#The Gluts Love Me Do Again

[burinazar]

It's a bit funny that to parts of my circles I'm 'the fandom one'/'the fanfic one'/'the shipping one' as the person they know most prominently into such things

because as much as i love writing my fics and shipping my ships my interest in both of those things is, I think, very narrow and specific compared to most people who are into them? due to my habits being like. very particular

[schrodingers-romy]

You Don’t Gotta Hold Me Down, Baby (I Know How to Sink) [Shidou Ryusei x Reader]

Pairing: Shidou Ryusei x GN!Reader Word Count: ~1800 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: Ryusei is used to feeling empty at the end of the day; at least, until he has you.

Warnings: crying, some light depression i think from shidou, kisses, reader and ryusei are both lonely and weird idk what to tell you, no gendered pronouns/terms used for reader, gratuitous petnames, some innuendo but nothing sexual/heated happens

Notes: I read in the character book line where he 'cries at the end of the day when he becomes nothing' and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I sincerely hope it's in character but idk. I love him anyways tho and I had fun writing this <3 Title is a lyric from RELAX AFTER WORK WITH A DRINK by Lilyisthatyou.

At the end of the day, Shidou Ryusei becomes nothing.

During the day, lit by the radiance of the sun, he was something. He was in control of his own destiny, a daredevil chasing the high of the next explosion. Whether that explosion came from kicking a soccer ball or kicking some slime’s face in was irrelevant; it was the rush of endorphins it gave him that was important. He was in peak form, the predator at the top of the food chain, devouring the opportunities the world had gifted him, glutting himself on whatever adrenaline high presented itself. But it never lasted; the explosive energy he had faded to nothing at the end of the day, pleasure slipping through his fingers like smoke in the wind, escaping him with the escaping daylight. After sunset, he was left empty, void of any sort of vitality; like a combustion engine with no fuel to light, he was left stiff, and cold, and useless. Forgotten.

He didn't even bother trying to stay up much past sunset, most days. Even with the sun’s lingering warmth rising from the earth during the night, it was always too cold for him, without the light shining on him. He was a photosynthetic organism, relying on sunlight to create his own sustenance in the form of his explosions.

Ryusei liked to think that the faster he went to sleep, the faster he would see the sun again.

It even worked, sometimes.

But sometimes it didn't. Sometimes he lay there for hours, too tired to do anything, and too tired to sleep. It was a bone-deep exhaustion, one that made his joints ache dully, and his eyes stay stuck open, as tears dripped freely down from them onto the thin and faded material of his pillowcase. Those nights, he desperately waited for the sun to return, so he could come back to life. So he could go back to seeking some way to make himself feel. And maybe he would be lucky enough to somehow make his mark on the world, so he would no longer fade from it every night like a mirage.

But he hadn’t made a mark on the world yet. He had yet to make something of himself.

So, at night, Shidou Ryusei would cry as he became nothing.

-

You were both a particular brand of lonely.

Something in the both of you had noticed each other; like calling to like. You were too close for people who had known each other for such a short period of time; it would be concerning, if either of you cared. But you didn’t, so you spent your days attached at the hip. Gorging yourselves on the attention of the other, desperate creatures starved for the acknowledgement and understanding that you had only ever found in each other.

It wasn’t an understanding borne of explicit conversation; the two of you had discussed almost everything under the sun and moon, but you both excelled at skirting the razor’s edge of baring your issues fully. Whether it was because neither of you understood your own mind yourself, or because some sort of animal instinct in you just understood each other without having to spill the gore of your worst feelings, it was unclear. It didn’t really matter, anyways. You were two sides of the same corroded coin, two pieces of a defective puzzle that could only ever fit together.

-

It was past midnight, and you were exhausted. The noise from the television was nothing more than the canned background hum to Ryusei's presence. The true focus of the scene was his flickering gaze and the hot press of his thighs against yours. You were sitting so close you could nearly count every single one of his numerous blond lashes. The shadows they cast on his cheeks were hypnotizing to you, and you found yourself leaning into him, with a combination of your own sleepiness and the dizzy, floaty sensation you always felt when you were this close to him casting you off balance. You could not help yourself from leaning further in, until you were falling into him. Your cheek landed pressed onto the warmth of his exposed collarbone, where his oversized shirt collar had slipped down to reveal tanned skin. You let out a heavy sigh, nuzzling into him, as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you ever closer to his heated body.

“Tired, babes?” he asked, the uncharacteristic deep, slow tone to his voice betraying his own sleepiness.  

“Mhmm hmm,” you mumbled. “Too tired to go home. I’m staying here tonight.”

With anyone else, you wouldn’t have been so bold as to invite yourself to stay the night for the first time. But everything was different with Ryusei. You could be as bold as you wanted, take what you wanted, without fear of ridicule or rejection or anger. He would just give you a particular feral grin, when you asserted yourself, that made you feel confident and on top of the world.

It’s only because you’re so close that you felt the slight hitch in his breath. He covered it nearly seamlessly with his usual attitude. “Of course! I’d love to have you spend the night with me, sexy~”

You nipped lightly at his collar bone, chastising. “Just sleeping, Ryu, no innuendo intended.”

“Aww, how can you say that, after putting your teeth on me,” he whined, teasing. “You know that gets me going, sugar…”

“I want you to get going. To sleep,” you retorted. “I’m tiredddd.” You let your voice trail into a childish whine.

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ryusei shifted, sliding one arm underneath your thighs and one behind your back to lift you up into a bridal carry. “Do I have Your Highness’s permission to take you to bed? I promise not to have my wicked way with you there. Knight’s honor.”

“Ah, why would I not trust my most loyal knight? Take me away, good sir.”

Ryusei grinned wide enough to show gums, before carrying you out of the living room with surprising gentleness.

(Though it wasn’t entirely surprising, to you.)

-

The room was dark, aside from the weak, silvered light of the moon and stars that leaked from Ryusei’s uncovered window. It was just bright enough for you to see the faintest details of his face.

He looked softer, hair down, kohl washed away, venomous pink eyes half-lidded; a sort of physical representation of how he bared himself to you. You were compelled to pull him closer to you, until you could bury your face into his product-free hair. You let out a contented hum at feeling the abnormal silkiness of it.

You were so comfortable; you felt like you were melting into the mattress. It had been forever since you had gone to sleep feeling so relaxed (and safe, and not alone); you couldn’t be blamed for nearly drifting off the second you laid down with Ryusei in your arms.

You were almost gone, slipping into dreamland by the pull of the gentle hands of Morpheus, when you felt Ryusei begin to tremble in your arms.

It was like a switch had been flipped, removing sleep from the edges of your mind like the swipe of an eraser on a chalkboard. You were immediately focused on him.

“Ryusei? Are you okay?” you whispered, a sliver of panic slipping into your voice.

You could feel him shaking slightly in your hold, arms wrapped in a vice grip around you, face pressed tightly into your neck, hiding his expression from you. You felt a drip of wetness fall onto your skin and slip down.

He was crying.

“Baby,” you murmured, hugging his lax body even closer to yours, like you could tuck him away into your ribcage, safe and sound. “Ryu, darling, what’s wrong?” You felt off-balance, perhaps for the first time since you had met. Your understanding did not extend to this, not when he had so carefully pirouetted around any true pain he felt when you talked.

He gripped you tighter for a moment, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, before he relaxed his hold. “Nothin’s wrong.” He lifted his head to look at you.

The tear trails on his face were lit up like liquid drips of mercury in the moonlight. But he didn’t look devastated, as you expected; instead, he had the smallest, softest smile you had ever seen him wear. Even in the half-light, his gaze was soaked in so much affection, he looked love-drunk. It rendered you speechless.

“Y’know,” he laughed wetly, “I usually cry, at night. When I become nothing.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.

You lifted one hand to his face, wiping away the fresh flow of tears that leaked from his glittering eyes. Your eyebrows were creased, a pang going through your heart at his words.

But he wasn’t done, pausing only to nuzzle his cheek further into your hand, like a housecat. “Still cryin’, tonight, but I’m not sad. Y’see babes? I’m not sad. I don’t feel like nothing, I feel happy. Happy tears, sweetheart, just cause tonight I’m with you.” He giggled, hiccupping slightly as his laughter caught on the tears still welling up.

