruction, for one- who is well known for having high ranking, empowered individuals doing their own thing. Second, it's clear that the Gang that we've seen are also fractious and self-centered. Not only does one claim that she's plenty enough for the whole of Penacony, The Duke himself clearly has thought about their unique strengths and abilities and plans accordingly: something that cannot happen if you've given up your individuality in pursuit of universal peace and coexistence.

When we then contrast both of these groups with the Nameless, the classic Found Family trope, the idea that family is not about who you are but about choices and care together, the plot seems to come together on its own. What secrets is the Family hiding? How is the Annihilation Gang going to bring them to light? What is that going to do to the bonds that tie our dear train passengers together?

We'll begin to find out in a few weeks. Get ready.

[succubus-interactivefiction]

Oops, I did it again

or rather my crazy sleep schedule and a sheer number of cups of coffee meant I didn't get much sleep last night, especially after this idea popped into my head and refused to leave until I jotted it down. So here's yet another Witching Hour Story Idea, yes that's what I call these weird story plots that slip into my mind. Anywhoooo, below the cut...Gods Im tired

Hellfire

Ten years ago the world as you knew it ended. It has come to be known as The Scouring, wherein a twenty four hour period, as the dawn swept across the face of the world, people simply vanished leaving no trace behind. In a single day ninety percent of the world's population had disappeared. Those who had advanced warning tried to outrun the morning light, world leaders took to the skies chasing the night in the hope that as long as they outran the day they would survive, there are tales of some planes and their crews who are still chasing that thin line in the belief that they can stay safe.

For the rest of the world however, life quickly devolved into a mad scramble for survival as survivors turned on one another in an effort to secure whatever remained of the world, that first year saw an even greater decrease in the remaining population. However those survivors did not have the peace of simply vanishing, no they died in brutal, bloody fights for survival. You are one of those who survived that bloody time.

Five years ago the world seemed to have come to some sense of equilibrium as something resembling society was carved from the ruins by warlords and peacekeepers across the globe, but whatever fragile peace the world had settled into was again destroyed when the veil fell. Across the world random survivors suddenly found themselves mutating traits many religions attributed to other worldly beings, in essence, over night, demons and angels became manifest.

The world was again thrown into turmoil as cults and fanatics rose to worship those who have, what they believe, is divine blood. It is only in the last year that things have finally settled into a new state of semi balance.

But for you, one of the Cambion, the simple life you have managed to scrape out of the apocalypse will be torn apart because of a simple reunion with someone you have long thought dead. You will now have to decide the fate of hundreds of thousands of lives along the west coast of North America as you become the central focus of a continent spanning conflict that has the potential to, once again, throw the world into turmoil.

Features

Play as a Cis or Trans woman, with full customization over your physical appearance.

Customize your daemonic appearance with options that allow you to seem almost human, or simply embrace your daemonic essence and make yourself a walking war machine. Be warned however that not everyone responds well to such beings.

Play with literal hellfire as you wield unholy abilities on the field of battle, or use your minor reality warping abilities to ensure that cute dress fits your towering daemonic frame.

Manage your new fortress city of Portland after ripping it from the claws of a former employer to save an old flame and try to make life better for the humans living under your rule.

Befriend and/or romance your former girlfriend whom you thought died in The Scouring, a Nephilim fanatic who needs to learn to not judge a book by its cover, or both at the same time in a polyamorous triad.

Wage war against a fanatical cult led by a pair of Nephilim twins hell bent on recreating the world in their own image.

Romance Options

Misty May | Human | Your Former Girlfriend Age: 27 Height: 5’7” Build: Athletic Eye Color: Hazel Hair Color: Black Skin Tone: Coffee Notable Features: Multiple scars from struggling to survive the last ten years Character Traits: Quiet, Easily startled, Secretive Tropes: Trauma, First Love, Return From The Dead, Second Chances

Your first girlfriend, you assumed Misty had died during The Scouring while she was on the east coast visiting family. This is a belief you have held to in the ten years since the apocalypse. The two of you had been inseparable from the first moment she shoved a bully away from you in the first grade, that was Misty, always standing up for others and putting herself in harm's way if it meant someone else would be spared pain. You remember her near constant smile and quick wit with fondness and despite everything that has happened in the past ten years just the memory of her helps you go on.

