#Those Obscure Objects of Desire

[paintermagazine]

‘Leg Inspection!’

Original movie: ‘Two Tickets to Broadway’(1951)

Featuring: Janet Leigh & Barbara Freking

Source: ‘Those Obscure Objects of Desire’ (Stella Star)

[malleleothreesome]

Blindfolded Malleus

💚 summary: You edge Malleus while he's blindfolded ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, you go to TOWN on those horns of his, brief mention of Malleus wanting to breed you, blowjob, penis in [gender neutral hole] sex, creampie ༶༶༶ 💚 word count: 6.6k words ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: @creepysun-cpsunnhild's ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus sits patiently on his bed, hands clasped on his lap, buzzing with nervous excitement as he waits for you to join him. He is already stripped down to only his boxers, eager to begin the night's festivities.

"Are you nervous?" you ask him as you rummage around in your backpack before finally pulling out a silky black blindfold purchased from the secret backroom of Sam's shop.

Malleus blinks, mouth parting slightly in the way he does when surprised, "A little? This is rather... novel for me." His lips fall into a pout. "Being unable to see your face is strange. I won't get to enjoy your expression as you pleasure me..."

You zip up your backpack and saunter over to his bed where Malleus waits, boxers tented around the evidence that he is looking forward to this, despite his apprehensions. You flash him a mischievous smile as you crawl over to him on the bed, settling in a straddle across his thighs. "That will just force you to be more sensitive to my touch," you coo as you cup his soft, milky cheek in your hand, admiring the complete beauty of his face for a final moment before you blindfold him. As he returns your loving gaze, his slitted pupils start to widen from desire and you watch in awe as his verdant irises are completely swallowed by inky pools of hunger. “I promise you won't even miss my face in the heat of the moment,” you try to reassure him.

He scoffs before murmuring in a low, smoky voice, "You know me far better than that, child of man." And yet, despite his objections, he obediently tilts his chin down, lowering his lashes as he allows you to place the black silk over his face. Malleus inhales sharply as the light suddenly dims to complete darkness. He stills like a startled creature of the forest as his sight leaves him, his muscles tense and his eyelids twitch under the silk as he comes to terms with his new vulnerability. You stop straddling him, denying him the comforting warmth of your thighs against his as you crouch on your knees beside him. He growls as you refuse to indulge his lust, remaining perfectly still as he struggles to find his bearings. You want him to simmer with arousal before you ease his longing—a little frustration will make his eventual orgasm that much more satisfying.

His innate magical ability attempts to compensate for the obscuration of his eyes by granting him heightened senses that would guide him in a perilous situation. He finds himself hyper aware of the beating of your heart and the slow rhythmic cadence of your breathing. The tension between your still bodies grows palpable. Your heartbeats thrum synchronically with the silent yearning of two lovers desperate to press skin against skin. Malleus is so ethereally beautiful, your heart can’t help but leap every time you look at him. The black silk shrouding his vision only serves to emphasize the handsome cut of his jaw and his sharp, seductive lips, parted in breathless anticipation. The glossy fabric paints a dark tapestry against the snowy hues of his skin. A lock of his viridian hair slips along his forehead in a way that accentuates the graceful curve of his brow. Every fiber of his being drips with all the charms of an otherworldly prince, an untouchable enigma that transcends mortal understanding. Yet he sits there, completely bared to you, stripped of his power, a masterpiece defaced by a veil of cloth; a prize awaiting the taking.

Despite his lack of sight, he can feel your gaze on him like a physical caress, causing goosebumps to sprout across his alabaster skin and his ears and cheeks to bloom a flustered rose-red. He knows you are simply teasing him, but the sensation of being denied his favorite view of his beloved is utterly infuriating. Yet, something about being without your gaze stirs the desire within him. When your lovemaking has reached its peak in the past, the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed out expression has made his blood run hot and has left him in the throes of the most pleasurable high. Not being able to gaze upon you will allow him to focus his whole being upon the ecstasy he feels every time he is brought to climax. This denial will amplify the sensations he will feel in the midst of passion and he finds himself anxiously anticipating how overwhelming those emotions might be. His cock grows harder and twitches excitedly at the thought and he bites his lip to contain the groans of arousal rising up in the back of his throat. Your proximity, despite him being unable to see your form, is positively maddening. Now that sight is taken away, the darkness is acting like an aphrodisiac. He wants nothing more than to lose himself to desire, touch, scent, and sound—to bring both of your hearts racing and be subsumed in an orgasmic trance. And so, the anticipation of the evening ahead courses through Malleus' body in electric tremors, setting his soul on fire. For someone with the lifespan of a fae, a moment is but a speck of sand on a shore, yet every minute you make him wait seems to drag into torturous eternity. He wants—no, he craves to take you and bask in the throes of passionate euphoria... Yet, he sits there, at the mercy of you and the unfolding events.

His growing sexual frustration sends a surge of wicked mischief through your blood as you crouch on the plush duvet alongside him. Malleus feels the bed shift and your body moving ever closer, then the caress of your hot breath tickling against his neck, near his sensitive ears, just a whisper away. He shudders deliciously as the phantom sensation of your moist, parted lips nears his bare shoulder, sending a chill through his entire body that culminates in a tingling tightness that pulses through his dick, which has reached full mast and throbs painfully in his boxers. Just as he is beginning to move his mouth to admonish you for such cruel teasing, his body suddenly jerks in surprise as he is overcome by the wet and gentle pressure of your mouth suckling ever so gently against his sensitive nape, right in that one spot, the one you know makes his knees turn to jelly. Malleus can't help the startled gasp that falls from his mouth as his body surrenders entirely, arching slightly at the pleasurable sensation, head lulling back just a little. He shivers as your palms ghost across his bare chest in a featherlight graze, sighing as his muscles are soothed by the balmy smoothness of your hands. You seem intent on teasing his neck—tugging, suckling, kissing, licking—and the teasing wet heat and gentle suction against his throat drives him to near delirium. The muscles of his neck tense as he gulps down heavy breaths, and you revel in the sound of him fighting desperately to contain his lust, your mouth quirking up into a smirk against his throat. His head leans back further to grant you more access to his soft flesh, and he resists the urge to stroke himself, biting his lower lip as your kisses start to descend along his pectorals, your tongue teasing at a hardened nipple before continuing to worship him down his abdominal muscles to the dip of his hips and eventually stopping just short of where he really wants it. Malleus is panting, almost as if in time with his throbbing member as it demands attention, yet your fingers remain above the waistband, tempting him.

"Keep going," he commands quietly, craving more than your hesitant brushes, his heart quickening at the sound of your own racing pulse. You have found a delicious torment in delaying him, and his inability to see your next move has caused his whole body to come alive. Malleus bites his lower lip harder, nearly breaking skin to maintain his self control as your fingertips barely push at the elastic band of his underwear, your nails only teasing the thin trail of hair below his navel. The tiniest contact is overwhelming on his skin, leaving a blazing trail in the wake of the featherlight touch, and a trembling warmth deep within him as his desire crescendos. Every part of him is suddenly alert, drinking up the ambiance, the muffled silence only adding an ethereal atmosphere of mystique to his hazy world of arousal and delight. "My love, please give me more," he begs. The strained edge in his voice stirs the rising excitement within you and your core aches at his ardent need. A little hitch in your breath catches his attention. Without the ability to watch your expressions, his sharp ears have begun to strain to hear every indication of arousal from you.

A bratty whine escapes Malleus' pouting lips as you completely withdraw your hands, body heat disappearing as you leave him exposed. The void of your warmth leaves him cold, an abyss to match his own darkness, yet he is lost for words as your mouth finds his erect cock through the fabric of his boxers, swallowing his bulge, the friction of your dampened tongue against him shooting straight to his balls. Your saliva bleeds through the cloth in a thick stain as you use your mouth to slowly torture him, knowing this is driving him insane. A jumble of pants and unintelligible phrases fall from the normally reserved Malleus' mouth and his hands fist themselves in the bedsheets, threatening to rip them in his pent-up ecstasy, knuckles stark white in strain as he groans. Your relentless hot and wet pressure on his erection is turning him into a salacious mess, but it's not nearly enough—he's desperate to feel your skin and a feral growl rattles around in his throat. His instinctive need to seize control of the situation becomes clouded in the heady fog of the erotic pleasure that your touches instill within him, a thrall he's unfamiliar with but too far gone to resist. When he thinks he can't stand the sweetly agonizing tease any longer, your lips pull away, leaving him wanting for your moist, breathy heat to return to him. Malleus whines piteously, squirming in place in silent desperation, fists tightly balled.

Your heart soars when you hear him making these vulnerable little noises of absolute submission to his craving for your body—as much as you know his primal urges are telling him to toss you onto his lap and take you, his dedication to your sadistic game prevents his true lusts from prevailing. He wants to ravage you, to gorge himself on your flesh as you scream his name into his pillows, to bite down on the crook of your neck when he's plunging deep within your hot, aching depth. Instead, he endures his cock's ceaseless torment.

As you contemplate your next course of action, your eyes settle on the enigmatic vestigial holdover from his ancestors—his horns. Growing directly from his skull and twisting in two thick curves adorned with glowing flecks of opulent teal, they frame his beautiful visage with an unmistakable air of eerie mystique. Intrigued by the sharp, slender peaks, you straddle Malleus' lap once again, his aching need nudging up against your clothed sex and making him groan from the limited pleasure he finally receives. He never eluded to any sensuality about the pointed projections adoring his head, but your curious lust can't help but wonder if they're erogenous. It certainly wouldn't surprise you if the fearsome protrusions were a weakness for your beautiful and powerful lover. If they could invoke in him a tantalizing rush of decadent sensation, they would surely aid you in his titillation. His previous words of caution ring in your mind—"You're welcome to touch them… though I can't guarantee what would happen to you if you did."—yet your perversion yearns to test out your theory.

You slowly lean your bodyweight towards his head until he feels you looming over him, your body's warmth fanning over his face and giving a comforting presence to his empty, disoriented world. The hint of a smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he begins to tilt his face, wrongfully expecting a kiss. Malleus had suspected your lusts would soon get the better of you and would ultimately yield him the rapture he seeks. You don't even notice the way his mouth opens slightly, wet, plush lips eagerly awaiting yours. The air between you two is electric with a smoldering, simmering need, threatening to spark into something raging. However, you swerve his inviting kiss, instead placing both your hands firmly against each horn, beginning a gentle massage on the cool bone. You can’t help but grin in prideful victory when a yelp falls from Malleus' lips and he bucks upwards, his hips suddenly snapping with wild impulse in a carnal attempt to sheathe his engorged cock within the beckoning warmth of your tight hole. Malleus' shocked gasp shifts into a guttural, feral sound. His blood is filled with electricity and lust, the lewd sounds emanating from deep within him like a forbidden spell of obscene delight.

The rumble of his inhuman grumble rolls through his entire chest, and the vibration of the low, loud noise goes straight to your throbbing sex. His reaction to you is deliciously intense, and you begin to twist and rub your thumb and index finger around the ridges of the horns, tracing the shapes and sending tiny shivers down Malleus' spine. You watch him, holding your breath in captivated awe as his upper lip lifts into a snarl and his bottom lip falls, allowing another dirty, draconic growl to spill out. The blackness of his vision leaves his mind no choice but to sink deeper into carnal euphoria, his mouth hanging agape and eyes rolling behind his blindfold, the pale skin of his cheeks becoming flushed as he drowns in the overwhelming sensations that consume him entirely. You run your fingernail up and down the sides of his horns simultaneously with a tantalizing tickle, and Malleus' head jerks in your grasp, neck muscles tense with shock from how amazingly sensitive this area of him is. With a naughty grin you plant a messy, wet kiss on one horn, then drag your teeth along the slick surface while your fingers begin a slow, erotic massage where the base of his horn meets the tender skin of his scalp. A downright depraved string of nonsensical, fragmented curses of ecstasy tumble from Malleus' throat. As his primal urge to breed overrides any common sense, the harsh sting of claws dig into the delicate skin of your forearms.

Your caress on his horns is like having the tips of every nerve of his being stimulated at once. His hips start thrusting almost automatically, as though his brain no longer commands him with any sort of reason. His desires take full control, acting on instinct to rut against anything and everything, and a hot ache ripples through his nether regions. The undergarment that traps him from absolute nirvana becomes uncomfortably tight, as his manhood pushes the limits of what the cotton material can bear. A damp and translucent stain of precum has bled through onto the fabric. His mind is swirling with a heady cocktail of lust, love, and urgency—the absence of sight heightening every aspect, every molecule of physical joy, creating a searing, constant arousal deep within him. At last, you have coaxed your regal Prince to reach a whole new state of passion.