You gaped at Ryusei for a moment, before you yanked him into a kiss. It wasn’t the best kiss ever, still wet with his tears, barely more than a firm press of mouths together before you release him.

He grinned at you for a moment, before dropping back down onto you, boneless. “I feel drunk. Like I’m high. Crossfaded. On you, babe!~” he blabbered, sing-song. “It’s not an explosion, it’s a bonfire inside of me! Shit, this might be better than playing. Or fighting. I might even be a little horny right now, I can’t tell.”

“God, you’re so weird, Ryu.” You punctuated your statement with a firm kiss to his forehead, making an exaggerated ‘mwah’ sound that drew a giggle from the man on top of you. “I love you. I’m gonna be with you forever. I’ll move in, and we’ll sleep together every night, you’ll never feel like nothing again.”

“Maybe I AM horny…horny off of love…emotionally horny?” he rambled. “Fuck, I don’t know, babe, but I love you too, and I’m never gonna let your pretty ass go now, y’hear?”

“Perfect. We’ll become one organism. Symbiosis. Like lichen,” you breathed.

Ryusei let out a lovesick sigh. “Love it when you talk sexy to me.”

You felt one of his hands drift down to squeeze one of your ass cheeks.

You let out an exasperated, but fond sigh. “Ryusei. Go to sleep.”

“Okay honey~” he said, letting out a little giggle into your collarbone.

(And for the first time in years, neither of you fell asleep feeling empty, or lonely; and you would wake up to find joy in the sunrise together.)

[revelboo]

Would it be okay for a chapter two for Sunder and reader? I love this mech and I wanna know how he'd feel with reader just blocking his access to their memories. Memoryblocked 🙏

Sure!

Whipped Cream Pt 2

Sunder x Reader

• Servos flexing, his smile grows strained. That you can shut him out unexpectedly fascinating. “So much fear. I understand,” he croons as you watch him. Tensed like you want to bolt, but there’s nowhere to go. And you are calming, responding unconsciously to his soothing voice to let him slip back inside your mind. Keeping his touch light so you won’t kick him out again as he shivers and delights in your fears, your dreams. “Poor little love, to wake up somewhere strange. Alone and afraid? I’m here now, though.” Wants a taste of you, to touch you.

• That voice is crushed velvet stroking over you, almost hypnotic. Soothing the fear away until you want to find a way up there with him, curl up against him and rest safe there. That feeling of well being whispering through you even as there’s still the sense of something being very wrong jangling in the back of your mind. He shifts and the chains binding him clatter and you focus on that sound. “Chains,” you whisper, head lifting to find those blue optics. “Why are you chained down?” And when had you gotten so close to him? Hadn’t ever realized you’d moved, but now you notice the thin, sharp needles extended from his fingertips, skin crawling as they retract.

• “They don’t understand me. They fear me, but you have nothing to fear from me. I’d never hurt you,” he says, straining against his chains, hips lifting. You keep slipping out of his control, distracting him from gorging himself on your memories. Challenging him and it spreads like liquid fire through his lines. Goes straight to his spike. What would that feel like? To frag you while he gluts himself on your memories? Mnemonic needles slipping back out, his hips rock upward. Can’t reach his spike even if he freed it to touch himself. And the collar around his neck is keeping him locked mass displaced. A laughable attempt to mitigate how much of a threat he is, but this size? He could have you. “I’m so lonely for the feel of a hand in mine, little love.” So hungry. Starving and you’re deliciously tempting.

• The surface he’s chained to is taller than you are, but you’re almost certain you can jump enough to catch a chain and pull yourself up with him. No. Why would you want to do that? Cup his face between your palms and lean down to brush your mouth against his mindful of those spikes on his chassis. You don’t even know him, shaking your head, you press your fingers against your temples. “Stop that. Stay out of my head.” Because it’s him again. Screwing with you. Confusing you.

• “Such a clever, love.” Grinning, he laughs as you scowl. Oh, you’re going to be a delight to break, twisting you to his will. “I only want to touch you. Make you feel so good. You want that, don’t you? My body, my spike yours to use?” Sees your brow furrow, tastes your confusion, and he undulates his hips as much as he can bound, rocking his hips up and pretending he’s rutting against you and your face reddens. But you don’t look away.

Previous

[anantaru]

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS SHINE SO BRIGHT

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — sleepless nights with your boyfriend kuni.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ —1.1k

— ꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, soulmates, just very indulgent and fluffy

"kuni… are you asleep?"

snugly protected by the silky and soft blankets of your bed, there‘s a settling fatigued, weary voice scattered across the shaded room, your voice, that was spelling out your boyfriends name.

"i‘m not."

"—how did you know i wasn't?!"

of course you knew, you cannot not know, because no one was as exhausted and kept up by their own overactive mind as scaramouche was.

yet believe it or not, kuni would learn of a habit that was dear to him, more so important.

it was to wait for you to doze of way before he was allowed to do so himself— it‘s not like he was doing it on purpose anymore, maybe at first to make sure you‘re out of danger and safe, notwithstanding was it turning into a personal act of love, acting out the words his affections spoke to him.

scaramouche slowly slopes his arm over your body to lean into you— yet with your current state, you don’t have the energy to say anything or move at all— your muscles were thoroughly glutted with exhaustion.

while it was strenuous at first, he was finally close to you now. his warm touch the softest, gentlest and rarest, it's intoxicating and can turn a simple moment such as this one into home.

kuni’s head uses you as his own personal pillow and you feel his little hair strands repeatedly tickle your cheeks. It made you smile vividly and clear— and your heart was swelling deeply within your rib cage whenever you encountered such sincerity.

urgently, he was softly outlining your frame over your clothed body with his fingers. kuni's caress was exceptionally light  and even inside the shadowed room that was clouding his pretty face from your eyes to see— you could regardless of that, discern a tranquil smile squared on his lips— at nothing but the refined look of you being awake, next to him, being together.

"you can‘t sleep as well?" a whisper closing around your ears as he rubs your arm, silently placing his lips on you to pull you in for a quick kiss.

"no.." your breathing was slowed, emerging set apart, "i tried to sleep but it's not working." he can feel you hum against him, distantly, — a tilt shaken, somewhat saddened.

but here, you were safe, kuni realizes, there was no need for you to feel dejected. here, you were given the love you deserve, because all the repeated fire that burned in him was for you. here, in his arms, nothing was extinguished nor forgotten, but it was easier to navigate through, together.

"can you tell me a story kuni?" you tenderly slide your hands into his loose fitting sleepwear and hug him tight while drawing small circles on his bare back.

he quietly hisses at the coldness of your dainty fingers but melts into your touch despite that, smiling.

"hmmm.. a story?" he drawls and squeezes himself close to you— but by how he was approaching you, gentle and content, there‘s a honey laced perception in his tone of mannerism, an understanding kindness that only he was able to display on you. he‘s again, only offering you what you deserve, in kuni‘s eyes, it‘s everything and all.

he thinks about it, focusing and closing his eyes, hauling out a low lift of air from his lungs before speaking once more, "did i ever tell you about how i beat those two fatui guards up?" he whispers it, but proudly smirks into you too, like it‘s a love confession of some sort, as if this story wasn‘t filled with pure danger and sheer bloodlust.

a listless, airy laugh emits from the tip of your tongue which had brought his attention right back to you, "i don‘t think you did." but as you snuggle into his chest, effortlessly closing your eyes and giggle, you were eagerly awaiting a story that surely was to be wildly humorous and engaging to listen to.

"i‘ll make sure to leave out the violent stuff so you won‘t get nightmares because of me."

kuni kisses your temple, playfully entangling his legs with your own and coaxing out another laugh from past your lips— he loves doing that, letting yourself feel and experience, letting your tense shoulders fall back into the silken cushions as you play out the silly game.

now, the situation seemed more inviting, more, flowing. your mind was moderately simmering down, little by little, bit by bit.