Arial | Nephilim | The Stubborn Nephilim Age: 22 Height: 6’3” Build: Voluptuous Eye Color: Gold Hair Color: Silver Skin Tone: Olive Notable Features: Four large angelic wings, glowing eyes Character Traits: Stubborn, Dense, Loving Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Coming Out

One of the humans who became a Nephilim, Arial was seventeen when her change occurred to the shock of her parents and the small community they had joined. Of the hundred members of the town only one other person changed, a seven year old boy manifested Cambion traits and these two distinct changes sent shockwaves through the people and seemed to send most of them into some form of madness. While Arial was uplifted and worshiped the young boy was locked away, beaten, tortured, and to Arial’s horror one morning he was sacrificed in front of her as the townsfolk believed she was an avatar of God. Arial ran away the next day but was soon found by a cult led by two Nephilim twins. Taking her in they manipulated her, twisting her mind to their belief system and eventually sent her out on her own to hunt Cambion, she was captured and imprisoned almost immediately. This is where you find her, locked away in a cell in the Portland fortress city.

Others

Gabriella | Nephilim | Cult Leader

The insane leader of a militant cult spreading from Salt Lake City, Gabriella, along with her demented brother Michael, believe that it is their divine duty to rid the world of all Cambion as well as any Nephilim who will not bend the knee. Unlike her brother, Gabriella at first seems to have full control of her faculties, but her frequent lapses into inane and uncontrolled giggling seem to suggest otherwise.

Michael | Nephilim | Cult General

The de facto General of the cult's growing army, Michael spends more of his time engaging in incestuous relations with his sister than actually leading troops on the field of battle. Being just as insane as his sister, if not even more unstable, he believes that no one can defeat him in combat. His explosive outbursts when someone proves better than him at anything are well known among the cult.

Rubidor | Cambion | Your Aide-de-camp

Someone you could consider a friend, if you use the bare minimum of the meaning, Rubidor was your point of contact for jobs when passing through the area, that was before your unintended coup however. Now he is the only one you trust to see your orders are relayed to their respective recipients and even more importantly obeyed.

Lohi | Human | Rebel Leader

Lohi had spent four years building up his rebel group in the fortress city of Portland before you simply swept in and cut the head off the former ruler, taking his place as leader. All his plans have been disrupted because of this, but he is undeterred and is adamant that humanity will be free of the daemonic scourge that enslaves them.

Marky | Human | Insane Seeress

One of the few truly free humans living in Portland, Marky is nearly blind and each vision brings her closer to nevering being able to see light again. Despite this she remains relatively upbeat and is more than willing to lend her abilities to someone she considers worthy of her visions. Of course she did consider the former ruler of Portland worthy, so her definition may differ from most others.

Gram | Daemon | Your Multi-Great Grandmother

The only true daemon currently roaming the surface of the planet. Loves life in all its forms, but will burn it all to ash for her only grandchild. Bakes cupcakes in her spare time.

[judithan-xing]

oc phone bg + detail shots ^w^

This is a redraw of an old phone background I made a couple years back, except I wanted to make it themed around my unofficial Year of Yaoi I've been doing. It's a celebration of all of my gay protagonists, with more detailed notes about them under the read more, please consider taking a look through at it, I really poured my heart into this piece ;w;

[In order of top to bottom, left to right]

Fester and Riot (Lordless) are what I would consider the ship that is the most "I would kill for you", in a mutual way. Riot is given his Blessing by Abaddon and prays and worships him at every hardship, completely unaware that the creepy, rot-smelling freak that he's been helping unwillingly is the object of his worship. Fester would do anything for Riot, having fallen in love with him the moment he laid eyes on him, and suffers torture and having his wings ripped from him and still goes to Riot's side.

Valcher and Dirk (Red Snow) are obsessed with each other. Codependent, but in a way that's mutually beneficial. Valcher hates humans and finds them disgusting (his vampyric diet consisting of wild game) but trusts Dirk with his life and finds him to be Different than the rest. Dirk is obsessed with Valcher and realizes that his repressed lack of want for love or sex has actually been due to needing a Freak Like Him. His love for Valcher comes easily.

