#So finding actual ‘sources’ is incredibly difficult

[transfem-kirito-truther]

Okay, I NEED to know where you got that hotsprings Kirito image from...

Like, how are we supposed to see that as anything other than 'shes a girl'? Shes covering her chest and everything!!

okay so. I’m fairly certain it’s for one of the apps since it has the same ratio as the other app renders? There were a few other renders of other characters in the same situation so that’s how I decided it was official art. This is the most of the set I could find ^^

Other than that, I don’t know. Sorry!!

[sunderwight]

Okay, concept:

Luo Binghe grew up very poor prior to arriving to QJP. And when he first got to QJP, he was ostracized and neglected. So there are probably a lot of phrases, terms, and ideas that he didn't know were things until SY arrived and started actually teaching him. Right? So the bulk of what he did learn, he learned directly from Shen Yuan's own slightly messy attempts to fake ancient scholarly credentials.

Plus, QJP is supposed to be the peak of scholars and well-read, fancy intellectuals, and YQY probably also doesn't know shit about most of that stuff (having also been a former illiterate street child) and of course is incredibly predisposed to take Shen Qingqiu's side on virtually anything. Especially something frivolous or linked to their shared past, such as someone, say Qi Qingqi, accusing Shen Qingqiu of making up a literary reference or "gibberish" word. If something Shen Qingqiu says is something no one else seems to know, that just proves he's more worldly and well-read than the rest of his peers. Also, Shang Qinghua will probably know it, and despite his many (many) character flaws, Shang Qinghua reads a lot too. There's really very little to convince a former street child turned Demon Emperor whose former education began and ended with Shen Qingqiu specifically and Meng Mo (wildly out-of-touch with human culture anyway) to suspect that some of the difficult-to-source references his master makes really have no worldly source (in this world).

So Luo Binghe, in his quest to become as knowledgeable of all things about his shizun and keep up with him as well as possible, and maybe also put down some arguments he's overheard once and for all, eventually gets annoyed because CLEARLY there is a wealth of cultural knowledge contemporary to Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua that didn't survive to his own generation. His efforts at hunting down all the sources being referenced and origins of certain philosophical ideas or terminology keep coming up empty in certain departments. He's been over the entire QJP library with a fine-tooth comb, but QJP focuses on things pertaining to cultivation, history, and knowledge. Obviously, there are gaps. The archives are unlikely to keep pop cultural references and lowbrow literature, and Luo Binghe begins to suspect (from what tastes his master seems to share with his shishu) that that is that actual source he's missing.

The trashy yellow books and romance literature of their generation! Bawdy poems and lewd artworks so on! Heck, that's probably even where the shared "code" (bad English) comes into play -- disciples are always trying to sneak forbidden material past their teachers and smuggle naughty books into the dormitories. Knowing Shizun and Shang Qinghua, Luo Binghe honestly wouldn't be surprised if the two of them were racketeering that shit in their own disciple days. Shang Qinghua acquiring materials, Shen Qingqiu acquiring buyers, both of them making their extra spending money off of secretly supplying Cang Qiong's population with contraband fiction and art.

Also, that would explain why both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua get flustered and refuse to elaborate if someone asks them what this or that strange turn of phrase refers to. Shen Qingqiu has a very thin face for actually discussing erotica, and Shang Qinghua doesn't like being caught doing illegal shit.

Luo Binghe desperately needs access to trash lit that's older than he is. However, most of that stuff is not printed to last, and turning it up is like trying to find old Spirk zines without the internet.

Shang Qinghua, the obvious go-to source, also seems to not really have anything that old anymore (intimidating him is laughably easy, if he had anything he would have coughed it up by the second or third time Luo Binghe asked and frowned at the same time), and if Shen Qingqiu did have anything he wouldn't want to be questioned about it. Asking too much might even get it destroyed in an act of excessive embarrassment.

Which means there is just one other person Luo Binghe knows who might be able to lead him to some sources. One other person he is absolutely, 100% certain was extensively reading trashy literature around the same time that Shizun was a young man. Someone who would know where to go to even begin looking for it.

Luo Binghe is going to have to ask Tianlang Jun for help with something.

[utilitycaster]

I really like Taliesin elaborating on the inspiration from the 90s LA punk scene, in which he said a lot of the people he knew were just people looking for hope in a world that has been incredibly unfair to them. It's a very empathetic view towards people who, as he said, often are dealing with injustice and disadvantages.

He also mentions that many of these punks were dealing with drug and alcohol problems (and while he did not want that to be central to Ashton's character and wanted to focus instead on chronic pain for a number of reasons, including personal, Ashton definitely relies on alcohol for palliative reasons). More generally, we see Ashton look for hope and answers in a lot of places that end up being extremely incorrect. The most obvious one is with the shard of Rau'shan, which, after multiple people advised them against taking it with very clear warnings, they decided to still attempt to absorb, with nearly-fatal results; but there were flashes of this with their earlier cynicism towards Eshteross vs. a much more begrudging acceptance of the transactional worldview of Ratanish or Jiana Hexum.

Ashton often places his own pain in a position of honor, and in doing so can discount that of other people. He's been remarkably unlucky, to be clear; I think that's part of it. We as the audience know that their statement that no one in that room has felt helpless in their lives is demonstrably false about pretty much all of Vox Machina and their allies, as well as the Bright Queen. He says Keyleth maybe does know, not realizing that of Keyleth and Vex, one has been a homeless runaway rather like himself, and it's not the one he's saying knows helplessness. In a way, to hold on to that hope, they find themselves telling themselves a lot of lies because otherwise they have to face the truth that their suffering did not make them more qualified or better; it was just unfair and it might still keep happening. He blames the gods because then at least there's a reason and not just absolutely random chance that he was born to a self-important cultist, happened to survive a long-shot ill-advised ritual and wake up in the desert of another continent, happened to be the one thrown out the window of Hexum Manor, and happened to be saved with a Potion of Possibility. To be clear, they've since made a name for themself on their own merits, but a lot of who they are, both in terms of the traumatic and difficult elements and in terms of what now makes them special was dumb luck, good or bad.

For Ashton, for those LA punks Taliesin knew, for the Vanguard and for Ludinus and for countless people in Exandria and in our actual world, a lot of grasping for hope becomes grasping for a meaning for pain and suffering. I'd argue that this is a pretty major theme Taliesin explores with all his characters. However, just because the pain is real doesn't mean the conclusions one comes to as a result of it are inviolate and above reproach. It is possible to have extremely valid pain and trauma and to be incredibly wrong about its source or what it means, or to deal with it in ways that will either make it worse or that will inflict pain, even inadvertently, on others. And I think the theme of the campaign is very much that; what happens when someone either chooses to or must let the decisions they made to deal with a moment - or a life - of pain be writ large on both themselves and the world?

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Tentatively

Summary:

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that most of your friends have grown up and don’t talk to you anymore, that while you love your family it’s too difficult to find time to travel and see them, that you are incredibly lonely.

Contains: Fem Reader, Death Mention (but only as much as you would expect given the source material) Word Count: 2,235 Read on AO3

You still feel strange a few hours after leaving the chatroom. Grim, who despite all evidence to the contrary, is actually the Grim Reaper, left pretty abruptly after telling you there is something incredibly wrong with your soul and you are unsure if you should be concerned or offended about the whole thing. 

After a disappointing meal of microwaved leftovers and an attempt at enjoying a relaxing bath despite your apartment’s abysmal water temperature, you find yourself laying back on your bed and staring up at the all too uninteresting ceiling as you wait for your hair to dry. The window above your desk is open and the cool breeze is pleasant, but you’re already getting the sense that you will have trouble getting to sleep tonight, despite Grim’s uncharacteristic insistence that you get some rest after today. 

There’s something so lonely about these summer nights, lonely enough that you find yourself scrolling through your contacts list, looking for someone ( anyone ) to talk to. Calling your parents this late will only make them worry, and all of your friends from uni have much better sleep schedules than you do and will already be out cold. You toss your phone onto the vacant pillow beside you and let out a sigh, that really only leaves one option. 

Hoisting yourself from the bed, you walk over to the desk and grab your laptop. Quickly tapping open the chatroom app and turning off your camera before hitting the call button. You push your lamp and pot-plant out of the way to leave room for the laptop on your bedside table and lay back down as you wait for an answer. 

You spend the first seven rings worrying that he won't pick up, by the eighth you are proven wrong.

“I thought I already told you to go to sleep.” He says in lieu of a greeting. 

All the lethargic energy in the room suddenly dissipates, and your mouth tugs up in a smile, “Hello to you too”

“I was being serious.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t my boss.” He huffs, “I am your reaper.” “Oh?” You reply, smirking to yourself, “ My reaper, are you? Just mine?” “No! I- I’m just assigned to you. That does not mean-”

You laugh, “Sorry, sorry. I’m just teasing, thank you for picking up, I mean it.” It’s quiet, but you swear that you hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call, “I- well, I just wanted to be certain that you were not suffering any side effects from the soul connection.” He clears his throat, “You…aren’t…are you?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping, but I don’t think I can blame that on you. I suppose I feel a little jittery? But that makes sense given my emotional state right now.” “What is it?” “What’s what?” “Your uh- your emotional state.”

“Oh.” You say, feeling your heart beating a rapid tattoo behind your ribs, “Well, I dunno. I’m a little overwhelmed, I suppose. I really just thought you were an edgy cosplayer, and I mean, you still are but you are also literally the Grim Reaper, so I’m still just dealing with that I guess.”

“That is perfectly normal, then. Though you should have been feeling frightened the moment I contacted you, your reaction was quite delayed.” “Hey! I never said ‘frightened’ I said overwhelmed! That’s a completely different emotion.”

He chuckles, “Unable to stop thinking about me, then?” “That also isn't what I said.” Though, he isn’t entirely wrong, “I’m just worried about how I'm going to focus at work tomorrow when I’ll be spending the whole day looking over my shoulder to make sure some white-haired twink isn't about to commit murder upon me.” 

“White-haired what? ” “Twinnnnk~” You reply, “Look it up, I’m sure that will keep you busy for a few hours.” “I hardly need to be kept busy , I have important work to do.” “Like stealing my soul.” “Yours and others, I do not just follow you around all day.” He says dryly, “You are not that important. Also, I will not be murdering you. I am pushing you in the correct direction, one you have stubbornly been avoiding for far too long.” You hum quietly to yourself, reaching out to pat your cat where he sits next to you on the bed, “How was I meant to die anyway? Just out of curiosity, since you seem to know everything about it.” He doesn't answer for some time, and the deafening silence makes you regret even posing the question. 

“Do you really want to know?” He finally asks, “Most people never find out, because unlike you they die when they are supposed to.” “Hit me with it, Grimmy.” He groans, “Do not call me that.” then you hear him sigh, deeply, contemplatively, “You were supposed to die of food poisoning.” “Oh.” You reply, feeling your heart sink a little, “Damn, that sucks. That’s so…boring”

“Death often is.” “I guess, well, I guess I was hoping that the way I die might be interesting at least. What food would have poisoned me anyway?” “Ham sandwich.” “Yikes. Was the ham poisoned or something?” “No, just expired. On a related note, you do need to clean out your fridge more often.” He’s right. Your fridge is pretty nasty, and it kind of always has been. It’s a very low priority on your list of tasks.

“Grim?”

“Yes?”

You swallow, unsure how to phrase the real question hiding in the recesses of your mind, “could you…I dunno, kill me gently, if it comes to it? I mean, I just-“ you roll over onto your side, making eye contact with the black screen of your laptop, “If I have to die, I don’t want it to hurt.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then he replies, “I don’t want it to hurt you either.”

“That’s…sweet, Thank you.” “Lacking desire to see you suffer does not make me sweet , it makes me considerate .” He sighs irritably, “More importantly, does this mean you’re finally willing to hand over your soul?” You laugh, “ No! I just- I dunno, I had a weird day and I'm feeling kinda existential now.” You look through your window, staring up at the night sky, “Do you feel that way sometimes, or is it just a human thing?”