You can feel yourself becoming more aroused with each erotic sound you draw from Malleus' throat, as your love for him is mixed with your innate masochism to torture and tease, causing a molten heat to blossom within you. Unable to deny him any longer, you let your lips fall to his mouth and Malleus eagerly reciprocates without hesitation, the heat between the two of you almost unbearable. Teeth clash as he hungrily devours your lips and his arms fly to pull you close so he may sink himself into your flesh and keep you for an eternity, one arm slipping to your lower back and pressing you towards him, his other hand weaving itself through your soft locks. This is what Malleus longed for: the warmth, the wetness, and the sinful slide of your tongue against his. His heart is set ablaze as you grip onto his face, cradling the beloved contours in an almost desperate plea to be as near him as possible, wanting to hold your lover to your body until he melts within you. His deep, sonorous moans of lecherous longing resonate throughout your whole body, echoing in the cavern of your very soul until it makes your heart weep with an overwhelming love and passion. You realize now, more than ever, how dear this fae Prince is to you, how absolutely crucial he has become for your every living moment. As Malleus hungrily chases every ounce of physical sensation he can achieve through the one person that matters the most to him, he feels the exact same love and desperation well in him and pour into his kiss, transmitting his emotions back to you. The blindfold begins to dampen from his overflowing tears as the magnitude of your passion for him stirs a surge of affection and desire that nearly rips his beating heart out of his chest. He clutches you ever closer as a small sob rises up, overcome by his love for the beguiling little mortal whose unconditional acceptance and magical charms have entranced him since day one. You drink up his ardent devotion like a life-sustaining elixir.

Eventually, you break the kiss with a moan and slide off his body, and he mourns your warmth against him, a lonely tear absorbing into the silk. Malleus cannot contain a whimper, as his blood pulses so fiercely, a carnal and primal drive floods his being. It is beyond lust, beyond physical desire—you have reignited the very core of who he is as an eternal, draconic prince and have reminded him of the fire that beats within his breast. His body aches and throbs in equal amounts sexual and emotional passion, his need to release so intense that his breaths come in short, quick pants. His muscles spasm uncontrollably from the sensations running rampant in every extremity, and he sobs with pent-up desire, clawing at the duvet as though it would relieve the ceaseless, tortuous pressure that plagues him. His heart yearns, yet his libido aches, the girth of his dick straining against his waistband like a caged animal desperate to break free from its bindings and let the true beast emerge.

A relieved sigh escapes him when, a moment later, your cool, soft hands dip below the elastic of his boxers and gently slide them down and off. His erect cock slaps against his stomach, weeping pearls of precum and glistening from the prolonged sexual torture of the evening, standing at full attention. Its girthy length twitches with impatience. One teasing fingertip just barely grazes its tip, gathering the beads of lust and dragging them along his length. A strained yelp forces its way out of Malleus' parched and trembling lips, and his whole body tenses, toes curling. The sheets are being pulled in the violent vice grip of his fists, the sheer force of his magical grip threatening to rip them in half. You begin to languidly trace along his shaft at a tantalizingly slow and soft pace, driving him out of his mind. It's barely enough contact to get any satisfaction, yet far more than enough to make him jolt at the blissful sparks that you ignite within him. You ghost your breath across the length, blowing air on his heated flesh as a paltry reward to Malleus' plight. He cries your name in a pitchy, agonized tone as your hands pull away and he tries not to sob with frustration at the lack of touch. Before he can complain, a new, torturous sensation wracks his frame: the phantasmagoric feeling of soft, pillowy lips dragging against the tip of his shaft, eliciting a filthy whine and a throaty gasp. He feels more wet heat around his sensitive glans as your tongue bathes the area with hot saliva, savoring the briny taste of his essence, then leaving him abruptly. You're far too much of a tease, giving him just a sample before pulling away. His balls feel painfully swollen as he reaches his limit and his member seizes with another sharp throb of arousal.

And then, with a wet squelch, the heat of your mouth descends onto the entirety of his rock-hard erection, taking him all in to the hilt. Your cheeks hallow to create suction as your tongue swirls around his engorged tip and your throat relaxes as his length is buried down your throat, holding your breath and stifling your gag reflex for a brief moment before bobbing your head up and down, fucking his hard dick with your mouth and salivating profusely over his thick length. The sweetly sinful sensation of his throbbing erection buried deep down your esophagus causes his mind to shut off, his brain short-circuiting from the intensity of pleasure. Your talented tongue swirls and twirls around the mushroom tip while your hands massage up and down along his shaft, working his flesh in synchronous harmony, threatening to break him down into a quivering mess under the expertise of your skilled mouth. It's absolutely obscene, how willingly your jaw hangs wide for him, how you guzzle up every inch of his thick cock as though he's the best meal of your life.

Now that you have him back where you want him, you take your time torturing him by switching your rhythm every time his groans begin to sound too desperate, denying him the relief his poor aching cock so desperately craves. You gently guide his shaft upright with a tug of your hand, angling his thick cock directly into your mouth and ensuring you completely envelop his tip in your throat. Every time you hollow your cheeks and move his throbbing erection in and out of your mouth at a vigorous pace, Malleus is unable to hold his voice back. He tosses his head back, letting your tongue lavish the underside of his cock. The velvety heat of your tongue sweeps from the base all the way to his glans, lapping across his slit before wrapping your lips around his thick girth again. Your tongue meticulously teases and suckles on his sweet spots, knowing that because of his loss of vision he is acutely aware of every change in pressure, every shift in the path of your tongue, and every powerful stroke of your hand. You have successfully reduced the unshakeable Prince of Thorns into a mess of low moans and ragged, staccato breaths. Your name comes out in pleading pants, like he's calling to you to take his seed and give him the relief he desires so desperately. Your sucking and swirling heat pulls Malleus' balls up closer, tight and ready, his member starting to spasm as his end rushes ever nearer.

"Dearest..." Malleus murmurs as softly as possible, shuddering as pleasure lances through him like lightning, barely audible above the squelches and wet smacks, his hips bucking frantically now, "I beg of you... Please, do not be cruel. I cannot—please." You know how sensitive he is to touch, his every nerve is so over stimulated, and his blindness is making everything hit a whole new level.

"That's enough—hnnnng. This is far too much for me to handle... You're truly evil for using my body like this—oh, do not stop—" A litany of indecencies flow forth in an increasingly erratic rhythm to accompany the melodious cadence of his dulcet moans. Every time you push his length down your throat, he thinks you've given up playing around and finally decided to let him spill his hot load, only for you to relent at the last second and reduce your fervency. He curses your name, promising retaliation later in the form of the most passionate fucking of your entire life. The cruel torture begins anew with a playful kiss on his tip or a lewd slurp at the base of his cock as your hands fondle and caress him. It is almost inhuman the level of control his child of man has to be able to push him close to the edge and retreat with surgical precision, again and again, leaving him in complete anguish.

The hard tip of his cock slams the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate your breath and sending a deluge of saliva trickling down his swollen balls and slickening your lips. He cannot suppress the rough and rapid snapping of his hips against you, plunging his penis to the very end, every lunge making you gag. When you swallow and clench your throat around his length, Malleus' breaths dissolve into frantic wheezes, his chest heaving, unable to even finish his sentence before his lungs are sucked empty in ecstasy. Your hands cup the heavy, weighted balls beneath, fingers and nails digging in slightly before gripping onto his ass as you swallow around his entire girth, pumping his dick in rhythm with his thrusts as if to milk him and show no mercy. Your muffled squeals of encouragement spur Malleus on, the sounds you're making giving him permission to use your mouth like his own personal fuck-toy, his own filthy fantasy. His eyes squeeze shut behind the blindfold as the red, pulsing void suddenly fills with the vivid memory of the look on your face the last time he pounded your face so mercilessly, that wonderful face all covered in his seed, cheeks dripping with his creamy splatter. He moans brokenly as his fantasies meld with reality in the blinding darkness. The sheer act of being able to fully appreciate and wallow in the sense of absolute decadent delight his beloved grants him, as well as your own enthusiasm for him—all these sensations surge forth in a mighty torrent. Malleus knows you're preparing to build him up to a devastating peak of passion.

With a firm yet gentle grip, you dig the tips of your fingers into the ample flesh of your lover's thighs, feeling their toned rippling as you keep him in place. Your fingernails sink a little, creating faint, red trails in your wake, marking Malleus' flawless skin as evidence of your claim over his body. Without warning, his hard length slips out of your wet lips with an obscene pop, and the fae Prince whimpers once more from the cold drafts of the dorm room settling over his sopping, saliva-coated member. 

Before he has any time to register the shock of the loss, the bedsheets shift again under your movements as you swiftly remove your underwear before returning to position on your knees outside of his open legs. He holds his breath, eagerly anticipating the impending penetration of his lover's deepest parts and the messy release of the tight knot of sexual desire within the pit of his stomach. A baritone, satisfied groan bursts from the depths of Malleus' lungs as your warmth encases his erection, sheathing his dick in an endless flow of slippery heat and the most luxurious pressure. It is one of his favorite pleasures to hold you close after having penetrated your deepest core and simply stay there to savor the ecstatic sensations. Nothing can replicate the pure feeling of euphoric fulfillment and unadulterated bliss when your lower half is connected as closely as it possibly can with his—both of your intimate zones smoldering in the ecstasy of total conjoining, bodies becoming one and unified, your souls entwined in a kiss. His toes curl and his muscles shudder, but before he can adjust, you start moving, using your hips to ride his lap.

Your thighs settle snugly around Malleus' hips, your weight rocking forward to penetrate your loins deeper on his member and envelop every inch of him until his hard cock reaches the deepest regions of your core. Malleus can barely comprehend what's going on, his mind drowning in an ocean of the purest pleasure, his hands searching desperately for yours as you place his palms on either side of your waist for a good grip. His lover's palms, made small by the bulk of his own, have only moments ago been manipulating his sensitive erection and granting him such euphoria. To touch the very appendages that have stimulated him, to hold you steady, to feel the love that flows through the both of you—the thrill of the experience sets Malleus' mind into overdrive, the preciousness of his time together with you compounding with his heightened physical sensations in a stunning synthesis. A symphony of sexy, wet noises of colliding bodies, creaking mattress, and throaty gasps and moans echo throughout his lonely, shadowy abyss, and Malleus feels as though his senses are being pleasurably overwhelmed. Malleus shoves his cock ever deeper within, nudging against the slick flesh with feverish abandon. He becomes desperate for an even tighter hold, urging your body to submit to him and drown in bliss. As his dick pumps into your sweet, greedy, and dripping hole with zealous thrusts, your combined rhythm becomes lost to the utter delirium of rapture as the fae's raw instincts to rut you senseless take over. The Prince of Darkness doesn't hold anything back— he thrusts up into your body with full and furious strokes, growls turning animalistic, cock pounding with merciless thrusts, and balls slapping against the juncture of your thighs.

You can barely handle the sheer thickness of Malleus' dick inside of you, its girth is massive. It stretches your walls and massages every part of you, the large ridge along his cock's underside scraping against your insides with every relentless slam. The slightest movement sends fireworks shooting through you and drives you insane, the heated passion causing a powerful buildup of pleasure already. Your gasps rise in volume, turning into shrieks as you give him your body entirely. One of his hands trails up from your waist, the rough and calloused fingertips ghost across your collarbone and up the curve of your neck. His head is tossed back from the carnal fucking but those elegant, sharp fingernails linger over your pulse, feeling the way blood beats under your skin and listening for the hitch of breath every time the angle of his cock rubs up against something magical inside of you.

Malleus is constantly shifting his position, driving his huge dick into the different angles with practiced efficiency as he listens intently for where to thrust harder, to where your breathing is quickest, and where he gets the loudest moans. The noise echoes back to him like the raunchiest opera. It leaves you shaking on him as he explores you with his cock, the sheer intensity of his frenzied ministrations threatening to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. Every single slam of his dick draws you to the edge of the pleasure-bound chasm, as waves of satisfaction ripple throughout every fiber of your being.

His large, sturdy hands have never left your form and cling possessively. When he lets go, it's to scrape his claws down the tops of your shoulders before seizing you tightly once more. With his thighs tense, his strong muscles drive up into you at a merciless speed, over and over. A throttled roar is building in the pit of Malleus' chest. At the top of your lungs, you scream out his name. There is no room for your thoughts, only the constant stream of the lust-drenched fog and the instinctive urge to reach your peak. Malleus' talons scratch down your back before grabbing onto the tops of your asscheeks and forcing your lower bodies impossibly closer together. Malleus bites your neck while simultaneously drilling his cock as deep as he can possibly go before pausing there, grinding into you and groaning. Your bodies move together in tandem, a wet dance that staves off your looming orgasms for a few more thrusts and moans.