(Center panel) Tamara and Judas (Magus Society) are the It Couple of All Time. Judas originally courts Tamara on the idea that he's both extremely powerful, frail, and naive, but eventually can't help but truly fall in love. His dubious morals are no match for Tamara's virtue, and he changes, not just to save the world, but to earn back his love's trust. And Tamara, despite the heart ache he's put through, lets Judas back in. Forgives him, loves him flaws and all. A Demon Prince and his Deity of Hope.

Saber and Lux (Elemon) are rivals. While Saber is nonbinary so this wouldn't count as MLM, Lux is also nonbinary so it still counts a T4T. Lux is exceptional at everything he does, between training Elemon to besting others in combat, to the point it enrages Saber. How could this idiot Nobody beat them? Over the course of their story, however, Saber learns to realize they never stood a chance. Lux is in a league of his own. The respect becomes mutual, and the crush is incidental. If you ever asked what their relationship is, they'd both say "we're just rivals" even after making out.

Sinclaire and Kail (Demon In The Machine) are... coworkers, if you could call them that. Kail, in a desperate attempt to find a better life for himself and his sister, and get them off the frozen hellscape of Titania, makes a deal with a devil - an Arma demon named Sinclaire. He sells his soul in exchange for a new hand and a mech. What he doesn't know is included is his heart, clutched in the black claws of his boss, his owner, his downfall. Toxic lovers to the end.

Avelar and Gentri (Legend of Arcadia) are bodymates. Gentri is the God of Nature, Avelar a man of science, and in an effort to turn himself into a God he fused the soul core of one into him and became permanently bound to the deity. Gentri detests him at first, trying to do anything and everything he can to remove himself from the semi-mortal prison, but eventually grows to understand and even like Avelar as a person. He learns of human fear, mortality, abandonment, and while he wishes to be a separate person he grows to enjoy the man's company... especially after several decades of Avelar furiously trying to find a way to undo his mistake. Their trope is enemies to reluctant friends to lovers.

Sterling and Rez/Rezykai (Benevola) are acquaintances by necessity at first. Sterling is a merc who takes jobs others don't want, and when he's asked to transport Rez across the border he nearly refuses. But he does it anyway, and goes from being barely involved with his political drama to integral and attached. They're both idiots and bicker constantly, but they both care deeply about the other and would kick anyone's ass for touching them. Sterling is cold and Rez is a tsundere and together they're hilarious and insufferable.

All of these ocs have spanned the course of my entire artistic life. Tamara and Judas for example I drafted up in 2007, while Saber and Lux are my most recent mainstay duo having been created in 2023. I love my ocs a lot and I could go on and on about them forever if prompted. (pls send me asks about my ocs lol)

if you got this far tysm i cherish you <3

[pixellangel]

yknow the trope of a deus ex machina soving a huge problem out of nowhere in a story? essentially, the main religion in storyteller synthesis is based on worship of a literal machine god. the followers of the religion worship it by telling it stories :3

if youre thinking "what are you talking about?" the storyteller synthesis masterpost is here! its an rpg im making :D

[bildad-the-shuhite-official]

Good Omens fic recommendations

I decided to share a few fics I enjoyed recently.

that same sweet shock by mercuryhatter: G, 2k, Eden, kissing, fluff, wing grooming, mentions of the fall, falling in love Following their conversation on the wall of Eden, Aziraphale and Crawly retire elsewhere to wait out the rainstorm, enjoy the world's first fermented grapes, and discuss philosophy, Names, and the ideal composition of balloon-based flying machines. And also possibly invent kissing.

A Higher Power by agnesnutter: M, 2.9k, recreational drug use, weed, first kiss “So,” Aziraphale asks, “What are you in the mood for now?” “Cannabis,” Crowley says. “Quite extraordinary amounts of cannabis.”

Crossfire by NuriaSchnee: M, 4.7k, locked, post Armageddon’t, love confessions, hurt/comfort, showering together, non-sexual intimacy, first kiss. In which a shower can solve 6000 years of secrets and misunderstandings. Or: Aziraphale finally breaks down at Crowley's flat and Crowley takes care of him.

