#Overt Attachment

[iwontusethis255]

Infinity Train theoretical Book & OCs! (long ass post)

INFINITY TRAIN BOOK ???: OVERT ATTACHMENT

Meet the cast!

Renae (They/Them) got on the train at the age of 16, 10 whole years ago, in that time they managed to make friends and adjust to life on the train. Every time their number hits 0, they're struck with such intense fear of going back to the real world and its real problems that the number shoots up. Shortly after arriving they lost their hand, and managed to find...

Liv (She/Her) is Renae's best friend, their left hand gal! she's a living car who gives a glob of her shapeshifting form as a replacement hand for Renae. Renae was actually the one to name Liv! She's eternally grateful for Renae coming into her life, best friends, through thick and thin.

Battrick (He/Him) is also there. A recent member of the dynamic duo, met in The Haunted House Car, Battrick is on a search with the others to find the scariest things he can to improve his house! He has ignored Renaes suggestions of mushrooms and pirates.

Episode Overview!

Episode 1: The Magician Car

Renae and Liv are on their typical trek when something goes wrong.

(Setup, shows the typical dynamic duo interaction between the two as they take down an evil magician guy, until The Living Car is moved far away, and they have to get back)

Episode 2: The Haunted House Car

Renae and Liv go through a spooky manor and make a friend.

(The two go through an unimpressive haunted house experience, and when Battrick, one of the denizens, asks for advice on what’s scary, Renae claims mushrooms and refuses to elaborate. Battrick joins them, hoping to find scary stuff outside the car. It’s shown how he’s not working well in the established dynamic, to Liv’s annoyance.)

Episode 3: The Catfish Car

Renae and Battrick have a moment on a shoddy fishing boat. Liv discusses with The Cat.

(Battrick asks Renae what they’re gonna do after they get off the train, and that sparks a conversation about their old home and the potential for a new one, as well as their past in general, with Renae mentioning they’re not a fan of boats. Cat strikes a conversation with Liv and is suspicious of how she talks about Renae.)

Episode 4: The Chillax Car

Liv and Battrick bond over video games and food.

(Renae finds friends in the car and hangs with them, to Liv’s annoyance. Liv and Battrick interact, with Liv talking about their frustration with Battricks addition to the group, but honestly reassures him that she’s warming up to him, and that it's definitely her just being ironically scared of change. Renae feels a bit bad for kinda ditching them, and apologizes, even though they aren't in the wrong. Battrick feels the need to reassure that, but doesn’t.)

Episode 5: The Telenovela Car

Renae and Liv put on a show.

(Renae and Liv are cast as romantic partners in a show, with Renae’s character revealed to be cheating on Liv’s. Liv’s acting reaction has a slightly concerning level of realism, talking about how she always had a feeling they were with the neighbour (Battrick's character) and yelling with tears in her eyes, her incredible “acting” catches herself, the others, and the audience off guard, but the audience adores the show.)

Episode 6: The Mushroom Pirate Car

Renae remeets a not-so-friendly face.

(Renae is back in the car where they lost their hand, and the mushroom pirate captain who took it is more than happy to finish the job. Liv is overprotective of them and underprotective of Battrick, to Renae’s concern and annoyance. Renae eventually takes down the captain themselves, without Liv.)

Episode 7: The Confessional Car

The three have to confess their feelings and sins.

(The three are forcibly separated, and made to confess in a freakily religious setting that physically cracks with every confession. Battrick says they’re unsure on how good Liv is, Renae eventually admits they’re a bit scared for Liv, and Liv’s is not revealed, but it’s clear it upset her.)

Episode 8: The Fear Car

The truth comes to light.

(The car seems to be a version of Liv, but way, way more hostile. When the captain shows up and they piece together that this is a fear themed car, Liv is incredibly confused and upset that they showed up as the main hostility. They then finally arrive at The Living Car, where Liv locks them inside.)

Episode 9: The Living Car

Liv snaps at Renae and Battrick.

(Liv separates Renae and Battrick, for Renae’s own safety, as she puts it. Liv is having a full on breakdown, constantly shifting and ranting, worried that they aren’t good enough for Renae and desperate to prove the opposite, with Renae trying and failing to reason.)

Episode 10: The Breaking Point

Renae learns to move on.

(Renae finally admits to themselves that their relationship with Liv is not healthy. After freeing Battrick, their number hits zero, but they don’t want to leave without talking to Liv, so they fight through the mass to her center, consoling her a bit before saying they wish her luck for the future and changing for the better, but they don't want to be a part of it. After they leave, she retracts and lets Battrick leave the car, and Renae goes forth on Earth looking for a new life.)

Other Notes

Each book has a genre and theme

Book One is a mystery about reality Book Two is an adventure about identity. Book Three is a tragedy about empathy. Book Four is a comedy about communication.

This Book is a horror focusing on moving on.

Each Book also has an irl classic book associated with it

Book One takes inspiration from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Book Two is basically Carlo Collodi's The Adventures of Pinocchio. Book Three has references to J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan. Book Four had nods and themes from Nikolai Gogol's short story, Nevsky Prospekt

Man, I wonder what book this one is based- OH.

Renae's Number is revealed to be 54, and stays as such in the majority of the story. Guess what 54 is in roman numerals :]. Go on guess :]. Renae's name also means "Rebirth", with their themes of finding a new life on the train and then leaving to find one off of it. In addition, before they met Liv they were taken in by the Mushroom Pirates and bonded with them, and when they were like "I wanna be a pirate too!" the captain replied "Ha, of course! but you'll have to LOOK THE PART!" and swiftly held down their hand with their hook for the amputation. If they succeeded in making them "look the part" they would have infected them with spores and fully turned them into a mushroom. This is meant to represent betrayal and manipulation that happened in their past as well as would soon happen in their future with Liv.

Battrick was created as an antithesis to Liv's ideals, and as such I chose an animal that apparently represents communication, long journeys, challenge, good luck, dreams, and fear.

Liv using part of herself as Renae's arm is to represent the emotional attachment to them in a literal sense, as well as her unintentionally girl-nipulating them to stay on the train, with her physically covering the (now floating) number. Liv as a villain is on a sliding scale between Morgan and Simon, in all honesty. shes unhealthily obsessed with Renae and wants nothing more than to always be in their life, and them to always be in hers. They NAMED her, they gave her a LIFE, if Renae leaves, what does that make her? She sees herself as an extension of renae rather than her own person, and in the end Renae does feel bad for her, and genuinely hopes she gets a better mental state, but they don't have to or WANT to be a part of it.

Bonus Funnies!

[soaln]

can i request hcs of monster trio and ace/law getting jealous of someone stealing reader’s attention?

𝓗𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 ﹒ ౨ৎ

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : none, pure fluff, gender isn't mentioned I think ｡— ◟ 𖦹

𝓜𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐃. 𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

Luffy, despite his carefree and unrefined nature, is open about his feelings for you. His youthful exuberance and boundless energy make his attachment to you both overwhelming and endearing. If someone tries to take your attention away, he doesn’t hesitate to express his feelings. His face scrunches up into an exaggerated pout, his lips puffing out as he declares, “Hey! That’s my [Y/N]!” in a tone that is both childish and possessive.

Luffy usually doesn’t care much about competition, but when it comes to you, he will go to great lengths to capture your attention. Whether it’s interrupting conversations with his signature enthusiasm or pulling you into a tight, playful hug, he makes sure everyone knows you are his priority.

If someone continues to ignore him, Luffy's behavior will become even more outrageous. He might start doing silly stunts, telling jokes, or even challenging the intruder to a goofy competition—all to get your attention back. His actions are loud, chaotic, and completely in character, but they stem from a place of genuine affection.

𝓡𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐀 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎

Zoro’s jealousy is as sharp and precise as his swordsmanship. He’s not one to wear his emotions openly, but when someone catches your attention, his stoic demeanor becomes a little more intense. His arms cross, his gaze narrows, and his silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t need words to convey his displeasure.

If the situation escalates, Zoro's pride won't allow him to stand by without taking action. He'll find a way to involve himself, often pretending that he needs your help with something trivial, like adjusting his swords or reaching for a drink. His movements are deliberate, and his tone remains casual, but his piercing gaze is always fixed on the intruder.

Zoro’s jealousy is subtle yet powerful. He doesn’t create a scene, but his actions and presence are enough to remind everyone—especially you—that he’s not someone to be underestimated when it comes to matters of the heart.

𝓥𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

Sanji’s jealousy is as intense and dramatic as his personality. When someone tries to capture your attention, his romantic nature ignites like a storm. His words are filled with passion and possessiveness, and his voice drips with charming sweetness as he declares, “Darling, you should know, no one could ever treat you the way I do!”

His jealousy is anything but subtle. He showers you with flirtatious compliments while his eyes smolder with intensity, casting pointed glances at anyone he sees as a threat. Sanji's love language revolves around grand gestures, which he uses to remind you—and everyone else—that you are his muse, his one and only.

If the situation requires it, Sanji will go all out. He might prepare an extravagant meal just for you, presenting it with a theatrical bow and flourish. His jealousy is intertwined with passion, spectacle, and an unwavering devotion that is impossible to ignore.

𝓟𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐃. 𝐀𝐂𝐄

Ace’s jealousy is subtle, reflecting his laid-back personality, yet it runs deep. When someone captures your attention, he observes from a distance, maintaining a calm expression while his gaze remains intense. A quiet tension fills the air, and a slight change in his demeanor reveals the depth of his feelings.

If the intruder persists, Ace will step in with his trademark charm and ease. His words are teasing, his tone light, but there’s a possessiveness lurking beneath the surface. “Careful, they might bite,” he might say with a smirk, his voice smooth and affectionate. “You wouldn’t want to get too close.”

Ace’s jealousy is never overt, but it’s always present. He doesn’t need grand gestures or dramatic declarations to remind you where his heart lies. His quiet confidence and subtle actions speak louder than words ever could.

𝓣𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝓦𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖

Law's jealousy is a masterclass in restraint and quiet intensity. He doesn't engage in loud displays of emotion, but when someone attracts too much of your attention, his presence becomes unmistakable. He lingers in the background, his posture rigid and his gaze sharp, while his silence is heavy with unspoken possessiveness.

His actions are intentional and thoughtful. A gentle touch, a soft word, or a slight change in distance is enough to remind you—and everyone else—that you belong to him. “You seem… quite interested in them,” he might murmur, his tone cool but tinged with a hint of irritation.

When Law's patience begins to wear thin, his jealousy becomes more evident. A slight scowl, a protective arm around you, or a sharp glare at the intruder acts as a silent warning. His love is deep and intimate, and he won't hesitate to defend it with the same precision he uses in battle.

[reidmotif]

Check Your Window (He's At Your Window)

Summary: Reader discovers her window faces into the apartment of her very attractive building neighbor, Spencer. She's willing to do anything for his attention. He's willing to reward her for her efforts.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: voyeurism, lingerie, masturbation, slight dubcon (but for like 5 seconds i swear), nipple play, penetrative sex, apartment break-in.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

It’s natural to believe you’re safe in your place of residency. You’re given locks, blinds, a security gate- all measures designed to invoke a false illusion of privacy. Of course, there are defects that no one can plan for that have the ability to shatter this illusion. 

Mine happened to be a badly placed window. 

Finding this apartment felt akin to love at first sight. It sounds dramatic, but I’m serious. Do you know how horrific real estate is these days? But when my eyes came upon piano oak flooring, the soft light of the day streaming onto a marble island, and of course, an in-home washer/dryer system, I was sold. 

Due to my inherent awkwardness around meeting strangers,  and lack of overt charm, I’d never been one to initiate introductions with my neighbors. I moved in quietly, packing up my life into neat little boxes and dispersing them throughout the emptiness of my new space. It was only then, when I realized a strangely placed window that seemed to fall exactly where I’d wanted my bed to be. 

And while examining my outlandish situation, I saw him. 

I didn’t want to assume he’d been watching me. I wasn’t paranoid like that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to give off the aura of, for lack of better words, a creep,  so the quick aversion of my eyes from his gaze felt instinctual. Curiosity won over me a millisecond later, though, and against my better judgment, I quietly peered into the window again, wondering if the man in the glass had slipped away, or had looked away from where our eyes met last. 

What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was to be met with the unflinching stare of his eyes, far from concerned with how he came off, holding his gaze with an almost disconcerting and defiant presence. 

He gave me a subtle nod, before walking away, disappearing from view. I was left feeling.. unsettled. But also strangely thrilled. There was a certain peculiarity in knowing you were susceptible to an audience at any given moment. I vaguely recalled social facilitation as a possible explanation as to why the concept roused me the way it did, but whatever it was, I didn’t feel compelled to attach curtains or any kind of barrier to avoid the phenomenon. 

While my thoughts occasionally drifted to the man, I didn’t actually know anything about him. He lived in the building beside mine, so we didn’t even share so much as a landlord. I truly never expected to gain any insight on him besides the location of his domicile in relation to mine, and the thought didn’t bother me by any means.  I was completely fine with letting our connection stay as severed as it was. 

Fate, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

I found myself a few weeks later, struggling with an overstuffed grocery bag in front of my building, and in a terrible game of mismanaged weight and the flimsiness of grocery-store plastic, my bag gave way, scattering the contents of it across the ground. Further misfortune plagued me, as the bag in question had been holding a good pound of lemons, that rolled quite far from where I’d been standing. I immediately dropped to the ground, trying to gather up the ones by my feet in my arms, and noticed a presence nearby doing the same and bringing the runaway citrus to me. I was thankful, and was ready to express my gratitude to the helpful samaritan, until I saw a flash of recognition collectively pass over our faces as we made eye contact. 

Him. The man in the window. 

“You dropped these.” He says, his voice a little quieter than I’d expected from him, and I nod. 

“Yeah, no. It’s these bags. Not really equipped to hold a pound of lemons.” I say, trying to gather the rest to my chest, our eyes still trained on the other. 

“Can I ask why a pound of lemons?” He asks, a sort of playful lilt in his voice. 

“Lemonade.” I say, almost immediately. 

There’s a bit of confusion that flashes over his face. “Are you making a joke?” He replies, furrowing his brows a bit. 

I realize that my response might’ve come off as too deadpan, and I shake my head to correct his misconception. “Oh, no. I’m serious.” I say, offering a grin.  “I love lemonade. There’s a work party I’m attending, and I offered to make some for the office. Hence, the lemons.” I continued, gesturing at the aforementioned fruit, and feeling myself ramble slightly, but it didn’t seem to offend the recipient. 

“That.. is a surprisingly normal response, given the situation.” The man says, nodding. “I love lemonade too.” He adds. 

There’s a bit of silence as we both picked up lemons together, the man more focused than I on the task. I took the oppurtuinity within the lull of our conversation to truly examine the man, finally no longer separated by a pane of glass, and my observations all seemed to point towards one glaringly obvious conclusion. 