Through the blinding white ecstasy, you can vaguely hear the haughty prince remarking how perfectly he fits and feels inside you. Between your moans and the slapping sound, his breathy laugh cuts through the room and brushes hot against the crook of your neck, teasing, "Your insides... tighten when I praise you..." Your walls immediately squeeze him on reflex at those words. This discovery of another weakness brings him closer, more ravenous, a little bit more wild with the need to take and claim. His face buries into your skin and his tongue flicks out against your neck, drinking up the salt of your sweat as he nips, bites, and sucks his mark there. Malleus wants to fill your greedy hole with his seed, mark his territory, make it absolutely clear that you are his forever by stuffing you full until his cum trickles from the very corners of you and soaks into the silken sheets of his bed. He pants and growls lewdly, plundering into you like a heathen and abandoning any sense of shame as he fully lets go of all composure. The guttural moans and bestial noises escaping his throat reverberate like music in your ears. They signal that the gorgeous prince is drawing dangerously near his edge. The primal urges you have summoned from him command his every thought and his body reacts instantaneously to all the stimulation you've given him thus far. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans now turning into shameless screaming. You match the intensity with which Malleus throws his entire body into the movements of fucking your hole. Malleus doesn't allow your body a single moment's rest as he thoroughly ruins you—each carnal rut and frenetic pound of his manhood into your core sets fire to your whole being, reducing your soul to ash in the passion's wake. His engorged, reddened tip abuses your g-spot to the point that your walls can't even tighten around him anymore due to being so utterly overwhelmed by his dick.

Malleus' heart jackhammers against his ribs and a sound that can only be described as a primal, draconic cry roars out. Thick, creamy spurts of his warm seed paint your inner walls white as his balls pulse and churn, filling you up so generously. The depth of your love and adoration has finally ripped the fae's last threads of restraint to shreds, unleashing his true self—wild, uncontrollable, feral—and the transcendent bliss leaves him howling your name in a voice more akin to a monster than a beautiful Prince. You throw your head back, feeling every muscle of your inner body clench in delicious contractions as you, too, reach the precipice, gushing all over him. All you can manage is to sink onto his thick, throbbing cock and just quake with the intense force of your orgasmic bliss, your legs spasming around him as you milk his twitching shaft.

Every wave of your orgasm sends him into his next. Your loud wails of pure pleasure are music to his ears. He growls and thrusts against you, eager to ensure you have been completely and utterly defiled with his load. The exhilaration and anticipation that was building all night finally peaks, and the intensity is just right to leave the both of you in an tangled afterglow of sweaty, quivering limbs. All he can see are swirling spots of magical color swimming in front of the blinding black of his blindfold. Every sense becomes a blurry haze. When he finds enough control over his quivering frame, Malleus holds you up and close to him, refusing to slip out from your body, letting you come to rest against his strong, tender embrace and gently stroking your hair as you nestle your forehead in the crook of his neck, nestled so comfortably between his head and shoulder. Malleus begins peppering your face and the exposed parts of your shoulder with butterfly kisses, his ragged breaths tickling your skin.

"My love..." the Prince purrs as you languidly snuggle into him, "You will never know what you've just done to me. I have felt so utterly and undeniably wanted, needed, desired." His strong arms embrace you, so gentle and loving and soft, it makes your heart beat a little bit faster and fills you up with an immense, powerful feeling. "You have made my existence feel absolutely perfect and wonderful, more so than I deserve." His voice grows thick and warm, full of tender affection as he adds, "Please, cherish me forever. I will pledge myself to you for as long as I live." 

He pulls the blindfold over his head, his eyelids fluttering open to meet your soft gaze and reveal his magnificent, emerald hues and smoldering, lust-drunk slitted pupils. You fall in love with him all over again, smiling brightly as you are greeted by your beloved Prince's elation at seeing your beautiful face once more. Malleus lifts his palm and tucks a lock of your hair behind the lobe of your ear, leaving his knuckles there for a few extra moments as he enjoys the flush and shimmer on your features, admiring the love of his life with all the admiration in the world.

Malleus' eyes spark with renewed mischief and he chuckles mischievously, the deep, smooth sound rolling with velvet menace. "No mortal has ever had this sort of control over me before. The experience was rather... illicit, and strangely beguiling. A little unexpected, however, when you nearly choked me with my own horns." A single sharp claw tips your chin upwards. "How lucky, indeed, am I to be fortunate enough to have you, the first person I ever held my heart out to, be so wicked to me. You were quite merciless tonight." His lascivious grin twists devilishly, and you find yourself enthralled with a certain mix of terror and rapture, unable to keep a devilish smirk of your own from twitching your own lips.

You had known that taking him away from the world for a brief moment of darkness would make his whole body light up like a star and let him truly lose himself to you, but you never would have predicted how viscerally it would affect him. Even so, it pleases you to have fulfilled your fae Prince's perverse needs. You kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles his sharp smile. "Now that you've revealed such a sinful aspect of yourself to me, you'll be the one beneath my power next time we indulge."

The playful menace in his smile doesn't quite mask the serious note in his voice. Malleus is absolutely determined to reciprocate the things he enjoyed receiving in equal measure. It was almost like his own hidden, dangerous desires had awoken when you dragged him down the path of depravity, and a new wave of perversion courses through him at the thought of transforming you into his own plaything. Your throat goes dry, knowing his strength and his kinky side may finally have been unshackled from its cage, and the fae might devour you without the restraint and kindness of his moralities to hold him back. His handsome features betray nothing of his sadistic plans—all you can see are his glorious, flashing eyes glimmering with mischief, and the dangerous upturn of his mouth. There's no telling how much Malleus Draconia has planned for you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if perhaps you'd created a bit of a monster with tonight's exploration.

Let me know if you all enjoyed this! Some Fun Erica Lore™ is that I have total aphantasia���I can't visualize (images or sounds) at all. So, I think because of that, I tend to be very descriptive with my words, since I can't visualize the scene in my head. Also, because I don't have visual memory, I do not remember memories or daydreams in a visual way, instead, I remember them by the feeling I felt in that moment (or the feeling I would feel if a situation was happening to me). Because I feel things so deeply, I like to convey the power of emotions in my writing. I hope I was able to elicit a strong emotional response from you. As always, thank you for reading. Every day, I continue to be awestruck by the outpouring of love and support I've received from you all. Thank you for welcoming my writing into this lovely community. Until next time, 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome

[familyabolisher]

you said that you don’t take lines of questioning / thought about “romanticizing” dark topics (SA, incest, etc.) seriously. would you mind elaborating on that? what does it mean, if anything, to romanticize? i think i get why it’s a fundamentally reactionary (or just silly?) thing to be concerned about, but would you mind elaborating on why?

thanks! your posts have been very illuminating on this sort of thing.

okay so let's talk about "romanticise" as a literary discourse for a second because there are a handful of things happening with its usage:

is the assumption that there exists a state of non-'romantic' discursive matter from which something 'romantic' is being created, and the content of the text in question is the process by which that creation is happening;

is the use of 'romantic' to describe something that appears to the viewer as desirable and attractive, thus obscuring the ways in which it is harmful/abusive/violent/&c.;

is the idea that this 'romantic' state represents something morally odious due to the ideas it might impress upon the audience about the nature of the discursive matter made 'romantic' in question.

i think it's worth breaking each of these assumptions down because i don't believe that any of them actually hold water, and i find that they in fact telegraph some pretty reactionary paradigms around literary criticism.

first is the idea that there exists discursive matter that is not "romantic," here to mean suffused with cultural narratives that render it desirable, and that the matter in question only takes on these desirable qualities after undergoing this process of "romanticisation." by this logic, the matter is in fact prediscursive; the onus of constructing a “romantic” discourse lies solely with the cultural response. when in practice, normative cultural assumptions and the media that interacts with them exist in a feedback loop relative to one another, and it surely makes more productive sense to engage with the apparently objectionable material not as an object that creates or even necessarily reifies a normative cultural standard, but that interfaces with that standard in what could potentially be any number of variant forms. this widens the scope of our response as an audience—we might well say that a depiction of XYZ was tasteless, clichéd, voyeuristic, lacked interest in the interiority of its subjects, &c. &c., just as easily as we might say that it engaged with extant cultural narratives in compelling, thoughtful, meaningful ways. we're not taking the cultural object as the didactic “creation” of a social norm—we're situating it within the norms from which it already emerged.

the second is the idea that this ‘romantic,’ aesthetically desirable construction must necessarily obscure the ways in which the subject matter is harmful (however we define ‘harmful’). i find this position v condescending, towards creator and audience alike—one way of crafting horror that can be really exceptional when done right is the total sealing-off of the narrative from any didactic intervention, any suggestion that what's being depicted is morally “wrong.” the dissonance between subject matter and audience—and/or between subject matter and creator—can be brilliant when you can have faith that that dissonance exists. audiences aren't little babies who learn our morals from our media; we're prepared to critically engage with and respond to a discourse presented to us. as i said above, doing away with this whole “romantic” sheen as an obfuscator of violence opens us up to new, more precise, more compelling readings.

the third – and imo, the most damnatory – is the suggestion that the narrative itself represents a potential site of harm due to the underlying ideology that it imposes on those who engage with it. like, we're still adopting this approach whereby we construct and engage with narratives for instructive purposes; if we see a depiction of sexual abuse that renders the abuse pleasurable, aesthetically pleasing, desirable, then we absorb this idea that sexual abuse is pleasurable and aesthetically pleasing and desirable and thus covet the position of the subject in question. i don't think this is necessarily true! i'm obviously not suggesting that we don't absorb and reproduce our cultural narratives in media – as i said in the first point, there exists a feedback loop between the two – but i think we as audiences and critics ought to think more highly of ourselves than to imagine that we are incapable of seeing some fucked up shit given an aesthetic gloss without asking why the aesthetic gloss is being used, how the creator is making use of perspective, how we might respond to it, etc. and i just don't think narratives ought to be instructive or didactic; nor do i think creators bear responsibility for how their work is received to the extent that they are obliged to orient their discourse towards a presumed impressionable individual for whom every action or aesthetic contrivance is a categorical imperative. this is the oldest and honestly the most boring debate in the book; the question of "moralism" in fiction has been done half to death by now, and i don't see any use in rehashing it to any significant extent. suffice it to say that the “moralist” approach is stultified and limited and intellectually dull.

note that nowhere in this did i say that there are never narratives that ought to be called into question for their depiction of X, Y, or Z; just that i think we need better, more precise language to defer to do when we do so. simply put, i think it's possible to make a piece of art that holds these “romantic” qualities, and doesn't have a guy walk in midway through and go “by the way, abuse is Bad/age gaps are Problematic/mental illness is Unsexy,” &c., and still greatly compel me wrt its subject matter. & that is a statement which exists in straightforward contradiction to the idea that the term “romanticise” communicates anything necessarily and inherently condemnatory about a text, so, i don't use it.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Boccob, the God of Magic for Magic's Sake

Artsource

It is strange (especially for those who view their relationship with the gods as transactional) that one might offer up prayers to a figure known widely by the epithet " The Uncaring". Why perform oath and ritual for a being that will not intercede on your behalf? Or grant you good favour in exchange for your sacrifices? Those that study the words of Boccob understand they have no need to beg for miracles when they have magic at their command.

Known to commoners as a god of magic, foresight, and balance, Boccob is not so much a deity as he was a great teacher, a philosopher-sage who's now ancient treatise on magic and council on it's use are as much an object of faith for many as a more ordinary god's scripture. In instructing his students how to be wizards, Boccob taught his students how to be good wizards, and these lessons form the ironshod foundations of innumerable magical traditions practised to this day.

Central to Boccob's teachings was the idea that magic was a path that must be walked to gain greater understanding, and that an adherent of this path should study, experience, and witness as much of its wonders as possible in order to become better arcanists, leading to the adoption of the open and unjudging eye as his symbol. Boccob himself followed this path to the outer planes and beyond, never to be seen again, leading many to credit Boccob with being the first mortal to climb the fabled infinite staircase, or perhaps even its architect.