Unaching Scars (Which I Should Hide) by Pearl09 G, 7.8k, soulmate AU, soulmate marks, angst with happy ending Soulmates seemed like a good idea at first, to the angels. If people share the same scars as their soulmate, there's no mistaking they are supposed to be with each other. But when one of their own suddenly has the same scars that mark a demon, it's like their greatest fears have been realized. Aziraphale is sent to Earth as an outcast, hoping one day he'll meet his soulmate, even if Heaven wouldn't like it. But when the same being keeps rescuing him and hanging out for 6000 years… it's hard not to fall in love.

Fighting Dirty by curtaincall: M, 9k, historical, Garden of Eden, 1950s, renaissance era, misunderstandings, poor communication, humour, implied sexual content, mutual pining Aziraphale and Crowley are both convinced that the other was sent to seduce them.

How My Light is Spent by Azira_Amane E, 19k, blind!crowley, disability, coffee shop au, happy ending, hook ups, fluff, body worship, chubby aziraphale Navigating the dating world when you can't see it can be tricky. For Crowley, that was never a problem; he's usually too busy to contemplate a relationship. The same goes for Aziraphale, though he doesn't have Crowley's excuse - he just isn't really all that much into people as a whole. One chance meeting on Crowley's usual route home changes all that.

I consider posting themed red lists. This is just my first attempt at a post like that. If you want specific tropes, feel free to ask.

[r18rp]

🎀🎀hello! i’m a twenty-nine year old writer. i’ve been writing for 10+ years and currently looking for someone 21+ to write with for a femdom-centric plot. ideally, this would feature dark/mature subject matter along with smut, however it will also feature a lot of plot/story/ideally romance too.

overall, looking for someone who loves to plot/headcanon/friendly banter/and ideally, do this long-term. i would describe my writing style as casually lit to novella and enjoy writing something that might be 2-5 paragraphs long or longer. i’m here for all your nitty gritty details and also love good prose. also happy to match but not really into anything too short. i can share writing samples and hope you can too. i can post anything from 1-3 times a week.

i would like an m x f pairing, with myself playing the dominant female character. i have an oc who is malleable but i also enjoy making oc’s on the spot. we can also both play switches if that’s more comfortable for you.

here are some plots i was thinking about (hope you find these fun and feel free to change/elaborate. they’re just fun tropes to use as a jump-off point):

1. mob daughter x bodyguard - he’s looking to move up in the family and is assigned to watch over her. however, it’s more than he’s bargained for. or perhaps, it’s unlocked things he wasn’t sure he ever liked.

2. victorian governess or ward or maid x master of the house - something vibey in the foggy english moors, where someone can get spanked with a riding crop in a hedge maze. here for stilted conversations, trying to be polite/keep up decorum, but overall messy sex in a huge manor akin to saltburn

3. popular gregarious type guy x cold icy girl - all over my tiktok is the golden retriever boyfriend who’s happy, excitable, and fun. what if behind closed doors, despite being “the man,” he’s really just her bitch

4. coworkers - he could be the boss at the day job, but by night…

5. local cop x stripper / prostitute / teacher etc. - he could be a bad cop, he could be a good cop, either way, he’s being cuffed to the bed

6. virgin male x dominatrix - ideally, the male character has fantasized about this for a long time and has hired someone to do the job

7. teen idol (female) x serious hollywood actor - he’s an action star, no one should know he’s nothing like the characters he plays on tv

8. vampire hunter x vampire / werewolf hunter etc.

9. student x teacher

10. prisoner x prison guard

11. kidnapper / stalker x victim - essentially where an uno reverse happens

honestly, very open minded. things i would be open to incorporate: body worship, cock rings, pegging, fucking machines, toys, romance, shame, societal expectations, subversions to gender norms / roles, messy feelings and emotions, hurt/comfort, secret relationships, cheating infidelity, age gaps, dead dove content, a/b/o tropes, and feel free to suggest.

please leave a like and i’ll reach out with my discord info.

★ like the ad if you're interested !