The man in the window was hot.

He appeared older than me, yet his age did nothing to diminish the beauty of his features. His doe-like eyes seemed to shine with the same curiosity that I felt towards him. His hair was a bit longer than I’d expect from a man his age, but it suited him. The smooth slope of his nose had a certain charm to it, and his cheekbones were impossibly sharp. I wanted to run my thumb over the bone, and kiss him senseless until we could barely remember our own names. 

“I’m (Y/N). You’re free to come over.” I say, a little more rushed than I’d wanted to. “For the lemonade, of course.” I add, trying to not drop the ball when it came to inviting this gorgeous man over to my apartment. 

“Spencer.” He replies, offering his name to me. “I'll keep it in mind.” He says, smoothly. He flashes me a kind smile as he places the last of the lemons into my other bags or directly into my hands. 

I’d hoped “I’ll keep it in mind” meant “within the next few days or so” but waiting seemed futile after a certain amount of time had passed. He never came, and I even stopped seeing him as often through the window in passing. In hindsight, it was rather naive to genuinely expect a near-stranger to come to my apartment, on account of an invitation that could have been interpreted as a thinly-veiled proposition.

It felt a bit dull, his lack of interest. I’d had a taste of his attention, and for some reason, I was hooked. It was irrational, and illogical, but I couldn’t help the desire I felt simply at the thought of this man. And in a mixture of perversion, desperation and pure brainlessness, I tried to use the one thing that had rarely failed me in the past. Sex. 

I reasoned by telling myself it wasn’t like it was guaranteed he’d see me. 

And it wasn’t as if I was standing directly by the window, exposing myself for his pleasure, and his pleasure only. So hey, if he saw my figure adorned in lacy lingerie in passing, and felt compelled to act on that in any way he chose, well. No harm, no foul, right? 

So that’s exactly what I did. To my benefit, it was one of the hottest summers D.C had ever had, so the lack of clothing worked in my favor.  I’d always felt quite confident in my own skin, so lounging around in bras, panties, barely-there cover-ups around my apartment didn’t strike me as the oddest thing to do.  I felt comfortable, and in turn, possibly seducing the man in the window. Win-win. 

And “win” I did, in some way at least, because I noticed the arrival of lingerie correlated in a sudden uptick in the times I’d see Spencer taking a longer-than-normal glimpse into my apartment. It was fucking exhilirating, to have his regard in this strange, taboo way. I’d find myself imagining him, surrounded by a sea of sheets and pillows slowly stroking his cock to the images of my scantily-clad body. I had no real way of verifying if this was the actual case, but the fantasy was enough to bring heat to my cheeks and an ache in my panties. 

It started to drive me a little crazy, however, when after a week of this,  literally no tangible reward came from the fruits of my labor. While I’d enjoyed his eyes on my form, that seemed to be all he was capable of. He seemed completely at ease with just watching (to my utter dismay) and it seemed the action I wanted him to take was sorely out of reach. 

Reflecting on his shy, soft demeanor from the one time we’d spoken, I concluded that he might not be as forward as I am. It made sense; he never seemed to have visitors in his apartment and, seeming to be in his 40s without a stable partner, he probably wasn't accustomed to a woman's attention in this way. He didn’t exactly exude “womanizer” anyway from what I knew about him, and I began to connect his lack of initiative to these points.

 It didn't deter me from continuing my attempts though. At best, I was at least providing a lonely middle-aged man some sorely needed imagery in the meantime. I’d always been a giver, anyhow. 

It’s reasonable to assume there’d be some payoff down the road, right? 

Wrong. I continued to wear increasingly revealing lingerie, going as far as just walking around naked once in a while. Nothing. I was a fucking saint at this point for continuing this for him.

It didn’t help that my mind insisted on taunting me with what I couldn’t have, as a moment of spare time in my day would constantly be preoccupied with thoughts of him in my bed, pinning my hands down and kissing up and down my neck. I’d imagine him pounding into me, or bouncing up and down on his cock, bringing us both to the throes of pleasure. I couldn’t halt the depravity of my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried.

What I also couldn’t stop, was the slow descent of my fingers into my panties one night, finding a delectable mess within them, signifying my deep arousal associated with the man. It’d been a long few weeks,  the smell of summer and heat encasing my apartment, and a profound craving I couldn’t resist. I breathed out a sigh of relief as I began rubbing the small nub, alternating between up and down motions, and then a slow, circular rub. Little moans poured out my lips, before I quickly shed my panties entirely, watching a string of arousal stuck to them, kicking them haphazardly to the side, wanting more access to my clit. 

My eyes naturally closed as I found myself lazing towards the precipice of release. Soft sighs and moans filled my apartment as I let my fingers rub a bit more desperately. I could see flashes of him again behind my eyes, his hand on me, instead of my own,  mirroring the actions I was performing. A gasp of his name came tumbling out of me as the image became clearer and clear, my eyes opening almost frantically as I felt myself closer and closer. 

That’s when I got the strangest sensation, and felt a pair of eyes on me. I jolted my head to the left, and saw Spencer, who was clearly watching at this point. His gaze was entirely trained on me, and similar to the first time he saw me, our eye contact didn’t deter him from his observation. 

I refused to let it either, and kept my gaze trained on him. I was entirely exposed. I wouldn’t have been able to stop my actions if I’d had a gun to my head. It just felt too fucking good. A moment more of eye contact from him, and I felt the familiar clench and release from my body, waves of pleasure wracking my body. I let out another moan, but not once did my eyes leave his, as my back arched against my sheets, a silent plea on my part being conveyed.  

Come here. What could you possibly be waiting for? 

I watched him disappear from the window as I finished, both literally and figuratively, and panted, wondering if finally, finally, my prayers and fervent supplications would be answered. 

After about 30 minutes, my anticipation was replaced with severe disappointment when I realized even after then, he wasn’t coming. I could no longer see him in the window, and at this point it seemed a little silly and pathetic to continue expecting him to come. 

Maybe he was just entirely sexually inadept. That could be a possibility, right? How much more explicit could I get than this? I’d masturbated in front of him! Albeit, through a window, but masturbation regardless! Was this seriously all he was willing to do? 

I roll my eyes at the thought. I came to accept that maybe, truly, there was nothing I could do to get this man to fuck me the way I deserved. Fine.

As I closed my eyes to get some necessary rest after my endeavors, I made up my mind that I’d buy curtains tomorrow. Fuck Spencer Reid, and his absolute inability to take any action in his goddamn life. Fuck this apartment. Fuck everything. 

Was I dramatic? Yes. Was I still right? Also yes. 

Despite the sour mood I’d taken to bed with me that evening, my dreams were anything but. The idea of Spencer Reid holding me down, whispering sweet and dirty nothings alike were all still incredibly tantalizing to my subconscious. I could hear his voice in my ear, soft pink lips brushing against the shell of my ear, a deep pressure imprinted onto my body, keeping me in my bed. 

“Wake up, sweetheart.” He murmured, beckoning me out of the peaceful cocoon of sleep. 

I felt a few more wet and warm kisses trailing up and down my neck, the sweetest sensation of pleasure being granted to me with every touch he gave. 

“Need you to wake up, pretty girl.” He mumbles. “You really are so pretty up close.” His voice is slightly patronizing, and it does nothing to help the excitation that was steadily growing inside of me. 

Suddenly, I became incredibly aware that the stimuli I was receiving didn’t appear to be a byproduct of my psyche, but rather- he was here? My eyes opened slowly to realize I wasn’t at all mistaken, the soft brush of his brown hair against my neck slightly tickling me as I came to. 

“Atta girl.” He mumbles, his lips still mapping out every inch of my skin. Out of pure instinct, a slightly alarmed moan came from me, still unsure if I was dreaming or not. Surely I had to be dreaming. I had to be, because how the fuck did Spencer Reid get into my apartment? Into my bed? 

“You want this, yeah?” He murmurs, taking a second to gaze down at me. I realized he’d been on top of me this whole time, and the pressure I’d felt in my dream was his skin on mine, trapping me in between his strong chest and the soft sheets adorning my mattress. “I know you do. Saw your little show and everything.” He breathes out, desperately, almost. 

I know I should’ve thought about it. Perhaps I should’ve pondered on the idea of letting a man who’d just broken into my apartment full access to my body as he pleased, but there was no time. He was here, and how could I have ever said no to that? 

There’s an equally as desperate and breathy, “yes” that escapes my lips, and before I can finish saying the word, he dives down, meeting my lips with his, absolutely devouring me with no hesitation whatsoever.  If I'd thought his previous ministrations were delightful, this was absolutely heavenly. 

I moan softly into his mouth, wanting to tangle my hands in his hair, or latch them onto his shoulders and sink my nails deep into the skin that resided there- anything to show even a semblance of control in this situation, but it seemed Spencer had already thought of that, pinning my hands against the mattress so tightly, I couldn’t have moved if I’d exerted every last bit of strength into it. 

“God, the first time- first time I saw you.” He mumbles in between kisses. “With those lemons. I knew they’d fall. Saw you through the window across the street and practically ran. Wanted to meet you so badly.” 

A small whimper escapes me, and I can’t help but get wetter at the thought. I knew he’d been watching me through the window, but the idea that I captured his attention, outside of my apartment, in the most mundane of situations only served to heighten the arousal I felt, my thighs rubbing together for any kind of relief. 

He notices the movement and grins, planting one last kiss on my lips before slipping down. His hands cup the backs of my knees, forcing me to spread my previously shut legs. 

“You had the prettiest voice.” He breathes out, examining my glistening heat. “Fuck. Couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d sound, screaming my name.” He leans forward, planting a chaste kiss on my clit that caused an incredibly breathtaking jolt through my body. 

“Spencer-” I moan, my head rolling back as I felt it, my back arching slightly. 

“Yeah, just like that.” He mumbles, clearly pleased. “Good girl.” 

His hands traveled upward from where he’d been situated between my legs and squeezed my breast blindly. It didn’t feel like it was for my pleasure, but rather that he was desperate to touch anywhere he possibly could. Anyone else, and I might’ve been annoyed with the incessant touching, but with him? 

 It was so fucking hot. 

“That goddamned lingerie.” He mumbles. “The things I wanted to do to you. Did you know that?” 

I looked at him through hooded lids, unsure what he meant, and he took my diversion of attention to quickly tweak one of my nipples, eliciting another surprised moan from my mouth. 

“I’m so much stronger than this, usually.” His large hands continue to squeeze and grope at my breasts. “But you.” He whispers, a hint of a growl making its way into his tone. “Had to push the limits. Practically begging me to come here and take you.” 

I let out a gasp as I felt his hands trail down my stomach, the cool touch of his fingertips causing the muscles to tense up there. 

“I’m gonna do it.” He whispers, his face only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open window, but I could still see the dangerous glint in his eye, thrilling me even further. “Fuck you exactly how you want it.” 

Before I’m able to react to the sentiment, he’s grabbing onto my hips and turning me over, a yelp drawn out from me. 

“Hands and knees.” He says, in an authoritative tone that doesn’t leave any room for any disagreement. I comply quickly, much to his elation. 

“You’re so good for me, yeah? Gonna ruin you. Just how you want.” 

There’s a hint in condescension in his tone, like he’s making fun of me for wanting to be fucked this badly, but I can barely pay any mind about it, especially when I feel his cock slotting itself betweet my folds, separated only by his boxers, a shaky moan coming from Spencer. 

I can feel his hands leaving my hips and the slight lean away as he quickly shucks off the fabric, and within the next second, he’s pushing into me, providing me with a stretch and fulfillment that was so much better than I could’ve ever imagined. It doesn’t take him long to set a fast pace, the sound of our skin slapping and the smell of sex permeating the room. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He moans out, and I let out similar noises in tandem. 

I can barely find it in me to stay coherent. I want to scream how good he feels, how big his cock feels in me, how close I was- but instead the only thing I could manage was the borderline scream of his name and loud sobs of pleasure, fully at the mercy of the man behind me. I can feel the way I clamp down on him, absolutely imploring him for as much as he could give me. 

“Gonna come for me, yeah?” He says, feeling the clench of my walls on his cock.  “Come on, pretty girl. Give me what I want.” He murmurs lowly, leaning down closer to my ear. His hand shoots out a moment later, beginning to rub my clit, similar to how I had been doing a few hours earlier as he watched me, and the memory and sensation of it is enough to hurl me off the edge, my walls tightening around his cock as waves of pleasure wracked through my body.

It seemed that was enough for him as well. I felt his hips still, and a sudden warmth at my deepest point. He let out a groan of relief as he thrusted once, twice more, and then pulled out, his cum slipping down my thighs as he plopped down next to me. I’d already collapsed the second he pulled out, panting as I came down from the orgasm. 

“You good?” He mumbles, wearily, and I can feel him moving aside my hair to kiss at my shoulder. 

“Mhm.” I murmur back, a small sigh of relief escaping me. There’s a beat of silence, before he breaks it.

“Tomorrow.” He murmurs. “Wanna go out with me?” 

I raise an eyebrow, turning at him with a playful expression- as playful as I could get in this state anyway. “Where to?” 

“Target.” He mumbles, still stroking my back lazily, his eyes shining with something less intense than lust now, but still enough to turn my stomach over with butterflies.

“Target?” I say, squinting my eyes. “Why Target?” 

“We’re buying you some curtains.” He says, a small grin appearing on his face. “And maybe a stronger lock.” 

I giggle at that, rolling my eyes a bit.  “But then you don’t get to see me anymore. I kind of liked what we had going on.” 

“I did too.” He whispers, his tone slightly vulnerable now. “But I like this a lot more.” 

A small smile plasters itself to my face as I nod.

 “Me too.” I whisper back, biting my lip. 

A mutual understanding passed through the both of us as we smiled at each other in the dark, and for a split second, I imagined myself possibly loving this more someday. 