Adventure Hooks:

Millennia after his (literal or figurative) ascension, a scroll containing hitherto unseen passages of Boccob's writings have been discovered in a crumbling library, setting off a disastrous chain of events as jealous archmages scrabble for the text like seagulls after a frenchfry. Their clashes are frequent, leaving the surrounding area scattered with hastily summoned servitors and all manner of misfired magic. Perhaps if the party is quick and clever they could sneak in and take the text for themselves, learning its wisdom or using it as a bargaining chip with one of these powerful spellslingers.

If it’s one thing Boccob’s Acolytes like almost as much as uncovering the arcane secrets of the universe, it’s proving their intellectual superiority by hiding their findings behind inscrutable riddles and logic games, the way The Uncaring did for his first pupils. Ledoran’s Labynthical Libram is an infamous example of this practice, a spellbook containing all manner of useful rituals and genuinely brilliant insights hidden behind a gauntlet of ciphers, mazes, and "gotcha" enchantments. Any self styled master of the arcane is likely to have a copy on their shelves, meaning that' it's only a quick looting spree away from ending up in the party's possession.

If "a wizard did it" is the answer to the age old question of "how?", "because they were listening to Boccob?" is the answer to the inevitable follow up of "why". Arcane crossbreeds, inexplicable puzzle dungeons, magical items amounting to bad jokes with bodycounts, all of these are created by The Uncaring's followers as a means of testing and expanding their abilities.

More of my adventures involving Boccob and his followers can be found HERE

Lets get into some philosophy...

While Ioun promotes the study of arcana for the sake of furthering knowledge, Mystra maintains and obscures the secrets of the weave, and Corellon glories in the wonders spellcraft might create , Boccob focuses on the pursuit of magical ability as a means and end of its own.

To Boccob, " I want to learn magic so I can be great/help people/make life easier" is a false start, because it ties the acquisition and understanding of magic to an external metric, encouraging the practitioner to take shortcuts with the magic to achieve their worldly desires.

Greatness, beneficence, and ease of living are but some of the infinite virtues that follow from being a great mage. Indeed, a reoccuring theme in Boccobian writing (especially in the ensuing literature made by his followers) is the idea of the Panexplicatic endstate of magic, where the perfect mage (and the body of wisdom they represent) has an answer for all things, specifically a magical awnser.

While some followers have taken this to mean that a mage's pursuit should always be towards omnipotence (Vecna's grasping eye motif can be seen as a direct response to Boccob's unjudging one) the largely more accepted thought is that arcanists should specifically dream small, creating a self sufficient life for themselves withdrawn from the world while focusing on the inward path towards enlightenment. That's why you'll so often find wizards at the top of spires in remote areas, interacting only with their apprentices or whatever travellers have gone far afield to seek them out for magical guidance.

This leads into one of the main critiques of Boccobian thought, which is that it alienates the practitioner from the world at large, not only focusing on magic to the exclusion of all else but also contextualizing magic as something that exists only to help the practitioner along their individual path, other people and consequences be damned. A hedgemage living a simple life in the forest may seem like they're hurting no one when they create a tree that grows a full crop of apples every day so they don't need to worry about stocking their larder... but what happens to the local ecosystem when these everladen trees start cross pollinating with others, to say nothing of the drain/disruption to nearby laylines and how such magic might have downstream consequences. To take a completely different tack with the same problem, the poor in the village nearby might LOVE to have a bottomless supply of apples, but the Boccobian adherent would say that because they haven't devoted the years of study required to create the tree, they're not entitled to its fruits.

Titles: The Uncaring, the Master of all Magics, Archmage of the Infinite

Symbols: An eye in a pentagram, often crowned with a crescent arc.

Signs: Light through a cracked open door, stars that seem longer than they should be, the appearance of inexplicable magical text.

Worshippers: Sorcerers, wizards, and any with an access to magic innate or otherwise. Adherents usually worship in private practice but occasionally band together into temples or schools.

[horreurscopes]

so after months of apartment hunting hell and many rejections from apartments i fell in love with that hurt more than any romantic breakup i have ever had, i moved into a new place about two months ago and i thought i would love it but there were many little things here and there that were obscured from me during the tour and it's not working out and it's making me so incredibly unhappy (unresponsive management, loud neighbors, and it's so filthy from the last tenants [bathtub has jets??? which i thought was sick until i found out they were full of biofilm because they have never been cleaned out and yes i have disgusting pictures] and it's really dark because it's north facing and has scaffolding around it and the broker just made stuff up about the scaffolding being about to be taken down but it seems its just not going to come off because it's cheaper for the owners to have the scaffolding there to comply with safety law than it is to actually fix whatevers wrong with the building) anyway. so now, a really cool gorgeous place that's significantly cheaper and SO sunny and much better that i immediately fell in love with went up on streeteasy, so i thought, hey, it will be super mega tough to pull off but i can probably transfer my lease (wherein you find someone to take over the contact and are free of it) and move again, but then the listing agent messaged me that the current tenants had decided to stay and i was bummed out because the same thing had happened to me months ago during the beginning of my search with another place i really liked, so i looked it up and hey, turns out last time it happened it was the same leasing agent. so what i think is happening is that because it's such a desirable place at such a low cost, the broker probably has too many people who want it and just brushed me off with a lie because they can just do whatever they want. so i pretend i didn't see the cancellation email and show up to the building anyway, and ring the apartment number, and im LET IN but when i go up the stairs and walk into the place turns out it was true and the tenant's friend IS taking the apartment and they're like oh we're so sorry the broker was supposed to cancel ): and I'm like oohhhh nooo...... oh well! because at least i got closure lol

but i shit you not, as im walking out the tenants yell at me through the window to come back in because they JUST heard from their friend that he backed out and actually, the apartment is back on the market, and im the only person who knows and has seen it. so i stay for a solid hour just talking to the tenants who let me know the #honest ins and outs of the place, and that the broker basically did nothing (what is new) because they took the pictures in the listing and the guy hadnt even stepped foot in the place.

anyway it's a great story, kismet meant to be etc, im imagining my entire life in that apartment, until i realize i can't move in because the broker's fee that *im* supposed to pay (on top of first month + security deposit, which i would've had to figure out/loan out anyway because i definitely don't have enough money to put those payments in before getting the security deposit and rent refund for the rest of the month back from the CURRENT place) is fifteen (15)(IX) FIFTEEN percent of the annual rent. fifteen percent of the annual rent. FIFtEEn PercEnt. Of The Annual Rent. For Doing Nothing. so long story short i briefly thought I'd try to fundraise like $7k for all of moving expenses but then i deflated like a depressurized blob fish..... the unstoppable force of panache grit and scrappiness alone will get you far but it's not enough against the immovable object that is nyc capitalism. hashtag american dream hashtag bootstraps

[damianbugs]

i often include some obscure symbolism in my fics without any real desire to point them out but i was rereading an old piece of mine and remembered one i was rather proud of;

it's from YOU MUST KNOW LIFE TO KNOW DECAY. which is a canon-adjacent story about jason's experience with rain throughout his life. it spans over many years, starting from before his parent's death, to the present as red hood.

the rain itself is the massive metaphor and motif, obviously, but within that i snuck in some other key aspects to jason's character. the one i want to talk about it from the second section of the fic (unofficially dubbed "No!" and the period in time where jason was homeless):

in this scene jason's belongings have been dumped out of his bag into the rain over a misunderstanding, amongst these scarce objects are two things — an old book belonging to Willis Todd, and a photograph of Catherine Todd (the one jason has at his place when bruce comes to find him in Batman (1940) #408).

this photo always fascinated me and so i wanted to give it its own backstory. this moment however has two stories happening. a story of sacrifice for Willis, and the story of grief for Catherine.

the book willis used to love and jason remembers him reading often is the last remaining object the boy has to his father (because most of his belongings were left with his neighbour, and jason doesn't get those back until Batman (1940) #426).

unlike a picture or a letter, this book is a vessel between them, nothing about it actually is Willis' other than the memory attached to it. a nod to the fact that even in death, he had nothing other than the memory he left with his family.

catherine however has a picture, something that is entirely hers, but even that is all it is; her face. jason is young when his mother dies, and as he grows up, he'll soon forget the memories he made with her, but he'll never forget her face because of this last photo he has. her existence, prior to the disease and suffering and death, is forever immortalised for jason. she exists only before her death.

neither willis nor catherine are ghosts that follow jason. he mourns them and misses them deeply (and this grief is the entire catalyst for why he runs away in A Death in The Family) — but they don't come to him when he's doused with fear toxin or battling exhaustion. he doesn't see them when he closes his eyes. because they are not concepts he mourns.

they are a book, a photo, people he has lost forever. jason being a young carer, would have had to watch his mother slowly die to her disease, so he knows death in its raw forms. i have spoken before about how jason views love and loss, as being very literal and blunt understandings, and it's the same here.

so, we have a book and a photograph.

the book being destroyed by the rain is another nod to the modern characterisation of Willis Todd (in both canon and fanon). of the explicitly abusive and negligent father. how his character being "ruined" is usually to paint catherine as the weak and pitiful victim of circumstance and nothing more. neither of them have any true personality other than their surface level one's, which are often classist and ignorant.

on the other hand, willis' book being ruined but protecting the photograph of catherine underneath is to represent his story in jason's life. he was an absent idea because he was working to provide for them, jason didn't really know him outside of this story, and willis dies as a mere idea for his family.

it's not enough, however. willis dies, but it's still raining. catherine's photo may have been saved by some of the rain, but jason is still homeless and he will still have to endure it alone.

the second section of this fic is the saddest one to me, because while jason is the only todd present in this scene, there are three stories being told.

[honourablejester]

Two Blades in the Dark Ritual Ideas

Rituals in Blades in the Dark are amazing. If a crew has a Whisper with the Ritual ability, they can research and then cast various rituals, come up with between the player and the GM. The three sample rituals in the book, to create a ghost map of a district to track ghosts, to ward someone so that the ghosts of those they kill can’t find them, and to summon a small portal to the Void Sea near the ritual site to drown people, are all fantastic. Rituals always cost stress, and always cause fear in the caster as the occult practise introduces them to new fun and horrifying knowledge, and some of them come with fun extra consequences, and they delight me. This feels like a part of the game where as a player you could have a lot of fun throwing wacky ideas at your GM and seeing what they’d let you get away with. In what manner would you channel the occult powers of a shattered world in order to make it easier to commit crimes?

For my own part, a couple of initial ideas for rituals that people might research in Doskvol:

Blind Eyes

“Just after dawn and again at twilight, the city is usually blanketed in a thick fog that obscures street lights and ruins visibility in the darkness. Many people habitually take a break during these times, staying indoors with a cup of tea to wait out the ‘blind hour.’” (BitD pg 245).

If a crew, for example a crew of smugglers, wanted to operate with relative impunity during the ‘blind hour’, a ritual that would allow them to operate in the dense fog might be useful, no?

Ritual Purpose: Grants a crew the ability to see through even the densest fog as if it wasn’t there for a period of one or more hours.

Ritual Weirdness: Under the influence of this ritual ointment, a person’s eyes glow a faint bioluminescent green.

Ritual Form: A downtime activity is spent ritually preparing an ointment of salt water, algae, and a drop of leviathan blood, costing 2 to 4 stress depending on the duration of sight desired, from 1 hour to a few hours to a day. The ritual prepares enough ointment for each member of the crew, and each person can then apply the ointment to their eyelids later to activate the sight.

Ritual Fear: The use of this ointment provides glimpses of things, neither man nor ghost, that hide in the fog. And some of those things notice being noticed. Each successive use of the ointment after the first ticks a six-segment progress clock ‘the Horror in the Fog’.

Hue and Cry

“A hue and cry is a process by which bystanders are summoned to assist in the apprehension of a criminal who has been witnessed in the act of committing a crime. ‘Hue’ appears to come from the Old French huer, which means ‘to shout’, and ‘cry’ from Old French crier (‘to cry’).” (Wikipedia)

The hue and cry is the enemy of any scoundrel, but there are ways to turn it to one’s purpose. Perhaps a ritual to summon a spectral hue and cry that terrifies all who hear it into hunkering down and hiding rather than venturing out?

Ritual Purpose: Creates an object that summons a great clamour of spectral baying and shouting that terrifies everyone within a block’s radius into hiding save those of the caster’s choosing, potentially clearing a path for a crew to escape.

Ritual Weirdness: During the hue and cry, members of the crew that summoned it glow with light as though spectres themselves.

Ritual Form: The caster must spend a downtime activity in meditation at the site of a riotous and violent event, perhaps the site of a violent mob or the clash and cries of a riot, channeling the Echo of that event into a specially prepared object, usually an instrument such as a horn or a bell. This can be quite dangerous (risky action roll), and the caster takes 4 stress for the attempt. If successful, the instrument can be used thereafter to summon the hue and cry.