“I do not see how that’s any of your business.” “C’mon, Grim. Just play along for once, get silly with it.” You hear him huff on the other end of the line, you can picture the exact pouty face he must be making right now, “I have been a reaper as long as I can remember, and will continue to be one for the rest of my life, there is little for me to be existential about.”

“Hm.” 

“What?” He says brusquely, “What are you ‘hm-ing’ about?”

“The thought of having one job for the rest of my life is exactly the sort of thing that makes me existential, that’s all.” “Well you don’t have to work at the same job for the rest of your life, so what exactly are you complaining about?” “I mean, the rest of my life might only be a few more days.” You say, “Provided you win our bet of course, which you will not be doing.” “Do not doubt me, Sunshine. You may come to regret it.” You giggle, “Doubtful.” There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the call, you can only assume that he is also lying in bed right now, “I am quite literally death, and I even gave you concrete proof of this fact this evening.” his voice turns quiet, dare you think it, wistful, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” You shrug, even though he can’t see you, “You aren’t very scary.”

“I am going to take your soul .” “You are going to try and take my soul.” a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “And even if you do, you’ve already promised to do it gently .” “I promised not to hurt you, I never said anything about being gentle .” 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see the difference between those two statements.” He groans, and when he speaks again his voice is muffled. You suspect he has his face buried in a pillow, “You are infuriating. When I leave the chatroom for the evening I assume that I am done with you, I was not prepared for you to insist on continuing our conversation well into the night.”

“What, are you tired?” All goes quiet for a moment, and then, “No. Are you?” “Nope.” “Hmph, you should be at this hour, especially after a day of work.”

“I- well, I dunno…”

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that most of your friends have grown up and don’t talk to you anymore, that while you love your family it’s too difficult to find time to travel and see them, that you are incredibly lonely. You are tired, you have to be up at 5:00 to get ready for work tomorrow morning, but the idea of saying goodbye, of hanging up, makes something ache deep inside you. Something inside the very soul he wants to steal. 

“You don’t know, what?”

“Huh?” Grim huffs again, “You said, ‘i dunno’ and then stopped talking, which is very out of character for you, by the way.” “Oh? Did you miss me? Were even those brief seconds of silence enough to make you realize how much you love hearing my voice?” “I will hang up.” 

“Don’t.” You say before you have time to think better of it, “Please.”

“I-“ he clears his throat, “Only if you can act normally for the rest of our conversation.”

“I’m plenty normal, you’re the weird one.”

“What’s weird, how am I weird?”

You roll onto your back, staring up at the celing, “Oh i dunno, just the whole ‘I am death incarnate! I have come for your soul! I will connect my soul to yours! ’ schtik” 

“You know fully well that it is not a…what did you call it? A schtik?” He pronounces the word completely wrong, “Whatever that is, it is not one of those. I am death incarnate, I am here for you soul, and you were literally an active part in the soul connection.”

“Oh, about that soul connection thing, by the way.” He scoffs, “Your ability to change the subject at a whim is still strong as ever i see.” 

“I know, I’m very talented- anyway! I wanted to ask if you can do anything cool now that we have a soul link or whatever.” “I have already told you, I cannot control your body. As entertaining as it would be to embarrass you publicly, even my exceptional abilities could not do that” 

“Oh kay , how about something easier, then?” You feel the warmth of your cat as he snuggles up against your side and instinctively reach out to pat him, “Read my mind, go on!” “I cannot do that.” “C’mon, Grimmy, give it a go!” You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’m thinking about something real hard right now.” He sighs, “Are you thinking about your cat?” “ Whaaaat? How did you know?!”

“I didn’t know , i guessed. I can’t read your mind, but i am still attuned with your soul.” His voice has turned uncharacteristically soft, he’s almost whispering, “It… flutters …when you are happy, and your cat makes you happy. So I guessed…”

“So you’re a soul reader, then?” You ask, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach also feels oddly fluttery right now.

“That is not a thing. You’re just making things up now.”

“Try again.” You say, your mind unwittingly flooded with thoughts of soft white hair and judgemental red eyes. Of hands you wish were bare, of sharp toothed smiles. Your heart slows to a languid rhythm, and something you aren’t ready to put a name to curls warmly in your belly. You close your eyes, softly this time, and breathe, “What am i thinking about now?”

He goes silent for a long time, you can hear the slow, even draw of his breath. You can picture him laying back on his bed, hair splayed over the pillow, brow creased in concentration and you wonder if he is thinking about you too. After what feels like an age, he finally answers, “your…plant?”

You burst into laughter and any tension in the air shatters, “My plant?! What about my soul was screaming plant just then?”

“Well, I don’t know! It was just happy again, happier, even and I assumed that you were smart enough not to just think about your cat again.” 

“Yeah, you got me.” You lie, “it was my cat again.”

“Hells, every single day you find a new way to get under my skin.” He sighs, and despite his earlier statement, his next words come out almost fondly , “You need sleep, mortal.”

“Yeah.” You reply, feeling that ache tug at you again, “I probably do.”

“I will talk to you tomorrow, that is, if you survive until then.”

That gets a laugh out of you, and you can’t tell if that was his intention or if he was being completely serious, “I look forward to it. Remember to murder me nicely, Grim.”

“As nicely as I can, I swear.” You can hear his smile, “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

[strlingsav]

I’m simply in love with your portrayal of Simon/Ghost. This fandom has so many incredibly talented writers, I am glad I stumbled upon your work! Your interpretation of his character is among my favourites 🥰 if it interests you, I would like to request a comfort fic w a femme reader who is perhaps not active on the field herself, but more on the intelligence/IT side of the operations (you can totally change this if you want, it’s up for your interpretation!) who is capable but suffers from insecurity and imposters sydrome (yep I am totally projecting🤫🤐) and during a mental breakdown bc of the stress from work, Ghost of all people, who she previously has only seen during a few briefings and never has approached bc of his intimidating reputation, finds her. Cue to the stoic scary big man who has previously only stared her down turning out to be actually very supportive and appreciative of her work because he always has noticed her. It’s up to you if want to keep it sfw or not! But a dash of softdom/service top sprinkled w some praise kink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world🥴 I would love to see your take on this if this idea interests you, and it’s totally fine if it doesn’t 🥰 it’s always a pleasure to read your work regardless! Have a good one! ✌🏻💕

Thank you very much!! I appreciate that very much 🥹🫶🏻 I can definitely do this!

Support

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Ghost stumbles upon you, after-hours, during a breakdown.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was approaching two in the morning. You were running solely on caffeine and nicotine- neither of which were helping your dry eyes or headache. The light of your monitors was the only source in the room, completely enshrouded by darkness as you stared blankly at the screens. You'd hoped it would help you focus, think more clearly, but so far it had only isolated you further, brought nothing but pressure and stress.

It wasn't supposed to be difficult, it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be easy for you. You'd studied computer technology and engineering for years- built and coded programs for organizations all over the world. You'd worked within the military for nearly a decade, providing the most proficient and reliable support among your similarly-rated peers. You were quite literally an expert, but you didn't feel like it. Not with the unfinished assignment sitting before you.

Laswell, Price, the entirety of 141- they relied on you. They relied heavily on your abilities to guide them through their fieldwork, to do the digging they couldn't reach while on location. Though, as you leaned back in your chair, your lip red and raw with irritation, your back aching, you didn't feel reliable. You felt the familiar sting of failure, of total disappointment.

It bubbled up in your throat, escaping in a series of curses, shoving yourself away from the desk before you wound up damaging thousands of dollars of equipment. You paced, stared, and paced. Your mind swimming with questions, re-thinking every sequence, every key, every exhaustive search you could possibly pull- and still hadn't decrypted the data.

Your hand slammed down on the desk, scattering the pens and piles of paperwork you'd accumulated over the many hours you'd spent stewing in front of the code screen. The cursor blinked at you- waiting, taunting you, filling you with dread.

"Y'alright in here?"

A gruff voice pulled you from your anxious stupor, and you yanked your hand from the desk, gasping sharply. You looked up, finding Ghost at the doorway.

In the dark, you could hardly make out his silhouette, but the outline of his mask was a stark contrast against the pitch-black room.

"Didn't mean t'scare you," He said, taking a few steps forward. "Heard somethin' in here."

You let out a sigh, your heartbeat relaxing back into its regular rhythm.

You'd heard his voice before, usually over the comms, and seen him during briefings, but you'd never spoken in person. You knew he had a reputation for being tough and commanding; it put you on edge watching his looming figure in the darkness. He was undeniably intimidating, especially as he stalked toward you.

You stepped back, letting him around the desk to see your monitors.

"You're up late," He said, examining the screen.

"Trying to decode this shit," You huffed, forgetting about his domineering presence once you refocused on your failure. "It's taking me longer than it should."

"Looks complicated," He replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly.

"It is. It shouldn't be, but it is," You sighed again, sitting down as he looked over your shoulder.

"How long you been at this?"

You ignored his question, leaning in to further examine the code screen.

"It's late. You should sleep, get back to it in the mornin'."

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to find him closer than expected.

"I don't need sleep," You shook your head. "I need to figure this out. I'm close."

An epiphany sparked in your head- a brute force attack you hadn't yet tried. You quickly typed in the keys, waiting with baited breath as the screen paused.

A flickering script reading 'denied' came across your screen, typed out in front of you for confirmation. Validation that you'd failed, again.

"Fuck!" You shouted, cradling your head in your hands. "I-I can't figure this shit out, I can't do it." Your voice broke, hoarse with strain.

You looked up at him, your eyes now watery with frustration and anger.

"'Ey," He said, leaning forward. "Relax. I dunno much about this shite, but seems you're doin' alright."

You tilted your head. "Laswell needs these documents for Shepherd tomorrow, and I've got nothing to show for it. It'll be my ass getting dismissed. It's not alright."

"Shepherd can wait," He said. "You've saved our arses more than a few times."

"It's not enough."

"It's more than enough. Relax, you're givin' me a bloody headache."

"I can't relax," You looked up at him with blood-shot eyes.

"If anyone can do it, 't's you. Seen you handle worse than this." He gestured to the screen, a flippant motion.

You sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly. You were more than shocked to hear the comforting words from Ghost. A man revered for his deadly hands, ferocity. The irony made you giggle, short and quiet, though he heard it.

"What's funny?" He asked, moving to lean against the desk.

"Just didn't expect you to be so supportive. Appreciative."

"I see what you do," His gaze was unwavering as he stared you down. "Couldn't do it m'self. Owe you my life, if not more."

"Not quite," You quirked up a brow.

"Yeah- quite. Raid in Las Almas, no other escape routes, Price called you in and we were on the way out in minutes."

You bit your cheek, nodding slowly, your eyes shutting as you digested his words. He was right- you'd done your fair share of evac and location support, never losing a soldier. Regardless of how horribly the assignment was going, you couldn't deny only you had the capacity to complete it.

"Thanks," You nodded, looking up at him. "I'm just in my head, stressed out."

He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter.

You leaned back, grabbing a cigarette from the nearly-empty pack on the desk, and lighting it up.

"You want one?" You asked, offering him the package.

He took one, offering a quiet, "Cheers."

He lifted the cover of his mask up above his nose- it took every ounce of strength not to immediately watch his lips as he stuck the cigarette between them. Even then, your eyes glanced at the newly-discovered flesh, diverting your gaze when he locked eyes with you.

You inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine coat your lungs, before exhaling into the monitors before you.

"Should get some sleep," He said, standing up.

"Yeah," You nodded, shifting to lean forward. "Yeah, I will. Just a bit longer."

He sighed, bringing his gloved hand down on the keyboard.

"I'll break it in half if I need to," He said, his voice low and threatening.

You swallowed, raising your brows at the unexpected reaction.

"Alright," You huffed.

You stood to your feet, putting your cigarette out on the ashtray beside your mouse. He did the same, arms folding over his chest as he waited for you to leave your station.

His adamant opposition to letting you continue was admirable. Attractive, even. You hadn't anticipated feeling grateful, or happy to have had him find you.