All in good time. Right now, I was going to sleep, protected by his soft, strong arms. That was enough for now. We’d finally gotten what we wanted. 

woah!! trying to finally get back into writing semi regularly i see. i hope this was enjoyable. this is one of those pieces i'm kind of unsure about, so please, please interact if you liked it! likes, comments, reblogs, anything! or let me know if you didn't! i live for feedback of any kind. thank you for reading anyhow, i am very grateful for it <3

also lol if it wasn’t obvious i listened to “she” for fic inspo lol. linked below

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : you work under the sixth fatui harbinger orders, and you seem to notice that you might have some privilege from other underlings. pairing : yan scaramouche x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere themes. author's note : this idea has been plaguing my mind for the last few days.

you are neither remarkable nor outstanding—at least, not in a way that warrants the strange privileges you've started to notice.

serving under the sixth harbinger was a gamble on your life. everyone knew it. those who failed his orders rarely walked away unscathed. you have seen him tear through subordinates with the cruel precision of a blade slicing through silk—swift, merciless, and irreversible. a single misstep was a death sentence.

and yet, for some reason, he never raises his voice at you.

it starts subtly. the first time you avoid his wrath, you convince yourself it’s a fluke. someone else bore the brunt of his temper that day, and you were simply fortunate enough to have slipped under his radar. but then it happens again. and again. and again.

you see it in the way the others glance at you when you stand before him, their faces tight with barely concealed confusion. why aren’t you trembling? why hasn’t he struck you down? you aren’t sure yourself. you’re not exempt from his cold glares or sharp words, but compared to the verbal lashings the others receive, yours feel… muted. lighter. almost restrained.

you should be relieved. you should be grateful. but it unsettles you.

at first, you chalk it up to coincidence. maybe he has bigger things to deal with. maybe you simply haven’t messed up badly enough to incur his full fury. maybe he hasn’t noticed you. but then he starts noticing you too much.

the shift is so gradual that you don’t recognize it until it’s already settled in. he calls your name more often. assigns you tasks that keep you close to him. his orders, once barked out to the entire unit, are now directed at you specifically. and the worst part? the others notice too.

it begins with stolen glances, quiet murmurs when they think you aren’t listening. the weight of their stares presses down on you during meetings, during missions, during every waking moment spent in his presence. some are envious. some are wary. but all of them share the same unspoken question—what did you do to earn the balladeer’s favor?

he is watching you. you realize it too late—weeks, maybe months, after the first shift in his behavior.

it’s not obvious at first. his eyes don’t linger when you’re looking. his movements are too calculated, too precise for any suspicion to take root. but then, one evening, you feel it. a chill creeping up your spine. a weight settling on your shoulders. and when you turn around, he is already looking at you.

expression unreadable. posture relaxed. there is no anger, no irritation—none of the usual sharpness that carves itself into his features when addressing others. just patience.

something coils uncomfortably in your chest. you offer a stiff bow and return to your work, pretending you didn’t see anything. but the feeling remains. you are being watched.

then, the orders begin to change.

you’re sent on fewer field missions. others are sent in your place, while your assignments conveniently keep you stationed at headquarters—closer to him. reports that should go through multiple chains of command end up on his desk with your name attached. supplies you never requested start appearing in your quarters, neatly stacked, as if someone had taken careful note of what you might need.

none of it is overt. none of it is something you can point to and say, this is strange. but it feels strange. it feels deliberate.

your quarters, once sparse and cold, are suddenly filled with small comforts. a finer blanket. fresh ink and parchment before you even realize you’ve run out. a meal, still warm, left on your desk after a particularly long meeting. nothing extravagant. nothing blatant. but you know better than to believe in coincidence.

you tell yourself you should be grateful. that if this were anyone else, they would relish in the safety his interest provides. but safety is not the word for it. this is not sanctuary. this is confinement disguised as protection. this is the tightening grip of a hand just before it clenches into a fist.

the air in his presence grows heavier. you’ve learned to recognize the shift, the way his mood darkens when your attention drifts too far from him. a single misstep, a fleeting moment of distraction, and the temperature in the room plummets. he never raises his voice. never punishes you as he does the others. but you are not free from consequences.

it starts with his words.

“you seem distracted.”

a simple observation, spoken without malice. but his tone leaves no room for evasion. he is expecting an answer.

you scramble for an excuse. offer something vague, something neutral, hoping it will satisfy him. he hums, unimpressed but willing to let it go—for now.

and then, the final proof. your door, locked when you left, is slightly ajar when you return.

then, it becomes proximity. he lingers. too close. too often. the space you once had to breathe is slowly stripped away, piece by piece, until you are left with nothing but him. a brush of fingers when he hands you a report. a shadow that mirrors your every movement. the distinct scent of verbena and something metallic, hanging in the air long after he’s gone.

your breath catches. every instinct screams at you to turn back, to pretend you never noticed. but your feet betray you, carrying you forward with cautious steps. the room is undisturbed—almost. the blanket on your bed is slightly askew. your desk, meticulously organized, has one drawer left open just a fraction more than it should be.

you hesitate. a trick of the eye, perhaps. the air in the room feels untouched, undisturbed. but when you step closer, your pulse hammers against your ribs. something is different.

your fingers tremble as they reach for the drawer. it slides open without resistance, revealing its contents—neatly arranged, just as you left them. almost. nestled between papers and forgotten trinkets, a single flower rests atop your belongings. verbena.

its violet petals are fresh, unblemished, as if plucked just moments ago. a small thing, delicate in its solitude, yet its presence weighs heavier than stone. you stare, breath shallow. there is no reason for it to be here. no explanation that does not send a shiver down your spine. you have never kept flowers. you have never received them. but the familiar smell of it doesn't deceive you.

a message, left in silence. no demand. no warning. no threat. just proof. of what, exactly, you do not know. but when you close the drawer, the weight of it lingers.

[mossangelll]

Im absolutely enchanted with your yandere jinx....This brings the question tho....how would Yandere Jinx handle her darling being on her period? (I mynself am on my period and I kid you not- I feel worse than when eating taco bell)

yandere!jinx x reader on their period

honestly not as much of an overt yandere as usual - if you squint, it’s pretty much a normal jinx hc!

hcs like this which are more ‘slice of life’ are super fun and i would be interested in doing them for more characters (e.g. what they’re like when you’re sick) if anyone’s interested!

tysm for requesting

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

cw: periods, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, sexual mentions but not in too much detail, slight noncon, reader isn’t referred to by any gendered pronouns but female anatomy is mentioned

yandere!jinx who can’t sleep without holding onto you during the night

yandere!jinx who reaches over for your body just to feel the cool bedsheet under her

yandere!jinx who notices the bathroom light is on and without hesitation believes that your escape attempts have finally resulted in a success

yandere!jinx who crashes into the bathroom to find…you, crying on the toilet with your head in your hands

“toots, i hope you aren’t thinking of making any stupid decisions.” her voice is still grumbly from sleep but it doesn’t manage to hide the underlying annoyance simmering beneath

you look up at her with pained eyes and that’s when she notices your underwear, pooled at your ankles and stained with blood

her eyebrows shoot to the top of her head and her demeanour softens like she was never mad in the first place

“oh! i didn’t know it was that time of the month.”

she sees how you wilt away in shame, arms crossed over your midsection, at such a normal bodily function and rushes over to cuddle you, toilet be damned

yandere!jinx can be a lot of things - overbearing, compulsive and downright abusive, but she knows that what you need right now is someone to comfort you

yandere!jinx who understands what you’re going through painfully well

yandere!jinx who still acts awkward around you for the first few periods you have when you’re in her captivity - the cons of relying on her sole father figure growing up

yandere!jinx who doesn’t trust you to go outside without trying to cry for help so she ends up getting essentials for you

yandere!jinx who doesn’t need to ask what kind of products you usually buy; she already snooped around your house before she took you and knows whether you prefer pads, tampons or cups, the kind of snacks you crave, whether you’re the angry or teary type - she knows everything

yandere!jinx who gets you a ridiculous pile of desserts she stole from some fancy piltie bakery just to make sure your cravings are satiated

yandere!jinx who washes any bloody sheets, clothes or underwear for you with her own two hands - not only is she gratified at how flustered you get, she wants to feel closer to you in any way possible and getting to do such intimate chores is honestly euphoric for her, it emphasises how you belong to her and her alone

yandere!jinx who doesn’t let you use a hot water bottle; she wants you to come to her for comfort, wants to be the one to hold her hands over your stomach and ease the cramps

yandere!jinx who gives you tiny drops of shimmer, not enough to get seriously high but enough to take the pain away

yandere!jinx who loves how your pink eyes match hers after she’s dosed you

yandere!jinx who loves to see you cry at something that’s not her because it means you won’t reject her attempts to make you feel better

yandere!jinx who hopes and prays that your cycles sync up so that you two become even more attached

yandere!jinx who massages your lower back when you complain about it aching, maybe even using special shimmer-imbued lotion she got from singed to aid her efforts

yandere!jinx who would love if their darling gets tender breasts around their period since she can cop a feel while using “pain relief” as her get out of jail free card

yandere!jinx who doesn’t care about any of the symptoms that you think are “gross” or “disgusting” - everything about you is perfect and she can’t find it in her to hate any of it

yandere!jinx who isn’t turned off by the sight of a little blood and tries to convince you to let her pleasure you, even if you are shaken up by the idea - after all, she heard that orgasms help alleviate cramps!

yandere!jinx who tells you all about her embarrassing period stories from when she was younger to make you feel better if you bleed through your clothing in front of her

yandere!jinx who becomes your personal jester if you’re bedridden; she tells you jokes and does a myriad of insane tricks that you can’t even fathom how she pulls off - it definitely gets your mind off of how terrible you feel

yandere!jinx who supports you every month and hopes that when you become accustomed to your new life, you’ll eventually do the same for her <3

masterlist

[ooooo-mcyt]

Another thing I adore about Third Life is how..neither Scar nor Grian ever wanted to get attached.

Grian is very overt about it. He calls Scar's plans stupid, he warns people to stay away from Scar, he tells everyone who'll listen that he wants out, that he'll leave as soon as he gets the chance to. Which I think was the truth, at the time. If nothing else, I think Grian truly resented the power imbalance, the idea that he had to do anything, that he was second to someone, especially someone so reckless.

Scar was more subtle. He's plenty friendly, and on the surface he was always gushing about their partnership, their friendship, but, well..Scar betrayed every person he ever spoke a word to in Third Life. I'm certain he planned to do the same to Grian. Scar is a salesman, pretty words are part of the gig. Grian knew better.

And yet.

At some point, Grian ends up, on yellow and technically free, standing on a platform above a war with Scar at his side, smiling and saying honestly that the two of them, together, are all that matter.

Shortly after, Scar stands with Grian's blood on his hands, like I suspect he always planned to, and suddenly changes his mind as he realizes that this isn't winning.

[jazeswhbhaven]

Wrath Fueled By Victory | Satan Victory Card React | Spoilers

ITS BEEN A LONG TIME COMIN' I'm very sorry for the wait ya'll I was suppose to post this literally like before January was over and it's now nearly mid-February 💀

Ya'll know the drill, since this is a NP card, heavily summarized, a few screenshots, the usual.

Though I will tell you...this card was a MAJOR turn around from his Torture card in terms of pacing, writing, his personality shining through and through. And that date story???

Satan wants me to marry him I guess.

Butttt let's get this show on the road~

Summary

So it seems Satan is upset today because the Explosive Sphere event (wth lmaooo) has had so many victories by Gehenna that they are removing it. Like, no one else gets a chance to win because it's biased toward long-range snipers. (okay yah I guess I get that)

And surprise, surprise we get a cameo from the big granddaddy himself, Solomon! It appears that this card starts with a blast from the past, and Solomon's influence is seen in real time. Like he literally just whispers to Satan and he calms down just like that. Levi is even like >:( sit next to me and being semi-clingy and I'm just here like??? Damn that personality didn't transfer over to MC at all sorry 😭

The narration even pointed out that it wasn't that Solomon used overt logic or strength, he was simply just present, had a nice voice, and was just himself. Literally he's just that guy.

It's official, the Calvary Battles replaced the Exploding Sphere event, we're now in the future and things are underway and Satan is hyping up his men to win. Violence is allowed, so it sounds like the devils from each country are just gonna beat each other's asses until someone passes out essentially.

And the story reflects back to Luci's victory card, which honestly that shit was wild as it is. But it's nice to know that these themed cards are connected and therefore...canon lol (at least for whatever's happening, I imagine this is MC's everyday life and how it would be realistically during their time in Hell aside from the things happening in the main story)

It begins, each country planning out their battle strategies! As we see what Gehenna is up to, basically using 6 devils together in an "iron maiden" like formation with bombs attached to themselves (wild...) we have Hades (who sent Foras to spy on the Gehenna devils...) and they are using the 9 Apostles that will come out from 9 coffins, Levi will be wearing rings (sounds similar to the infinity gauntlet lmao who is he thanos?) to show his bond with them so they can work with Hades.

And not only that ya'll, a fly was spying on Hades...and we go over to Abyssos and they plan on hiring Abaddon devils from the Red Light District as mercenaries! (Nabe's idea btw, Stolas apparently just wanted to shoot everyone too the little angry birb) And then, while folks in Abyssos were placing their votes for a bet...there's this one devil that's confident that Abyssos will lose? Turns out....he's a spy for Tartaros 😭 (this is so wild ya'll)

I want to add that Tartaros had a transforming fortrace and they didn't even have plans for a stage 3 and Mammon was like "Ah pay the devil who suggested stage 3 and we'll get right to it" MAMMON PL SSSSSSSS what do you mean you didn't have more than two stages helpppppp.

And now, we're also looking into Paradise Lost, Gamigin wants to participate so badly to show that healer's aren't weak, even offering to turn into a complete dragon or to lend Lucifer his powers? (I bet he can do that tbh) and this entire display of the other nobles treating Gamigin softly about it, has Luci convinced to join in the battles (seems like he was going to not participate just out of choice, since I mean he won the horse races and got his prize already)

Then we get a visitor??? ZAGAN THE BABES <3 He shows up to Paradise Lost to ask the nobles to not participate this time around, only because he's worried that some devil's may actually die this time because MC is the prize. He doesn't want Satan most of all to get hurt, and it really shows us more of Zagan's personality. He went there of his own accord, is worried about his King and others, and is asking for standby help to prevent a possibly tragedy. Love him.

I'll be very brief about the battle, Satan won lmao. And it wasn't like the other's didn't try it's just...even with all the spying and cheating, Satan still came out on top and he did it so flawlessly too.

And the way he grabbed MC as his prize and whisked them away? I love it when it does that. So cocky, so....him. Phewww

So I'mma just say rn, I needed one of Beleth's cigarette's after reading the smut with Satan. Like ya'll we got backshots, for whatever reason MC was describing being fucked like a bitch in heat, but whatever I might as well be cause I'm a sucker for backshots and that's something Satan should like too because it gives him good range to smack that ass.

Also, so commanding, being mad about MC being so cute, saying that he's in charge so there's no reason MC should be ordering him around. MC gave him head, he was throatfucking, and because he had consumed devil's blood beforehand it seems that made him harder, bigger (more swollen), and just more unhinged and hornier than usual.

Bonus: they came at the same time, after ya know he made them cum like 9 times before that

And one thing Satan is always gonna do? Put MC to sleep. Which happened, he was being cute at the end, and MC just passes out. All of this in an alleyway mind you...Satan freaky asf fucking outside with the possibility of getting caught.

Screenshots!!

Okay Levi didn't let me down, he always got something to say...but this time??? All he's doing is affirming my ship delusions again

And damn Grandpa Solo....okay

He really said "make sure you get that ready for me" meaning....your hole MC...he's got a lot of time to make up since the horse racing event

AYO??????