"you‘re sweet, you know that?" this was a reminder you had planned to point out way sooner, "and you're mine kuni." with the little intention behind your words being to have your cute boyfriend flustered and giddy, all while innocently mushed into your body.

and oh, who could've seen that coming? could it be that you caught the usual cool headed and self controlled scaramouche off guard?

maybe, or— lets be real; clearly.

the truth was, kuni realizes that he needs this from you, to hear it, to receive a certain satisfaction that stirs his soul— to soften the emotions in him that were circumstantially hardened by his past.

something that would completely overthrow him to the furthest extent, words colliding and preciously riveting in his belly from how settling and compelling it was to hear this from you.

a reminder from his soulmate, you can say.

"you‘re saying this because you‘re tired." he proposes and fights back the urge to plant kisses all over your face and quote on quote, overdo it— but the spirited heatwave in his cheeks was only partly able to be kept concealed from you.

"no no no." you start to whine, leaning your forearms over his chest so he'd be the one laying down now, so it was you who could watch him perfectly— his scruffy hair, his beclouded eyes hanging low, his skin pale and illuminated by a single broken ray of moonlight flaring down on top of him, exposing his firm shoulders and collarbones from under the way too large sleep shirt he was wearing.

"i‘m saying it because it‘s true!" you huff, your eyes sparkling like the prettiest, most ethereal stars in the sky. "you're mine!"

"you need to stop doing that!" kuni can‘t elaborate on this feeling and hides his face into your neck, "don't do this." and a squeezed out mumble effuses from him onto your skin as he placed sweet little kisses on your neck.

you turned him all shy and embarrassed yet he’s rolling his eyes because, yes, you got him speechless, finally.

you giggle and slide your digits over the sharp outline of his jaw, "i'm not doing anything!" though he knows it better, knows when you were being particularly evil and ready to play out a short, cryptic game.

"fine.." he fights back a smile, "suit yourself then."

it's been a long time since you had him wholly dumbstruck and left bewildered, but … maybe he'll let you off the hook for tonight.

"tsk." he suddenly clicks his tongue, "—and here i wanted to tell you my story but you kept interrupting me!"

the night goes and passes between laughter and you kiss his lips under the stars that rest above you both, "please do tell."

and from the demise of the darkened negatives you felt just moments ago, kuni and you happily chatted away until the first out of many rays of sunlight grazed your fulfilled bodies with their presence.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[jodeeeart]

Hi Jodee! do you consider to use glaze or nightshade? (what's your opinion about ai "art"?)

Hi Nonny!

Thanks for the ask, sorry I am just getting to it now! To answer your question about Glaze, Nightshade and AI as it pertains to art, I support the poisoning! At the rate this technology is advancing, there needs to be a quick footed defence against the greedy reach of corporations that feel entitled to just help themselves. I am not really looking forward to the glut of mediocre ‘content’ sludge that’s inevitably going to be sold back to us either. It was already getting kind of unbearable in volume before the great churning began.

Ethics and morality aside, from a purely creative standpoint as an artist, it couldn’t appeal to me less. I can see how it might speed up the process and help with idea generation, which makes sense in a commercial environment where everything needs to be delivered yesterday but that’s not why I make art. It’s an expression of self and it’s deeply personal, connected and rooted in me. I love the process; I love learning and the feeling when I see or feel slight improvement.  The sense of accomplishment when I solve a problem. The meditative state it puts me in. Why on earth would anyone sacrifice that part of the process? Reward without effort seems deeply unfulfilling and down right depressing to me not to mention the atrophy of a skill set I have poured so much time into. There is a deep value in learning a skill, it goes way beyond the final piece or the money that can be made from it. Thanks again for the ask <3!

[lilfatboy100]

Junk Food Addiction part 1

It didn't take long for you to stop wanting to gain clean. At 200 pounds, you had a thin layer of creamy fat on your body despite stuffing yourself all day every day. I warned you about health problems, which only flustered you, and I warned you about your early death, which you didn't care about. The next morning I woke up much earlier than you did and threw out all of your usual food, going to the store and replacing it with garbage. You woke up to the sound of greasy bacon frying in a pan and hurried out to the kitchen where two boxes of the biggest, heaviest donuts I could find were sitting at your spot at the table.

You quickly ate them all and happily accepted the pile of bacon I made for you as well.

"Gaining like this is so much better already!" you exclaimed, your stomach still rumbling.

You made your way to the fridge and found it filled with everything you dreamed about having: heavy cream, candy bars, fatty meats, soda, cake, and more, and when you looked in the freezer it was more fattening delights: all manner of ice cream and frozen food I would bake for you if you asked. You grabbed a tub of ice cream and sat down at the couch with it, quickly polishing half of it off in front of the TV.

Throughout the first day, you ate anything you wanted and everything I put in front of you, which led to your stomach gurgling and churning all the junk it wasn't used to as well as bloating. You paid it no mind, you were more excited that you'd eaten over 5000 calories in junk instead of 3000 in clean food easily.

In only a couple of weeks, you started gaining like a pig pumped full of grease, gaining 10 pounds in two weeks. You'd never had a gain that big before, and it pushed you to keep pushing yourself to eat past your limits every single day in hopes to keep eating more and more calories. Your gain eventually slowed down to three pounds a week, but you were still gaining steadily.

To keep your gaining up, I made you stay on the couch as long as possible each day, where all you had to do was ask and I'd bring you food, whatever and however much you wanted. You were very greedy and always asked me for food, so I brought it to you. Obesity found you very quickly, and you kept going further and further in the pursuit of more flab to play with when you got bored.

It worked and you blimped, swelling to 310 pounds over the next year. For Christmas, you met my family, who were fascinated at your appetite more than concerned at how fat you were. You had your first major health issue at this point, because you had been so lazy your leg muscles atrophied and were swallowed by fat, meaning you could barely waddle without wheezing. You took this as a reason to never move unless you absolutely had to, and the fact that you had finally grown too fat to do much of anything excited you.

I found out about two weeks later when I asked that you wanted to be *more* unhealthy than you were, and that you were excited to start having real health issues. You asked me to make you gainer shakes, the unhealthiest I could think of, so I came up with a sweet shake. It was made of sweetened condensed milk, corn syrup, heavy cream, ice cream, milk, sugar, and some soda to thin it out, and it was packed with unhealthy calories that would clog your insides. You loved to chug it as often as you could, and you started blimping again. You also asked to have all of your food fried and all of your drinks to have extra sugar mixed in, both of which I obliged to.

Your first doctor's appointment after you started gaining led to recommendations for weight loss programs, personal trainers, and diets to make you healthier again and to lose the pure fat you had put on.

"Ha! Like I'd ever lose an ounce of any of this lovely lard!" You said once we got in the car, slapping your belly.

You gleefully chugged two pitchers of sweet shake when we got home after glutting yourself on McDonald's on the way, finally sitting yourself down with a tub of ice cream while waiting for me to give you the plate of fried food you asked for.

When you reached 500 pounds in another year, you had diabetes, hypertension, and an early stage of fatty liver disease, as well as having atrophied and drowned your muscles in flab and bring barely able to move.

[nataliesscatorccio]

i'm not being funny, Yellowjackets has genuinely changed the way that I watch tv. it's changed the way I read books, poetry. listen to music. watch movies. least of all because now I can't help but relate everything back to Yellowjackets, and most of all because it re-activated something in me that the fast-fiction streaming services tried to stomp out. it reminded me that I love to love things deeply, that I want to be consumed by the thing i'm consuming, that there's value in paying attention, in rewatching. value in consuming things for reasons that aren't checking this week's hot new binge off a to-do list like it's a job and i'm racing to finish with an invented urgency, just to reach the end and find myself unchanged and ready for the next "can't miss!" mediocre thing i'll never think about again. I want to sit down with the things that speak to me! I want to speak back to them, dissect them, understand more and understand better. I want to be inspired. by the media itself, by what other people have been inspired by within it. isn't it nice to be moved? don't you want to glut yourself on the meat of what moves you? don't you want to suck the bones dry? I couldn't have known how tired of throwing fatty scraps away I was until I found something I needed to leave bite marks in.

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 15 - Ghosts

{puscifer - bullet train to iowa}

tapestries & tile - part iii

And Marius knows how Daniel gets.

The way the blood is still too wild in him, how he hasn’t figured out where to put all of it.