You'd kept your distance from him, though you'd always find your eyes gravitating toward his. He'd already be staring, watching you from across the briefing room. At first, you'd been terrified, wondering if you'd done something to piss him off, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, he'd lift his head to find you, check over his shoulder to look at you.

He found you intriguing, attractive. A brilliant woman; smart, educated, someone he was glad to have on his team. He'd seen the countless hours you put in, the calm tone of your voice every time there was a stress signal from one of the men. You held it together for them- the least he could do was the same for you.

He liked the way your eyes studied the screen, the way you'd chew your lip raw. Though it wasn't in your best interest, he found it alluring. His mind wandered when he'd see you, nothing appropriate at all- only to satisfy the heat that curled itself inside his intestines when he laid his eyes on you.

He remembered seeing you for the first time, wondering who you were: laptop on the desk, pen in hand, bright-eyed and eager to please. Immediately, he'd fabricated images of you in his mind- images that he'd play through during the lonely hours of the night.

"Why are you up?" You asked suddenly.

"Couldn't sleep. Don't sleep much."

You shook your head, "And yet, you're lecturing me." A small smile lifted your lips.

"For your own good," He answered.

"That's interesting," You mumbled.

"Why's that?"

You breathed in, "You've only ever stared me down, don't think we've had a conversation before."

"Y'can say a lot without talkin'," He retorted.

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted to fuck me or kill me," You grinned.

"What's the consensus?"

"Still not sure," You held back a grin.

"Would've killed you by now."

You laughed, "That's not very comforting."

"Should be. Only leaves the former."

He moved closer, standing up straight as he unhooked his legs.

You were pleasantly surprised, though your nerves had been roused from their short slumber. Heat washed over your cheeks, climbing up your spine before returning to the crest of your thighs.

"Think y'could use some stress relief," He said. "Y'seem pent-up."

You pulled your lip between your teeth, your eyes shifting between his. It was tempting, more than your mortal being could possibly resist.

"Maybe," You uttered, your hands twitching with anxiety as he neared you.

He cocked his head, "Maybe ain't an answer."

"Yes," You blurted. "I could. But not if you're taking pity on me."

He chuckled, a sound you'd never heard before from him, though it was somewhat deformed. Amusement and disbelief rather than enjoyment.

"Sweetheart," He cooed, his chest nearly pressed against yours. "It ain't pity. Y'should know better."

"We'll, you're not exactly approachable," You said, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "Haven't had the pleasure of speaking with you before."

He nodded, "S'alright," He said. "Had enough o' watchin' from afar, though."

You breathed out, long and cathartic as it passed your lips. Releasing every worry and anxiety, relieved to be able to focus solely on him- on Ghost.

His hand reached your waist, softly pulling you into him, finally connecting your bodies. You let out a quiet grunt, your hands raised at your sides as you took in the feeling of his body against yours.

"Y'can touch me," He grinned. "I won't bite 'less you ask."

As if you weren't already aroused, soaking your panties, he only made it worse. The heat of his hands on your waist had drawn out any thoughts in your head, his voice so close- so clear in front of you was mesmerizing.

You apprehensively moved your hands to rest on his shoulders, your palms gliding against the taught muscles, another extended sigh as you tried to ignore the burning in your gut. He liked the contact, your small hands searing a brand into his skin.

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes raking over your face, the face he'd seen in his dreams more than anywhere else. He must've made a pact with the devil, something sacrificed to have you in his hands- finally.

He leaned in, soft lips touching yours. It was fleeting, the softness, before he backed you against the desk with no regard for the equipment on it. Still, his lips held your attention, his tongue gliding between your lips to clash against yours. It was open-mouthed, messy, especially as he lifted you to the desk and bullied himself between your thighs.

You moaned faintly when his hand slid down your side, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing harshly. His other hand worked your shirt off your torso, parting only for a moment when the fabric passed your neck. His hands on your bare skin created a feeling of tightness in your gut- especially as he squeezed and grabbed at you, truly appreciating the curves of your body against him.

To your chagrin, he was still fully clothed, in his fatigues, like he lived in them. Even at two A.M., the man never quit. You weren't complaining; you rather liked the sight of his fitted uniform, especially as it squeezed his forearms and thighs, showing the bulk of muscle and veins beneath tattooed skin.

You were antsy, however, to feel him. All of him, against you.

"Take it off," You whispered against his lips, tugging at his jacket with clenched fists.

"Bossy woman you are," He teased, pulling away as he unbuttoned the shirt.

"I know what I want," You shot back, your eyes now narrowed in on him.

He hummed, satisfied with your answer. "That so?"

You nodded, smug and prideful, a sense of power- you had complete control. Your hands supported your weight behind you, leaning back, watching the show as he stripped from the shirt. It fell off his torso, revealing the toned muscles beneath, and he yanked the other sleeve off with impatience.

Your jaw was slack, looking over him as he neared again. This time, his hand slid up your throat, gripping the delicate area with a firm hold. He forced your eyes to meet his, a noticeable grin on his lips.

"You listen to me, sweetheart," He said, in your face. "And I'll take care o'you. Spread your legs."

You shivered, an audible gasp leaving your lips. The things you'd have done to hear filthy words leave his mouth- the voice that rung in your ears at night, made your pussy flutter. Now, he'd offered his services to you, rather enthusiastically, too, admitting he'd wanted it for a long time. If nothing else made you feel better about your shit progress, he surely could.

He kept eye contact while his hand worked open your pants, pulling them and your panties down your legs with speed and precision. He wasted no time pressing your thighs to your chest, tucking you into an uncomfortable position before kneeling in front of you.

"No thinkin'," He warned. "'Less it's about cummin' on my face."

Your head fell back, groaning softly, lifting back up again only when he pressed his lips to your pussy. Then, you watched with anticipation building in your gut, trembling in your limbs and a heavy ache settling in your womb.

He slid a warm tongue between your folds, a gentle touch you hadn't expected from the brute of a man. He watched you the entire time, took in the sight of your lips parting, sucking in a long breath, shutting your eyes as you basked in the pleasure. He couldn't help but form a grin, his lips engulfing your pussy in an open-mouthed kiss.

His attention moved to your clit, faint licks crossing the sensitive area that coaxed quick jolts from your body. He settled into a rhythm, and your body adjusted accordingly, leaning into the new and overwhelming feeling.

"Yeah, right there," You said, a hushed tone, like you were speaking to yourself.

He grunted in response, another warning.

"Sorry," You said again. "Feels so good." It was a quiet whine.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, grab at something, anything that would connect you to him, so you settled for his forearms. Your palm gripped the flesh of his arm, squeezing, just as he did to your thighs.

His tongue expertly traced your clit, circles and delicate licks that made your back arch, opening yourself up for him to taste.

"That's it," He uttered, muffled by your pussy. Even speaking against you made you clench, stare down at him with lust on your face. "There's a good girl."

You exhaled, nodding in agreement, submission to his mouth as he returned to his rhythm, falling in tandem with the heavy breathing leaving your chest. His eyes hadn't left you, watching and studying your expression for every hint of pleasure. He was intent on learning exactly what you like, though it was difficult to discern through the flurry of expressions on your face.

Your brows drawn together, jaw open as you choked down a gasp, breathing heavily into the dark room. He could make out your face, but your silhouette was blackened against the light of the monitors. He could see the swell of your breasts, your thighs, the curve of your waist against the backlight. He could even see your eyes, when you'd drop your head to watch him devour you.

You began to shake, tensing against his mouth when he continued at a consistent pace. He was thorough in every aspect of life- this was no exception. He didn't let up, even when your pussy drooled with cum, instead, he licked it up with his tongue, moaning softly against you at your taste.

He stood to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he stared at you. Your chest heaved, toes curled, leaning back as you watched him. The light danced on his abdomen, highlighting every hill and dip on his torso, the scars that scattered the skin. It was a sight that had your brain resetting, recovering as though you hadn't been covered in a layer of sweat and left breathless from your orgasm.

His cock stood erect when he yanked his trousers down, and he didn't stall any longer. He stalked forward, leaning into you, his hand on the desk behind you as he pushed his cock through the tight barrier of your hymen. He was absorbed, swallowed by soft inner-muscles and velvety walls, slick with your cum and arousal.

He pressed his lips to yours again, not allowing for much deliberation or accommodation- he was far too aroused to wait. You planted your heels against the desk as he thrusted his entire length into you, quickly meeting your cervix with a gentle graze. It made you suck in a sharp breath, and move away from his lips.

You saw his eyes, the look of possession and pure lust in them. You merely stared at each other, a nauseating intimacy while he thrusted inside you, further disturbing your lower stomach with a tightness.

"Oh God," You choked, your hands reaching around his shoulders, clinging to him. "Don't stop- don't fucking stop."

His hand reached around you, holding you against him, the other gripping your thigh with a bruising constraint.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're tight, sweetheart," He breathed in your ear. "You all wet for me?"

You nodded, breathing an enthusiastic yes into his ear, clenching at his back with your fingers. Your nails dug into the slick flesh, feeling his muscles move as his hips tilted back and forth into you.

All you could smell, hear was him. The scent of his heavy body soap, like pine, mixed with the cigarette you'd offered him earlier. His breathing in your ear, heavy pants as he relished in the tightness of you- the slippery walls encroaching on his cock.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," He mumbled against your neck, his lips dragging against your skin. "Say you're a good girl," His voice rumbled through his chest. "Fuck me- all for me."

It was haze-inducing, incoherent mumbles, quiet gasps and sobs as you clung to him. It worsened when his fingers played your clit, sliding between your bodies to rub over the sensitive spot.

"I'm a good girl," You gasped. "I'm your good girl."

"'At's right, sweetheart- takin' me nice and deep."

It didn't take long to clench around his cock, another wave of nauseating pleasure that rendered you absolutely useless as he drove into you.

"Fuckin' hell," He stuttered.

You'd constricted his cock, pulsating around him with every contraction, nearly sobbing into his shoulder when he continued with his thrusts.

He finally pulled out, tugging on his cock as he released his cum over your stomach. He exhaled sharply, before gathering his composure.

You grimaced as you stood to your feet, trying to clean yourself off as best you could.

You watched him shrug his jacket back on.

"Get some rest," He nodded once, gesturing to the doorway. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Is 'check on me' an innuendo? Should I wear my good underwear?" You grinned, pulling your pants back over your backside.

"I'd shag you if y'had on a bin bag, sweetheart."

"You're sweeter than you let on," You teased, laughing.

"Not for most," He cocked his head. "Guess you're lucky."

"Well, thank you," You smiled.

It was genuine. A distraction, however unexpected and unusual, that did make you almost forget about the assignment.

"I'll be around," He paused. "If you're feelin' like takin' your frustrations out."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

He walked off with a short nod. You paused for a moment; the temptation to curl yourself up at your desk and continue your assignment was gnawing at you. You clenched your jaw, took a deep breath in when you recalled Ghost's words, and finally decided to turn off the monitors.

[cripplecharacters]

I searched your blog and didn't find this, so if it's already been answered I'm sorry!

I'm writing a character who has photosensitive epileptic seizures and I was wondering if you have any tips on describing the experience of having a seizure?

My sister has them so I know what hers look like, but I've never had an epileptic seizure myself. Is it a painful experience? Is it more like fainting? What does the post-ictal phase feel like?

I know seizures can look different for everyone so rest assured this will not be my only source :)

Hello!

You're right that seizures are different for everyone, especially considering how many different types of seizures there are.

My last (Confirmed) seizure was several years ago. I have had some... "episodes" (For lack of a better term) that we're unsure if they were seizures or something else more recently but I'll be answering this with my confirmed seizures in mind.

I has epilepsy as a child and mostly had grand-mal/tonic-clonic seizures from what I've been told. For me, I experienced an aura anywhere from 5-10 minutes before the "main" seizure itself. This aura was usually a strange feeling in my head (Almost a tightness or pressure but feeling very loose as well? It's difficult to explain) with a rubbery taste in my mouth.

I can't say much about when the "main" seizure was actually happening as, for me, I wasn't really aware during it.