Masked men are my kink so, Amy and I bout to fuck na s t y yyyyyyyy (though this seems dangerous and he can't see out of the damn thing lmao)

lemme suck them titties

Mammon out here got a damn transformer and bringing it to the fight I'm done lmaooooooo

Oh??? But they say he can't turn back into his devil self if he transforms....but me being me....

i'm down for full dragon Gamigin let's go

this sums up how I felt about this particular thing

Someone get this man some oranges to help him calm down lmaooo

Aight PB stop fueling me with arsenal...good arsenal at that because word on the street is....i might have written a little something something during my away time....

He is so boyfriend, I'm crying like??? This face???

"It's starting to hurt..." and he was referring to his dick....my gawd let me grind on it and make it hurt morrrrreeeeeeeeeeee

IDK IM FEELING SO MUCH EMOTION RN

*also to note this position he's sitting in for this card was my favorite and he kept his shoes on idk I was feeling things*

Date Story and Chat Summary!

I think it's funny that Satan pretty much just says outloud that he had good sex with MC and everyone is like :O and MC is like 🙃🙃🙃💀😭 and I'm over here like??? Okay, now I do understand not wanting your business out there, but???? Lol

Paimon thing: He likes shy ppl and certified hoes who open their legs too, so basically ya'll you're his type no matter what I guess💀

So the date ends up being that he takes MC to his private motorcyle repair shop! He's being so domestic and soft here you almost forget he gets angry and prefers to fuck roughly lmao

But also, a big thing we learn is Satan's love language of physical touch. He doesn't say things with words, it's all actions, so you could even say that Acts of Service, is also another love language for him! He really is very affectionate, and I love that so much about him.

But the main point being that he treated this date like how any regular degular human boyfriend would, and I think...that's really what sets him apart from the other devils! He has that sense of "normal humanity" to him when he feels like it and it brings you back to a sense of comfort. Now, I have yet to observe this behavior from the other devils, as I feel it's touch and go from what we get per story, BUT yes...

Btw it seems that Satan really likes bringing up how good the sex is, because he was doing that in the chats and even had a point in time where he was like "yeah it's big again, I'm going to you now." Like my guy literally was like

my dick hard so, i'mma bout to come fuck you <3

While also texting on his bike at that...like? lmao

Fun fact: During the hell events, the seraphim and the angels used to come down to try and take advantage of that but they pretty much got beaten up and when Luci started participating they pretty much stopped showing up altogether

Also, it seems Levi really was upset about losing twice 💀 but strangely enough, Satan doesn't think he's the petty type (I beg to differ, maybe not petty towards you Satan). And he thinks he's a real man even though others call him feminine. This is interesting to bring up though because I'm like...huh yeah Levi's a pretty boy, that's his thing, though I don't think it's a hinderance to anything. that attitude sure fucking is though.

And there we have it folks!!! That's pretty much everything in the card I can sum up for. It's quite obvious my score on this card is....

10/10 let's go

I really did enjoy this card way more than Satan's Torture one. Again, it's mostly because it had the same writing format at Levi's Torture card. A bunch of build up, some lore thrown in, some comedy, and then it leads up to the smut and it's pretty much it from there. Not solely focused on the smut only, it was pretty long, and we get to see the nobles and kings interact once again. Now, sadly since this was a true NP card, that means if you didn't get him this time around, you'll have to wait for them to bring it back in the future. Which I would recommend getting this card if you're a Satan fan! The date story was super cute too.

Now...it's on to Mammon's Victory card which from a quick glance, it was much shorter? Man they never do that devil justice when it comes to creating card content from him majority of the time, BUT I'll see ya there <3

[jmkjournalblog]

Sweet thing (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: Manipulation, a lot of talking, sex.

A/n: The narrative can be choppy, I had to rewrite a couple of moments, sorry. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft, golden hues across the bedroom. Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open to a world that no longer required the timid facade she had so carefully maintained. Beside her, Agatha’s arm rested lightly over her waist, a tangible reminder of the game Y/N had played—and won. The bait was taken; now it was time to revel in the shift.

With a languid stretch, Y/N slid out from under Agatha’s arm, careful not to wake her. She tied the robe around her waist, its loose fabric falling just enough to hint at the body beneath without revealing too much. Her movements were deliberate, fluid, every step a quiet testament to the confidence she no longer bothered to hide. Her bare feet padded across the floor as she made her way to the kitchen.

In the serene quiet of the morning, Y/N moved with an elegance that bordered on the predatory. Her fingers grazed the countertop as she prepared coffee, the faint clink of mugs and the gurgling of the pot the only sounds in the still house. A satisfied smile curved her lips as she let her thoughts wander. Agatha’s growing attachment was palpable, her walls crumbling with every calculated move. Y/N could feel it—the pull, the inevitability of the older woman’s surrender.

The faint shuffle of footsteps broke the stillness, and Y/N glanced over her shoulder just as Agatha appeared in the doorway. The older woman’s hair was slightly mussed, her expression drowsy but soft with the lingering haze of sleep. “What’s she up to now ?” Agatha muttered, her voice low and teasing.

The sight before her made Agatha falter.

Y/N stood by the counter, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. The robe hung loosely around her frame, hinting at her curves but offering nothing overt. Her posture was confident, her weight shifted just enough to highlight the subtle lines of her body. But it was her smile—easy, knowing, and utterly self-assured—that stopped Agatha in her tracks.

“Good morning,” Y/N said, her voice rich and warm, her tone carrying a trace of playfulness. She took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes meeting Agatha’s with unflinching ease.

Agatha blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Y-Y/N?” she stammered, her usual sharpness dulled by confusion.

Y/N’s smile widened, and she set the mug down with a soft clink. “You seem surprised,” she said, her voice carrying a lightness that was almost amused.

Agatha leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she studied the young woman before her. “You’re not acting like the girl I knew.”

“No,” Y/N admitted easily, her head tilting slightly. “That girl was... convenient. You seemed to like her, though.”

“Convenient?” Agatha echoed, her brows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N stepped closer, her movements slow but not calculated—there was no need to force what was already unfolding. “It means,” she said, her voice dipping slightly, “that I’m done pretending.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze fixed on Y/N’s every move. The young woman radiated an energy Agatha hadn’t felt in centuries—a subtle but unmistakable authority that demanded attention. Despite herself, Agatha couldn’t resist pressing further. “If you’re done pretending,” she said, crossing her arms, “then what is it you’re really after?”

Y/N’s smug smile softened just enough to hint at something darker beneath. “I’m here to set things right,” she said, her voice calm but firm. She turned slightly, her emerald-green aura shimmering faintly as if drawn out by her own words. “There’s a balance to this world, Agatha, one that’s been shattered.”

Agatha’s brows furrowed, unease crawling up her spine. “Balance?” she echoed, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. “What are you talking about?”

Y/N turned back to her, her movements slow and deliberate. “Wanda’s little miracle,” she said softly, almost mockingly. “Her boys. They don’t belong here.”

Agatha’s lips thinned, but not from concern for the twins. Her sharp mind was already leaping ahead, calculating the potential damage Y/N’s meddling could do to her plans. “And what do you intend to do about it?” she asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

“They were made from chaos itself,” Y/N continued, ignoring the question. Her voice was steady and unyielding, carrying the weight of an absolute truth. “Magic like that doesn’t create life without consequences. They’re a tear in the fabric of what’s natural, and I’m here to fix it.”

Agatha crossed her arms, her expression hardening. “Fix it? You mean ruin everything I’ve been building.”

Y/N arched a brow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, Agatha,” she said, her tone laced with condescension. “This isn’t about your petty little schemes.”

“Petty?” Agatha snapped, bristling. “Do you have any idea how much work it’s taken to get this close to Wanda? To even begin unraveling her power?”

“I do,” Y/N replied smoothly, her smirk widening. “And that’s why I’m giving you this chance to rethink things.”

Agatha took a step forward, her frustration flaring into anger. “I don’t care about the twins, but if you throw off the delicate balance I’ve created here, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Y/N cut in sharply, her voice suddenly cold. The emerald aura around her flared brighter, crackling with an otherworldly energy. “Do you really think you can stop me, Agatha?”

The room seemed to grow colder, the air charged with a heavy, oppressive weight. Y/N’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading as her gaze bore into Agatha with a terrifying intensity. “Do you even know who I am?”

Agatha faltered, her words catching in her throat. “Who are you?” she managed, her voice quieter than she intended.

Y/N stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as her aura expanded to fill the space between them. “I’m the natural order of all things,” she said, her voice low and resonant, carrying a weight that seemed to press down on Agatha’s chest. “The one who ensures the balance remains intact. I am Death.”

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and final, as though the room itself recognized the truth of her words. Agatha’s heart pounded, her instincts screaming at her to retreat, to run. But she stood her ground, her sharp mind struggling to reconcile the confident young woman before her with the cosmic force she claimed to be.

“You’re not just here for the twins,” Agatha said slowly, her voice tight. “You’re here to take control.”

“I’m here,” Y/N replied, her tone softening but losing none of its authority, “because chaos has disrupted the natural order. Wanda, her children, this town—it’s all a festering wound in the fabric of existence. And I’m the cure.”

Agatha’s mind raced. She didn’t care about the twins or their so-called place in the universe. What mattered was preserving her own plans, ensuring Wanda’s power remained within reach. But confronting Death itself? That was a gamble even she wasn’t sure she could win.

“And where do I fit into all this?” Agatha asked carefully, masking her growing unease with a veneer of calm.

Y/N’s smirk returned, wicked and knowing. “Oh, Agatha,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re clever enough to figure that out. You’ve spent lifetimes clawing at the edges of power, chasing the Darkhold’s secrets. I can give you what you’ve been searching for—if you’re willing to play along.”

Agatha stiffened. “And what do you want in return?”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against Agatha’s ear as she whispered, “To play, Mommy. To feel your clever little mind unravel under my hands.” Her voice was a velvet caress, each word heavy with suggestion. “And maybe, if you behave, I’ll give you what you want.”

Agatha swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as Y/N pulled back, her gaze steady and unrelenting. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, the truth of what stood before her too monumental to ignore.

“You’re insane,” Agatha said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, stepping back with a grin. Her emerald aura shimmered faintly around her, crackling like distant thunder. “But I always win, Agatha. And you? You’ve never been one to turn down a winning hand.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened as she watched Y/N return to her coffee, the younger woman’s smug confidence filling the room like a storm cloud. The word Death echoed in Agatha’s mind, and despite her centuries of experience, a sliver of doubt crept in. It wasn’t fear—not exactly—but an acute awareness that she was no longer the apex predator in the room.

She took a deep breath, forcing her mask of calm back into place. “If you’re so powerful,” Agatha said, her voice sharp as a blade, “why do you need me at all? You could snap your fingers and undo Wanda’s magic, take the twins, and be done with it.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “True,” she admitted. “But where’s the fun in that?” She turned fully, her robe shifting just enough to hint at the body beneath. “Besides, you’re useful to me, Agatha. For now.”

“Useful,” Agatha repeated, her tone flat. “How flattering.”

Y/N’s smirk deepened, and she stepped closer again, her presence almost suffocating in its intensity. “You’ve been circling Wanda like a vulture, waiting for the right moment to pounce. All that cunning, all that patience—wasted, if I sweep in and take what I need without a second thought. But if you help me...”

“What?” Agatha snapped, her frustration bubbling over. “You’ll leave me with the scraps?”

Y/N chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver through Agatha. “Oh, no,” she said, her voice a velvet caress. “I’ll make sure you get what you deserve.”

“And what do you think I deserve?” Agatha demanded, though part of her wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

Y/N leaned in, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Everything you’ve ever wanted,” she whispered. “Power. Knowledge. Freedom from the chains you’ve worn for centuries.” Her voice dropped, her tone both teasing and commanding. “All you have to do is trust me.”

Agatha stared at her, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Trust wasn’t something she gave freely—if at all—but Y/N’s words struck at the core of her deepest desires. The Darkhold. Wanda’s magic. The chance to finally ascend beyond the limits that had bound her for so long.

“What’s the catch?” Agatha asked, her voice low.

“No catch,” Y/N replied, though her smirk betrayed her. “Just an understanding. You don’t get in my way, and I won’t destroy everything you’ve worked for.”

Agatha’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was a dangerous proposition, but then again, danger was her element. She tilted her chin up, meeting Y/N’s gaze with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t think for a second that I trust you.”

Y/N’s grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Oh, Agatha,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “That’s half the fun.”

Before Agatha could respond, Y/N stepped back, her demeanor shifting effortlessly into something lighter, more playful. “Now,” she said, picking up her coffee cup again, “shall we get started? There’s so much to do, and I hate wasting time.”

The dynamic between Y/N and Agatha shifted entirely after that morning. Agatha found herself caught between two versions of Y/N: the one who revealed herself as Death, with power and purpose that eclipsed anything Agatha had ever encountered, and the timid, naive girl that still charmed the other residents of Westview.

Y/N had resumed her sweet, bashful act effortlessly. Around Wanda and the neighbors, she giggled, stammered, and fumbled her way through conversations, her green eyes wide with innocence. She still burned cookies in the oven, still blushed furiously when Wanda teased her about her “crush” on Agnes. No one suspected a thing.

But when they were alone, that mask fell away, and Agatha was left grappling with the reality of who Y/N truly was—and what she wanted.

*****************

The door to Agatha’s home slammed shut, and she leaned against it, sighing heavily. It had been exhausting day of keeping up appearances, pretending to be Wanda’s nosy neighbor while Y/N floated around like a living contradiction.

She heard humming from the kitchen and followed the sound, finding Y/N there, stirring something on the stove. She was barefoot, wearing a flowy dress that made her look every bit the innocent girl-next-door. The sight was disarming, but Agatha knew better now.

“Rough day, Mommy?” Y/N asked without turning around, her voice teasing but soft enough to sound harmless.

Agatha groaned, rubbing her temples. “I told you not to call me that.”

Y/N turned, a wooden spoon in hand, her expression mockingly contrite. “Oh, but you liked it last night,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile.

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang, breaking the tension.

Y/N turned back to the stove, her naive persona snapping back into place like a mask. “I’ll get it!” she chirped, practically skipping to the door.

Agatha watched, stunned, as Y/N greeted Wanda with her usual wide-eyed enthusiasm, her voice bright and bubbly as they exchanged pleasantries….

A barbecue party. The invitation had come with Wanda’s usual saccharine smile and a firm insistence that Agnes and her adorable little “crush” Y/N come as a pair.

“Oh, we’ll be there,” Y/N had chirped in her shy, bubbly voice, glancing at Agatha with a bashful smile that made Wanda practically squeal with delight.

Now, hours later, Agatha found herself reluctantly walking with Y/N toward Wanda’s backyard. The older woman’s sharp eyes swept over the scene, her instincts humming with unease despite the cheerful decorations and the smell of grilling meat.

“You look tense,” Y/N teased, her voice light and playful as she looped her arm through Agatha’s. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous about a little barbecue?”