Marius remembers it well, when he was a fledgling. It never really stopped for the first couple centuries, but Pandora had been there to tame him. He could submit to her in a way he hadn’t submitted to anyone as a human, and even with the blurred edges around sexuality he found release there.

So he knows the hazy look in Daniel’s eyes, that soft pleading. 

They pull away, just enough to see each other better. Marius’s hand anchors on Daniel’s left pec, so that he can cradle the frantic heartbeat.

“You remind me of him,” Marius says gently. “In the most surprising ways. Sometimes I think you’re nothing like him at all, and other times…”

Daniel’s bottom lip quivers, and he leans in for a kiss, but Marius holds him back. Where he might be frustrated, it seems that the show of force only arouses him further.

“How? What do you mean?”

“Oh, exactly this,” he says. He hand gropes at Daniel’s chest to emphasize how his heart skips. “He was a naive young boy in love with a monster.”

How strange, Marius thinks, as the realization dawns on Daniel’s face, that these two wanted it. 

“It would thrill you, wouldn’t it, to feel so helpless again?”

Daniel’s face flushes, and the pinch of thirst is so palpable that Marius feels it shock between them. 

“Isn’t that why you felt so neglected in the end? Was he too gentle with you?”

Something like hurt flickers across, gone just as quickly as it arrived. Ugly truth that he doesn’t like to admit to. It’s safe now, though, as if mixed into a game. 

A collage of memories passes through his mind as he settles—Armand, holding him down. Biting him on the throat, holding him too hard by the hair. And awful fights, where Daniel was convinced Armand might hit him. Armand, subjecting him to the strangest humiliations—medical procedures, nipple piercings, stuffing him with food until he was sick. But all of that chaos had felt passionate at the time. He’d missed it later, when he was too sick to participate.

He thinks of Marius, too, though. The equal parts of fear and intrigue when they’d first met. The eerie way he can stare. That he can feel Marius’s age permeate every room they’re in.

And Marius’s teeth, his effortless strength. Times he’s come home so glutted on his blood that his cheeks are red and his skin is hot, and the times he barely disguises the blood under his nails and the aura of shame. 

A monster.

Seeing so much in Daniel’s thoughts invokes that same shame. Just a little—enough to twist in his stomach. But the hunger in his eyes quells it all the same. Heady reminder that it isn’t repulsive.

Marius slides his hand up Daniel’s chest, feeling his breast bone, his clavicle. Tracing the bulge of his Adam’s apple. 

How easily he could sink his fingers into the still-young flesh. Still fledgling soft. And how easily he could wrap his fingers around the rubbery larynx, the trachea, the esophagus. Injury like that might even kill a vampire. 

“I could tear your throat out,” he whispers, and such revealing shaky desire flickers on Daniel’s face. The hard edges of his nails scrape gently across the skin—still as freshly shaved as the night he died—and without the need for prompting, they both think of Armand, so tenderly dragging the razor across him.

“Marius—”

“No,” he scolds quietly. But there’s a quiet blank space between them, unsure what word to use. Not Master, no, that’s laid to rest. And neither are sure that Daniel is ready for something like Daddy, even as it almost blooms on his lips. Something to work towards, perhaps, when Armand’s ghost is less present. 

Daniel swallows, his eyes glazing for a moment like they used to when he wasn’t present.

“Sir,” he amends.

He strokes his fingertips along the line of Daniel’s jaw. Traces Daniel’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Daniel’s mouth opens, without being asked, and Marius presses inside.

Just warm enough from Little Drinks. Marius considers scolding him for going hungry, and wonders how Daniel might take to killing, if he’s ready for it. Doesn’t have to be the messy way that Marius kills these days. Marius could find someone for him. Some perfect victim to fill him up.

Not now, though. Tomorrow, he thinks. He imagines the way the blood will color Daniel’s face. How hot his mouth will be after, still tasting of all that violence.

Pleasure shivers through his ribs at the thought.

“Knees,” he says, heart racing at the easy way he slips back into the role. His insides flush at the sight of Daniel’s lidded eyes, at the faint gleam painting across his bottom lip. He looks drunk as he sinks down to the floor, fists balled at his sides as he obediently gazes upwards, waiting for more.

Something monstrous about it, Marius thinks. Not in Daniel—in himself. Strange urge that he’s kept locked away, too ashamed of it after everything.

But the dreamy look on Daniel’s face. The way he hangs there, floating the way Amadeo used to. The way he’s craved this. 

You’re just like him, Marius thinks. Naive boy in love with a monster.

“Open,” Marius commands. And he’s biting his tongue, letting it bleed for a moment, tasting himself as he squeezes around Daniel’s jaw. 

He squeezes too hard, and he knows it. Sees the pain flash across Daniel’s face, but feels the hunger all the same. Hears the way Daniel’s heart skips, sees the way his pupils blow wide.

You like this. He presses his wounded tongue to the roof of his mouth, and wraps his next thought up tight. And so do I.

City noises rise around them, and the breeze off the ocean is cool at his back. The bass of a car stereo rattles the windows, and a girl scream-laughs from the street below.

New century and there are still things to learn. 

Daniel’s tongue shines glossy as he obeys, as he waits, and the light pollution that hovers around them shines pink in his eyes as Marius spits into his mouth.

[tujhse-raabta]

before I sleep I need to get this out of my head, perpollo aus i love you so much

"You made me your Cassandra, didn't you, Doctor Olympia?" Percy's voice trembles under the weight of his fury.

(Is it fury? Is it hurt? Is it an obsession above all others? He never can tell the difference, when it comes to Apollo.)

His therapist doesn't have the slightest decency to show shame. There's an indulgent smile on his face, an almost pride at the reference.

Percy doesn't feel anything at it. He doesn't. There isn't a warmth at the base of his gut, no smile that was lost along the way to realisation. No glint in his eyes at the obvious approval, no subconscious tilt towards the man monster god who has become his centre of gravity.

(For all of Percy's insistence that none of it exists, Apollo sees it all.)

"I have immortalized you to me, yes."

Percy howls. Everything he says, it'll always be turned against him with this man.

"I'm sand to you." He says, words vicious and cutting. "I'll bide my time. When will you lose your grip, only to never find me again?"

"Oh, Perseus," his bane responds, tone wrought with indescribable softness, "You are more than crumbling dirt. You are the sea - every action, an unparalleled, unpredictable, shift of beauty. You are the very base of the Earth - every movement destruction and creation all at once. You are the Muses - every word to escape your mouth, a life changing symphony."

Pretty words for a serial killing cannibal.

(But isn't that how he hides? Everything about Doctor Apollo Olympia is pretty. He is the pinnacle of creation - he is grace, and appeal, and an angel among men. Was Lucifer not the most beautiful?)

"I scream." Percy says bitterly. Aching to touch, to taste. Knowing that if he just reached out, he'd be allowed it all. Knowing that he would glut himself on the privilege that is Apollo - till he bursts at the seams, filled to the brim with gleeful sin. "I scream the truth, and no one listens. Not Annabeth. Not Lupa. Not one, single person. And those who do... Well. Rachel rests in pieces, doesn't she?"

Apollo tilts his head, acquiescing. "Have you considered, agapitós, that I would not let anyone else bear the pleasure of hearing you?"

(Agapitós. Beloved.

Also interpreted as pet. Is that all he is? A beloved possession who just so happens to breathe?

Percy doesn't find the idea as disconcerting as it should be. After all, there's few things he loves more than his dogs.)

"Cassandra." He repeats, defeated even if he tries not to show it. Resigned. "She who entangles men."

Percy's a good fisherman. He knows his bait, and he knows his hook. He can tell when the hook is caught so deeply, that the only escape to pain is death. He knows when the net sprawls inevitably, and he sees the exact moment where fish cross past the threshold to survival.

He wonders how he missed it, this time.

[toptierteaser]

Feeder Thoughts

You just can’t help yourself. Can you, fatboy?

                Look at you. Look how greedy you are. Stuffed to the gills! Huffing from all the food I just coaxed down your throat! One treat after another. Look at your fattened, handsome face! Your plump lips parted as you desperately attempt to gasp in some air. A fattened blowfish struggling to breathe!