Ritual Fear: While the spectral hue and cry prevents mortal pursuers from hampering the crew, perhaps it might eventually call non-mortal pursuers to apprehend the criminals before them?

[mahayanapilgrim]

Transforming Three Poisons into Seeds of Virtue: A Path to Liberation

In Buddhist philosophy, the concept of the three poisons—attachment, aversion, and ignorance—lies at the core of understanding the human condition and the path to enlightenment. These poisons continually arise in connection with objects in our lives, shaping our perceptions, actions, and ultimately, our suffering. However, within the framework of Buddhist practice, these poisons can be transformed into seeds of virtue, paving the way towards liberation and compassion for all sentient beings.

1. Attachment (Greed) :

Attachment, or greed, manifests when we crave objects that are pleasant or beneficial to us. Whether it's material possessions, relationships, or experiences, attachment binds us to the transient and often illusory nature of existence. This clinging creates a cycle of desire and dissatisfaction, perpetuating suffering and preventing true contentment.

To transform attachment into a seed of virtue, practitioners are encouraged to recognize it as soon as it arises. Instead of succumbing to the grasping nature of attachment, one can cultivate the aspiration for the well-being of all sentient beings. By dedicating one's attachment to the welfare of others, the self-centered nature of greed is transcended. Through this practice, attachment becomes a catalyst for cultivating empathy, generosity, and the altruistic wish for all beings to be free from the chains of attachment.

2. Aversion (Hatred) :

Aversion, or hatred, arises in response to objects or situations that are unpleasant or harmful to us. It is characterized by feelings of anger, resentment, and hostility towards that which we perceive as threatening or undesirable. Aversion not only creates inner turmoil but also fuels conflicts and divisions in the external world.

In the practice of transforming aversion into a seed of virtue, individuals are encouraged to confront and acknowledge their feelings of aversion without judgment. Rather than allowing hatred to consume them, practitioners can channel its energy towards cultivating compassion and loving-kindness. By extending thoughts of goodwill towards those whom we perceive as adversaries, the barriers of animosity are gradually dismantled. Aversion thus becomes a catalyst for developing patience, tolerance, and reconciliation, leading to harmony both within and without.

3. Ignorance (Delusion) :

Ignorance, or delusion, represents a lack of understanding of the true nature of reality. It obscures our perception of ourselves, others, and the world around us, leading to misunderstanding, misinterpretation, and misidentification. Ignorance lies at the root of all suffering, perpetuating the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth in the realm of samsara.

To transform ignorance into a seed of virtue, practitioners embark on the journey of awakening to the inherent wisdom within themselves. Through mindfulness, meditation, and the study of Buddhist teachings, individuals gradually dispel the clouds of ignorance that shroud their minds. As clarity dawns, the interconnectedness and impermanence of all phenomena are realized, leading to a profound sense of liberation and freedom from the cycles of suffering.

In conclusion, the transformation of the three poisons into seeds of virtue is a central theme in Buddhist practice. By recognizing attachment, aversion, and ignorance as they arise and skillfully working with them, individuals can cultivate qualities such as compassion, loving-kindness, and wisdom. Ultimately, this transformative process leads to the attainment of enlightenment and the ability to benefit all sentient beings with boundless love and wisdom.

[astrologicaldreamin]

Astrological Practices I Live By

Some may have alternative views, which is perfectly okay. I am here to grow and experience, so if there is something that seems constructive, I'm all ears. However, these are all personal practices and something I think is important for whomever seeks my posts. 🖤

Your natal chart is the precedent for everything. Asteroids, persona charts, solar returns, and more all bounce off of the original astrological placement of your birth. If there is contradiction, that should be analyzed and indulged in where it exists, and most importantly why. Not a lot of observational techniques I see actually use natal placements to boost and further the analysis of alternative charts. ex: comparing the juno PC chart of desire and commitment to groom/briede PC chart and understanding your inner needs to the potential outcome while adding the basis of your natal venus/mars sign to understand your relationship dynamics

Mythology is a huge aspect of astrology, which helps influence and gain characteristics to each planetary body. I never would have understood anything well if I had not taken a course to broaden my views and experience the same literature it is in association with. Regardless of belief system, you cannot walk in the same path if you do not follow the same footsteps. reasoning: rationalization of obscure objects always falls down into attempting to find language to demonstrate said acts, whereas mythology and story-telling is the backbone of bringing ideas to words that did not have definition. (however, you do not have to take a course to do so).

Astrological degrees are important. Everything provides context and I never experienced the weight of any chart until I brought the theory of degrees. Some may argue that it is ineffective, but this supports a heavy form of individualization and provided so much depth that I otherwise found lacking. ex: analyzed similarly as if a house placement, but more in symbolsis to the sign. everything changed when i realized my sun (chart ruler) is with a scorpio degree, finalizing the missing feeling i had all along that I was hoping to gain through alternatives (persona, asteroids; etc)

Some placements are meant to be "harsh, ugly, and/or weak." Depending on your configuration, those should be exalted as strengths rather than weaknesses. Change your perspective, not who you are. Astrology provides context. Your chart is made to be a form of guidance and abundance, but also an observation of the life you experience. Be willing to do the work or focus on a safe landing until you are able to do so. Do not let people take away your empowerment and rid yourself of growth. It's your divine right. [This is a safe place, but I will not shy away from the consensus of likeability.] ex: placements do not finalize your identity and many astrologers are expanding their acknowledgement of various facets on a daily basis, where many observations are still extremely left-field. unless someone is able to become you, there is no ability to override your instincts. by attempting to discard and over-romanticize, you are taking away the vitality you can gain when you come to accept and find hope in the wounds that used to scare you. remove posts that demonize you, but also lessen you by removal of your depth. people hate what confuses them. stand as an enigma.

Astrology is as powerful as a sensory process. It does not define fate, but it is a combination of various aspects that contribute to a language that can be transcribed within the human experience. When looking towards prediction, it is not much more than understanding that rain has a tendency to come when the sky gets bleak and trees shake in the wind. Saturn in Retrograde is similar to the temperature dropping when a change is about to happen or having a powerful instinct that an area is unsafe. It is a sign, but not a decider of choice. There is a reason why it is crafted upon an abundance of art and "aesthetics" that exist in intangible forms. reasoning: astrology is not a hard science and may never be, but the discrimination of subjects that do not belong in that category are absurd. coincidence is powerful and simply the pattern of understanding outside of our present material. similar to language, we attach meanings towards predictive association in order to enable meaning. do not take away the beauty of limited understanding because we live as creatures with limited resources. this does not discredit spiritual belief, but acknowledgement of causation vs. correlation of specific events.

[yanpoetry]

Chapter 2: Part 2: Fending Off Fakers

As you start to enter the Hunting Grounds and make yourself visible to the right Yandere, it’s crucial to ensure that you don’t fall into the trap of attracting Chasers or Fakers. These are people who are not interested in genuinely understanding the Darling dynamic, but rather in gaining attention, fulfilling lustful desires, or exploiting your vulnerability for their own gain.

Fakers are especially dangerous because they will act like they care, but their primary focus is often self-serving—whether it's seeking validation, attention, or simply experiencing the thrill of controlling someone without the emotional depth or commitment that a true Yandere would offer.

So, how do you keep yourself protected while still making your presence known to the right people? The key lies in the art of subtlety, mystery, and deliberate ambiguity. Here’s how you can effectively fend off Fakers and keep your Darling identity safe:

1. Vague Photos & Mysterious Presence

When it comes to photos or personal content shared online, it’s important to stay vague and mysterious. This doesn’t mean you should hide yourself entirely, but rather ensure that what you do share does not make it too easy for anyone to immediately pinpoint who you are or what you're about. You don’t want to give away too much to someone who might simply be chasing a fantasy or looking to manipulate you for their own gain.

Blurred or Partially Covered Photos: Post photos that hint at your aesthetic or vibe without revealing too much about your face or identifying features. This could mean capturing your silhouette, your hands, your back, or even just your clothes or accessories. You want to show your Darling energy, but not in a way that makes it easy for someone to figure out your personal life or location.

Artistic Filters and Angles: Use filters that obscure details of your face or body, and take photos at unique angles to create a sense of mystery. This can be as simple as framing a shot where your face is turned away or focusing on something symbolic of your Darling persona—like a flower or a meaningful object—rather than an obvious self-portrait.

Avoid Revealing Personal Details: Don’t share photos that directly show where you live, your exact appearance, or any identifying marks (such as tattoos or specific outfits that could be traced). Fakers will latch onto anything they can use to validate their obsession, so keeping these details vague or concealed helps to protect you.

2. Obscure Your Links and Information

While you may want to share your social media or other accounts to connect with others, you also need to ensure that your online footprint is hard to track down by those who might be interested in you for the wrong reasons. Keeping your social links and other identifying details somewhat obscured will help protect your personal life while still allowing the right Yandere to find you.

Link Shorteners: Use services like Bit.ly or other URL shorteners to hide the direct link to your profile or social media page. This prevents someone from easily finding all your connected accounts with a simple search. You can also rename the shortened link to something less obvious, like "discover me" or "hidden world," so it doesn’t give away the nature of the link.

Private Accounts: Keep your main social media accounts set to private. This allows you to approve who can view your content and keeps outsiders from gaining easy access to your personal life. You can then selectively accept requests from those who feel genuinely aligned with your Darling energy.

Link Hiding on Other Platforms: On platforms like Tumblr, Twitter, or Instagram, avoid posting direct links to your personal pages. Instead, mention that your account is “hidden” or “private” or provide vague directions on how to find you (such as “search my name if you want to know more”). This forces potential Fakers to work harder to find you, creating a filter between yourself and those who may not be ready to put in the effort to truly understand you.

Use Non-Identifying Usernames: Choose usernames that don't immediately give away your true identity. This includes avoiding your full name or obvious details about yourself. Instead, opt for something more abstract, like a nickname or a phrase that reflects your Darling identity, but doesn’t make it easy for someone to track you down through other social connections.

3. Keep Posts and Captions Vague

The way you present yourself through text can also be a useful tool in fending off Fakers. You want to share just enough to express your inner Darling, but not too much to make it obvious to anyone looking for shallow validation or fleeting attraction.

Ambiguous Captions: When posting or engaging in conversation online, keep your captions and replies somewhat vague. Instead of revealing your deepest feelings or life story, focus on expressions of longing or emotional connection that are relatable, but not too personal. Phrases like “I long for something deeper” or “I crave connection in a world of isolation” can suggest your Darling nature without oversharing.

Create Depth Without Oversharing: Posts that hint at your emotional or psychological state are more likely to attract the right Yandere—someone who will see the depth behind your words. However, don’t go into too much detail. A statement like “Sometimes I wish I could just be claimed and held forever” speaks to the heart of a true Yandere-Darling dynamic without giving away too much of your story.

4. Filter Your Interactions

Once you’ve set up your social spaces and online profiles, it’s important to maintain boundaries and filter who you interact with. This is the key to ensuring that your Darling self doesn’t become overexposed to the wrong people.

Engage Carefully: Don’t respond to every comment or message you receive, especially if it’s from someone whose intentions seem unclear. Instead, focus on engaging with those who have shown a genuine understanding of the Darling role and emotional depth. If you sense that someone might be a Faker or a Chaser, avoid further engagement.

Screen Requests: If you have a public profile and someone sends you a request to follow, message, or connect, take time to evaluate their behavior and previous interactions before accepting. Look for signs that they understand the complexity of the Yandere-Darling dynamic and are not just looking for something superficial.

Know When to Block: If someone crosses boundaries or gives off Chaser/Faker vibes, don’t hesitate to block them. Protect your emotional space from people who may not understand or respect the deeper nature of your Darling identity. A real Yandere won't be stopped by a simple block.

[blackvortex]

Lovesick

— 🧸 Pairing: Lee Taeyong x (F) Reader

— 🧸 Themes: sadistyandere!taeyong, yangire!taeyong, soloartist!taeyong, !fangirlreader

— 🧸 Warning: mentions of death, blood, extreme gore, manipulation, toxic love, stalking, abduction, mental health, etc.

— 🧸 Summary: Lee Taeyong, A very well-known solo artist in his country has a dirty little secret. What was once a longing desire has now reached reality, It was the desire of Inflicting pain and torturing his fans to create all of his musical masterpiece, admiring the faint screams of his name coming from their mouths and enjoying the sheer pain they are suffering from in the hands of himself. Yet, he still had one desire to fulfill, the desire of having you all to himself.