Agatha shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t trust this whole Stepford act,” she muttered.

Y/N giggled, leaning in closer. “Relax, Mommy,” she whispered, her tone low and teasing. “I’ve got everything under control.”

The word made Agatha’s breath catch, and she turned to glare at Y/N. “I told you not to—”

“There you are!” Wanda exclaimed, her face lighting up as she spotted them. She rushed over, her enthusiasm almost suffocating. “Y/N, you look adorable! It’s so good to see you both!”

Y/N giggled softly, blushing as Wanda’s gaze lingered on her. “Thank you, Wanda,” she said, her voice as timid as a schoolgirl’s.

Agatha forced a smile, though her sharp eyes darted around the yard, cataloging every detail. She could feel Y/N’s aura humming beside her, faint but present—a reminder that this charade was only skin-deep.

As the barbecue unfolded, Y/N flitted around the party with practiced ease. She dropped plates, fumbled cups, and stammered her way through conversations, drawing fond chuckles and indulgent smiles from everyone she encountered. Wanda, in particular, seemed delighted by her presence, frequently glancing her way with a motherly sort of pride.

Agatha, meanwhile, lingered near the edges of the gathering, her mind too preoccupied to fully engage. She sipped her drink, her thoughts churning with half-formed plans and contingencies. But her composure slipped when Y/N sidled up beside her, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You’re tense,” Y/N murmured, her voice low enough that only Agatha could hear. “What’s the matter? Afraid someone will see through me?”

“Someone might see through you,” Agatha hissed, her irritation bubbling to the surface. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

Y/N’s smile turned wicked, and she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Agatha’s ear. “Speaking of games,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

Agatha froze mid-sip, her body going rigid as the words sank in. She turned to glare at Y/N, her voice a sharp whisper. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Y/N replied, her tone unbearably smug. She stepped back, her innocent mask snapping back into place as she waved to Wanda, leaving Agatha simmering in a cocktail of frustration and desire.

As the evening wound down, Agatha made an excuse to slip inside Wanda’s house, claiming she needed to “grab something she left behind.” She headed to the basement, her mind distracted as she searched for the pretense of her visit.

The door creaked shut behind her, and Agatha turned, her breath catching as she found Y/N standing there, the smug smile from earlier now fully in place.

“What are you doing here?” Agatha demanded, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Y/N stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, her green aura faintly flickering as she closed the distance between them. “I was curious,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “You seemed so tense earlier. I thought I’d come see if I could help.”

“Y/N,” Agatha warned, her tone faltering as Y/N moved closer, her presence overwhelming in the confined space.

Before Agatha could react, Y/N pressed her back against the wall, her hands braced on either side of Agatha’s shoulders. The younger woman’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and hunger as she leaned in, her lips brushing against Agatha’s ear.

“You’ve been trying so hard to keep up with me,” Y/N murmured, her voice a sultry purr. “But let’s be honest, Mommy—you’re out of your depth.”

Agatha’s breath hitched, her hands curling into fists as she struggled to maintain control. “Y/N,” she said again, her voice shaking slightly.

Y/N smirked, her fingers trailing down Agatha’s arm before sliding to her waist. “Shh,” she whispered, her lips grazing the corner of Agatha’s jaw. “You’ll enjoy this. Trust me.”

Before Agatha could protest, Y/N dropped to her knees, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tugged Agatha’s slacks down just enough to expose her. The older woman gasped, her hands flying to the wall for support as Y/N’s lips pressed against her inner thigh, teasing, deliberate, and maddeningly slow.

“Y/N, what are you—”

“Shh,” Y/N murmured again, her lips curving into a smug smile as she glanced up. “Don’t fight it. You’ve wanted this as much as I have.”

Her mouth moved with precision, her tongue tracing patterns that made Agatha’s legs tremble. The sound of her own sharp breaths and quiet moans filled the room, the tension of the day melting away under Y/N’s skillful attention.

Agatha’s breath came in sharp gasps, her fingers gripping the edge of the wall behind her, her composure unraveling with every flick of Y/N’s tongue and every warm kiss placed with precision.

Agatha had faced witches, wizards, and powers that could tear the world apart, but nothing had prepared her for Y/N—her control, her deliberate mix of dominance and tenderness. It was intoxicating, and she couldn’t hold back the quiet, desperate moan that spilled from her lips as Y/N moved with purpose, guiding her toward the edge of ecstasy.

“Y/N,” Agatha managed, her voice shaking. “I—”

“Shh,” Y/N murmured, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Agatha’s thigh. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

The words sent a shiver through Agatha, and with one last, deliberate motion, Y/N tipped her over the edge. Agatha’s body tensed, her breath catching as waves of pleasure washed over her, her cries muffled by her hand flying to her mouth.

Y/N didn’t stop until Agatha’s trembling subsided, her hands gentle as they smoothed over the older woman’s thighs, grounding her. She stood slowly, her hands reaching to help Agatha adjust her slacks, buttoning them with a playful smirk. “There,” she said softly, her tone teasing but oddly tender. “All put back together.”

Agatha was still catching her breath, leaning heavily against the wall as she watched Y/N with a mix of awe and frustration. But before she could say anything, Y/N took her wrist, guiding her hand to the hem of her dress.

“What are you—” Agatha began, but Y/N cut her off with a wicked grin.

“You’ve been so focused on me,” Y/N purred, sliding Agatha’s hand higher, beneath the fabric of her dress, until her fingers brushed against the slick heat. “You didn’t even notice how much I enjoyed myself.”

Agatha’s eyes widened, her fingers instinctively pressing against the wetness between Y/N’s thighs. “Gods,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against Agatha’s ear as she whispered, “See what you do to me?”

Agatha’s breath hitched, and she opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of the door creaking open made them both freeze.

“Agnes?” came Wanda’s voice, bright and curious. “Are you down here?”

Agatha yanked her hand back, her face a mixture of guilt and panic as she straightened her clothes. Y/N, however, remained utterly calm, her smirk never faltering as she stepped away from Agatha, her hands smoothing her dress.

“Coming!” Y/N called out cheerfully, her voice sweet and innocent as if nothing had happened. She shot Agatha a playful wink before heading toward the door, leaving the older woman to scramble for composure.

As Wanda appeared at the top of the stairs, Y/N met her with an easy smile, her eyes bright and carefree. “Sorry, Wanda! I dragged Agnes down here to help me find something, but I think I just got her distracted.”

Wanda laughed, oblivious to the tension still thick in the air. “Oh, Agnes, you’re always getting into trouble,” she teased, shaking her head.

[drdt-oclock]

now, and hear me out, here is how acevi can still win (a thesis)

i have my personal suspicions that ace’s line “i needed a reason to hate you” has implications about his friendship with taylor—considering the only thing we know definitively that levi and taylor have in common is that they are both people that ace, at some point, has considered a friend. taylor's death is vaguely alluded to in a line of dialogue where ace states he doesn’t want a third death on his hands—a line that also shows he feels responsible—however, we can assume that taylor’s death was not maliciously ace’s fault, as ace’s motive secret is about his eating disorder; if he had truly committed a murder by the standards of the law, chances are that would have been written instead (see: levi, min). this being said, i believe that ace was deliberately hostile towards levi in an attempt to drive him away and discourage any form of friendship out of fear of deepening any pre-existing attachment he may have felt towards levi in the earlier half of chapter one.

levi, in turn, is shown to be confused by this, though we can gather from his lack of empathy or internalised morality that said confusion doesn’t stem from a place of anger, nor spite. subjectively, i believe that levi was, in some genuine way, intrigued by ace and his seemingly erratic behaviours, and this lack of overt distaste or hatred prompted ace to deliberately press his buttons, trying (and ultimately succeeding) in breaking levi’s composure. levi snapping at him, in some way, comforts ace, affirming his self-deprecating belief that he is incapable of being cared for, speeding up the process that he believes is inevitable; that levi will tire of him.

upon the revelation that whether ace lives or dies—and more broadly, ace in general is of no concern to levi, ace is very quickly forced to come to terms with the fact that all his efforts were effectively meaningless, and ultimately it would not have meaningfully contributed towards levi’s opinion of him. in a way, he mourns this; in his efforts to drive levi (and honestly, the entire cast) away through hostility, he placed a target on his own back, resulting in an attempt on his life from nico. in his final hours, ace is able to see the broader picture, formerly obscured by the tunnel vision given to him by his own debilitating anxiety, but is ultimately too proud (or too scared) to apologise to levi directly, doubling down on his efforts in the conversation they have post-trial.

i believe that ace did not necessarily account for forming an attachment—much less any form of attraction to levi, and that this oversight only further infuriated him. this culminates at the end of chapter 2, wherein levi is shot, perhaps fatally, and ace has to confront himself and the person he has tried to be throughout the narrative. in his final moments, not only does he plead for his own immediate execution—something he has been, quite literally, scared to tears by, with his general fear of death being highlighted continuously the entire series—but delivers a monologue to arturo in open defiance of his own vices, encouraging him to save levi’s life and not be petrified by the same fear he himself has now succumbed to. i am of the incredibly strong opinion that this dictates a strong level of care, or at the very least responsibility for levi and his wellbeing.

how will this culminate in acevi still winning? through levi. if he survives to chapter 3, which he very well may, he will be left to contemplate this; to attempt to unpack ace’s motivations for both his hostility and his seemingly unprecedented choice to face his own death to save levi’s life. while i think it’s unrealistic to expect any sudden empathy for ace in a hypothetical levi character arc, ace would undoubtedly occupy his thoughts well into later chapters.

thank you for reading keep in mind i am a sad little man with very strong and very biased opinions on things i have too much time to talk about ❤️

[wordsfrombudha]

�� Moon Men: The Ultimate Male Fantasy

Before exploring the themes of Moon men, we must first understand the role of the nakshatras in the zodiac. In English, the word nākṣatra roughly translates to "that which does not decay," pointing to something timeless and beyond the reach of change. Unlike the material world, which is subject to constant flux and dissolution, the nakshatras, as the fixed stars, remain steady and embody the enduring essence of manifestation. They symbolize unchanging rta or universal order amid the shifting currents of cosmic activity. By offering a stable framework anchored in the heavens, providing an emphasis on divine principles, the nakshatra system allows for precise ritual and calendrical alignment, even as the positions of the Sun and planets continue to shift over time. This is why Vedic astrology maintains its reliance on sidereal calculations, despite extraneous factors like precession.

Unlike the rashis, which are solar in nature and express themselves through tangible resources and qualities of the material world, the nakshatras are lunar in nature. Rather than representing resources themselves, they reflect the management of those resources, the experiential dimension that shapes how we interact with the world. They are shakti, Parvati’s yoni for Shiva’s lingam. In this sense, the nakshatras are more personal than the rashis. For example, while Taurus, ruled by Venus, represents natural wealth and abundance in the world, it is through Krittika, Rohini, and Mrigashira that one becomes driven to engage with this wealth. Think about it: fruit without anyone to eat it has no experiential quality, no power or desire arising from external attachment. The rashi reveals the structure, while the nakshatra reveals the flow of prāṇa that is either projected onto or inherent within that structure. By understanding this, we begin to grasp the function and potency of the nakshatras and what they truly represent.

__________________________________________

Now that the technical foundations are in place, we can begin to explore how certain nakshatras manifest. In the Vimshottari dasha system of Jyotish, each graha governs three nakshatras. In this post, I will focus specifically on the nakshatras ruled by the Moon, with particular attention given to the themes that arise in men influenced by these asterisms. The nakshatras ruled by the Moon in Vimshottari are Rohini, Hasta, and Shravana, though I will primarily focus on their shared expressions as revealed through their trikona (trinal) relationship rather than their individual qualities.

Across time and culture, certain male figures have captured widespread attention. These are the men who dominate the social landscape, holding attention and admiration simply through their presence, ascending to a position of power and influence that others can only dream of. They are the ones who rise above the ordinary and whose natural status seems unassailable. They possess a magnetism that draws people in, and their standing places them above reproach.

Some examples:

It is within this ideal that the ultimate male fantasy begins to take shape.

Few figures embody this archetype of allure and magnetism as much as Chandra, the Moon in Vedic mythology. Myths surrounding Chandra always portray a magnetic power that draws others in without ever striving for overt control. As a god, Chandra is not one to assert dominance in the traditional sense, nor does he seek to command the world through force. His power comes from his very presence, in the way he influences the world around him simply by existing. The Moon's light is gentle, in contrast to the harsh radiance of the Sun. It turns something overbearing into a more welcoming and soft reflection. His presence commands attention in a way that feels both effortless and inevitable, and this engenders desire in others. This can be seen in the way his favoritism toward Rohini stirred jealousy among his other 26 wives, leading him to be cursed. Yet despite the conflict he tends to provoke, Chandra never seems desperate to claim what he desires. His very existence elicits admiration, drawing people toward him without effort. Even his curse, which causes him to wax and wane, only serves to deepen his mystique. It’s this constant shift and this subtle ebb and flow that enhances his magnetic appeal. Chandra’s story is one of subtle dominance, where influence is exerted through an inherent presence of gentle power, an aura of being effortlessly seductive and magnetizing, never needing to strive for what he already commands through his intangible influence.

We can also indirectly see the nature of Chandra through Vishnu's lunar incarnation: Krishna. Born into the Dvapara Yuga, an era of intense desire, struggle over wealth, and the pursuit of pleasure, Krishna moved through the world as someone whose charm and presence naturally pulled people in and elevated him to the position of authority with access to unparalleled pleasures of the era. Though his life was filled with complexity and contradiction, such as political turmoil, familial conflict, cosmic responsibility, he never lost the magnetic ease and sensuality that defined him.

From his earliest days, Krishna was adored. As a child in Gokul, his mischief and beauty captivated everyone, and as he grew, so too did the reach of his influence. The gopis of Vrindavan abandoned everything for a chance to dance with him under the moonlight. Radha, the soul’s deepest longing, became synonymous with his name because of the irresistible draw he created by simply being. As an adult, Krishna’s magnetism only intensified. He became a king, yet never ruled through fear or austerity. He had sixteen thousand wives. Yes, you read that right... sixteen THOUSAND. He did not acquire them through conquest or pursuit, but as women he liberated from captivity, who then chose to initiate a union with him. Despite the sheer number, each believed she held his full attention, each felt seen and cherished. His marriages echoed his ability to be everything to everyone, without appearing stretched or strained. Even Draupadi, though married to the five Pandavas, turned to Krishna in times of need. He was her protector, her confidant, the one whose presence alone brought reassurance and power.