                I hold your face, run my thumb along your wet, crumb-covered lips. You look at me, lazily, eyes halfway opened, as if in a trance, desperate to fall fast asleep into the deepest food coma you’ve ever entered. And then I show you. The cupcake, as luscious and as plump as you…almost. Frosted in your favorite color. Your eyes widen comically, like saucers as I waggle the dessert in front of your face. Your irises cross as the cupcake comes closer to your mouth, fear and want battling to overtake your brain. I can see the inner workings in your greedy, piggish mind. The faint fear. Dear God, you think. I think I’m gonna pop! Oh, but it just looks so good!

                I know you, fatty. You have no self-control. That’s why you open your mouth for me, like a good little piglet. That’s why you let me shove the cupcake in, cramming the frosting directly onto your tongue as I daintily peel the paper from the bottom. And then, with a tantalizing flourish, I push it in, pressing it with my index finger, so that it slides all the way into your mouth. You sit there, struggling to chew. I know you enjoy it, fatboy. I know how much you love the flavors, the sugary frosting consuming your tongue, a rush of dopamine entrancing your mind. You chew and chew and chew. And then, with a final, sticky gulp, the whole of it descends down your thick, greedy throat.

                You’re helpless to stop me, fatboy. You just sit there, leaning back against the chair, your body vulnerable and exposed. Look at all that blubber! Just look at all that dough! It shimmers, your fat puffing out in every direction, covered with a thick layer of sweat. A mixture of excitement and fear, and the exertion from stuffing yourself like a pig for me!

                I reach over, grabbing another cupcake. Real terror overtakes your face as you subtly shake your head in disbelief. But you don’t dare protest aloud. You know what I can do to you, how much I can make you eat. Your mouth is open and I coax it in as your eyes roll back in pleasure…or perhaps you really are slipping away into that food coma.

                Your chest heaves beneath your juicy man boobs. You breathe around the mouthful of cake. Your belly, reflective and exposed, pushes out against the waistband. I press it with my other hand and your eyes widen again as I push into your fat, seeing how much of you is chub and how much is a tubby belly full of food. I prod you, inspecting the results of all our feedings. The thick blubber that encases your thighs. The plumpness of your love handles that rest at your belly’s sides. The softness of your double chin as your handsome face is slowly lost in chub.

                You can’t do much of anything right now. Besides sit back and eat, letting me coax one cupcake into your gluttonous belly, and then another. You fear that you might split at the seams, but of course you know as well as I do that I know your limits better than you! I know how much you can handle. I know how to push the boundaries of your appetite, the limits of your stomach. You know how much of a greedy fatboy I’ve turned you into already! All you have to do is to sit back and eat, to let me stuff you with goodies. To soften up in my hands, to pudge up in the chair. To let me fill you as you fill out the seat, expanding before me. To lose yourself in the pleasure of the flavors. To grow for me, fatboy. To eat until I tell you to stop. To eat and glut and grow…

[arialerendeair]

Happy birthday beloved friend!!! Hope you have a happy and magical day. I wonder if I'm being too predictable by asking this, but I'd LOVE to read more of your musclechub!Hob. Either in the "Well Matched" universe of something completely different!!!

Love you heaps! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

IT MAY NO LONGER BE MY BIRTHDAY, BUT MUSCLECHUB!HOB IS FOREVER. And you might be a little bit predictable but I love you for it.

Well, I wasn't originally going to do the Well Matched universe, but then I re-read the fic, so of course that's what I had to write!

~!~!~!~!~

The last vestiges of his heat were finally starting to fade, and Dream could feel how wonderfully sore his body was, despite the two baths Hob had given him, and the shower that he had just finished taking, and he stretched, luxuriating in it. The mirror was finally starting to clear, and Dream could see the raised mark on his neck, where Hob's teeth had sunk into him two nights prior when his heat had started. He purred softly, reaching up to stroke over it. As it healed, it would scar over, and everyone would know that he was loved, that he was claimed, and even his family would not be able to dispute the fact that he and Hob were True Mates.

"Dream, you all right?" Hob called, poking his head into the bathroom, smiling at the sight of Dream, naked and marked and HIS, his pleased and happy scent something that he could spend hours drowning in. "Everything okay love?"

Hob had only bothered to put the skimpiest pair of shorts on, and Dream licked his lips with a growl as he turned to look at his mate. His heat was starting to fade, but the intoxicating knowledge that Hob was HIS, was always going to be HIS never failed to arouse him, so he could bury himself in Hob again and again, and his mate would welcome him with open arms. "Better now that you are here."

Hob stepped into the bathroom and reached out to wrap an arm around his waist squeezing him and pulling him in close. He nuzzled into Dream's neck and pressed a kiss to his mating mark. When Dream turned to press up against him, Hob enveloped Dream in both of his arms and nuzzled into his hair. "Mmm, my mate. You smell like mine."

"Yes," Dream agreed, his fingers digging into Hob's sides, the strength of his arms, the warmth of his skin, and the hair on his chest and belly were enough to have his body clenching with want all over again. "Yours. Always." It was an easy and ready promise to make. The past two months had been a non-stop haze of pleasure that he wanted nothing more than to continue to sink into until his whole body was surrounded by Hob.

"Mmm, you want me again?" Hob asked, his voice teasing. "My insatiable mate."

Dream growled and slid his hands up and over Hob's belly, scraping his nails along the hair there, nuzzling down and into Hob's chest, the faint scratch of his chest hair. "I want you always. I would glut myself on the glory that is your body again and again until there is nothing left in me. Until you are consumed by my scent, until everyone knows you are mine." With a shove, he pushed Hob back into the bedroom, any thought of clothes, or managing to go outside gone as he pulled down the offending shorts keeping him from Hob's bare skin.

Hob groaned and followed Dream's insistent pushing, until he was bouncing on the bed, with his mate crawling eagerly on top of him. "Going to ride me again? Or do you want something else?" He grinned at Dream knowingly and grabbed his hips, tugging at Dream until his mate was straddling his waist, slick and hard for him. "Want something?"

Dream rocked himself along the curve of Hob's belly, the rough texture of hair enough to have him shuddering and leaking steadily as he made a mess of Hob. He wanted Hob in him, but he also wanted him just like this, and the conflicting desire to have everything had him whining, because he NEEDED and wanted all of it. When a finger slid into him, deep and searching, he arched and shouted, because, yes, between that, and Hob's body between his trembling thighs was perfect, was everything he wanted.

"That's it, beautiful, that's it. Mark me up, drench me in your scent, make sure everyone knows I am yours and only yours," Hob ordered, slipping a second finger into Dream, through the slick trailing down his thighs. It took Dream no time at all, but soon he was coming, shouting as he arched and his legs clenched down tight around his hips, until he trembled and collapsed on top of him. Hob laughed and reached out to comb his fingers through Dream's hair as he slipped his fingers out of his mate.

"S'good," Dream slurred and pressed his nose to the mark he'd left on Hob's neck. "So good." He rolled his hips lazily, dragging his soft cock through the mess. "Going to make a mess of you so I can wash you off later."

Hob laughed and squeezed Dream. "Sounds great love. Maybe if you feel up to it, you can put me on my knees and fuck me later. Maybe after I've fucked you, knotted you, and plugged you up."

Dream moaned. "Horrible influence."

[unicyclehippo]

For the one-word prompts, glutted?

post 67

the hound lay at the entrance to their hideaway, glutted on scraps and slumbering, content, under laudna’s stroking hand.

it was, it had to be said, a wretched thing. what skin it had was mottled and torn to reveal grey flesh; what grey flesh it had was ravaged and split to reveal bone; what bone it had was brittle and cracked, missing pieces of itself to reveal the hollow hurting ooze of marrow and shadow; what shadow it had menaced in eye hollows and the depths of a growling throat, it was a flicker of dark purpose linking bones and ragged tendons. it was also just kind of gross. the shadow bled out of the hound as they rested, a creeping pool of black that was starting to be soaked up in the hem of laudna’s new skirt. she didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she didn’t mind. long pale fingers scratching behind a tattered ear.

‘does it have a name?’ imogen eases herself down at laudna’s side, a full plate for them both to share in one hand. she uses the rock wall for help instead of laudna’s shoulder; that would only end in disaster or dislocation and she figures they’ve both had enough ouches for the day.

two pairs of inky eyes blink over at her. the hound growls, low in its chest.