As somebody who faints... embarrassingly often, however, I can say confidently that it doesn't feel like fainting (At least for me). With fainting, I can feel myself starting to 'go' (My ears begin to ring and I feel almost like I'm fading out) and then I faint and it feels like I wake up almost instantly, even when it's been several minutes. For my seizures, it felt more like a blurred passage of time. I was an aware to an extent, I think, but not in the way it's usually defined (As being aware of your surroundings), it just wasn't like I was unconscious/asleep.

For me, I hated the postictal period the most. My seizures were usually accompanied by a loss of control over my bladder and would occasionally make me... not throw up, really, but almost spit up a bit. I'd usually wake up feeling incredibly tired and grumpy and usually ended up crying. The crying wasn't tied to any particular feeling, it was more of a physical response. And though I can now acknowledge that it's nothing to be embarrassed about, as a kid it was all pretty humiliating for me.

Just as a side note, my boyfriend also has seizures currently but not from epilepsy. I've been with him during his periods after the seizure before and he usually ends up acting like a kid, for lack of a better term. He cries a lot and is very disoriented but he's also very easily distracted. There have been several occasions where he's played with my keys for a few minutes before he comes back to it. He doesn't experience the same grumpiness and deep exhaustion that I did, though he has said that they make him feel very sleepy.

Although I didn't find the seizures themselves to be painful at all, there were several occasions where I ended up hurting myself during one. Usually this was hitting my head when I fell or during the actual jerking of the seizure but there have been other times when I had bruises or sore muscles afterwards. Given how young I was when I was having these kinds of seizures, I don't fully recall how the sore muscles/injuries felt as they didn't have as much of an impact on me as the seizures themselves.

After a seizure, I'd end up sleeping for anywhere from a couple hours to the rest of the day. I think part of it was the emotional exhaustion of a seizure while another part was the physical.

Now, I did speak a lot about the grand-mal seizures I experienced but I did also (And actually may still) have absence seizures as well.

A few years ago my seizures came back briefly and, despite my neurologist's best efforts, we couldn't figure out why. I'm not entirely sure how to classify them now but I was mostly aware during them and, from what's been described to me, my head was nodding up and down (To the point where it was all the way back), my eyes were rolled up into my head, and my eyelids were fluttering. I didn't experience any of the side-effects of my grand-mal seizures (Ex: Peeing myself, spitting up, crying, etc.) during these and I also don't know if I fell or not because when I had them, I was generally sitting down somewhere.

During these, my vision was flashes of colour/shapes and just generally what you'd expect from having your eyes rolled up and your eyelids fluttering. I was still aware that things were happening around me but I couldn't really process it the same way. I could hear people speaking but couldn't understand what they were saying.

You did mention looking into other sources for this and I'd definitely recommend doing that. These are just my (And, briefly, my boyfriend's) experiences and there are so many different experiences of seizures and epilepsy in general.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

Hi lovely asker!

I have absence seizures and myoclonic ones so I'll add on my two cents as well (Cover more of the seizure spectrum here 😁).

For absence seizures for me its mostly just a complete blank space of time. There's one moment where I'm walking, talking, doing whatever and then the next thing I know I look around and usually like 30-ish seconds has past. If I was having a conversation and the person I'm talking to kept talking, I'm not aware of any of what they said when I was having the seizure. It's kinda like someone turns my brain off for a quick restart and then turns it back on again.

If there is nothing physical around me indicating of a passage of time. (Ex. Someone talking, I looked at the clock right before it happened, any living object that moves around) then I most likely won't know I had the seizure. Sometimes I have a little feeling because I often get headaches leading up to my absence seizures but other than that they're painless and more so there is that panic feeling of losing track of time. I'm usually just disoriented because of that sudden missing frame of time. I'll kinda look around, try to get my bearings, see what happened, if anything's changed etc.

Myoclonic ones really depend on how aggressive they are. They can be big (a whole side of my body will twitch) or itty bitty baby ones (my fingers twitch or I can feel certain muscles twitching). Kinda like with Tonic-Clonic seizures, all the muscles involved will contract on me and it's painful. Often times they're more annoying and frustrating than painful (trying to eat breakfast one time and let's just say my eggs ended up across the room).

They can cause my legs to jerk too which if I'm walking will make me just suddenly fall as my legs give out. Sometimes they can just happen as one, or they can cluster and that means that multiple happen in a row. When they cluster, they're often more painful because my muscles are contracting so many times. If I fall like I mention I often hurt myself because I just completely fall to the ground (not like fainting, I'm conscious and alert and I can move my arms and torso, it's usually just my legs that are the problem.)

Leading up to my myoclonic seizures sometimes I get really really really bad tremors that worsen with movement to the point where If it's my legs then I can't stand or walk (trusty old wheelchair). And if it's my upper body than my hands have very little use to me so things like eating, changing (buttons my enemy), writing, and pressing buttons is very hard to do (also I will add that I just have very clumsy dexterity in general so the tremors certainly don't help but yeah XD)

For all my seizures in general I get very light sensitive afterwards and my lovely doctors and nurses have told me it's because my pupils get completely blown and then constrict and they do this rapidly and it's often paired with nystagmus. So my Post-ictal is usually more just being sore, my head hurts, my eyes are very sensitive and usually the nystagmus is what lingers on the longest.

For tonic-clonic seizures (which I won't go into much because Icarus already did) they're the most painful for me and it usually hurts to move afterwards. I usually start to mumble and can't talk when they're about to happen it's just a lot of "um's" and "uh" and I can't form any words. I start to rub my hands over my body because my skin gets this tingly feeling, and I start to kinda look around frantically because again my anxiety does no help. During the seizure I'm usually in and out of consciousness so it's black and then I'll hear or see something for a split moment and then black again and yeah so on and so forth but I can remember bits and pieces (that I'm conscious for that is). Everything usually sounds really far away like I'm under water and my vision of what I can see is very blurry and there is usually like ten of the same person.

Very rarely i've stopped breathing during my Tonic-Clonic and with those they're usually not as painful (don't ask me why) but they are. Granted that initial struggle to breath again is a bit jarring but in my opinion these are a lot more traumatizing for the people around me than me myself.

Alrighty, hopefully this is of some help lovely person! As Icarus said this varies very wildly person to person and seizure to seizure so yeah. Have fun writing!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[got-ticket-to-ride]

Regarding the interview you asked about the closest I can think of is actually Yoko's interview where she says this:

Did Lennon have sex with other men? “I think he had a desire to, but I think he was too inhibited,” says Ono. “No, not inhibited. He said, ‘I don’t mind if there’s an incredibly attractive guy.’ It’s very difficult: They would have to be not just physically attractive, but mentally very advanced too. And you can’t find people like that.” So did Lennon ever have sex with men? “No, I don’t think so,” says Ono. “The beginning of the year he was killed, he said to me, ‘I could have done it, but I can’t because I just never found somebody that was that attractive.’ Both John and I were into attractiveness—you know—beauty.”

It's searchable by this title: Yoko Ono Opens Up About John Lennon's 'Desire' To Have Sex With Men.

Also sounds like there was a perfect match for what John described there lol

Thank you so much anon! This Yoko article is quite hilariously interesting... I do wonder why she ever said this and I can also only think of one who would fit the description (*cough* princess *cough*). Maybe it is a dig of some sort, to claim that John Lennon never found such a beautiful and intelligent male. Sounds to me like "you didn't qualify his high standard of beauty and intelligence". I wish I could see Paul's reaction to this:

John trolling beyond his grave.

I also found the excerpt I meant upon searching some keywords (the tags don't work on Tumblr for the life of me)

JOHN: It’s a plus, it’s not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without… I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship and maybe that would have satisfied it, with working with other male artists. [faltering] An artist – it’s more – it’s much better to be working with another artist of the same energy, and that’s why there’s always been Beatles or Marx Brothers or men, together. Because it’s alright for them to work together or whatever it is. It’s the same except that we sleep together, you know? I mean, not counting love and all the things on the side, just as a working relationship with her, it has all the benefits of working with another male artist and all the joint inspiration, and then we can hold hands too, right?

Source: a moral to this song — Quotes for curious contemplation: John on... (tumblr.com)

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Do you think toby still show signs of PTSD from his dad or sometimes has episodes? (How does masky deal with him?)

(Not a request but if it seems like one you can delete srry 😓)

[If anyone finds anything I mention triggering please let me know and I’ll tag this]

Absolutely. I talked about this a bit in my Toby character analysis, but my Toby went through EXTREME torture and psychological damage at the hands of his father, and is definitely not mentally healed. Toby has trauma deeply ingrained in him and his behaviors, and they show up presently.

Toby avoids Masky personally at all costs. Masky likes to trigger him intentionally because he thinks it’s funny (which Masky gets HEAVILY punished for), so Toby just avoids him. Tim, on the flip side, works incredibly hard to try and help Toby. He works very hard to remind Toby that mistakes do not equal punishments, that it’s okay to fuck up, and that if he DOES get in trouble, the punishment will be nothing in the world like what his father would do to him.

There are times where Toby will hide in his room for days to weeks on end, unable to be around people because a trauma flare up is so bad. There are times where Toby has a manic break in the company of others due to a trigger, which will then cause him to hide away again because he feels he’s done wrong. Toby often doesn’t think he deserves good things, and will reject kind behavior. Toby has severe insomnia due to nightmares that he can’t get away from. Toby gets nervous if people are behind him, and when he hears people walking down the hall or towards his room, he memorizes their step pattern so he knows who it is instinctually. Toby has struggled with harming himself, although most of the time these days he’s gotten better.

When he first joined the mansion, Toby acted a lot as if he was a soldier obeying authority figures, as that was what his father had trained into him, and while 90% of the time now he doesn’t do that, sometimes he slips into a bad headspace and he goes back to those behaviors, and nobody can really get him to stop until it passes. Toby isn’t really happy-go-lucky a lot of the time. Most days he’s actually very very mellow, if not outright depressed in his behaviors. Toby never experienced a normal upbringing, so he doesn’t fully still understand how to behave in healthy settings, especially with such a large group like in the mansion, so he finds it hard to connect with others, especially because of his tics from his Tourette’s syndrome, which are his main source of insecurity. Toby tries his best to fit in and make progress with his healing, but even after all these years he still finds it very difficult a lot of the time, even though he’s made very good progress considering his starting position.

[ohnococo]

Under the Stars | Ijichi x Reader

Ijichi plans a perfect date, ending in a picnic under the stars.

✦ WC: 1.8k

✦ Warnings: female bodied reader (no pronouns used), established relationship, hiking, bird watching, picnic, alcohol use, kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie

Ijichi loves a plan. It helps him feel relaxed, prepared, excited - even if it was for something that had previously been a source of anxiety for him. So, whenever possible, he makes a plan. Researching, making sure every box is ticked, considering any deviations that might be necessary. By extension, it means that leaving dates up to him is actually an incredibly good idea.

He’s thorough and, as you’d discovered in your time with your sweet lovesick Ijichi, quite romantic at heart.

You shouldn’t really be surprised that he’d planned your date so thoroughly too. You’d known you were going on a hike for weeks, he’d made sure you had everything you needed. Appropriate shoes and clothes, a bag to hold all the things you’d need for a day in the wilderness, and he’d checked the weather report about a hundred times before the day arrived. When your alarm goes off you still don’t quite expect to wake up and find a detailed and laminated itinerary for the day carefully propped up on your bedside table.

First, is breakfast, although you don't need to see the menu he’d carefully typed out in front of you to smell Ijichi’s cooking wafting through the air. Breakfast is a curation of things that will be both filling, and give you the energy for the next item on the itinerary: a hike.

When you begin your journey, it’s just as he’d promised over breakfast - more of a walk than a hike, where he’d made sure the path was both scenic and easy to traverse. Your first stop is a cozy little spot within the trees, with a large oak to settle yourselves by as you enjoy listening to the sound of the birds around you. Ijichi quietly flips through a well-worn book, pointing to each of the birds you can hear in your surroundings. He even pulls out his binoculars, locating them in the trees and letting you take a look.

You didn’t know bird watching could be quite so fun, but Ijichi’s enthusiasm, and his soft hands on yours as he makes sure you’re pointing the binoculars in the right direction, makes it more thrilling than you ever thought such a thing could be.