Krishna's battlefield role in the Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita is yet another window into this lunar quality. He never picked up a weapon. Even though he possessed an unparalleled ability in combat, he vowed not to fight. And yet, he was still the most powerful force on the field. As Arjuna’s charioteer, he guided without command, advised without imposing, and altered the course of an entire war through speech, presence, and subtle intervention. He wielded no blade, yet even the gods deferred to him. Yet despite all of his well-meaning glory, Krishna’s life is filled with acts that invite contradiction. He lies, steals, teases, loves many, and yet remains beloved and exalted. His wrongs are not punished but rather celebrated as plays of divine mystery. The rules that bind others seem to fall away around him. This quality of being above consequence, of being endlessly desired even when he disrupts the status quo, mirrors the archetype formed by Chandra. It is not through aggression, control, or rigidity that he gains influence. Rather, it is through a natural charisma and a sense of being restrained that is so deeply rooted in his essence that it shapes the world around him without ever needing to assert itself. Generally, it's said that Krishna was born during the 8th day of the waning moon, on the 8th night of the dark fortnight of the month Shravana. His birth is also associated with the Rohini Nakshatra, where most accounts of his kundli place his Moon and Ascendant.

__________________________________________

Among all the nakshatras, those governed by the moon are the ones most preoccupied with artha, or material wealth. All three moon nakshatras are situated within the earth signs. The element of earth corresponds to artha, which is the dominant pursuit in the Treta Yuga. Artha is not financial gain, but the broader focus on stability, status, resources, and the means by which one maintains and enhances their position through control in the world. In its highest sense, artha is the structure that supports dharma. It is the foundation upon which right action and spiritual growth are sustained. A person without artha (without land, wealth, or social footing) finds it difficult to fulfill obligations, care for others, or pursue deeper meanings. Thus, artha is not seen to be the same as greed; it is a rightful engagement with the material plane. It is power with purpose. Yet artha also carries a shadow. When detached from dharma, it becomes an end unto itself, status for its own sake, accumulation without higher use. In such cases, the pursuit of artha distorts perception, causing one to identify too closely with the outer symbols of value rather than the inner worth they represent. To master artha is to master one's place in the world. Not to renounce it, but to wield it without attachment. The moon, always waxing and waning, teaches that no possession is eternal. One important thing to note about Artha is that is directly opposed Kama, which is the desire for sensual pleasures. The more pleasure one seeks, the more wealth they will expend, and the more one is focused on preserving their wealth in a miserly way, the less pleasures they will be granted from their status. A wealthy man who never spends his money is not treated like a wealthy man at all. Artha is the dance of holding and letting go, of rising in influence only to remember one’s impermanence and loss. Those who understand this move through the material world like kings whose thrones are made of mist, ever present, powerful, and yet unattached.

When the energy is balanced, Moon men, gravitate toward artha not purely for luxury, but for security, belonging, and influence. They are the most loose with their wealth, so they constantly need to be attaining more to sustain their pleasure-seeking proclivities. This doesn’t only apply to money but also to social capital. The more someone is adored and respected, the more they can get away with. When the energy is imbalanced, Moon men will still seek artha, but their pursuit becomes detached from its original purpose. The accumulation of wealth, status, and influence becomes a form of self-definition, a way to assert their existence among others. What was once a means of securing one's place in an unforgiving world transforms into an obsession with control and image, where the lines between need and desire blur, and the pursuit of artha no longer serves a greater good but rather feeds an endless cycle of self-validation. As mentioned previously, their power lies in magnetic allure rather than force, and they draw wealth and status through visibility, favor, and social capital. This is especially evident in nakshatras like Rohini, where the pursuit of artha merges with beauty, charm, and sensual engagement with the world's abundance. This energy can be seen in multiple media examples where the conflict of the plot centers around accumulating wealth and power for various reasons, such as security, need for admiration, etc.

__________________________________________

Now that we have an understanding of the Moon’s energy in its nakshatras, we can begin to observe how it manifests in modern media. Media offers a valuable lens for recognizing the subtle influences of a person's energy, especially since the nakshatras operate on a subtle, implicit level. With that in mind, I want to explore some portrayals that I think reflect the nature of moon men and show how the energy of the Moon nakshatras comes to life through them. Ok, so first we need to understand what men in general want because it precisely these projections that shape moon men into who they become. So what is it men fantasize about? Once we understand this, we are well on our way to seeing how moon men move in the world.

The first thing many men fantasize about is to be sexually desirable. While women share this longing as well, it’s far more common for men to have to pursue women, rather than the reverse. What men want is the sense of being wanted without having to try or care. They want to exist in a state where they don’t have to perform, where desire is offered freely, and they are irresistibly magnetic to a point where it’s expected for people to fawn over them for doing nothing. Men crave the ability to be effortlessly charming, highly desired by women, and envied by other men, yet without the need for commitment or effort. Moon men often get to experience this magnetic appeal, particularly during certain stages of their lives where the moon's influence is heightened. It’s at these points that they rise to become the ultimate "sex symbols," embodying the archetype of passive indulgence, a kind of allure that says “I’ll give you what you want, but you have to come and get it.” The Moon, being the most sensual of the planets, carries with it an attraction that is inherently sexual, sometimes leading to infidelity or the conflicts inherent to forbidden romance.

One of the most evident ways this manifests is within the adult film industry, where Moon men are especially prevalent. Because they naturally draw more attention due to their sexual appeal, and they are focused on pursuing artha, their magnetic energy and widespread appeal can put them in situations where they use their attraction to make money. This can translate into a level of idolization in the adult entertainment world, where certain male porn stars or sec workers achieve a near-mythical status. The most famous and envied figures in the industry, such as Rocco Siffredi, Johnny Sins, Manuel Ferrara, Jason Luv, etc. are all Moon men. Their combination of sexual charism and effortless appeal resonates with male audiences, while their passive dominance and sensual passion appeals to female audiences, altogether making them icons in the world of adult entertainment as well as symbols of virility and unattainable sexual fantasy for many men.

This can be seen in the media portrayal of Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights.

Along the same line of physical prowess and sexual desirability, men want to embody strength and dominance in a way that commands respect and admiration. It is less so about wanting to fight and more so about knowing they’ll be able to effortlessly dominate if they do. They want to be noticed for their impressive physicality and stature. Moon men capture this ideal well. They are in a lot of action hero, lone wolf type roles, where they are never the ones to antagonize but still draw in conflict. They are quiet, brooding, and unshaken. Their presence alone is a challenge. They don’t speak often, but when they do, people listen. They don’t go looking for trouble, but they carry themselves in a way that says they could end it if it came. Their strength is not just physical but psychological. They do not need to prove anything because their capability is obvious. In a world full of noise, they are still. In a room full of people, they command the air. It is like a football captain or sports star whose physical aptitude elevates his status. It’s the kind of physical ability that makes others look up to you and grants you additional social power. In this context, being at the peak of athletic or physical performance is an expression of superiority in both the literal and social senses. I think overall Moon men are more concerned with how easy and enjoyable life is from a position of high physical status. They care more about how they look and are driven to chase the aesthetics as a way to cement themselves a stronger position in society. They seem like they don’t care, but they do. It is not uncommon for them to be bullied or outcast early in life, so many of them are seeking social prowess as a way to cope with the lack of belonging or respect they experienced in the past. It is also sometimes the case that they will isolate themselves to avoid judgment. Yet even when they do that, they are functioning from an external locus of control.

This gif is of David Laid. He was bullied for being skinny, so he started lifting not to fight but to be seen. Aesthetic bodybuilding gave him control. He wanted to be impressive, so he trained to change how people looked at him. The goal wasn’t to gain strength. It was about the visual, perceptive impact. His body became the answer to every insult and every time he was ignored. Now people can’t help but notice. He doesn’t need to act tough because he looks untouchable. What started as insecurity became his weapon. He built a body that speaks for him. Strong, captivating. It makes people look twice and automatically affords him a great deal of respect. It makes them want to be around him, love him, include him, and that’s all Moon men really want for themselves. Moon men tend to be very invested in self-improvement along with the obsession of being the best at everything.

A good example of how this looks together is the show Blue Mountain state

In line with the broader male fantasy of physical and social prominence, many men don’t want to chase or risk rejection. They want to be the gravitational center, drawing others in without having to prove themselves. They crave admiration without exertion, longing to be desired without having to reach. For Moon men, this is more than a fantasy; it is more often than not their lived experience. It is what they strive for, and in the case of many moon men, their presence alone becomes magnetic enough to invite attention, curiosity, and affection. They do not pursue as much as they attract. This passive allure is one of the most recognizable traits of Moon men. In relationships, they are in control and take on a more dominant role, always influencing things, but even so, they are rarely the ones to make the first move or to be the ones actually making decisions. While there are countless media examples that showcase this archetype, I’ll focus on just a few to illustrate how this dynamic plays out in narrative form. The important thing to pay attention to is that the Moon man is almost never the one trying to get someone else's attention or trying to pursue or dominate a woman (or man). The other person almost has to throw themselves at him or chase him down, and only then will he demonstrate his passion. Moon men are even partial to indulging the desires of those they have no initial attachment to. If someone pursues them, they kind of just go with it. They are very passionate and sensual, but this is not exclusive. Like the other Sattvic planets (Sun and Jupiter), Moon men are prone to giving of themselves indiscriminately, but because it is usually short-lived, it is much easier to sustain compared to something like Jupiter, which is all about union, commitment, and generosity. To think of it differently, the moon is like food, temporary but satisfying in its ability to nourish. Jupiter, on the other hand is like fat. It is protective and more lasting than food itself. Food comes and goes, but fat stays with you. It stores what is valuable. It prepares you for the future. The moon gives you what you need right now, while Jupiter ensures you’ll have enough later.

One example of this is Jack Reacher

Another example is Henry Cavill's Portrayal of Superman

You may be starting to notice another pattern in these examples. Each of these men carries a kind of freedom or superiority that places them outside the reach of ordinary consequences or limitations. They can feel that they do not have to answer to anyone, or even if they do that punishment won’t be that dire. This is not because they rebel against the system, but because they exist on the outskirts of it. Whether through wealth, charisma, status, luck, manipulation, or thievery, they have the ability to move through the world according to their own rules. This untouchability is part of their allure. They are not bound by expectations or emotional obligations in the same way others seem to be. Others naturally adjust themselves around these men without needing to be told. In this way, these men can feel above or exempt from the emotional negotiations and social rules that govern everyone else. This usually appears as quiet rule-breaking, con-artistry, underground criminal mischief, subtle disregard for rules, and an implicit belief that they are operating on an entirely different level that they become hedonistic and destructive.

I think hands down the best example for this is the show White Collar. Mirroring Chandra's curse, even though he is technically limited, it really doesn't make much of a difference in terms of the pleasures and luxuries he is able to enjoy. One important difference between sun and moon men is that sun men will steal and break rules out of necessity and a sense of justice, whereas men will steal and manipulate to get rich and because it brings them enjoyment. Moon men are good at it, and it’s fun for them.

Another good example is Catch Me if You Can. He can talk his way into anything, and the standard barriers just don’t seem to apply to him.

A recurring theme that begins to emerge with these examples is intelligence. Many Moon men are portrayed as brilliant minds, particularly as strategists, code-breakers, or hidden geniuses who see patterns others miss. Their intelligence is rarely loud or performative in real life, but in media, it gets hammered hard, with them frequently being portrayed as gifted geniuses and eccentric prodigies.

There are many examples I could give for this as well, from Imitation Game to Good Will Hunting to The Pretender

Ok, that's all that will fit into this post. Thank you for reading! My next post is goi in ng to be about their relationships and bonds.

[toastytrusty]

one of the things i love so much about hickey as a character is how Human he feels. how natural all of his shifting opinions are. he goes into the expedition with firmly held convictions about britain and the world, tries to convince himself through the expedition that those beliefs Aren't true, only to come out of it believing them even more strongly. he has his one-sided attachment to crozier, then has a one-sided fall out with crozier, then he wants his approval again, then he wants him gone again, and he's constantly bouncing around on how he feels about crozier and the navy and various other people he interacts with (cough gibson cough) all the time and it's present throughout every aspect of his character. it never feels like unsure storytelling or a flimsy character thesis or anything like that, though. it feels natural. it feels human. it feels like he's so lost in his own head about what he's here to do and what he wants from people and what he wants people to want from him that he forgets. he forgets who he is supposed to be and how he is supposed to feel. he has moments where genuine beliefs come through, genuine insecurities, genuine desires, because he isn't Good at putting up an act. and he Wants people to see through him. he's in constant turmoil with himself in a way that isn't overt or accentuated. there is no attention drawn to it. we're watching him figure things out as he goes; watching him half-come to conclusions, as he entertains an idea or possibility for some short period of time, before discarding it as he realizes it isn't what he believes. he doesn't feel overly erratic, or ideologically wishy washy, or like a particularly enthusiastic or skilled performer. he just comes off (to Me) as someone terribly unsure of the world and trying to figure it out in a way that makes sense to him

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i've been rewatching wwdits in order (i can't let go yet, okay!) and am currently in season three, and it got me thinking about how i think the end of s6 is such a rewarding happy ending for nandor that really resonates with the rest of the series. i know that in the finale, the characters are making the argument that nothing ever changes and the ending's not significant, but i think what we actually see with nandor, especially in his relationship to guillermo, is really the opposite.

disclaimer: i would have loved overt canon nandermo, so i definitely understand the pain of us not getting that. however, this post just focuses on what actually happened in the last few eps rather than what wwdits could have done instead!

some thoughts on why i love this ending for mr. de laurentis so much--

so, from the start of the show, we sort of have the two "couples" in the house with laszlo/nadja and nandor/guillermo. we can see that nandor has an unusual attachment to guillermo as a familiar even from the start, because laszlo and nadja go through familiars like kleenex, whereas nandor and guillermo have their funny little bickering marrieds thing going. however, nandor can't admit how much he cares about guillermo or how much his companionship means, because guillermo is his familiar and that's humiliating!

we also see nandor struggle a lot with a sense of purposelessness (especially after colin breaks his world view in 3.04!) and we see him missing his warlord life constantly even though it's been centuries since that was his reality.

and he usually decides he's going to fix his guillermo crises and his existential crises by going all in on some new love interest!!!!!!

then the guide gives him the talk where she points out his pattern, and even though he ostensibly wasn't listening, maybe it managed to permeate his single brain cell on some level, because his commitment to guillermo at the end of 6.10 isn't about the chase, it's about a long-term commitment. "an unbreakable alliance." (and then they seal it with a hand clasp that really just smacks of ~victory~ to me as a gesture!)

charmaine's advice (telling nandor to tell his crush who he has new feelings for how he feels) doesn't work out with the guide ... but it does work out when he ✨proposes✨ his plan to guillermo and tells guillermo he's the thing that nandor holds in the highest esteem possible: a warrior. (and this after guillermo told nandor that nandor made him never feel good enough. nandor does not like to listen when his patterns are pointed out to him -- see aforementioned scene with the guide -- but he did this time, and tried to make up for it quickly!)

nandor also manages to find a middle ground where he and guillermo can meet: fighting bad guys together. and we see from "nandor's army" that he still has epic warlord skills, just like guillermo has epic slaying skills, and this gives them the space to both be thriving in a shared purpose, after having purpose-related existential crises all season!

guillermo is skeptical that nandor's really going to commit and change, as expressed in the shared talking head in 6.11, and he figures he'll be saddled with all the work, but we find out at the end that nandor has committed so hard that -- in addition to all his drawings and diagrams and his silly costume shopping -- he somehow managed to make that two-person coffin elevator into a secret underground lair a reality?!?!?! (i like to think maybe guillermo will be more into the idea of their partnership in a post-"omg the coffin elevator actually exists" world.)