A/N: The themes are altered to match the story. I apologize for the very very very very long wait, feel free to share your suggestions with me regarding about the fic! 'Lovesick' is also available on Wattpad! (wattpad: blackvortexwastaken)

CHAPTER 1: THE ORIGIN

The mysterious origins of the extraordinary luminary, Lee Taeyong, remain veiled in obscurity, as he has steadfastly chosen to withhold any details about his lineage or ancestral heritage, even when prompted by others.

Without a doubt, Taeyong's inclination to safeguard the privacy of his personal life is palpable. However, he does unveil a remarkable facet of his journey, disclosing that prior to embarking on his transformative path as a K-pop trainee, he honed his skills as a talented bartender, achieving mastery in the art of mixology.

After securing a position as a bartender, a newfound fervor surged within Taeyong, igniting an unwavering passion for the realm of idolhood. With relentless determination, he embarked on a quest for knowledge, fully immersing himself in the captivating world of K-pop idol shows. His sole objective was to absorb, analyze, and emulate the most accomplished soloists and adored group members. Diligently, he dissected their captivating presence, studiously examined their graceful movements, and scrutinized every aspect of their performances, leaving no characteristic of a transcendent superstar idol unexplored. Motivated by an indomitable desire to establish himself as an unrivaled idol capable of capturing the world's collective attention, Taeyong pursued his aspirations with unwavering dedication.

Taeyong's effortless triumph during the auditions effortlessly caught the attention of various companies, each fervently pursuing him. However, Taeyong, aware of the tempting offers from other entertainment entities, made a wise decision to join the prestigious SM Entertainment. This choice was influenced by SM Entertainment's esteemed reputation, not only in South Korea but also across the global K-pop landscape. Paired with his remarkable talents, cultivated through unwavering commitment, it was no surprise that his video showcasing his skills as a K-pop trainee rapidly spread, captivating the world's gaze.

Undeniably, Taeyong swiftly ascended to the status of SM Entertainment's favored artist, even prior to his official debut. His soaring popularity led to a plethora of privileges bestowed upon him, surpassing those granted to any other idol within the esteemed establishment at a similar stage of their career. Taeyong received an abundance of guaranteed projects, meticulously tailored to further enhance his renown. Moreover, he was offered the opportunity to debut as a member of SM Entertainment's new boy group, "NCT," obtaining the coveted roles of visual, main rapper, and main dancer. In addition, his journey encompassed a solo debut, amplifying his artistic prowess and individuality.

Upon making his debut as a member of NCT 127, the enigmatic and captivating idol, Lee Taeyong, swiftly became the center of attention. In an instant, his schedule grew exponentially busier, and his name began circulating across various social media platforms, articles, and throughout the vast landscape of the K-pop community. With his alluring beauty and irresistible charm, Taeyong became a prime target for modeling agencies, continuously receiving offers due to his undeniable appeal. Every camera lens and gaze seemed to be fixated upon this exceptional idol, as if the world momentarily paused to revel in his presence. It was indisputable that he held an unparalleled sway over the collective consciousness at that particular moment. Unquestionably, Taeyong reveled in the adoration and eagerly sought every ounce of attention that came his way as time progressed. It became increasingly apparent that he was destined for the stage, a natural-born superstar who is destined to be under the spotlight.

However, akin to many other idols in the expansive world of K-pop, the initial euphoria surrounding Taeyong's debut eventually subsided, leaving behind a sense of disenchantment. It appeared as though his grand entrance had not yielded the remarkable impact that was anticipated. Consequently, the prospect of Taeyong debuting as a soloist, along with his other promotional projects, was regrettably withdrawn by the company, citing a perceived decline in public interest.

Naturally, Taeyong found himself dissatisfied with this turn of events. He steadfastly refused to settle for anything less than what he believed he deserved. While there were still loyal fans who wholeheartedly supported him, he is yearning for greater fame and attention surpassed the fame he had attained during his debut. He craved more, an insatiable desire that led him to contemplate drastic measures, even if it meant sabotaging his fellow group members, all in pursuit of securing the coveted spotlight he so fervently desired.

Despite Taeyong's downfall, he maintained an outward facade, emulating a charm that had long been overshadowed by resentment. He diligently worked with his bandmates, flawlessly recording their latest album, "2 BADDIES," never missing a beat. Following a lengthy lunch break, he returned to the studio only to be met with the gift of fate. The pungent smell of burning wires filled the air, setting off alarm bells in his mind. Hastily, he made his way to the control room, only to find the doorway blocked by the recording equipment. On the other side, his bandmates pounded on the door, their desperate cries mingling with the crackling of flames.

Taeyong called out to them, rushing towards the fallen equipment, instinctively reaching out to save his fellow members, only to abruptly freeze. In that moment, he found himself transfixed. Each breath became a conscious, deliberate act, demanding his full attention, while the distant cries grew faint until they were scarcely audible. Slowly, he stepped back, his realization dawning upon him. They were screaming his name as the flames consumed them. Their desperate pleas echoed in his ears, "Taeyong!" "Lee Taeyong!" "Taeyong!" It was a hauntingly beautiful sound, etching itself into his soul. When the fire fighters finally arrived, his tears flowed freely.

His tears continued to flow unabated, but alongside the sorrow, an unsettling sense of satisfaction began to seep into Taeyong's being. The haunting cries that reverberated with his name brought an unexpected thrill, sending shivers down his spine. Each agonized scream became a twisted symphony in his mind, a perverse melody that he savored with perverse delight. As the echoes of their screams repeated in his thoughts, a morbid idea took hold of him. The notion that he had successfully orchestrated the downfall of his bandmates to create a gaping void for his own fame not only intoxicated him but also sparked a disturbing inspiration within him. It ignited a desire to infuse his music with elements of violence and darkness

CHAPTER 2: TRAGIC TURN OF EVENTS

The tragic news of the untimely demise of nine members from the beloved boy band group NCT 127 reverberated with an unprecedented swiftness. The devastating information spread across the vast expanse of the internet, permeating news outlets and inundating various social media platforms. The collective mourning and outpouring of heartfelt condolences enveloped the entire community, extending solace to the grieving family members and loved ones of the victims. Among the somber aftermath, one member stood as the lone survivor, bearing the weight of unimaginable loss.

As a relatively new fan of NCT, the impact of this harrowing news weighed heavily upon you. Despite just your recent liking of the group, the magnitude of the tragedy stirred within you a profound sense of sadness. Compelled to express your emotions, you sought solace in online forums, joining others in grieving and sharing your condolences during this somber period.

Amidst the overwhelming sorrow, a deep concern for the sole surviving member of the group, Lee Taeyong, gripped your thoughts. You contemplated the immense burden he must be shouldering in the wake of such a tragic event. Driven by a genuine empathy, you tirelessly sought ways to reach out to him online, yearning to offer solace and comfort during this trying time. Utilizing the Bubble app, to which you subscribed, you composed a heartfelt message for Taeyong, hoping to provide a source of support and understanding amid the aftermath of these unfathomable events.

“Taeyong, I am sending my deepest condolences towards you and those who were also affected by this horrid news. I hope you are holding up well and eating a lot, please still take care of yourself and I want to let you know that we are all supporting you and whatever it is that you decide on doing now, we will wholeheartedly support you no matter what. <3”

Sent, 14:34

As the memories of that tragic event resurfaced, it felt as though time had both stood still and raced forward, for it had already been three years since the devastating incident unfolded. The nightmare that had gripped the K-pop community during that period continued to cast its shadow even to this day, a somber reminder of the fragility of life. How you wished it were all a dream, a cruel illusion that could be banished with a simple awakening.

Sighing, you pushed these heavy thoughts aside, diverting your attention to your present reality. You focused on your full-time job as a waitress at a local café, located in close proximity to your residence. As the closing hours approached, you bid farewell to the last customers of the day, offering them warm smiles and well wishes as they departed from Vortex Café. Taking a deep breath, you swiftly embarked on the task of tidying and cleaning the café, eager to complete your responsibilities for the evening.

On your way home, you eagerly reached for your phone in your bag, looking to find any updates regarding Taeyong. Following the tragic event, he had taken a hiatus from the spotlight during those past three years. However, the recent announcement by SM Entertainment declaring Lee Taeyong's official debut as a soloist sent shockwaves of excitement through the internet. The anticipation among fans was palpable, as they rejoiced at the prospect of Taeyong returning to what he was destined to do.

This news brought a sense of joy and relief to you, as you had been diligently saving up to meet him. Being a relatively new fan who joined the fandom shortly after the tragic accident, you had not yet had the opportunity to see the renowned Lee Taeyong in person. The prospect of finally witnessing his presence and experiencing his artistry firsthand filled you with anticipation. Taeyong had become an influential figure in your eyes, and your love for his work was unwavering

CHAPTER 3: MUSICAL MASTERPIECE

A year into his hiatus, Taeyong immersed himself in solitude, utilizing the time to introspect and meticulously plan his upcoming musical endeavors. As he delved into the depths of his creative mind, haunting echoes of the horrified screams from his band members during the fire accident resurfaced with unsettling clarity. The memories lingered, evoking a sinister desire within him. He craved more of those desperate cries, yearning to hear his name chanted in fear once again. The twisted obsession grew, driving him to plot his next move and identify a potential victim to serve as a vessel for his violent ideas. His newfound fixation centered around incorporating these horrified screams into his music, creating an amalgamation of darkness and artistry that blurred the boundaries of conventional expression.

As Taeyong sought solace in his artistic endeavors, he sought refuge in a remote and abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Its desolation ensured that his forthcoming musical masterpiece, with its unsettling undertones, would remain concealed from prying ears. With meticulous preparation completed, the time had finally arrived for Taeyong to embark on his daring experiment: the fusion of violence and music.

His first target was a persistent sasaeng fan, an individual who had relentlessly pursued him during his hiatus. Acutely aware of this unwelcome presence, Taeyong bided his time, waiting for the opportune moment to take action. Positioned on a bench in a park near his residence, he remained vigilant, keenly observing the sasaeng fan stationed just outside the park, near a bustling bus stop. Clutching a camera adorned with a shoulder strap, the fan deliberately angled it towards Taeyong, capturing his every move. The clarity of her intent was unmistakable, as she persisted despite the passage of numerous buses.

Taeyong stifled a quiet chuckle as he moved leisurely towards his unsuspecting target. "How long are you willing to stay here?" Taeyong's hushed words brushed against her ear. Startled by his sudden presence, the sasaeng leaped in surprise. She gazed intently at the idol before her, struggling to collect herself after the unexpected encounter. "Um... You..." The sasaeng stammered, still shaken by his abrupt approach. "What's the matter? Why are you so taken aback? Did you really believe I wouldn't notice you from a distance?" Taeyong's smile widened as he gradually closed the gap between them. "Would you prefer a change of location? You must be pretty hungry for staying there for too long.” Taeyong continued.

The sasaeng stood motionless in her position, her mind racing with the countless advantages she could reap from this very encounter. If the conversation went smoothly, she might find herself alone with the idol, a cherished fantasy she had nurtured for an extensive duration after years of relentless following.

It was almost as if Taeyong possessed an enchanting aura that bewitched anyone fortunate enough to cross his path. The prospect of accumulating wealth through obtaining his personal information and, perhaps, even acquiring one of his personal possessions tantalized her thoughts. Moreover, an even more gratifying outcome came to her thought, as it could potentially pave the way for further interactions on various occasions with the idol.

As her reverie abruptly dissolved, she found herself transfixed on Taeyong, who had already closed the distance and now stood mere inches away from her presence. Her heart pounded fervently within her chest, its rhythm resounding in her ears, as the sight of the idol before her intensified her emotions. With trepidation, yet undeniable eagerness, she mustered the words, "I would be thrilled to accompany you." A smirk played upon Taeyong's lips, hinting at the burgeoning desires that simmered within him, growing steadily stronger.

Taeyong graciously escorted the sasaeng to his vehicle, courteously opening the passenger-side door for her before proceeding to settle himself in the driver's seat. However, as the car journey commenced, an unsettling turn of events unfolded. Taeyong surreptitiously secured the doors, evoking a sense of entrapment. Suddenly, he swiftly covered the sasaeng's mouth with a handkerchief that had been tampered with a mysterious substance, inducing a gradual descent into unconsciousness.

As her vision dimmed and the world faded into obscurity, the sasaeng valiantly struggled to remove the cloth, her diminishing willpower waning. A haunting image imprinted upon her consciousness: Taeyong's unsettlingly luminous smile, hinting at enigmatic intentions.