‘don’t be foolish,’ laudna chastises. for a moment, imogen can’t be sure who she’s talking to. ‘this is imogen. if you growl at her again i’ll unravel you.’

it ought to worry her, the way laudna’s been talking to them. pate, the hound. and it does, a little—the scolding, the rebukes, the dismissing. it doesn’t matter if pate dies, he’s already dead. let me throw him, let me use him, he’s mine i made him. that coiled tacky knot of pride and disgust. look at what i’ve made.

imogen lifts pate onto her shoulder and settles their dinner on her knee.

‘it’s alright. it’s brand new.’

‘no it’s not. it helped kill a judicator.’

imogen hums, nods. ‘and you told it all about me during the fight.’

‘well. no, but,’

‘so how could it know?’ she clicks her tongue st it and, when it lifts its head, curious, she pats it. it was cool to the touch, something imogen was quite familiar with, and slimy. if tar had a dead cousin, that was what the shadows were fashioned from; it left a grey film on her fingers that laudna groaned about but imogen only laughed, burned it away with a flicker of lightning. ‘are you going to name it?’

laudna grimaces. pats it a moment longer before her fingers curl around a black current of energy, a leash, and the hound sighs and collapses in on itself. when it’s over, there’s nothing left but a black stain on the rock.

‘we shall have a menagerie soon,’ laudna jokes. her mouth stretches in a pretty smile. her eyes stay locked on her lap, her twisting fingers. ‘pate, mister, the dog.’

‘chet.’

it startles a chortling laugh from laudna, that really wonderful one, boisterous, gleeful. ‘that’s wicked,’ she scolds, grinning.

imogen grins back. ‘i love your laugh.’

laudna’s eyes widen. she laughs again, nervous. glances over to the rest of their party clustered closer to the smokeless flame, orym with his sister. when she looks back to imogen, shadows slink through her shadow-black hair, and secrets creep behind her eyes, soft and hazy. ‘m-my laugh?’ she asks, softly. ‘truly?’

‘yeah. always. i like how you can tell how genuine it is.’

laudna ducks her head. ‘i have always enjoyed yours as well.’

‘i sound like a horse,’ imogen grumbles. laudna nods, very sweetly, which earns her a gentle slap on the shoulder. ‘you’re ‘sposed to say no, imogen, you don’t sound like a horse,’

‘darling, you do. it’s very…’ laudna tilts her head to an uncomfortable angle. ‘cute,’ she says slowly, word awkward and uncertain, like she isn’t sure of it, sure she should be using it. ‘it’s - well - it has always been such a treat. you don’t laugh nearly enough, in my opinion.’

‘i don’t remember laughing before i met you.’

laudna smiles again, eyes soft. it’s sad and a little awful, to admit it, to think it—surely there was a time, some friends when she was younger, but the memories are staticky with hurt and fear piled over them. there’s something so nice about laudna, her cheer of course, but also her teeth, her chill, the way she can reach out and menace someone to their very soul. with laudna at her side, hurt and fear can’t do very much.

‘i was considering truffle. for the dog.’

‘truffle.’

‘yes! it has such a prominent snout, perhaps it was a truffle hunter in another life.’

imogen settles their dinner plate between them, moves so she can be close to laudna. tuck herself into her side, almost as protected as she had been, wounded, shielded. ‘i like it.’

‘but you don’t love it.’

‘i just don’t know if it fits.’

‘no? hmm. i’ll give it some thought.’

[sdyd]

𝑀. the secrets of life ... sentence starters from valentine wolfe's 2018 album, the haunting of mary shelley. feel free to change tense / pronouns !

you'll see me soon, or nevermore.

how slowly time passes here.

I am as fixed as fate.

I can't stop, or turn back now.

I've left too much unsaid.

I am your voice in the dark.

I have no friend.

they will try to cut you up.

they will put you back together wrong. so very, very wrong.

a vessel can have many purposes.

decoration lends a purpose

hold on to my voice at night.

you can be remade.

revel in the decadence as they wallow in their ignorance.

you will have all the knowledge they foolishly squandered away.

you won't ever be alone again.

you can hear her anguished cries.

your compassion makes you perfect, so perfect.

I know what you seek.

I know why you cry.

I know your breaking heart.

I know how you'll die.

[ name ] was as a daughter.

we thought that your compassion made you perfect.

the shadowed window pane offers a ghostly glimpse into your paradise of domestic bliss.

where is my place in this ?

I am an endless wanderer upon this land, a maker's thoughtless touch.

why am I so alone ?

you never stooped so low.

chase away my fears.

my tears must burn with rage.

lashing out in anger, my soul is fractured fragments.

this haunted world is littered with the ghosts of the past.

everywhere I turn there’s a part of me in all of them.

there’s so much of you in all of me.

but I don’t fit.

then sorrow shall follow behind me as my bridal train.

It’s a mystery I never understood.

it's not your story to tell.

she never knew her mother.

her voice was always there.

If only the good doctor had taken better care to imbue their new creation with a mother’s love.

what horrors might have been averted !

this author knew her subject well.

all men hate the wretched, how then must I be hated.

your actions have wronged me, I must have revenge.

I am miserable beyond all living things.

make me happy, I shall again be virtuous.

what flows out must pour back in.

I will be with you on your wedding night.

I will glut myself on your shrieks.

I will revel in your misery.

I bear a hell within me, I will loose it all upon you

you will learn to dread misfortune, you will learn the agony.

I will work at your destruction, I will desolate your heart.

the death knell shall be rung, each toll a stake into your heart.

in the halls of silence, electric genius cursed me.

I remember when I wondered : what if no one had to die ?

no more farewells.

you will never have to die.

it was not what I'd intended.

I was only ever meant to live alone until the end.

death is now a welcome guest.

the pages turn, the book never ends.

the story grows cold inside my head.

I only ever wanted to help.

the echo of you will never be enough, as long as the black veil separates us.

even stretched on your grave, I’m not close enough.

the reaper is a friend.

death's kiss is a gift.

you took from me, my agency.

now I'm just a whisper in a shadow.

I am leaving this world behind.

do not search for me in heaven.

they were atypical in their custom and belief.

yet, I am bound to them.

they would slander and decry that which they don’t understand.

ignorance will lead to fear, especially if it runs unchecked.

the only way to fight the dark is by lighting up the truth.

never once back away from what lies beyond.

your lies can't hurt me now.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Cherry Magic (Thailand) - final thoughts

So this is where I confess I still haven't seen the original Cherry Magic (*ducks thrown fruit*). I know, I know! It really hasn't been on purpose, I just happened to get into BL at this very particular time where I was starting to catch up on quite a few recommended watches, and then we got this firehose of new content, and now I'm just eternally behind (good problems, I know).

All that to say that when the initial trailer came out, I didn't have any baggage from feelings about the previous one, so I kinda just ignored the complaints and thought it looked super cute and fluffy. And it was!

What I loved:

This show had such A+ casting. I love Tay & New. They're good individually, they're good together, they have great chemistry, and are fantastic actors. I was so glad to see Junior again after he was so stellar in Midnight Museum - playing a very different character, he has great range - and I like that they had tested his and Mark's chemistry there first, so they already had a good level of comfort here. And I adore Jan & Sing as well, so always happy to have them on screen.

I adore that this show prioritized showing healthy communication. People were willing to talk about things. Achi telling Karan about his mind-reading was so good. When things went wrong, like their first date, they would talk about it afterwards. The miscommunication trope is one of my most hated, because I have gotten to an age where I just strongly feel that no one has time for that kind of bullshit. And this show agreed with me!

Also the scene where Karan's sister gives feedback to their mother about how she's treating Karan was incredible, and if I have time at some point, I want to talk about how she nailed all the key elements of sharing feedback in a way that will encourage someone to truly hear it. (I know a lot of people don't like to hear this because it's easier to call people dumb or tell them to "shut the fuck up", but if you actually want to change minds, this is how you do it).

Getting more of an exploration of queer life at an older age, having to navigate your work and friends and families as you discover new things about yourself. We joke all the time about the glut of university shows, but seriously, that's a time that is well past for so many of us, and it means something to delve into more adult life.