"you can call me nandor." that is all. <3

nandor's also, ultimately, willing to let guillermo go after a season that was full of pain over letting guillermo go, and he does it calmly and simply and without flinging any guilt-tripping guillermo's way. it is a peak "if you love something, let it go, and it will come back to you" moment. and then, of course, guillermo comes back like immediately. :) and is welcomed into the coffin, and the future adventures that the camera won't be there to catch!

anyway! this is all just a bunch of nonsense rambling, but my point is, i think the recurring loneliness and dissatisfaction that we see nandor grapple with throughout the series is something that is finally over once he commits proudly to a life with guillermo fighting the good fight (whatever shape that might take in the future, since who knows how long the superheroes thing will be the vibe). he needed to overtly acknowledge what guillermo meant to him, to himself and to guillermo and to everyone else, because pushing it down was part of what was keeping him consistently miserable, and once he's done that, he doesn't have to go looking for purpose in a cliche romantic happily ever after (and indeed, he seems totally checked out when the gang talk to him about being in love with the guide toward the start of 6.11). he has it in his unbreakable alliance, wherever that may go! 💘

[navpike]

i think quite a few people saying that exu divergence is a bad look after c3 are missing the point a little bit.

first of all: if c3 just wasn’t the type of story you like, that is so fine! it was very high stakes for my tastes, even if i did enjoy it! you can not like something without it being bad! that is how media works. the rest of this goes under the cut for those avoiding discourse

second: yes, c3 was messy, but that was the point! there’s no good answer to “an evil wizard wants to unleash a godeater, and now that he’s opened that door there is no closing it, and if he dies, eventually, now or in a hundred years, someone will replace him, so how are you going to fix it?”

the gang found an answer to the problem that maybe wasn’t the best, definitely wasn’t “””right””” because this isn’t black and white, but that got rid of the predathos problem, took the evil wizard’s control of the situation away, and let the people of faith keep their gods instead of removing them from the world entirely, which is a very cool answer to the issue! maybe its not what everyone wanted to happen, but it is a very creative solution, which is fun and which dnd games lend themselves to.

the point of c3, as i see it, is examining the consequences of a world that the gods have left. it’s been a THOUSAND years since divergence at this point. the gods, while they do act through their people and talk to people, are largely inaccessible to the common folk. and that’s what c3 is all about. the consequences of the gods being gone, shown through a largely non-religious party.

divergence is all about the consequences of the gods being right there, too present and too big and causing trouble and enacting miracles.

of COURSE we see the moonweaver be soft and sisterly and loving in such an overt way in divergence. she’s spent the last couple decades being loved as a mortal sister, loved just for living and loving in return.

and of course in c3 we see them vaguely disconnected and unawares of some suffering on exandria and people committing horrors in their names, primes and betrayers alike. if you got ripped away from your children for a thousand years and could only watch through a looking glass and occasionally talk to a few of them in dreams and visions and cryptic messages? you’d have to stop caring a little too, just to keep going!

the gods were so withdrawn for so long, that has to have consequences. it did. that was all of c3.

bells hells DID speak for the people. people who hadn’t had gods around for a millennia, who get overlooked as collateral in a war about gods, again. they’re not heroes. they’re a bunch of idiots all desperate for a family, who mostly cared if they could save each other, in the end, but who wanted to save others on the way if they could. they’re the people that the divergence gang would grow to be, with power and a smidge of a voice, just minus the real attachment to any gods.

there are so many parallels i could draw between garen and chetney, between the roaches and ashton, nia and fcg. divergence isn’t highlighting a failure on c3’s part. it’s showing the opposite end of the spectrum. distant gods vs overly present gods.

[k-nayee]

Fallen Hazbin Hotel i

wc: 3.3k a/n: this will be a slight au goes cause ngl i never really made it past episode 2💀

Traveler M.List

| Next

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The creation of your soul was unlike any other.

In the hallowed space where human souls were molded, Seraphim Sera worked beside the successor of Lucifer in the celestial sanctum dedicated to new life.

Though Emily had grown adept at forming souls over the eons, she still found herself studying Sera's technique with curiosity and deference.

This time, however, she noticed an unusual stillness in Sera. There was a hint of sorrow in her—deeper than any Emily had seen before.

The state of humanity weighed heavily on Sera's heart. It was something even the sacrifice of Jesus had not remedied.

Where she had hoped to see more unity and compassion, humanity continued to stumble.

Devoted to creation and guidance and yet here she was: moved to a grief that seemed to reach even her divine powers.

Without Sera's knowledge that sorrow imprinted itself on the soul she was forming.

As her fingertips hovered over the amorphous light, her unspoken worries and heartache transformed it, seeping into the essence she shaped.

You were different from the start—a rare blend of purity and compassion, a hope born from despair.

No other soul had quite the same resonance as yours. It was as if each fragment of light carried Sera's lingering wish for humanity's redemption.

Emily remained silent as she observed. For all the thousands of souls she had seen, none had been like this. She could sense Sera's guarded admiration as well.

Though Sera (ever the professional) did not show overt favoritism, there was a lingering gaze—a brief stillness, every time her eyes fell upon you.

And then, just as quickly, she'd retreat to her disciplined demeanor as though she could not allow herself the luxury of attachment.

Once your formation was complete, you were sent to Earth with no knowledge of the watchful presence behind your existence.

From the beginning the world proved to be harsh and unforgiving.

Abandoned as a child and abused by those who should have protected you, you were thrust into a life of struggle.

And yet in spite of it all no bitterness clouded your heart nor did hatred take root; instead you grew wise to life's difficulties, meeting each day with a kindness that was resolute.

Each act of goodwill, every kindness you extended, seemed to spark a subtle ripple effect—something that shaped the lives of others and sent positive changes flowing into places you couldn't see.

Having never grown hard or cynical to life, you were granted angelic ascension upon your death.

Upon your arrival Sera awaited you at the gates, a subtle smile softening her usually serious expression as she guided you to your new position before going off to her own responsibilities.

Life in Heaven felt nearly surreal.

Though the celestial realms were as awe-inspiring as they were vast, you felt a strange pang of loneliness among the hierarchy of angels—most of whom seemed untouched by the hardships you remembered from Earth.

Your days was spent in quiet work under higher-ranking overseers with often yourself as company in the towering halls of Heaven.

That was until you were summoned to Adam's chambers.

You had heard much about him from other angels beyond his legacy as the first man. He was someone who had a commanding presence—sharp wit.

But as you stood before him, despite his evident authority, he exuded an oddly modern charm—a confident, slightly arrogant air that might have been more suited to a CEO than an Archangel.

He looked you up and down, his piercing gaze sizing you up as if deciding whether he could work with you at all.

In those first weeks Adam had made his displeasure known. He rarely missed an opportunity to grumble about the favor he was doing for Sera.

You were a lower-ranking angel after all. And Adam made no secret of his annoyance over this fact. It was shown through your tasks.

They were menial at first: simple records and errand-like duties—which unbeknown to you, was actually ordered to test your resolve rather than develop skills.

He was meticulous and unyielding, a mentor who would not accept anything less than perfection and barely acknowledged your efforts even when they met his exacting standards.

But as the days weeks turned to months there were subtle changes. Sometimes he would sit back and watch you with a look that lingered a bit longer than he intended.

You'd catch him softening in brief moments when he thought you weren't watching with a slight curve of his mouth when you managed something especially well.

And over time his critiques mellowed into an almost playful teasing. The conversations once clipped and formal took on a different tone.

He would linger after giving you a task—recounting stories of the early days of humanity, speaking of his own creation and the burden of his role with a tone that almost resembled confession.

Then one day he invited you to walk with him in the gardens—an invitation that you knew wasn't extended to just anyone.

As you strolled among Heaven's flowering vines and ethereal fountains he casually asked about your Earthly experiences, or as he put it, the "domino effect" Sera mentioned in your file.

You told him of your life as a human and the trials you faced and the choice to meet the world with kindness despite its many hardships.

Then, for the first time ever, a full fledged smile graced his face. Its tenderness filled the stillness around you.

That unspoken bond grew. 

Even the other angels began to notice Adam's (in all his aloofness) distinct warmth that was reserved only for you.

He still carried himself with that familiar arrogance and exuded his usual authority, but his eyes softened when you were near.

His usual cutting words now had an underlying fondness that only the two of you fully understood.

You didn’t speak of it—didn’t dare name it. But when you were alone there was an undeniable closeness.

It went beyond his usual dismissive flirtations or occasional compliments. His hand would linger on yours a moment too long, his touch warm and grounding as he guided you through the grand halls.

You still felt the guarded edges around him even as he allowed this closeness. Almost as if he were keeping a part of himself hidden.

Though you yearned to know more, knowing the gentleness Adam has for you was reserved for no one else made up for it.

For now that was enough.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The revelation came upon you like a sudden storm.

It seemed ordinary enough—one of those rare quiet days where Heaven’s peace felt genuine and untouched by schemes or whispers of unrest.

You had been looking for Adam, searching the grand halls where he often spent his time in secluded contemplation or strategy.

Upon entering his quarters you stumbled upon a series of records and texts you hadn’t seen before—drawings, schematics, plans filled with the details of an endeavor you could hardly comprehend at first.

Shock locked you in place as your eyes darted over the pages, the full picture beginning to take shape.

Adam was planning to eradicate all of Hell in a brutal purge. His intentions scrawled out plainly with plans to make it a bi-annual devastation.

His motivations seemed focused—almost obsessive: he desire to destroy Lucifer for corrupting both his wives and damning humanity to sin.

The righteousness of it felt  sinister in a way that clashed with everything Heaven should represent.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled you from your horrified trance. You look up, catching Adam’s steely gaze as he entered the room.

He stilled, his eyes narrowing as his lips twist into a brief condescending smile before disappearing just as quick. “Eavesdropping now are we?”

“What...is all of this?” your voice shaky but resolute. There was no hiding your distress nor the raw betrayal evident in your tone.

He watched you carefully, his silence stretched painfully long with each passing second drawing his gaze sharper.

“It’s necessary,” he finally replied, each word precise and calculated. “You of all people should understand that.”

You shook your head with disbelief flashing in your eyes. “Necessary? Adam you’re talking about genocide. A-an endless cycle of destruction! How can you say this is the right thing?”

His expression darkened.

“This is for the greater good. Lucifer’s actions have damned humanity, cast shadows over Heaven itself.” Irritation seeped into his voice. “The world would be purer without his influence infecting it, without Hell festering beneath.”

The certainty in his tone left no room for negotiation and you felt the depth of the chasm between you.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I can’t be a part of this Adam. I...I won’t.”

He watched you as a flicker of something like disappointment shined in his eyes, though it quickly cooled to an unnerving calm.

“Perhaps you’re just not seeing the full picture,” his voice smoothed as if he were offering comfort. “Meet me at our usual spot. I’ll explain everything. Trust me.”

There was a note of gentleness in his words, a familiar echo of the kindness you’d come to know.

Against the shadow of doubt that churned in your chest, you wanted to believe him. You wanted to think that somehow there was something you’d misunderstood.

And so you went to the place that had become yours over the years—a quiet grove within Heaven’s gardens where the two of you spent your time together.

The serenity of it now felt almost mocking.

As you waited you searched for a sense of reassurance, for the feeling that this was all some awful misunderstanding.

That Adam would arrive, put a hand on your shoulder, and explain everything away.

But instead when Adam appeared, his presence felt cold—almost mechanical. There was no trace of the man who had once softened around you nor a lingering warmth in his gaze.

“Adam...” you began only for your words to die on your lips. He raised his hand, and suddenly you felt an unfamiliar pull.

It was as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your wings flared instinctively, but they were useless against the force drawing you downward.

Realization gripped you as you looked up; this wasn’t an explanation. This was a sentence.

Adam’s face was the last thing you saw before the Fall: a sharp tooth grin stretched across his lips.

He raised his hand in a mock salute, almost playful as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend rather than sending you into damnation.

That look—that chillingly gleeful expression was imprinted itself in your mind; searing a deep wound of betrayal that would never fully heal.

Your voice caught in your throat, eyes wide with disbelief as you fell. He hadn’t wavered. Didn't hesitate.

The one who had been your confidante, who had once looked at you with something like love, has casted you down without so much as a flicker of remorse.

Tears escaped and scattered into the wind around you. Just as Heaven faded from sight, darkness fully enveloped you and your world went black.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

You plummet from Heaven like a comet; a streak of searing light tearing through the thick red skies of Hell.

Your form was enveloped in flames as you crashed down with a force that made the very ground tremble.

The impact was like a small explosion—flames erupting, leaving a crater scorched and steaming as debris scattered for yards around.

Slowly you regained consciousness, faint prickles of pain tingling at the edges of your senses.

Your entire body felt heavy. Every inch of your body throbbed with the reminder that you’d been ̶b̶̶e̶̶t̶̶r̶̶a̶̶y̶̶e̶̶d̶ casted down by the very person you trusted most.

Suddenly, you feel warmth pressing against your cheek. You blink, finding yourself face-to-face with a strange malformed creature—a bird if you could call it that.

It had way too many eyes that blinked in eerie unison with a beak far too sharp as it pecked at your face.

You instinctively swat it away with more force than you intended. The creature squawked in protest before flapping its leathery wings and vanishing into the smoky distance.

Looking around you find yourself lying in the center of a deep crater as steam rose from the ground. For a second your mind struggled to reconcile where you were.

Then realization crept in slowly along with a numb sort of disbelief. Hell. You were in Hell.

As you shifted to sit up, soft murmurs above made you snap your head upwards. There on the edges of the crater stood  gathering figures— Hell denizens that drawn to the commotion.

Sinners and demons, the curious and wicked souls damned to this place, they all watched you in curiosity.

That is until they caught sight of the faint remaining glow of your halo and pure white wings.

Their gazes turned alarmed before they scattered away in screeches and shrieks, stumbling and tripping over each other in their desperation to flee in the mistaken belief that your arrival was the start of an unexpected purge.

The silence that followed was almost jarring, leaving you alone in the crater as the echoes of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance.

Your body screamed in protest as you slowly rose to your feet.

You try to open your wings in attempt to take flight, but the moment you flexed them, a searing pain flared down your back making you clamp your wings shut with a wince.