As the day continues on you can’t help feeling like you and Ijichi were in the midst of forming some very important memories between the two of you. His gentle encouragement as you hop along rocks to cross the stream cutting though the path, holding your breath with wide eyes as a deer and it’s fawn move past the clearing you’d chosen as a resting spot, watching the dragonflies overhead as you dip your feet in the cool waters of the lake before moving along.

It all culminates with the most difficult part of the journey so far as Ijichi helps guide you up a rocky hill, taking a winding path to avoid the steeper inclines. It’s only a few minutes of effort, with the setting sun at your back and the stillness of the coming night already in the air, and then you’re brought to a flat space overlooking much of the forest you’d spent the day in.

Here, he finally unloads the last items stashed deep in the bottom of his backpack. Now, you understand why he’d been carrying a bag much more suited for camping rather than a simple hike, and as he lays things out one by one you find yourself impressed at not just his planning but his strength to have carried all of this. A blanket, snacks, a small lantern to make up for the light lost with the setting sun, and finally a bottle of wine and two collapsible cups.

As you eat you can’t stop thinking of how today was romantic in a soft and considerate way that is so very Kiyotaka Ijichi. Whether it’s the wine the two of you slowly sip at while enjoying the last of the fleeting daylight or the loving heat blossoming in your chest, you begin to feel a little dizzy as your heart starts beating a little faster.

You watch as he peels an apple with his pocket knife. Moments like this are precious to you, when Ijichi’s hands are steady, his mind at ease, knowing everything happening was something he’s fully capable of handling. You alternate eating carefully cut slices, Ijichi always handing you one slightly larger than the pieces he cuts off for himself, before making your way slowly through the rest of the food, and the rest of the small bottle of wine until you’ve both regained some energy.

By now the sun has set long ago, and the fleece jackets that had been tied around your waists come in handy as a little chill sets in with the arrival of early evening. You take the opportunity to scoot closer to Ijichi, moving empty containers aside, letting your legs press to his as you two trade a little warmth.

“Did you have fun?” Ijichi’s voice is hopeful, though it contains a small hint of worry that the answer just might be no.

It only makes your response more enthusiastic, assuring him that it was as perfect as all of his plans were with you. “Yes, so much fun.”

His shoulders relax, as he wraps his arms around his knees, smiling. “I’m glad.”

He looks at you for a moment, or you assume he does as his glasses reflect the moonlight, before he’s turning back to the view below, pointing into the mid-distance. “We’ve gone in a semi-circle.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, see?” He points to a distance not too far away from where you were now. “We started along there then went right the way around,” he moves his arm slowly as he points out the path you’d taken, obscured by the treetops, “so we only have a short distance back out once we get down from here. In case you’re tired.”

The way Ijichi is always so considerate like this has you beaming, looking up at the stars as you sigh happily, “I’m not tired just yet.”

He lets out a little chuckle, gaze following yours then turning back towards you as he looks up at the moon behind you. “Then I’ve planned everything well.”

“Of course you did, Kiyo.” It’s said with a warmth and confidence in his abilities that makes his breath catch just a little, before he’s letting out another chuckle - this time it’s one much more breathy than the last.

You lean back, until the moonlight is no longer reflecting off of Ijichi’s glasses and obscuring his eyes, and see that he’s not looking at the sky as you’d thought. He’s looking at you.

Even in the dark of the night, you can see a blush spread across his cheeks at having been caught staring, but he pushes past that as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your lips. The way he enters every kiss with a slight hesitancy has always felt so endearing to you, but now you feel as though your full unhindered affections had been more than earned. You press into him further, deepening the kiss as your lips part and you bring a hand to the back of his neck as you wait for his mouth to do the same.

Once he’s reciprocating his restraint is set aside, tongue slipping into your mouth as well as a soft moan while his hands grip at your sides as though holding you tight would ground him. Your noses brush and his glasses are pushed further up until his lashes are smushed against the lenses, but he doesn’t care. His only move is to lean back, pulling you with him until you’re both laying on your sides and holding each other tightly as you kiss and sigh and run your hands over your bodies.

It’s hasty, and clumsy, and perfect in every way as only the necessary clothes are undone and pushed aside to keep the chill off of your skin while keeping the heat growing between you. You kiss at Ijichi’s neck, skin salty from sweat, as his fingers dip into your warmth, sliding and stroking and touching you in the ways he’s come to know you love until you’re shoving your pants down a little further and rolling onto your other side with your back to him. He takes his place close behind you as you arch your back and spread your thighs enough for him to press his cock into you slowly. Your bodies barely part from there as he no longer needs his hand to guide his length, instead wrapping his arm around you to squeeze at your chest. His motion is more of a slow rock than a thrust, the underside of his length sliding against your sweet spot with perfect pressure as your legs are clamped tightly together.

You twist your head round as Ijichi leans up onto his elbow, trying his best to kiss you as he keeps himself deep inside of you, moaning into your mouth at the first touch of your tongue against his in this position. With the two of you feeling like the only people on this earth, or in these woods at least, it’s as if your panting and moaning was the only thing filling the night air. Eventually, the wet sound of your lovemaking is met with Ijichi’s hips slapping against your ass as he finally starts pulling back enough to slide back in with more power.

His moans turn to whimpers as you reach behind your joined bodies, gripping his tensing ass tightly as your rock back into his thrusts. It forces him to tear his eyes off of your face for the first time since he’d slid inside of you, watching your ass ripple slightly with the force of your movements. As your moans get higher he whines in frustration as his gaze flickers from where the two of you meet to your face - your lips parted and eyes closed as you’re lost in pleasure. He wants to see all of you at once, but as you both grow close he decides on your face, pressing wet kisses to your cheek and open mouth.

Choked breaths meet with your moans as Ijichi tries his hardest to keep his pace despite the clenching in his stomach and the pull of his balls below. Once a pressure of your own has built to its peak and you start to clench around him he cries out with both relief and pleasure as you cream around his length. His thrusts are deep, sloppy, stuttering as he fills you with his cum, opened mouthed kisses meeting your cheek as he pulls you close to him.

His hips keep rocking as if on their own accord despite your orgasms subsiding, thrusts shallow and without rhythm, until your hand on his hip and a kiss to the tip of his nose steadies him. He nuzzles at your neck, catching his breath, holding you close, staying inside of you as long as he can just as he always does.

Ijichi smiles and his breaths ease as his cock softens inside of you. “We should stay here for a while, so we can miss the traffic on the way back to the city.”

You return his smile tenfold, “Sounds like a plan.”

[sleeplesssmoll]

The Timekeeper and the Warden (Reverse 1999 AU)

I know I said I was studying but this is all @blehhhhhsthings fault! They keep making me brainstorm (thank you but also what have you done lol)

I was inspired by their Mask Tk au, but I put my own twist on it since I am a twisted individual. This is the scenario:

Vertin and Sonetto never make up after the break-away event because instead of Madam Z reaching Smoltin, Manus does first. They were waiting for her because they heard rumors about a child with Storm Immunity from their inside sources. Finding Vertin as the only child left confirmed those rumors.

Sonetto never gets over Vertin. She thinks about the way she treated Smoltin and blames herself for Vertin's Reversal.

Years later, Sonetto graduates as the top of her class and becomes a field Investigator so she can witness the outside world Vertin longed for. Two years after her graduation (roughly 6 years after break-away), a Manus Vindictae Renegade waltzes through the Foundation's front door. Sonetto pins her to the ground but falters when she realizes they have silver hair. However, she can't see her face because of her mask. The voice is both unfamiliar and nostalgic (because Smoltin is grown up now) but she doesn't have time to dwell on it. The deserter doesn't resist and claims they want to stop Manus more than they hate the Foundation. She's seen the way they treats arcanists who aren't purebloods and the unnecessary violence. She wanted to escape long ago and waited for the perfect opportunity.

Constantine decides to interrogate her further, especially once she sees the special umbrella the renegade brought with her. She must be one of Arcana's pets.

Later, the renegade becomes the Foundation's Timekeeper, and Sonetto is her Warden. While the Timekeeper has flexibility within the Foundation due to her rare Storm Immunity, it's Sonetto's job to keep her in line.

The Foundation also sealed off the Timekeeper's ability to communicate by branding an arcane skill (a curse really) around her throat. She can only speak with her Warden's permission and even if she tries to be sneaky by writing or something, the markings burn red and are incredibly painful (they're triggered by intent, like the bangles on the Island that Arcana and Vertin wore in the real story). Sonetto thinks it's cruel but Constantine informs her its for everyone's safety. This deserter has a silver tongue and she plants dangerous ideas in people's heads. By limiting how much she can say and forcing her to have Sonetto nearby in order to speak, they reduce her opportunities of betrayal. Besides, she's already betrayed Manus. Who's to say she won't turn her back on them next and return with their secrets? Sonetto's whole thing is loyalty and devotion so she starts off very cold with the Timekeeper.

The Timekeeper no longer wears a Manus Hand Mask, but a monochrome Foundation mask that covers her upper face (as much coverage as Bessmert's blindfolds or 2B's mask from Nier so it covers her freckles but leaves her mouth open to eat and make smug smiles with). It completely hides her eyes but she can see better than the average person through it since it has the same enchantment as the other Investigators (the ones that completely cover their face like in the prologue).

The Masked Timekeeper does the sort of the same thing as the Timekeeper we know. She shelters "unhinged" arcanists and takes on the most dangerous missions since her people are considered dangerous and disposable. She is very protective of her crew.

However, she and Sonetto are painfully awkward.

Vertin has no idea how to interact with her former deskmate. In her mind, Sonetto was always nice enough to put up with her but actually couldn't stand her. She doesn't blame Sonetto either because she was...difficult. While Vertin is a touchy and affectionate person, she hesitates with Sonetto or changes her mind last minute.

Meanwhile, Sonetto hates this game of hot and cold she ends up in every time they interact. As much as she hates to admit it, the TK grew on her. She's kind, sincere, and never treats Sonetto like her Warden but as part of her beloved crew. They argue at times but Sonetto never uses her status as Warden to silence her. There is an odd understanding between them even if they never seem to get one another.

This Vertin was raised by Arcana instead of Madam Z. She's a smooth talker and a skilled fighter outside of her crappy arcanum. Instead of a stoic face, she smiles (like Arcana but a smug smile instead of Arcana's creepy "I dare you" one.)

As much as she says she despises Arcana, she kept the Umbrella she gave her. The Umbrella is infused with Arcana's slime and can shape-shift into many things: a shield, a sword, a cane, heck even a fishing pole (she did this to piss Arcana off but her leader found it amusing and creative). This Vertin is also completely shameless when it comes to manipulating others as a means to an end.

She finds out what you desire most and uses that against you. It's one of the reasons Constantine branded her.

"You deserve more. They can't give you that, but I can," type of persuasion. She also frustrates Sonetto by talking around her instead of answering her questions or telling her what's on her mind.

Eventually Sonetto opens up to the Timekeeper about a friend she lost long ago. She's afraid one day she'll forget her.

Vertin has no idea she's talking about her because she didn't think Sonetto thought of her as a friend, just a deskmate she was stuck with. She assumed her friend fell in battle. Lots of people were reversed too so she still doesn't connect the dots until Sonetto specifically brings up the break-away event.

Vertin's name was added to the Forbidden List and you'd be punished for saying it (like the word "Storm" before it was public knowledge). This is one of the reasons the Timekeeper took so long to put together Sonetto's still grieving for her. She's not sure how to deal with this but she doesn't know how to make Sonetto happy. All these years later and she's still a burden on her deskmate.

Some things never change.

Aaaaand that's where I decided to start writing my story from. Although, I could sprinkle this background information throughout...if I knew what I was doing anyway. Reverse did it with AS while Vertin was in a coma so I decided on a dream route.

Sonetto is so scared she'll forget Vertin, she uses AS to see her again. However, she can never remember the color of her eyes. Smoltin would lower them when she spoke to her or avoid her gaze after she found out Sonetto asked the Instructor if she could switch deskmates. That's why it was the first thing she forgot. This makes her panic!