Gradually, the sasaeng's consciousness returned, and a surge of anxiety coursed through her as her eyes flinched open, met with a dazzling array of bright lighting equipment aimed directly in her direction. As her awareness fully rekindled, she cautiously surveyed her surroundings, discovering herself ensconced amidst an array of recording equipment. To her dismay, she realized her limbs were securely bound to the chair she occupied, prompting a sense of urgency to escape her precarious predicament.

Just as she mustered the courage to make a frenzied attempt at freedom, her gaze caught sight of Taeyong's silhouette gracefully emerging from a distant hallway. Time seemed to momentarily halt as her gaze fixated on his approach, harboring uncertainty about his intentions and the imminent encounter that awaited her

CHAPTER 4: PLEASED TO MEET YOU

A smile adorned your face as you observed Taeyong's captivating presence on your phone screen. He just released his first music video after 3 years. His charm radiated brightly, surpassing any previous glow, even through the digital realm. However, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in his musical style and vibe compared to his time as a member of NCT 127. The current manifestation exuded a darker, more edgy aura.

As the melodic strains resonated, a peculiar addition caught your attention—a backdrop of distant screams harmonizing with the song. Surprisingly, rather than disturbing the experience, these eerie echoes blended seamlessly, enhancing the authenticity of the artistic vision. In fact, you found yourself personally drawn to Taeyong's newfound musical direction, appreciating the boldness and allure it exuded. Thus, you took a moment to express your approval by leaving a like under the video, acknowledging the captivating journey he had embarked upon.

And just as with many other K-pop idols, Taeyong embarked on tours, captivating fans both near and far with his awe-inspiring performances. His popularity soared to new heights after the release of his first full solo album, propelling him to become the center of widespread attention and admiration once more.

After hustling in you full-time job as a waitress, you secured a coveted VIP meet-up reservation with Taeyong following the announcement of his world tour. Being among the first to secure a spot was a stroke of luck, as the demand was immense, evident from the fact that all available slots were swiftly sold out. Taeyong's impact on the world had undeniably reached staggering proportions during this time.

Now, in the present moment, you find yourself in a taxi en route to the restaurant. However, a tide of uncertainty washes over you, causing a flicker of doubt to emerge. Despite your physical preparedness, a sense of apprehension clouds your mind. Taeyong's overwhelming success, remarkable handsomeness, and unparalleled talent have left you feeling somewhat intimidated. The prospect of meeting him suddenly renders you shy and hesitant to attend.

"Ma'am, we have arrived at your destination," the cab driver announces, interrupting your thoughts. Snapping back to reality, you express your gratitude with a soft smile directed at the driver, promptly offering a tip before stepping out of the vehicle.

Tentatively, you made your way into the restaurant, your lingering shyness still present from your contemplations. As you entered, a poised waitress gracefully approached you, her steps purposeful and her presence welcoming.

“Good afternoon, madam. Are you reserving a table?" inquired the waitress, her professional demeanor graced by a warm smile. "Ah, no, I'm here for a VIP meet-up with Taeyong," you replied, reciprocating her smile. Sensing the purpose of your visit, she requested your name, opening a journal awaiting your response. "Y/F/N," you promptly provided. The waitress scanned the pages, seeking your name among the entries. "Ah, Ms. Y/L/N! Welcome to the Vortex Lounge. Please follow me," she cordially invited, guiding you towards the VIP room.

As the waitress led the way, your mind couldn't help but wander, pondering the choice of a restaurant for this meet-and-greet event with Taeyong. Unlike other idols who typically only have a brief encounter with fans, this setting felt more akin to a romantic rendezvous than a traditional idol-to-fan gathering. The notion of a private date with the esteemed Lee Taeyong briefly flattered your imagination, although you remained acutely aware of its unlikelihood. Snapping out of your delusions, you refocused as the waitress halted in front of the VIP room.

"Enjoy your stay. Please refer to the order button on the table if you require anything," the waitress informed you, graciously opening the door. Expressing your gratitude, you bid your farewell to the waitress and stepped into the room, sensing the door gently closing behind you.

An inaudible gasp escaped your lips as your gaze fell upon the solitary figure of Taeyong seated at the table, his eyes fixed upon you as though he had eagerly awaited your arrival for an eternity.

Taeyong gracefully rose from his seat, extending a kind gesture as he pulled out a chair for you. "Please, have a seat," he invited, his smile exuding warmth and hospitality. Grateful for his courtesy, you settled into the chair, feeling a mixture of disbelief and elation as Taeyong resumed his place across from you. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N. My name is Lee Taeyong," he introduced himself, his words laced with sincerity.

The reality of Taeyong's presence before you, no longer confined to a phone screen, seemed almost surreal. His physical allure surpassed even your wildest expectations, leaving you awestruck and feeling as if you were living a dream come true. It was as though your eyes were playing tricks on you, unable to fully grasp the extraordinary moment unfolding.

"Likewise, my name is Y/N," you managed to utter, your flustered state growing more apparent with each passing second. Taeyong responded with a gentle smile, attempting to alleviate your nervousness. "Please don't be anxious. I'm just like any other person, really," he reassured you, his politeness shining through. "Feel free to order anything you desire; it's my treat," he graciously continued.

The extraordinary level of fan service offered by Taeyong made you wonder if all the VIP holders were being treated to the same extent. This elevated experience surpassed all expectations, and you couldn't help but feel immensely fortunate to be among the privileged few granted such a remarkable opportunity.

You carefully perused the menu, deliberating over your choice. "A Carbonara will do," you finally decided, sharing your selection with Taeyong. His smile grew wider as he promptly pressed the button to place your order. Soon after, a waiter entered the VIP room to take Taeyong's order, greeting you both with a warm smile. "What can I get you today?" the waiter inquired. Taeyong responded graciously, "Just one serving of Carbonara for this beautiful woman, please." The waiter jotted down Taeyong's order before expressing their intention to bring it promptly. With the waiter's exit, Taeyong's gaze fixated on you once again.

Taeyong's compliment had left you completely flustered; his description of you as beautiful caught you off guard, rendering you momentarily speechless. Frozen in place, you struggled to find an appropriate response, your cheeks tinted with a deep blush. Sensing your flustered state, Taeyong chuckled softly, his amusement evident. Seeking to redirect the conversation and regain your composure, you changed the topic.

"Taeyong... We greatly appreciate your unwavering dedication, particularly in light of the challenges you've faced, including the accident. How are you holding up?" you inquired, earnestly seeking his perspective. Taeyong's expression softened as he responded, weaving a fabricated tale of personal struggle and trauma stemming from the incident. He wiped away his tears, emphasizing the profound impact of his bandmates' tragic passing and how it had left him grappling with profound emotional scars. In reality, he was deceiving you, his mind replaying the haunting screams of his bandmates as they met their agonizing fate.

Filled with remorse for broaching such a sensitive topic, you sincerely apologized to Taeyong, expressing your concern in a gentle tone. The weight of your words weighed heavily on your conscience, and in an effort to alleviate some of the discomfort, you swiftly reached into your bag, retrieving a handcrafted gift. With a warm smile, you extended it towards him, presenting a meticulously made jar adorned with an array of motivational letters nestled within.

"I hope this gift brings you solace during challenging times. Please accept it as a token of my support," you offered, your smile conveying genuine care and empathy. Taeyong's countenance softened further as he reciprocated your gesture, accepting the gift graciously.

In that moment, Taeyong found you endearing. Though your question had touched upon personal territory, he didn't mind sharing his feelings with you. Moreover, he couldn't help but notice the beauty of your voice, envisioning the possibility of incorporating your screams into his musical compositions. Little did you know, Taeyong had already marked you as his next prey, his twisted mind reveling in the prospect of capturing your terror.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: I apologize for stopping early. I just wanted to see if anyone was still going to read ‘Lovesick’ after I halted the release for 2 years TT feel free to make suggestions for the fic <3

[paintermagazine]

A forgotten blast from the past!

Scottish/American actress: Laurie Shevlin

From the movie: ‘Murder at the Vanities’ (1934)

Source: ‘Those Obscure Objects of Desire’ (Stella Star)

[v-ividus]

31. The Ethical Crisis of Our Time: A Reflection on Our Humanity

“The good of an individual or a group of individuals requires that it be taken as an absolute end of our action; but we are not authorized to decide upon this end a priori. The fact is that no behavior is ever authorized to begin with, and one of the concrete consequences of existentialist ethics is the rejection of all the previous justifications which might be drawn from the civilization, the age, and the culture; it is the rejection of every principle of authority.” — Simone de Beauvoir

Have we been so delightfully naive that we, in fact, fail to see ourselves trapped by this modern, digital labyrinth? Addicted to our screens, we find ourselves captivated by curated personas that obscure the real and frequently chaotic maelstroms of human existence. The irony lies in the fact that our expansive online networks often strip us of our deepest connection: our humanity. As these virtual landscapes expand, we risk becoming mere echoes of our true selves, endlessly seeking validation for a façade that is as fleeting as a scroll.

Simone de Beauvoir urges us to scrutinize the ethical frameworks we cling to so dearly. If we insist on the goodness of the individual as an absolute, we must reckon with the consequences of our online behaviors. The algorithms we engage with fashion our desires and, inevitably, our interactions, transforming us into puppets of fleeting excitement and manufactured outrage. The psychological fallout is alarming—people devolve into caricatures, chasing after validation in the currency of likes and shares, drifting further from the intimate ties that truly nourish us.

Here our moral essence teeters on the brink of erosion. We must confront how willingly we let digital narratives shape our ethical stances and our human interactions. As we peel back the layers of this existential crisis, it’s glaringly clear that our once-sacred norms of civility and affection have been warped into objects of trade. Are we not, then, prisoners of our own design? Can we summon the fortitude to hold ourselves accountable for the voyeuristic impulses we've now come to accept?

We must bravely hold a mirror to our online personas and confront the unsettling dissonance within our moral and ethical consciousness. This call for self-reflection is not optional; it’s essential if we are to reclaim our lost ethical stature. Only then can we ignite a real revolution—one that shatters these artificial barriers and compels us to rediscover the humanity and greatness within ourselves and those around us. To reframe our relationships, we must dismantle the systems that manipulate us into compliance, for therein lies the essence of our moral reinvention.

The Masks We Wear: Dissecting Online Identities

Within the intricate tapestry of digital interaction, identity often surfaces as a carefully constructed façade, obscuring the complexities of the authentic self. The personas individuals adopt online can be understood through the lens of social constructionism, where identity is not merely discovered but actively constructed in response to socio-political and religious contexts. The digital arena engenders a performative struggle for social validation, wherein users engage in a seemingly zero-sum game: any ascent in social capital for one individual is perceived as a corresponding detriment to another. This interactive dynamic fosters an environment rife with competition and antagonism, rendering authenticity secondary to the pursuit of recognition.

Psychodynamically, the incessant quest for social affirmation serves to mask underlying insecurities and existential anxieties. The virtual environment operates as both an amplifier and a sanctuary for these psychological tensions, offering ephemeral gratifications through likes, shares, and comments that ultimately exacerbate feelings of disconnection and inadequacy. This phenomenon can be articulated through the lens of attachment theory; users may find themselves entangled in unhealthy attachment styles, leading to an insatiable craving for validation from an audience that remains fundamentally abstract and impersonal.

The entrenchment in defending social, political, and religious systems is often underpinned by a profound need for belonging and identity reinforcement. These institutions, while ostensibly providing order and coherence, function as conduits for deeper existential fears of isolation and meaninglessness. The binaries entrenched in our online discourse reflect larger socio-cultural narratives that dichotomize perspectives and reinforce in-group versus out-group mentalities. This battleground mentality cultivates a fertile ground for polarization, as individuals conflate their self-worth with the preservation of these ideological structures, thereby perpetuating a cycle of division and conflict.

To unravel these complexities requires engaging in a rigorous deconstruction of the motivations that compel individuals to invest in these performative battles. Aligning with de Beauvoir's critique of authority, we must confront the internalized disparities that shape our engagements with the digital landscape. Platforms and algorithms merely reflect the underlying socio-psychological patterns that dictate our reactions, amplifying the performative nature of our identities and transforming them into commodities within a marketplace of attention.

The pivotal inquiry becomes: How can we liberate ourselves from this recursive cycle of curated existence? Engaging in a transformative ethical reckoning demands a deep self-reflection on the structural underpinnings of our affiliations and the psychological ramifications of our digital engagement. As we excavate the layers of our online personas, we must confront the implications for our emotional intelligence, empathy, and moral reasoning—qualities that are imperative for fostering substantive connections in both virtual and physical domains.