It seems flying wasn't an option right now.

With painstaking effort you hobbled toward the crater’s edge, eyes fixed on the steep walls.

Your teeth grit from the pain when you reach out and grasped a jagged piece of rock jutting from the crater wall.

'Okay,' a grim look of determination cross your face. 'Guess I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.' 

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

With a weak but firm grip you grasped the edge of the crater, using every last ounce of strength to pull yourself up onto the cracked pavement.

A heaving gasp tore from your throat as you collapsed onto solid ground before scooting yourself away from the crater’s edge.

It had taken longer than you’d hoped, but you’d done it. You were out.

Lying back, you let your head fall against the pavement to stare up at the crimson-tinted sky above.

Clouds churned in dark ominous shades of red as a massive pentagram symbol loomed high above—it glowed sinisterly, slicing through the swirling clouds in sharp precise lines.

Hell’s “moon” hung beside it—a twisted scarred orb that looked as though it had been dragged from the depths of something far darker than night.

And even higher in the distance, just barely visible against the hellish skyline, was the faint shimmer of Heaven’s gate. A cruel and unreachable mirage.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long shuddering breath as you try to gather yourself before reluctantly forcing your exhausted body to move once more.

Just as you managed to stand a strange warmth flickered above your head. Your fingers reach up to touch your now sputtering halo.

The steady glow dimmed as it pulsed weakly—and before you could fully process it, the light extinguished altogether.

The once radiant halo fell and clattered to the ground with a hollow metallic ring.

You stared down at the cold dull metal lying lifelessly in the dust. Your legs buckled and you sank to your knees, reaching out with trembling fingers to pick it up.

The weight of it felt foreign now, devoid of the light and comfort it once radiated.

A sad hollow laugh bubbled up from your throat; a weak attempt to mask the sharp ache of loss.

“...and it was such a good reading light to use,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

The familiar warmth of Heaven was gone and replaced by an oppressive heat that clung to you as the air around filled with the bitter scent of sulfur.

The betrayal, the Fall, and now your halo—each piece hammered at your heart, leaving you grasping at the edges of your composure as the weight of this new reality pressed in on you.

Fortunately you didn’t have time to dwell on it for long. 

“Hello!” A voice cuts through the stillness.

Startled, you look up to see a young girl standing at the edge of the abandoned street, her bright eyes wide with wonder.

She was small, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she wore a frilly red dress that looked almost too pristine for a place like Hell

She moved before you could process her intentions, darting toward you with surprising speed.

You instinctively opened your arms, catching her as she flinged herself into your embrace with childlike trust.

Her weight was slight with a warmth to her that felt strangely comforting. She nestled against your side, tiny hands exploring your feathers as her eyes sparkled with awe.

“Oh wow!” she squealed, brushing her fingers lightly over the downy feathers of your wings that had unconsciously curled around her as if to shield her from the world. “Your wings are so pretty! They look kinda like my dad’s!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that a child was not only here in Hell but clinging to you like you were an old friend.

Her innocent curiosity and lack of fear threw you off guard. For a moment faint memories of the children you had in your human life resurfaced and a bittersweet warmth filled your chest.

“Who might you be little one?"

The girl looked up at you with a giggle, eyes wide with innocence. "My name's Charlie, Charlie Magne!"

You couldn't help but smile. She reminded you of them in a way—of the tenderness you’d once known.

"And why are you out here alone?” concern was heard in your words. It was dangerous even for a child who clearly belonged here.

“I just wanted to see if it was really an angel causing all the fuss. I overheard my dad talking about it and well...I got curious! So I snuck out and—bam! I found you!” She gave you a triumphant grin as if discovering you were her own special accomplishment.

“Your...dad?” you echo softly causing her to frantically nod.

“Charlotte!” A booming voice calls out sending a shiver down your spine. Charlie looked over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up even more.

“Oh! There he is!” she chirped. Wriggling out of your arms, she hops down and began waving enthusiastically in the direction of the voice. "Over here!”

You quickly got to your feet, bracing yourself as you saw him: Lucifer Morningstar—The King of Hell himself striding down the street with an air of authority.

His softened gaze was locked on Charlie as she ran to him. But the moment she pointed back at you and exclaimed, “Look Daddy! I made a new friend!” his expression shifted.

The smile he’d given her vanished and was replaced by something far darker. In a flash he was in front of you, his crimson eyes piercing through you like twin blades.

You barely blinked before you were slammed to the ground.

The impact stole the air from your lungs, you were left gasping as his weight pressed down on you, a foot planted firmly on your chest.

Charlie's pleads of Daddy stop! seemed distant, almost muffled as you struggled to catch your breath.

'Geez...What s up with this family and tackling?'

Your dry thought is interrupted by the cold bite of metal on your throat. The sharp blade is pressed against the skin of your neck making you give a wide-eye stare up at the man towering over you.

His expression hard and unforgiving with an air of suspicion around him.

"Who sent you to the land of the Damned?" 

[ooooo-mcyt]

I like to stretch Scott's character quite a bit to be more angsty in some ways to fit with my "Everyone in the life series is traumatized and/or inflicting trauma on others because they're being tortured by patrons of violence" narrative, which is where my interpretations of Scott's constant silver linings and positive spins as a trauma response to repression. But while I am attached to my angstified interpretation of Scott for the narrative I'm spinning of the Life Series, I'd like to take a moment to appreciate the narrative themes Scott actually tends to lean into in his storytelling.

A pretty consistent quirk of Scott's storytelling habits that I'm actually quite fond of is his aversion to bad or hopeless endings (which isn't to say they never happen, but usually scott will put a silver lining and path forward on every story)

In Witchcraft Smp Scott gets his partner back despite everything. He isn't punished for his grief, he isn't told he's unworthy of love because of the mistakes he made, and his quest didn't turn out to be pointless. Scott, despite everything, defied the laws of death with is love and desperation and grief. And when his partner looked at him again, it didn't matter how different Scott was. His partner saw how he'd changed, how he was sicker, duller, cracked and torn and generally unwell, and still thought he was every bit as beautiful as he'd ever been. They walk off together, to start their life together again.

In Empires season one there isn't a 'happy ending', obviously. There's an apocalyptic event and Scott literally dies. But Scott still infuses it with plenty of hope. First in the fact that his death was a sacrifice, one that we have reason to believe brought tangible good in protecting his friends and the world going forward, opening a pathway for the world to recover, even without him. And secondly in Scott's happy afterlife, a place that's full of color and life, where everyone he loved is safe and close to him.

It was almost the exact same for Third Life. There was a tragic ending, sure. Scott lost his husband, spiraled into grief and mental instability, and then was hunted through the woods and killed. But Third Life, just like Empires season one, grants him a happy afterlife with the one he loves. In both stories, instead of letting the narrative end with Scott's death, there is written in a path home for him, a path into a warm place full of flowers and people who love him, and an implied way forward, because not even death is an ending, because (just like in witchcraft smp too, actually) not even death can steal things forever.

And even when Scott doesn't write overt happy (or at least semi-hopeful) endings into his stories, he still ties them up with a positive bow. Almost every life series season ends with a stinger, a line where Scott makes a point of highlighting that despite not (usually) 'winning', despite dying he's happy (or at least acceptingly okay) with how things turned out.

Of course, angst has a place, and I actively like to make my Life Series Scott characterization more angsty and unwell than the narrative Scott (cc) actually wrote. But I'm also genuinely quite attached to the much more positive themes Scott consistently writes into almost every single story he has any hand in. The idea that all people are worth loving, that your actions matter and that you can make a positive impact, that nothing's ever lost forever, that it's never ever too late, that there's always a path forward. There's just so much hope imbued in every single narrative from Scott Smajor and a lot of them have been genuinely meaningfully impactful to me during some really bleak moments in my life, so I really do feel the need to lift up and highlight these themes because Scott Smajor storylines really know how to beat back the nihilism.

[mclalan]

Can you share what your art-making process is? What software and tools do you use?? I'm falling in love with your work!!

Thank you, I'm so happy you like my work and are interested in the process. The short answer is I mostly use Adobe Animate.

I hate how I'm using an Adobe product (although I still regard it as a MacroMedia Flash product), but there's just no other software that compares to its jankiness. Perhaps it's just my long familiarity with the program, but nothing I've experienced matches how it simultaneously feels like drawing in MS Paint and using Microsoft PowerPoint vector shapes. The result is something that feels in-between the two; handmade yet computer-generated.

Typically, I'll start with a hand-drawn sketch, often beginning as a thumbnail done with pencil and paper.

I'll then do a mix of hand drawing and vector shape tool rendering. I use the Paint Brush tool to hand draw strokes, and the line and shape tools mixed with transform to make more geometrically accurate shapes. The design is rendered into divided closed loop shapes, ready to be filled with a solid. The strokes are kept or removed depending on the design.

These fill shapes are then either coloured and rendered in Adobe Animate, using fills, gradients, or a more complex process of masks and effects.

Alternatively, I'll bring all these vector shapes into Photoshop and use them as clipping masks. The vector shapes act like masking taped areas or shields to maintain sharp edges, while the brush is like an atomized airbrush used to build soft volumed forms.

Please excuse all that horrible Adobe Cloud and AI bloatware...

And there we go!

Variations in the process include just using MS Paint, index color in Photoshop, or 3D programs.

Very old works of mine were almost abstract, just exploring digital mark-making, which was a trend I was following in the mid 2010s that I loved. This kind of stuff.

While my current work uses its digital material specificity as an intermediary to the subject in the illustration.

For example, #ersatz.world parodies clip-art and flash edutainment styles but imagines the characters living within that kind of world. The designs are meant to be cute, easy to read, light in computer processing, but also irreverent, janky, and generic too.

People typically regard this sort of clip art style as ephemeral trash, but I always found them charming. I use Ersatz World primarily as a satire vehicle, parodying educational formats to spoof corporate explainer content and digital media.

However, part of the problem with Ersatz is I've made it look too polished, complex, and I've grown too attached to the characters, which I imagine is a typical issue with overbuilding a world. So recently, I've made an even jankier Ersatz-like set of characters to play about with, using an even simpler style with less cohesion. I like to try and use slightly different styles and digital material styles to relate to the property at hand.

That’s why #autonymus has a bitmap digital material and a denser feel to it. Unlike Ersatz, Autonymus is not meant to be an overt semi-meta fiction. It’s not exactly pixel art, but the pixels are just about visible, as the intention is to create a digital expressionist depth to the setting. Although it’s still stylized and not realistic to our world, I definitely still want to evoke semblances of our world. That’s why there’s attention to landscape, plant life, and implied life beyond what you see in the frame with the characters, etc. But I'm still making a cartoon, and I still want it to feel at ease with itself being a digital material work. Characters are therefore flat, simple, stiff, and the speech style is like a bad Shakespeare parody. I like to balance between ugly and appealing, simple and complex, familiar and unfamiliar.

In regard to things like inspiration, references, and my relationship to aesthetic genres; these things certainly factor into my work, perhaps I'm even overtly dependent on them. My work can definitely be post-modernist in method; creating new, ironic, or fragmented interpretations through deconstructing a mix of various styles or methods. But at the same time, I'm still trying to make a digital gestural representation where the aesthetic is driven by my relationship to the software and techniques directly—not simply in an attempt to reference a style. For example, I like drawing lines in sweeping strokes, not to a point of geometric perfection, but just in a way where the curves are smooth and simple. But if I want perfectly curved or straight lines, I'll use the vector tools.

Working this way, you can sort of learn why certain styles and design choices in past vector aesthetics were made, as they would have also needed to make similar choices. That’s why I’m more mindful of using digital material specificity as a foundation to build narrative and subjects upon these days.

For example, genre references like cyberpunk clichés for #cyberhell or late medieval design for #autonymus or 2005 to 2015 era subculture fashion for #gradientgoblinz.

I think it’s important to take inspiration and reference from a wide variety of sources, but I think they’d mean nothing without having something to say or express. Autonymus, although it is a collection of tropes and clichés, isn’t just about that. It’s a story about the tensions of socially constructed systems and how that shapes faith, technology, and the natural world, or at least that's what I'm aiming for anyway.

But despite all that, I think there’s a danger of locking myself into the past by using these methods. For example, using nostalgia and references to past aesthetics can result in just recreating the past in a form of role-play. To avoid that, I try and evoke the past through a messy, inaccurate pastiche rather than caring to accurately re-enact anything. I’m probably not always successful at communicating the deliberateness of this, and it can certainly get very frustrating and pedantic. To be honest, I do kind of hate aesthetic labels (terms like Y2K, global coffee house, utopian scholastic designs from a pre-9/11 world).

I do not believe that a project aimed solely at mapping history through aesthetic styles is worthwhile. Sure, they can be handy for organizing style trends, but they can also be reductive and ahistoric. Who are these people to define the history of these design eras? The result is a kind of suffocating simulation of design history but removed from context, perfect for moodboardism. I wish it felt more tongue-in-cheek, less absolute of itself in its own practice. Instead, it acts to legitimize and engender those making these labels, almost giving them ownership of the design styles. It’s similar to the logic and process of generative AI and its databases in a way, just done manually.

I’m very inspired by artists like Oneohtrix Point Never in this regard, as I think he’s able to create an aesthetic portal to all kinds of memories, feelings, and worlds reminiscent of the past, while still being in the present. It’s more a reflection of how timelines are messy now, like a memory or dream, rather than an audacity to say the past was actually like that, or to try to actually map some kind of timeline.

I think the benefit of this process is how it avoids the other side of the spectrum—being locked into chasing the cutting edge of digital processes. I don't necessarily think using an old digital process means your work inherits the semiotics of old aesthetics. Non-digital mediums don’t have this issue to this degree, as you can still paint in oils and be considered contemporary, or at least it's not frowned upon to such a degree. And I also don't think anyone in the heyday of Flash ever made work the same as I do, especially as computers are more powerful now so can handle more. I probably shouldn't boast too much about that though, as artists at the time probably just had more sense than to use Flash like a painting program! So then, why is my use of Adobe Animate critiqued as obsolete and an aesthetic dead-end? Because to whose standards is this process obsolete? If you value digital aesthetics as an apparatus in industry practice, then sure, my work is redundant.

But as wonderful as the latest tech can be in creating new aesthetics, I do feel it can be overtly dependent on the trends and directions of tech corporations, and therefore act as an indirect propaganda tool to their hegemony over digital aesthetics, such as the ever-demanding processing power needed for simulated realism. If anything, work that does follow in the direction of the latest tech trends is ironically the quickest to date once the trends move on.

I've noticed I've not really described what my work is about, just the process, in this text. But I don't know, maybe I like Flash because it is regarded as redundant. No one really cares about it, so I feel free to make whatever I want, and can decide on form myself, to my own standards, the quality of my work. As fun as making images is, I find it difficult to put into words what it is exactly I'm expressing in my work, and perhaps that would spoil it anyway.