I also want to put Yeni in this fic. She's sooo much like Sonetto but more direct and sarcastic. Essentially, what she and the TK develop is what Sonetto and the TK could have been.

Sonetto tells herself she doesn't care. She's only worried about remembering Vertin and nothing else matters–

But how come she's never seen the TK's face but Yen has!? Unfair. She's known her longer.

Sonetto hasn't realized the others have seen Vertin's face. Constantine only dictated she wear the mask on missions to represent the Foundation, but doesn't care about what Vertin does in her free time once she realizes it's THAT VERTIN. Not many people recall what Smoltin looked like since she was never in the Spotlight due to her awful grades and she was tiny. Just harder to notice in general, especially when everyone's looking down to see her. The school did their best to cover up her past since she had no family to fight for her anyway. They were her "family" since she was a month old.

Vertin finds it hard to face Sonetto so she doesn't take it off in front of her. It's easier this way. She's also still figuring things out.

Constantine's happy her little pawn returned as a more powerful piece to play with. Madam Z cries a bit when she see Vertin, the child she failed to save.

Idk what to call this au or even if it's worth naming if I don't actually do anything with it but I'm open to opinions!

[allastoredeer]

I just found some Hazbin Hotel leaks, pre-being pick up by A24 and, do you know we could have had an episode where Charlie meets all the Deadly Sins? We were absolutely robbed of a pretty good filler episodes before the big finale with heaven.

Here's link to the leaks: https://imgur.com/a/nCorcZq

In case the link doesn't work, you can also look at this tumblr post: https://www.tumblr.com/hellaverse-critical-confessions/727383242254204928/hello-the-pre-a24-leaks-anon-again-heres-link?source=share

I really hope they use some of this old concepts on the next season cause they seem quite funny and interesting. Those ideas could help flush the characters out a bit more and the worldbuilding. What do you think?

Me writing notes while reading the leaks:

OOOH HOO WE GOT SOME WONDERFUL CHARACTER INSIGHTS! Especially with Husk!

“Angel and Charlie drag Husk out to a carnival show to show him the not-so-sleazy side of life. This proves difficult with Husk being raised to know nothing but crime and no experience with innocent fun.”

Husk has no experience with innocent fun. He only knows the sleazy side of life T.T Also he has mob connections 👀That is good to know. I find that so, so interesting. It explains it grim outlook on life. Why he's hardly every smiling or having fun. I think one of the first times we actually see him smile is after fighting those shark demons with Angel Dust in "Masquerade."

Now that I'm thinking about it, he smiles a lot more after that. Or, at least from what I remember. I might need to rewatch the show (for the dozenth time, LMAO). But, that kind also goes to show how much this guy needs friends. Good relationships. Connections outside of crime, which is all he's known all his life.

I WANT HUSK TO HAVE PURE, DUMB FUN AND TO LAUGH AND SMILE AND IM SOBBING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

Also love delving more into Vaggie too. How she's incredible responsible, but controlling. After reading through a few of the episode description about her, my personal headcanon/take is that she still has a bit of that "angels are superior" mindset in the way that when she challenges Maxine, she's quickly reminded of her own limits when she's defeated "very easily." It's like what Carmilla was saying in the show. The angels are arrogant in their fighting. They leave themselves open, they're brash, and uncoordinated because they're not used to fighting demons who can actually fight back.

As far as we've seen, all of their victims are regular demons. None of the Overlords. Well, except Carmilla that one time, and she'd taken down the Exorcists with relative ease because she knows how to fight, and she's powerful. Given that this is the first time an Exorcist has been killed, and the first time we hear about an Overlord being attacked during the Extermination, I assume not a lot of Exorcists come face to face with the Overlords.

So, this kind of brash arrogance still lingering in Vaggie, who see's a demon talking down to her and automatically challenges them to a fight, only to lose immediately. Then her falling back into her insecurities that if she's not able to protect/fight for something/someone, than she's useless (which is ANOTHER thing she's learned from her time as an Exorcist angel--if she's unable to fight for the cause, what use does she have?). It's like this double-edged sword, and I'm rahhhhhh I'm gnawing on it.

ALSO ALSO, getting not only one annual event held in Hell, but TWO! "Hells Weapons Exo," (which I like to think Vox co-hosts with Carmilla, as she is a weapons manufacturer, and Vox is the guy to go to if you're looking to sell/buy something. Also, Vox HAS to have a showmanship side of him. Like, a legitimate showy, entertainer side--which I also like to think is what brought him and Alastor together before their, uh, falling out.)

Their second event being "Challenge Day" where lower tiered demons can challenge higher tiered demons for control over souls? I interpreted this in two ways, 1) challenging a higher tiered demon for the souls they already own, or 2) challenging the person who owns your soul as a way to get it back - both of which I really like. It actually fits really well with some of the world-building I've been doing for the last few days, so I am eating it up.

ALSO THE FACT THAT THERE'S A ROYAL BALL HELD AFTER "CHALLENGE DAY." My RadioApple brain LATCHED onto that so quickly. Imagine Lucifer taking Alastor to the royal ball as his date T.T I wanna see them all dressed up fancy, and I want them to dance, and dsofslknjljblkjbj FUUUUUUCK

Thank you SO Much for sending me this! I am soaking up these lore pieces like a sponge.

It also mentions Angel and Charlie taking Husk to a carnival show, which makes me wonder if there are places like carnivals open in Pentagram City, or if it's similar to the traveling circus thing Blitz grew up in. Like, do hellborn demons who doing travelling circus/carnivals just go through all the rings, one-by-one, including the Pride Ring? That way the Sinners get to get in on it too? AH! I just love thinking about it.

Thank you thank you I am feasting so much right now.

(THIS ALSO MAKES ME SO UPSET ABOUT STUDIOS LIMITING SERIES DOWN TO 8-10 EPISODES A SEASON, WE COULD'VE GOTTEN SO MUCH CONTENT AND WORLD BUILDING IF THEY'D GIVEN VIVZIE AND HER TEAM A PROPER SEASON TO BUILD IT ALL UP AND GRRRRRRRR)

Oh, also, I just realized I didn't answer your original question about the Sins, GOD I wish we got that. I want to see Charlie interacting with all the Sins so badly. Though, I suppose with Amazon not really owning Hazbin Hotel, where all the Sin's have been showing up, I wonder if they'd be able to do an episode like at all.

I don't know. Things to think about.

But to sum up! Thank you so much for this! I know this answer kind of went on long LOL, but you have given me so much brain food and I am eternally grateful 🙏

[coquetteriddle]

I love your takes on Harry and how he’s such a good person! It’s also why sometimes I find dark Harry fics kind of…eh. Obviously I have absolutely NOTHING against dark Harry fics- I’ve been in fandom for so long that I know in my bones and blood that authors should be able to write whatever they want, this is just me pointlessly critiquing tomarry themes in dark harry fics. Anyway, I think one of the appeals of tomarry is that Harry is a good man trying his best to love somebody who is at best, morally grey. Staying with Tom, one could argue, is one of the few selfish things he does. Tom makes the parts of him that are small and stuck in a cupboard under the stairs be seen, and even tho he ranges from being a morally bankrupt politician to a closet fascist, Harry still can’t go. But he’s kicking and screaming about it the whole time. He doesn’t tolerate tom’s extremely evil bulshit. He leaves, even tho it hurts, when too many lines are crossed. He has it in himself to love his parents’ prospective/actual murderer, but he’ll never ask somebody else to tolerate or ignore tom’s crimes. This is an incredibly nuanced situation, that is such fun to read about as Harry tries to navigate loving a bad man. Dark Harry fics can feel like a cop out in these ways ( honorary mention that fics are made for one’s joy and they don’t have to have complex themes, I’m just being annoying )

thank u sm for the ask!!!

yes totally agree :) it's why i personally don't love dark harry either, along with fics that try to soften voldemort/pureblood/dark magic ideals to seem "not that bad". to me, that's just not...really the point? and obvs its fine, fanon is honestly whatever to me and i'm sure there are tons of fics that portray this sort of dynamic beautifully, but because i love canon so much, it's js not my preferred style

and YES. harry is a good person!!! huge agree on why that is such an appeal of tomarry- their relationship itself is a source of conflict, especially internally. tom/voldemort is a bad person, and harry HAS to contend with this. he can't ignore it or agree with it and he Will leave if he feels like it's something he needs to do. he's completely capable of making these difficult decisions and i really don't like it when fics infantilize him in that way.

tbh this is why i started writing i can fix him (no really i can)....i Love time travel fics because it sets them for the first time, on an equal playing field, and it really does allow the exploration of themes of remorse and redemption. but their original characters are so interesting to me and i felt like their internal conflicts, especially harrys, were never really delved into as much as they should have been. and at least in this fic- i don't think harry would even be willing to love tom if he didn't change. i really do love redeemed tom fics, but i wish they weren't all "babe...stop saying slurs for me🥺" LMFAOO. i don't think a relationship can really change anyone on its own. it has to be of their own volition. with any redeemed tom, i think this is the most important bit: he realizes that harry deserves better, so he decides to become better.

and of course- people can write anything and there are beautifully, amazingly written fics everywhere :) i js personally love exploring their dynamic in a more canon-compliant way

[interconnectedmatrix]

What if...?

"The Masked Cinderella" — what if prince charming never found his Cinderella? The lovely liege he encountered at the masquerade? What if a simple joke turned to be the most pivotal point in his rule? What if all he needed was to focus his eyes on something other than the mask?

♡.. Once upon a fairytale story, lived a young prince basking in his new found glory. It goes without saying that Diavolo had it all: his kingdom, his power, his influence and all the riches one could ever dream of. Oh sure the prince ironically possesses a kind soul, but, until then he was never satisfied.

♡.. Part of this many antics was a Fall Masquerade, to which all nobles and lucky peasants gathered around in celebration. What occasion? Even Diavolo wasn't so sure. Wouldn't it be funnier to think that the "prince" was nothing but a pawn in the crowd? How he loved that idea — MC suggested it afterall.

♡.. The prince would give anything to ditch all the formalities.

♡.. The tale was perfect; but who was this fine liege? A black sheep mask adorned in golden highlights. Diavolo introduced himself under a false facade, asking them questions like "how have I never heard of you before?" and "you dance quite well. Where did you learn this?"

♡.. The figure laughed. Could they see through his mask? Could they make out the silhouette of a lovestruck prince pining for their attention in these brief instances? Could they see the stars twinkle in pools of honey — stars that shine brighter than any gold this world posses?

♡.. In a gentle motion, they only teased:

— "Find me, my prince."

♡.. Who knew pretending to be a mere mortal could have someone tug at his heartstrings. Cinderella — they were. To think he chased after them after the event ended; to which all others were looking for him. Prince Diavolo. Ruler of the Devildom. Was it just for a tyrant to feel sympathy? He couldn't imagine chasing after another after his last love. Not until he felt the mask in his hand...

♡.. Porcelain, yet incredibly light to his touch. He felt determined, clinging onto it like his prized possession. He will find this Cinderella.

♡.. Like any ordinary day, Diavolo clings onto the mask, ignoring the concerned remarks of Lucifer or the subtle "ehems" of his butler. He carefully ran his fingers along the frame of the mask. How his black fingernails blended seamlessly with the colour. It felt as if nothing else mattered, not the meeting. Not the exchange program. Nothing. In a soft coo, he muttered, "I'll find you.. You'll be here eventually."

♡.. The only thing that catches him from his trance was a hand on the table, like a gavel echoing in court. Snapping of fingers alerted him to look back at the source of the sound. His favourite exchange student.

♡.. They'd tease, "who's the lucky girl? or guy? You seem pretty focused on that mask owner."

♡.. Diavolo would blush at that statement.

♡.. Days. Weeks pass by. Until then, was it worth ignoring his duties? He had pushed everyone aside. Someday. Someday he'll find them. MC's teasing proved as a sign to keep going.

— "What if they're not a noble?"

— "awww is the prince feeling lovesick again~?"

— "sheesh, you're probably scaring them."