Relatedly, I also really identified with Achi both as someone who is demi, and as someone who's realized things about my identity at a much later stage than most. It was nice to have that kind of representation.

The theme of what healthy love can bring to our lives. Most of the show is focused on romantic love, but I love that the platonic love and support also plays a very large part. We don't want to be dependent on others to feel good about ourselves and what we are capable of, but the support and caring of others can often be really important in being able to take that next big step, or to see something in yourself that you didn't even realize was there before.

Anyway this show is marshmallow fluff in visual form, and getting both this finale and Perfect Propose finale on the same weekend has left me with many warm fuzzies on my insides.

[b-else-writes]

The Great CLAMP Re-Read Part 10: Magic Knight Rayearth

Part 1 (RG Veda) | Part 2 (Man of Many Faces) | Part 3 (Tokyo Babylon) | Part 4 (Duklyon) | Part 5 (Clamp Detectives)| Part 6 (Shirahime)| Part 7 (X)| Part 8 (Chunhyang)|Part 9 (Miyuki-chan)| Part 11 (The One I Love)

In 1991, Sailor Moon was launched in the magazine Nakayoshi, aimed at younger girls. It kicked off an era of fantasy and magical girl-oriented manga, and CLAMP were scouted to publish their own in Nakayoshi. Rayearth is very dear to me as my very first CLAMP story, as the anime aired in my country in my kindergarten years. Released in two parts, Part 1 ran from 1993 to 1995 in 3 volumes, followed by Part 2 from 1995 to 1996, again in 3 volumes. It spawned a two season anime, an OVA, multiple video games, a forthcoming new anime, and countless merch. I purchased the 25th anniversary release, a lovely hardcover version that allowed me to appreciate and reflect on a childhood love as an adult.

I've discussed how X ended CLAMP's 90s run, both in art style and thematic content, but I do think Magic Knight Rayearth was the beginning of that end. The mega-hit cemented their rising star, and proved that CLAMP's favourite themes could be meaningfully applied to a younger audience they'd never reached before. While Rayearth does not entirely stick the landing, it cannot be overstated its impact on the magical girl genre as it deconstructs and reconstructs ideas of girlish purity, innocence, and power systems in a thematically brilliant combination of philosophy, fantasy, and video game tropes. Some imagery from Rayearth has remained with me forever, a testament to its emotional impact. Heavy spoilers!

Synopsis: Three colour-coded Tokyo middle schoolers are summoned to the world of Cefiro, where the strength of your heart's will can shape yourself and the world. Princess Emeraude is Cefiro's Pillar, spending all her days praying for Cefiro's peace. But the priest Zagato has kidnapped Emeraude, and Cefiro is crumbling. The trio, revealed to be the Magic Knights of legend, must journey and level-up, video-game style, to unlock the mashin and save Cefiro. But all is not as it seems about Emeraude's kidnapping - and should the happiness of a world rely on the prayers of one single girl? Who will pray for that girl's happiness? Can such a world be truly beautiful?

The Story: Initially, Magic Knight Rayearth feels charming but a bit rote - especially in 2024, with a glut of bad isekai out there. Cefiro isn't a terribly fully-realised world and we never meet its ordinary citizens - though the pace means we don't really notice. Hikaru and Emeraude embody the classic pure-hearted shojo, who valiantly fight against the evil adult sexuality the likes of Alcyone and Zagato. Yet, the rote nature of the girls' fantasy video-game quest is precisely part of Part 1's entire deception: Princess Emeraude is not a child, but an adult woman trapped in the confines of the Pillar System that demands she remain a sexless little girl and pray for the happiness of others, instead of her own. The Magic Knights exist to kill the Pillar, following their pre-scripted roles to the one of the most haunting moments in manga where they have no choice but to kill Emeraude.

Its such a brilliant deconstruction of magical girl tropes that usually valorize girlish innocence, where everything can be overcome by the purity of one's heart, and fantasy RPGs, of a perfect princess and an evil dragon. The Magic Knights never consider Emeraude's humanity or free will, only her relation to her society, playing the video game only to realise the entire system is broken and at its heart, Omelas-style, lies a suffering child. Its bone-chilling as the girls celebrate that they've saved Cefiro by killing Zagato, unaware Emeraude is losing her mind. Its not to say Part 1 doesn't have some structural narrative issues: its pacing, while relentless (I could not stop reading Vol 3 in particular) can feel uneven (the Forest drags, while Ascot's turn is too fast and cheesy), the prat falls get tedious as an adult reader, and its meta-narrative of formula to critique formula is better understood on second readings. Still, I loved so much of what Part 1 ambitiously tries to do on a thematic and structural level and it is a gripping read.

Part 2, CLAMP admits, was written very quickly because it was not expected to happen - and personally, I think Part 1 is much stronger than Part 2. Part 2 tries to meaningfully address the trauma the girls have experienced ("the weapons I made became instruments for your suffering" from Presea was one I had to write down), but it does gloss over the culpability and tragedy of Part 1 - I hated that Emeraude was happy in death to placate the girls. A lot of stuff feels retconned in, and the lack of driving narrative means the story treads water in unnecessarily long bits with Fahren and Chizeta and the Magic Knights are mostly reactive. I also cannot take god Mokona seriously.

Still, I enjoyed Part 2 for the strong arcs of characters like Eagle, Hikaru, and Umi, and the conversations about whether a world built on the suffering of another can really be beautiful. Despite how silly god Mokona is, I do think the ending is a fantastic answer to Part 1: the only way to save Cefiro is to break the entire system and rebuild it again where everyone must, together, make society worth living in. Hikaru becomes the new Pillar not because of her purity - indeed that self-sacrificing Christ-like behaviour is what gets Emeraude in trouble in the first place - but because of her earthly refusal to accept anyone else sacrificing themselves for others AND her belief that we have to trust and try to make society better. It's a very mature look at empathy and compassion and individual vs. collective happiness, handled for children to understand, and its lush, badass, and emotional to watch Hikaru save Eagle in the process. Yes, its cheesy and sloppily paced (it is for 12 year olds and I do have to remind myself of that), but damn if it didn't move me. As I keep saying, CLAMP has never written a character I've loathed!

Despite its inconsistent quality, I do think it is good to read both Parts 1 and 2 for how they overall deconstruct and reconstruct magical girl manga in a way that moves away from rote roles of purity and self-sacrifice that bog down the genre, in a story that is overall fun and deeply emotional.

The Themes: I can absolutely see how Rayearth was written concurrently with X (Mokona tossing aside Earth for its corruption). But these same themes of what makes life, and the world, worth living, are taken in fascinating new ways. Here, CLAMP's favourite concept of "destiny vs. free will" explores destiny not as a divine system but a societal enforced structure. Emeraude believes she's fated to only pray and thus her loving Zagato destroys everything, but this is the result of her accepting that the system is infallible and unchangeable. She is the Christ-figure maiden trapped in the world tree to support it, but who needs redemption not from the divine Eagle, but the earthly Hikaru, who teaches self-love. Nobody in Cefiro (or beyond) can conceptualize a Pillar-less world. The people of Cefiro accept the game's logic and play it, but - as CLAMP loves to remind - we are individuals and our choices have meaning and power.

And this leads to a really interesting theme of whether peace bought too dearly is even worth it - is collective happiness more important than individual happiness? Happiness, CLAMP does remind us, is different for every person, but comes out on the side that individual suffering suffuses the whole system. Self-sacrifice - like in X! - does nothing but lead to suffering from the people who love you and holds no glory. And who can't love a story that tells little children that we have to find a way to live that allows us all to be happy?

There's also a really interesting gender dynamic that I rarely see discussed by fans that I find fascinating. Shojo is infused with pure-hearted innocent heroines who face off against "phallic mothers", that is, adult women who embody sexuality and power in contrast to acceptable female roles (there's a lot of very interesting discussion on whether shojo is actually feminist that I feel bypasses Western audiences). At first, Rayearth seems to follow these tropes - the girls and Emeraude are shojos, while characters like Alcyone (a sexually mature woman who is characterized as evil for loving Zagato when he doesn't love her) are phallic mothers.