♡.. Maybe when he'll find them... just perchance... in this instance... He'll finally be satisfied.

♡.. But alas, was it a lost cause? Barbatos knocked on the young master's door. A long sigh could be heard, before bringing the dreaded news. "My lord, I believe we have found Cinderella."

♡.. The Prince's smile then faltered into a solemn expression.

To quote: "He lost his breathe. He's losing conscience. Yet undeterred, he always comes to their feet no matter how bad the fall."

Sadly the prince isn't exempted from the author's rampant desire for angst 😔

This idea was actually one of the more fun but difficult ones to think about. I personally like to believe that Diavolo would purposely pretend to be a lower ranking noble just to get away with some of the formalities — it's a masquerade, afterall! Wouldn't the fun be ruined if you knew who the other person was?

I'd leave the interpretation of the ending for you guys :3 fair warning that this is one of my more sadder stories

Plus I am actually working on this as my own personal project, so stay tuned! ^^

That's all for this author's note! And have a great day 🫶

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi cutie!

I've, incredibly, keep on writing the same fic for one time in my life, so i'm posting the second part of the first part (obviously) of the whatever i've wrote.

I like writing. It's a little difficult switch from my italian kinda writing skill to the english language.

I feel less poetic in english. More...meh. Dunno.

Anyway, we do not have that much of a smut content in here, just...talking. A lot of talking. I like dialogues.

Sorry for every incorrect grammatical things, i hope i haven't made a complete mess.

DISCLAIMERS: not that much of a smut thing, anyway is GhostxReader, arguing, terrible nicknames, gym, blame shifting, not having breakfast, recalling of behaviours that shouldn't belong to a military base but oh well.

..................................................

First part is here:

https://www.tumblr.com/tassodelmiele/746173281244151808/noisy-little-mess?source=share

..................................................

Next day, you skip breakfast.

Your ass hurts like hell, you've got bruises on your neck and it seems like you've gone through a fight with the full cast of a Jason Statam's kinda film.

You rush through all the damn base like crazy, avoiding smiles and greetings, in search for that goddamn man who has to give you explanations.

'Cause that sort of thing doesn't happen between two who barely speak at breakfast. 

'Cause you may find muscles attractive, but you've never told him you like him in particular.

'Cause he almost ravaged you, without even saying "goodnight".

And 'cause you've liked it. But that's not necessarily to be known.

You're about to go straight to the training camp (you've seen Soap nearby, and he's Ghost's shadow), when the wanted finds the detective: a door suddenly opens, and you bump into his goddamn big chest, almost drowning your nose in that rock solid-muscle softness pile.

Ghost looks at you like he's just stepped on a candy wrapper. You open your mouth, ready to yell:

«ok, now you're going to tell me, sir, what in the actual fu-»

Then, Price gets out of the office too. And your face blushes with the brightest red.

«…sorry»

«'s nothing. We've finished»

It seems like Ghost's trying to make you comfortable, and that just gets on your nerves. You look at the captain walking away, and before having the opportunity to speak again, the lieutenant has grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you in his office.

You do your best not to trip over your feet, almost making a pirouette to face him as he closes the door. You open your mouth, prepare your lungs to yell like a fucking eagle…and he stops you, cupping your face with all of the grace he's capable of, looking at you through his goddamn scary skull mask and spells:

«I'm sorry»

And your brain goes blank. 

You squeeze your eyes; you weren't ready for this. For a scold; for a joke, for him to make fun of you, for you to break his terrible per holder on his face…but not for this.

«…what?»

«I'm sorry. Fucking sorry, ok?»

«Yeah, yeah» you scroll his hands away from your face. «I'm sorry too for having my ass burnt and my fucking neck disassembled, that's not the point»

«I was just saying-»

«You were saying nothing»

«If you-»

«Sorry for what? For your kinks, or your lack of asking consent? Go on, i'm listen-»

And he ends up squeezing your face in his hand, glaring at you while you just stay still with your cheeks pressed together and your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

He sigh.

«You've caught me off guard»

You muffle, widening your eyes, about to try to say something but his grips tighten a little.

«Let me fucking finish! Bloody hell, you weren't so noisy yesterday! My god…look, 's not a great time to restrain instinct, ok? I'm not saying that you've…awakened something. You're not my type, anyway»

You start to move again in his grip, trying to punch him, but it's so easy for him to stop you.

«I just want to apologize 'cause i've acted by instinct, and is no good. And 'cause I've hurt you, of course»

He stares at you for five seconds before releasing his grip, and the first thing you say is:

«…not your type? Seriously?»

His eyes widen under the mask.

«You…is this really what you're interested in? Out of everything I've told you?»

«You haven't told me that much»

«What the hell-»

«And you're lucky i've liked it, otherwise i would have smash the whole set of weight on your face»

«Yeah, Yeah, sure, a gnome like you»

«I'm a gnome in berserk armor»

«Still a gnome»

«Fight me»

«I'm not wasting my time in a prison for your dead body»

«...weak»

«…don't you dare, rookie»

«Rookie a pair of nuts»

«Watch you fucking mouth»

«I can't do it, there's no mirror in here»

«…ok, maybe your murder is worth a life in prison»

«You're eating away your guts just 'cause i'm having the final say»

«No, but i'm going to eat your guts anytime soon» 

«Try me! Fight that fucking gnome! Then, you're gonna make better apologies»

«My apologies were flawless»

«You said i'm not your type! After…after making a mess out of me!»

«I've said, if you would have listen, that I was lead by my goddamn instinct»

«Yeah, and since when instinct tells you to ravage alone girls in the gym?»

«Since when i've heard you-»

He suddenly stops. Your mouth is still open, ready to talk back, when he starts to push you by the shoulder in order to get you out of his office immediately.

«Time is finished» he says as he tries to get rid of your presence.

But you're not ok with him.

«Nonononono, don't you even-»

«I've told you everything i had to»

«Fuck your excuses! You didn't even make me come!»

That wasn't a challenge. But somehow Ghost's brain classified it as such.

And the same night, in the gym, different machines…you spot him looking at you.

And your panties get instantly wet.

«No» you suddenly say. He gets closer.

«"No" what?»

«No. I won't»

«What?»

«Don't tease, you know "what"»

He doesn't listen to you, and starts a whole different topic: 

«Wanna know something fun, kitty?»

«Can you find another nickname, please?»

Ghost's eyes make a turn under the eyelids, as he repeats: «Wanna know something fun, gnome?»

You make a pout, and he goes on:

«you've been the only one with enough guts to yell at me since fucking forever»

«Well, you've been the only one to touch my panties since…fucking forever. We're fair»

«…you mean it?»

«What?»

«No boyfriend? No sex? Never?»

«Never. Don't make fun of me»

«Why should i?»

«Dunno. An almost thirty years old is suppose to have made something in her life»

«You're working. And living. That's enough»

You're about to grab a weight, but you leave it there, looking at Ghost through the mirror.

«…oh»

He raises an eyebrow.

«…oh? That's the most sensible thought you've got?»

«It's just…i've thought…well…»

«What? What was that little brain of your thinking?»

Your face blush like hell as he comes closer, every step of him is a skipped heartbeat for you.

«I-i've just…i've thought that someone like you may be more…demanding?»

«You don't know me» he towers you in all of his highs «little gnome. 'S dangerous making assumptions on your enemy without collecting intel, don't ya know?»

«You're not an enemy». You swallow, finding yourself hesitate. «…i believe»

«You don't seem so sure about it»

And then he gives you the most threatening, close up encounter with his mask, leaning on you like an eagle on a mouse.

«How come, little gnome?»

You swallow. Than you remember he's your fucking lieutenant, and you're in the base gym, and there shouldn't be nothing to worry about, really. And you feel like an idiot, blushing and lowering your eyes. You decide to use his weapons against him:

«…it's dangerous making assumptions on your allies without collecting intel»

And he stares at you, seeming happy with your answer.

«You do are a brat, don't you?»

«I'm the cutest rookie in the entire base»

«Someone's going to make ya eat that goddamn tongue of you»

«They're just jealous»

«'s not like that»

«…No? Than w-»

«You can't talk back to your superior. You'll end up getting in trouble»

You instantly blush, blowing your cheeks.

«I've never-»

«You're doing it right now»

You blush more, become as red as the goddamn Snow White's apple. Your mouth is finally shutted, and he seems proud of his work. You try to make a step back, gaining some distance between you and his massive body…but he follows you. He follows you and he gets closer, trapping you between him and the weights rack.

«I…don't think i like brats that much» 

Ghost is not touching you, but somehow you shiver under his voice as he's drilling your ears.  

«I like you more with your little mouth shut»

The last word is perfectly underlined by his voice; another shiver down your spine, and you try to fill the silence to not explode under his presence:

«I'm afraid i'm not that good at staying silent, sir»

And he grabs you by the cheeks, squeezing them in one hand without effort, leaning on you as his gaze catches your red face:

«You did a great job yesterday, kitty»

And you melt in your panties. You do it with a little bit of regret just 'cause you'd rather endure a little bit more. You're about to say something, even if you know that as soon as you open your mouth the only thing that'll come out is a moan, and…

He releases you, so suddenly you've to concentrate not to lose balance, stumbling on your feet. He grabs a weight, announcing dramatically:

«But i've seen you've got your mouth fucking open the 90% of the time. That's why you're not my type, little gnome»

«But…you've searched for me»

He stops, holding the weights silently; he's not looking at you, but you know he's waiting for you to keep on with the speech. You swallow again, your throat is almost dry now.

«I know you've heard me. That night. You've heard me…touching. And-»

«So what? You were loud»

«Not that much- anyway, you've come in the gym just for me, i know it»

«No way»

«None come to the gym that late»

«But you were there»

«I'd a busy day- but that's not the point! I wasn't even watching you!»

He hiss a: «liar» in the middle of a curl. You cross your arms.

«…ok. Ok, MAYBE i was, but just for one goddamn sec-»

«So you do like me»

«FOR GODDAMN-»

You shut your mouth, biting your lips before saying something that could cost you way worse than a scolding by your superior. Your feet stomp till the biggest weights you can lift, and you start your rdl sets, knowing you're gonna hurt your back.

But he's looking. He's looking through the mirrors (too many goddamn mirrors in this gym) and it hurts your pride how he's acting like he doesn't care that much. So you take a deep breath, and while resting after the first set you spit it out:

«So you've touched me just 'cause you've felt like discharging some frustration?»

His arms suddenly stop moving. He turns his gaze at you, watching you directly this time, as you keep on:

«'cause, you know, since i'm not your type i can't find other reasons why you should've come to do those things. My appearance doesn't turn you on, so you've just found the first random person to use»

You lift the weights again, ready to release your bomb:

«So childish. It's not that mature for someone in your position»

You have no time to get aware of him who's just thrown his weights on the floor, reached you in two big steps, and now he's taking your weights from your hands like they're light butterflies, also throwing them on the floor.

He's towering you again, fists clench and hazel eyes on you.

«…it's your fault»

Your eyes widen. You've expected something different.

«Uhm…what?»

«That's why my apologies were good enough for you. 'S just your fault»

«What the hell of a fault did i-»

«You did it on purpose. Those…those fucking sounds of yours, your bloody behave, everything. Goddamn. Everything»

«How?? How could-»

«I don't know, you bloody witch!»

«So learn to know yourself better!»

«Maybe you could behave like a normal human being!»

«I was!»

«Liar. Bloody liar, you've spent the most of the time jerking on every fucking chair you were touching»

«You're hallucinating»

«And you've walked with closed eyes if ya didn't even notice what the hell you were doing»

«I'm not some animal in heat!»

«You looked so!»

«You could've just asked me to stop instead of wetting your hands in my panties!»

«I-»

This is his time to bite his lips, choking words behind the mask. He stares at you, and you return the glare, arms crossed and ice cold eyes on him, pretending not to feel the wetness in your underwear.

He sighs.

«I could crush you with my bare hands»

You stay still, eyes wide open, hands buried in your sweatshirt, asking yourself why the hell does he seem so embarrassed out of nowhere. Ghost sighs again, louder, blowing hot air away as if he's trying to discharge his lungs from something heavy. 

«It's been days you walk everywhere with those goddamn swallowed eyes of yours, adjusting your panties under the uniform, trembling at the tiniest touch…what the hell did you expect? To not be noticed? You, a little whimpering knot tied on itself?»

Your mind gets blind for a second.

You listen with your eyelid twitching. It is…unreal. He's not describing you, that's what you try to get in your brain, convincing yourself that you've not behaved as he's saying. 

You start to mutter through your teeth: «…but…no, no way, i'm not that-»

«Shameless? Dunno, have you ever tried looking at your fucking face in a mirror?»

«I-»

«Look little one, if you don't believe me, just ask someone else. Everyone have noticed»

«But-»

«'s not that i'm scolding you 'cause of your hormones. I'm just explaining myself»

«You…you're not explaining shit!»

«I am»

And he leaves you like this, curled on yourself, insecure and embarrassed. He turn on his heels, sending you a few last words:

«Ask the others 'bout it. The answer will surprise you»

......................................

[seoness]

Sandor with a s/o who loves to draw/sketch/paint him? It can be hcs or a drabble or anything really.

Book!Sandor please. He’s so ugly I love him. ☹️❤️‍🩹

Praise be, praise be. Ugly is hot. Now this is a miracle, but I'll not waste a thousand words haggling over the fact that the features he's described to have are actually those which I consider attractive BUT this is not a complete miracle and I will instead ramble on about the issue of painting/drawing/sketching.

We don't see it much in ASOIAF. The artistry mentioned is often mummery, embroidery/needling, sculptures, and tapestries. (Although some armors seem to be quite the works of art, I am looking at you Ser Loras Tyrell).

Now, I am not claiming that this activity doesn't exist but I will be using our own history as a reference. Painting and even drawing/sketching were expensive back in the day (especially painting). Parchment isn't cheap. We don't really see nobles or the Faith acting as patrons for any type of painter. The only thing I can think of is shield-painters. So for the sake of ease, I am making this SO a member of nobility.

Headcanon

Every artist has their goal. To capture beauty, spark creativity, make a mark, or simply suck a little less.

It's a cliché to moan about not being understood, so you try to not moan too much when those around you don't understand. You smile, a knowing smile, often pared with a light nod. The "please-stop-and-please-do-not-make-me-ask-you-to"-nod. You've mastered it.

The thing is... a face is a face. Sure, the features change a bit but the principle remains the same. It's one of the things you never say out loud. How boring drawing can make the world. You study it, sure, but you study to capture not to admire. That can come later. Only if later ever came.

Every person has their own impossible. Some feat, some dream, something out of reach. Yours walked around the halls of the Red Keep.

Sandor Clegane was incredible. His face was incredible.

Plenty of people came to you for a portrait. Not him. One of the guards had asked you to draw him without the scar, curious how the man would look unburnt but it was one of the few portraits you refused. You never told Clegane, of course. The thought of that made you shutter. The guard would have stopped his howls long before Clegane stopped his fist from meeting the poor sod's face.

The solution was simple. You never asked for permission.

It wasn't a perfect likeness. You forgave yourself for that. After all, you had only managed to study him in passing but even the unburnt side of his face was difficult to do justice. He was more rugged. Harsher. Sader. You couldn't draw the burnt side. It was too intimate and you couldn't shake the sense that you wanted to do it justice.

So you continued. It became your secret. The ever-growing bundle of drawings of the Hound. Whenever you passed him in the hall your heartbeat soared, what if he could tell? What if he could sense that you carried him around? Glimpses set on parchment.

He was handsome. Fine, ugly by most people's count, but he was. No one else had a face you could study endlessly and never tire, but he did.

One evening you set out, it wasn't even to find him. Princess Myrcella wanted you to draw one of the birds in the garden for her little brother. The bundle of Hound-drawings just came with. They had grown into a source of comfort and shame. What if some servant found them? What if he was told? You'd die. If not by his hand, your own heart would just die right there on the spot.

Clegane shouldn't even have been there. The garden wasn't for him.

The collision was brutal... well, brutal for you. It didn't as much as budge him. Clegane remained a tower of darkened steel and you became a mess of cloth, parchment, powdered coal and a broken brush.

As you gathered the drawings you felt his gaze burning into your neck. Was it too late to tattle on the guard who wanted him drawn unburnt? Better him than you.

Clegane said something. You didn't hear, not while you talked over him and past him. You couldn't even retell what was said, you just talked and talked while you fled like a scorched rat.

Dorne? Sothoryos? Perhaps you could board a ship sailing toward the Jade Sea? Forsake your name and house and simply disappear. Yes, a sound plan. A fine plan.

Clegane didn't find you right away. Two days passed before he caught you in the hall, heading towards the Princess to deliver her drawing. There was no question, just a command: "Talk." You'd never been so quiet and so he shook you and repeated the command. "I was bored," you said, "and you're difficult to draw, interesting to draw. I haven't shown them to anyone... you could have them if you like or I'll destroy them if that's any better."

Clegane said nothing. He just released you and once again you scurried away like a scorched rat.

By nightfall a knock filled your bedchamber. Before you even opened the door, the stench of wine and ale seeped through the cracks.

Clegane didn't say a word as he stormed inside. You didn't even manage to tell yourself a prayer that it was drink that reddened his face. Rage, hot and black, filled his grey eyes. "That the lot of you do? Pissing yourself with fear before me and snicker behind my back," he spat, "interesting." "You are interesting," you answered meekly.

The chair let out a crack as his body slammed down upon it. The laughter thick in his throat. "Draw then. Go on, if it's any good I might let you live."

So you drew him. Clegane never told you if he thought the drawing any good, but surviving that night was answer enough.

Strangely enough, you hoped he'd come again. You'd take more time, allow yourself to admire him. Just for a moment.

[molsno]

what I've experienced and observed as an asexual trans lesbian is that engaging with certain kinks can be unhealthy and harmful, but it doesn't necessarily have to be.

by and large, most of the people who have "unhealthy" kinks are victims. that is to say, their kink originates from a place of trauma. someone who's experienced sexual abuse in the past, for example, may very well have internalized the idea that they deserved what happened to them. and because escaping that traumatic mindset is incredibly difficult, they may find themselves having sexual fantasies about being abused again long after the danger they were in ceases; to them, it can feel like being sexually abused means they're fulfilling what they believe to be their only purpose. these fantasies can be deeply damaging to a person's self worth, not just because they're blind to their own inherent value as a person, but because they're denying themself any form of sexual agency. they may very well seek out relationships in which they're abused once again. and that is unambiguously harmful! I've certainly seen several people that this has happened to, and it's an incredibly demoralizing and heartbreaking situation to observe and an even more miserable one to be in.

however, that isn't a universal experience. for some people, engaging with their kink with someone can actually be a source of empowerment. let's continue with the previous example. if, instead of seeking out a relationship in which they're sexually abused, they decide to engage in their fantasies with someone who genuinely recognizes their sexual autonomy - someone who they can honestly talk to about their experience, who respects their boundaries, and who communicates with them to establish safeguards to ensure that their consent is never violated - then they may well find a feeling of power over the situation that they didn't have before.

that isn't guaranteed to happen; for some trauma victims, their pain may be too great to replicate, even in a state of significantly reduced danger. some people may try to and discover that it is affecting them in an unhealthy way and stop. and that's okay! their sexual autonomy deserves to be respected. however, others who do engage with it may come out of the experience with a newfound recognition and acceptance of said autonomy. if they know they have the power to make the experience stop any time they feel uncomfortable, they may come to realize and truly believe that they didn't deserve what happened to them, and that they don't have to tolerate anyone who disrespects their boundaries in the future.

it's perfectly fine to not want to see someone's engagement with a particular kink. it can be upsetting for those who have been personally affected by it to witness recreations of it. luckily, in online spaces, there's an easy solution to this problem: you can avoid it by unfollowing or even blocking anyone who posts about it.

I find it troubling that so many people are averse to this idea - particularly because of the way they direct their anger toward trans women. it is a regular occurrence on this website and in fact most online spaces for someone to accuse a trans women (or multiple) of having an "inherently harmful" kink. often, these accusations are made with little to no context or even proof, if they're not simply fabricated outright (which they frequently are). accusing trans women of being sexual predators is one of the oldest forms of transmisogynistic violence you can commit, which is why I find it infuriating that this is such a common tactic in purportedly transfem-supportive communities.

perhaps you might be thinking that engaging in harmful kinks contributes to their normalization. I find this idea laughable, because sexual abuse is already normalized in society - it's baked into its very foundation, in fact. marriage, the nuclear family, christianity, police, the judicial system, and just about everything else was designed to give cishet white men absolute unchecked sexual power over women and children. and while some small advances have been made to chip away at this authority, by and large, these men are still free to perpetrate sexual abuse without facing any consequences.

minorities, on the other hand, have always been and continue to be violently punished for even being accused of sexual abuse. for example, there's a very long history of white women falsely accusing black men of rape with the express purpose of getting them lynched. still today, black people are viewed as hypersexual predators who pose a danger to white women and children for doing things as insignificant and nonsexual as wearing a revealing outfit. trans women are in a very similar position, with our mere existence being nothing more than a fetish to a significant number of tme people. it's no surprise, then, that accusations of sexual predation against us largely focus on the non-normative ways in which we often have sex.

what this inequality often looks like in practice is that cis men are free to browse the step-sister category on pornhub to their heart's content, whereas a trans woman who might, potentially, call her girlfriend her "sister" as a means of recovering from a form of sexual abuse she faced in the past is stalked online by people who believe her to be a physical danger to others, who will then publicize all of the details they can find about her private sex life with the intention of isolating her from what is likely the only community and support network she has. this should be obvious, but a trans woman without any community to accept her is significantly more likely to attempt to commit suicide, making this form of social outcasting a form of violence.

so the question then is, why does this happen? because let's be honest, it's not really about "removing predators from our communities", as much as people like to claim it is. if that were the case, then it wouldn't happen so disproportionately to trans women; the demographics of people accused would be more representative of their actual proportions. the real reason this happens is specifically because of transmisogyny. tme people, even those who are outwardly supportive, harbor internal conceptions of trans women based on stereotypes of us being sexual predators, and they react to our every action with undue scrutiny and vigilance. and because they hold the privilege of being transmisogyny-exempt, they can exert power over us in a way that they can't do to cishet white men by exiling us, knowing full well that they'll be believed by other tme people, even if they have no evidence of actual harm being done.

and that's the metric by which we should actually be judging the validity of claims of sexual predation - whether or not someone was actually harmed. if no one has genuinely been harmed, what good does it do to isolate someone from the only community they may have? that in itself is obviously harmful to the person being exiled, so the question to ask before utilizing it is: will doing so actually prevent more harm from being done unto others?

trans women as a whole are a deeply traumatized demographic. I can almost certainly list off more trans women I personally know who have been raped than who haven't. we are victims, in the vast majority of cases. despite that, we live under a veil of transmisogyny that constantly calls us dangerous degenerate freaks. as a result, some trans women develop coping methods you may find unpalatable. I'm not a very kinky person myself, and a result of me being ace is that a lot of even the most basic and common sexual acts are physically repulsive to me. because of that, I feel uncomfortable when I see people engage in certain kinds of sex and kinks, even if they're fellow trans women. you know what I do in these cases? I just don't follow them. I mind my own business and move on. it's really that easy.

arguing that nobody can engage in certain trauma-based kinks because it can harm them is short-sighted at best and actively dangerous at worst. how can you claim to be a feminist who supports bodily and sexual autonomy and be opposed to people having consensual sex you don't like? it's the same conservative rhetoric that aims to suppress women for taking control of their own sexual desires. it's one step removed from telling trans people not to get bottom surgery because they'll regret it. if you truly believe that people have the right to do what they want with their bodies, you're going to have to accept that some people will do things that personally make you uncomfortable, and you're going to have to acknowledge the fact that just because they make you uncomfortable, that doesn't mean they're harming anyone. just mind your own business. it's seriously not hard.