Yet the finale twists this - Emeraude is another phallic mother whose "selfish" love for Zagato has transformed her into an adult woman that must be killed. And killed she is, as shojo tropes demand, but no happy ending comes. Emeraude was not selfish, but human, and failed by a system that demanded this of her. Part 2 never lives up to the potential set up by Part 1 - Hikaru remains a shojo who can't recognize Lantis is confessing to her - but it was something I really enjoyed chewing over in Part 1.

The Characters: While the girls might seem typical at the start, CLAMP has a real charm for making cliche work for them. Fuu is much quirkier than the shy meganekko trope, and Umi. Umi was the stand-out for me as the most dynamic of the bunch, with such a wonderful character arc across all 6 volumes from bratty rich girl to compassionate, brave warrior. It is she who recognizes the world isn't beautiful and her own naivete, she who finds inspiration from her friends to like herself more, she who grows up! The supporting cast is equally charming, and I loved the tragedy of Emeraude and Zagato.

While Lantis is a fine Yasha-style giant guy, I really adored Eagle by the end and his relation to Hikaru and Emeraude. Hikaru is s a highly static character, but her deep self-love and determination are impossible not to love. There's something just so compelling about his mirror of Emeraude and especially Hikaru, who frees them both by absolving them of their self-denying divinity. Their entire arc is a beautiful reaffirmation that we are humans who deserve to live and find meaning in that. I would say the character I cared for the least was probably Ferio, who never shows either comedic charm (Caldina, Ascot) or inner depth. But he appears so minimally that I can wave aside that he's a boring, paper-thin love interest.

The Art: I'm in two minds when it comes to Rayearth. There are some truly stunning moments in the artwork and visual motifs. The very idea of making an Art Nouveau magical girls in a fantasy RPG world led to so many incredible creative design choices (though Hikaru's skirt in her final armour bothers me. Metal and fabric don't fall like that). The silent two page spread where the girls murder Emeraude will likely haunt me for the rest of my life. Emeraude's hair pearls transforming into her crystallized tears is such a brilliant twist on the established visual motif. There's a lot of highly inventive panelwork that lushly moves between the real world and contemplative spaces.

On the other hand, because Cefiro is not the real world, CLAMP could not use their trick of scanned photo backgrounds. The result is a distinctive lack of backgrounds that were especially frustrating because I felt like I had no idea what these fantasy spaces look like - and RG Veda never had this problem! There's one particular hand-drawn Tokyo background that looks horrendous in how sketchy it is. Rayearth definitely reflects CLAMP's burnout period in that there are definitely more corners cut, like with the constant chibi scenes (very classically 90s, but not something I've ever enjoyed) and heavy use of screentone to mask lack of background. It's still visually stunning, but it's definitely not their drawing peak. Would I still frame some of these pages? Absolutely.

Questionable Elements: Presea makes an off-colour Native American joke. The designs of the Chizeta and Fahren characters lean heavily into cultural stereotyping of the "Orient" - they at least are real characters in the story, but they really irritated me for quite a long time in the story because of how glaring this is. Especially when Aska says white-ish, blue eyed blonde Emeraude is a "true princess". It makes the epilogue's (very good) moral of "we were all made different so we can learn from one another" fall a bit flat if CLAMP themselves made no effort to actually learn from people unlike them.

Overall: While Part 2 of Rayearth never quite lives up to the potential set by Part 1, the entire series overall is such a refreshing take on the magical girl genre, even 30 years on. Its meta-narrative and postmodern reflections on the genre and its blend of magical girl tropes, philosophy, fantasy and JRPGs, and unique and timeless visual influences has led to a series that has withstood the test of time - and many of its peers that similarly attempted to be the "next Sailor Moon". I think, unlike them, Magic Knight Rayearth has such a strong CLAMP fingerprint upon it - it is their humanist and occult-flavoured take upon the genre, and for that it affirms the value of individual human life, each one, and our choices, in being necessary to create a society that will last, not divine action.

It is a story about stories, making it fascinatingly ahead of the curve. And while its child audience means that it lacks subtlety and nuance in many ways (and frankly Nanase Ohkawa has the subtlety of a brick in her writing in general), I can't deny how much it has remained with me all these years and I find something new to love in it each time. It warrants being one of CLAMP's hits for these reasons, by taking apart the genre set up by Sailor Moon to say it is not pure-hearted divine princesses who will save the world, but our selfish human love that will fight off entropy, every time.

[i-want-my-iwtv]

How do you interpret the Louis vampire transformation in the book, not the show. It seems very sexual from my understanding although Lestat is a complete a**hole. I'm starting to reread the books again it's been awhile.

…"Are we close to God when we create something out of nothing? When we pretend we are the tiny flame and we make other flames?"

nansorella, this question could be an essay answer 💗! I'm glad to hear you're rereading the books, definitely try to get through TOBT if you can, that's where the above quote came from. There's a lot of layers with Lestat giving the Dark Gift to Louis. But I'll try to keep this as short as I can, and we can always delve further in a follow up ;}

[^X by @xxhellonursexx, read the caption on that bc it's in line with my answer on this ask! Vampiric feeding could be compared to breastfeeding, but specifically their turning is really the most comparable, a child feeding on the nutrition from their parent's own body.]

Focusing on the book, yes, my reading is that it's intentionally very sexual (even complete a**holes can be capable of sex!). Since vampires can't get pregnant, the Dark Gift is their method of sexual reproduction; I would argue that it's the most intimate act they can perform. Yes Lestat is being more than a bit of an a**hole in that moment but I can excuse it partly bc it was AR's first time writing a vampire turning and Lestat was for sure the main antagonist in that story, so he had to be sassy/cruel even in what should have been a loving moment but that's another entire discussion. Ppl can be awful during the act of giving birth, too, so... yeah... I would also argue that the '94 movie softened that scene somewhat, Lestat was positively thrilled about doing it and wasn't awful to Louis (except for when he had to break away from Louis, but that's also comparable to childbirth, which has pain involved for sure, and then you can see how sexually gratified he is laying back and watching Louis transform after they separate so ANYWAY!).

Since Lestat has so many fledglings, it was kind of a fandom joke that every time X sound occurs, Lestat makes another fledgling... maybe it's because he gets so much pleasure out of performing the act itself, and, transforming someone into a vampire, he gains a kind of parental and creative ownership of that person. It's his blood in them, after all!

Louis describes the act of killing as being a celebration of his making, (my bold & italics emphasis added):

"Killing is no ordinary act," said the vampire. "One doesn't simply glut oneself on blood." He shook his head. "It is the experience of another's life for certain, and often the experience of the loss of that life through the blood, slowly. It is again and again the experience of that loss of my own life, which I experienced when I sucked the blood from Lestat's wrist and felt his heart pound with my heart. It is again and again a celebration of that experience; because for vampires that is the ultimate experience."

[X for a great gifset of this quote by @fetch-me-a-block]

And then in Tale of the Body Thief, Lestat's reflecting on the creation of Claudia in a similar way to how ppl talk about the creation of their children:

[^X St. Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC, 11/7/15.]

“I lifted the long wax wick, dipped it into an old flame, and carried the fire to a fresh candle, watched the little tongue grow orange and bright. What a miracle, I thought. One tiny flame could make so many other flames; one tiny flame could set afire a whole world. Why, I had, with this simple gesture, actually increased the sum total of light in the universe, had I not? …«But why, Lestat?» Because she was beautiful, because she was dying, because I wanted to see if it would work. Because nobody wanted her and she was there, and I picked her up and held her in my arms. Because it was something I could accomplish, like the little candle flame in the church making another flame and still retaining its own light - my way of creating, my only way, don’t you see? One moment there were two of us, and then we were three. …«Are we close to God when we create something out of nothing? When we pretend we are the tiny flame and we make other flames?»

That book has an undercurrent of Claudia haunting Lestat (possibly as a ghost, but possibly as just his own imaginary manifestation of her) and pestering him about why he created her, maybe trying to provoke him into an apology, and I feel like he's able to make peace with her in his ruminations about her in that book. This is why I encourage ppl to read the canon books, even on beyond the first 3, because there are gems like this that add a richness to the characters, we can explore them along with Anne Rice 💗💗💗