To chart a course toward ethical resurgence, individuals must embrace the challenge of introspection and navigate the complexities of their relational dynamics. By confronting the emotional void created by superficial digital interactions, we can cultivate a more nuanced understanding of our shared humanity. This exploration allows for the dissolution of the artificial barriers erected by social, political, and religious frameworks, ultimately facilitating a journey toward a more authentic, connected, and psychologically integrative existence.

The Illusion of Connection: Alienation in the Age of Social Media

Despite the illusion of connectedness provided by social platforms, we face an era defined by profound alienation. The paradoxical nature of social media invokes the urgency to investigate our understanding of connection and belonging. This paradox—an urgent invitation to dissect our fractured understanding of real connection—bears down upon us with relentless intensity. Each “friend” or “follower” is but a hollow echo, a mere flicker of interaction, lacking any semblance of true understanding or emotional depth. This façade of connectivity not only deludes us but deepens our estrangement from the very relationships we yearn for, insidiously weaving a tapestry of loneliness that we seem all too eager to accept.

This alienation manifests in stark psychological and sociological ramifications. The motives driving our interactions online often intertwine with our desire to escape the discomfort of solitude. Yet, in seeking relief through the shallow engagements fostered by likes and shares, we inadvertently reinforce our sense of isolation. Each interaction, rather than bridging the chasm, deepens the void. As we gaze into the abyss of our digital lives, we must confront the truth—that solace is not found in screens, but in the raw and imperfect exchange of human experience.

To confront the ethical crisis we face requires more than mere acknowledgment—it mandates a collective uprising against the systems that enable our disconnection. It is incumbent upon us to question how we wield social tools designed for connection yet often sabotage our capacity for meaningful engagement. An examination of our patterns is essential; only then can we initiate the reclamation of our shared humanity.

To forge deeper connections, we must tread the arduous path from surface engagement to authenticity. The ethical implications of our actions extend beyond the digital realm, demanding a conscious reparative effort in our offline relationships. With empathy and vulnerability, we can reshape the narrative and redefine connection—one that transcends the constraints imposed by social media, anchoring us in our humanity once more.

The Confrontation of Ethical Identity: Reclaiming Agency in Digital Spaces

In the chaotic maelstrom of the digital realm, where social, political, and religious affiliations are ruthlessly magnified, our moral identity is at risk of being obliterated by ethical disarray. Like a relentless hurricane carving its destructive path, the online environment churns with egos battling in a senseless zero-sum game. What do they gain? Nothing but stress, anguish, and the festering consequences that spill into our real lives. These digital systems trap us in a dark whirlpool, suffocating our psychological well-being while breeding a culture steeped in compliance and vacuous interactions.

As we find ourselves adrift in this turbulent sea of moral complexity, we must rise against the siren call of shallow digital connections. The insatiable demand for authentic humanity compels us to shatter our comfort zones and reforge our ethical compass—one that places individual well-being at its crumbling core. It is not too late to reclaim our identity and cultivate a culture where love, empathy, and genuine connection are not drowned by the tide of artificiality.

The confrontation with these oppressive systems demands we scrutinize our online personas and the moral decay bred by blind cowardice and conformity. In our desperate grab for approval within trending ideologies, we often abdicate our responsibility for ethical beliefs and actions. This toxic dynamic births echo chambers that muffle dissenting voices, reducing the once-vibrant tapestry of human identity into a monochromatic display of conformity. We must ask ourselves: how can we truly justify our actions online when they wreak so much havoc on our real relationships, in real life?

To transcend mere compliance, we must embark on a brutal self-examination, dissecting the ethical calamities that infiltrate our digital and physical worlds. Each interaction on social media carries a heavy weight—the potential to unravel real-life relationships and escalate societal rifts that extend beyond the screen’s glow. Our collective conscience in this digital landscape must awaken to the stark responsibilities we bear for the toxic discourses we enter, understanding that our careless words and actions can drown the very essence of connection.

Navigating this treacherous divide necessitates confronting the conflicting loyalties we clutch to in our defense of chosen affiliations. Like a wild tidal wave crashing against the shore, users often bolster the very structures that erode genuine connections, perpetuating vicious cycles of division that warp our interactions in the tangible world—fueling hostility in public discourse, entrenching polarized communities, and nurturing isolated social spheres. The reclamation of our ethical identity must, therefore, be a fierce shared endeavor, demanding active participation in reshaping the corrosive narratives we perpetuate across both realms.

In our interpersonal systems, the ripple effects of ethical identity—especially in the context of an interconnected digital landscape—can be profound. Social media platforms often serve as an echo chamber, where individuals surround themselves with like-minded voices, reinforcing perceptions that can erode empathy and genuine understanding. As seismic divisions grow, people may find themselves in a state of moral paralysis, prioritizing digital affirmations over real connection.

As conflicts escalate online, they spill into real life, straining friendships and familial bonds. For example, a disagreement over a political issue may lead to heated exchanges on social media, fostering resentment that seeps into personal interactions. This fracture can dismantle trust and subject relationships to a barrage of judgment and blame, making it increasingly challenging to engage in constructive dialogues.

Moreover, the temptation to comply with popular opinion can lead to a suppression of dissenting views, curbing healthy conversations that help foster deeper understanding. Instead of nurturing honest exchanges, individuals might adhere to a façade, fearing backlash for expressing differing opinions, driving wedges between individuals who once shared strong ties. Reclaiming ethical identity in this realm necessitates an effort to cultivate mutual respect, develop empathy, and actively seek to understand differing perspectives—creating a foundation for lasting and sincere relationships.

Political systems often mirror the ethical dilemmas of interpersonal relationships, amplified by a 24/7 news cycle and an increasingly polarized environment. The urgency of the digital platform cultivates an atmosphere wherein opinions are often weaponized, leading individuals to champion partisan ideologies without regard for the complexities surrounding them. The result is a disintegration of discourse, characterized by vitriolic debates rather than constructive dialogues.

As political conflict mounts, citizens often align themselves with party lines, abandoning their ethical compass in favor of blind allegiance. This loyalty paradigm fosters a dangerous notion that a person's worth is defined by their political affiliations, reducing voters to mere statistics in a grander scheme of electoral politics. Consequently, empathy for those with opposing views erodes, reinforcing a binary perspective where compromise is viewed as weakness, further entrenching divisions.

Moreover, the immediacy of social media often leads to rash judgments and hasty conclusions, culminating in mobs of outrage without a nuanced understanding of issues at hand. Political discourse morphs into a fragmentation of tribalism, where loyalty supersedes ethics. To counter this divisive trend, leaders and citizens alike must emphasize the interconnectedness of their roles and the shared responsibility for fostering healthy dialogue, grounded in priority for truth and understanding above partisan loyalty.

Religious systems, too, can be significantly affected by the dynamics of ethical identity in a digital world. While faith can serve as a profound source of connection and community, digital platforms often expose theological discord, propagating divisions within faith communities. The online realm, filled with competing ideologies and interpretations, can amplify differences that inhibit unity. Disputes over doctrinal beliefs may escalate into public confrontations, leading to disillusionment and a fractured sense of belonging.

In such an atmosphere, individuals may express piety through the lens of their online personas rather than genuine faith. The quest for validation from digital followers can overshadow authentic expressions of belief, transforming spirituality into a performance rather than a lived experience. Furthermore, the desire to defend one's faith against perceived attacks can engender hostility, distorting the fundamental tenets of love and compassion often central to religious traditions.

The challenge lies in balancing the potent influence of digital narratives while nurturing spaces for genuine spiritual dialogue. Faith leaders and communities can reclaim ethical identity by prioritizing inclusion, emphasizing shared values over divisive doctrines, and promoting understanding among diverse perspectives. Embracing this ethical awakening can cultivate a sense of belonging that transcends social media's transient chatter, making way for authentic connections rooted in shared spirituality.

The interplay of ethical identity across interpersonal, political, and religious systems showcases the complexities of human connection in a digital age. To reclaim agency, individuals must commit to fostering empathy, genuine discourse, and authentic expressions of belief. The journey entails a shared resurgence of core values that prioritize compassion, understanding, and unity, enabling us to navigate the often-chaotic seismic landscape of contemporary life—transforming the fractures in our systems into opportunities for healing and connection.

Our march toward reestablishing a forgotten moral identity requires an unwavering commitment to ethical realness and constructive engagement amidst the chaos of mediocre intent. As we exercise our agency in these online spaces, we are obligated to recognize the consequences of our words and the chaos they unleash beyond the screen. Only through audacious action, fierce acknowledgment, and a united stand against our own complicity can we hope to cultivate relationships grounded in mutual respect and understanding—both online and offline—emerging unscathed from the tempest and reclaiming the full spectrum of our moral agency.

Conclusion: A Call to Action

We stand on a precipice, staring into the void of our ethical crisis, perpetuated by systems that thrive on our disconnection. Recognizing this reality is the first step toward asserting moral agency. To navigate the murky waters of social media and its implications on interpersonal relationships, we must engage in critical dialogue and self-reflection. Each individual possesses the ability to become a catalyst for change, rebirthing ethical standards that prioritize humanity over algorithmic imperatives.

By embracing the challenge of confronting our online behaviors, we send ripples through the fabric of our existence. The process of reconstructing our moral identity demands courage, vulnerability, and an unflinching commitment to truthfulness. Only through authentic engagement can we challenge the dominion of disconnection. Recognizing the humanity in others is a vital companion to this journey; acknowledging their complex narratives fosters an ethical awakening rooted in profound understanding.

Ultimately, the act of disengaging from systems of alienation and cultivating genuine relationships involves a collective undertow. We must resolutely confront the unsettling truths of our participatory roles within these structures. The imperative for ethical reclamation speaks volumes for the individual; it urges a return to the innate affection we carry for our fellow beings. It is time we choose to step away from artificial constructs and recommit to radical empathy, understanding, and connection-in our world, our actions echo far beyond the confines of the digital screen.

In closing, let us remember de Beauvoir’s emphasis on the rejection of preordained authority as we embark upon this journey of reawakening. The ethical crisis of our time demands a transformative shift—a commitment to uphold the intrinsic sanctity of human connection. May we challenge ourselves to evolve beyond our existing structures of morality, propelling ourselves into a future where our reclaimed identities spark the radical transformation necessary for healthier, more fulfilling relationships. It is time to seek the good in ourselves and others, guiding us toward a future rooted in true ethical integrity and profound human connection.

[animehouse-moe]

Link Click Season 2 Opening & Ending Explained

Praise be the powers that be that allowed the original musicians behind season one's electric performances return to double down on their work for this new season (and even collaborate on them!). Of course, they're not the sole attraction as stunning visuals and incredible solo efforts weave two very different and unique stories for this opening, which I'd love to explain here today.

Vortex - JAWS

This opening is incredibly interesting for countless reasons, but arguably the best is that it's a solo effort that incorporates the unique experience and background of its talented creator, Somei Sun (who you can find here). Seriously a very cool endeavor that starts with Somei's forte of CGI in an incredibly uncanny-in-a-good-way scene of a teddy bear floating upward.

This sequence very quickly sets the tone for the opening at large as the theme of the reversal of time appears from the very get go. Even with things as simple as the lighting changing from our quick look outside of the arcade the bear is found in.

Even further than that, the first time we see Cheng Xiaoshi is under this water that the bear is floating up from within. Very clear symbolism for drowning and being forgotten (alongside a few other key objects that will play into this season).

Soon after this we transition the silhouette of a character obscured in darkness and surrounded by vibrant colors, with various photographs surrounding them. When you slow it down, it's all but obvious that this is Cheng Xiaoshi, and is meant to signify the loss of his sense of self, and the weight that he ascribes to the actions and alterations of the past that he's introduced.

The whole idea of Cheng Xiaoshi being lost and fumbling for where and when he belongs, stumbling through all these pasts and people, is really well exemplified through this frustratingly good cut here.

Of course Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang represent Yin and Yang, so what would a sequence about Cheng Xiaoshi being lost in his many pasts be without Lu Guang seeing all the different versions of Cheng Xiaoshi (and even potentially teasing some new ones). Incredible work here, especially with the idea of Lu Guang being "correctly" oriented in time, just instead being frozen in it compared to Cheng Xiaoshi's violent by comparison reversal.

And the whole idea of Lu Guang appearing in a mirror? That's returning from fracturing? And that at the end of this sequence Cheng Xiaoshi appears again? Incredible symbolic work to summarize their relationship and how they exist both within and separately from each other.

Of course, it only keep getting better as we begin a descent into an incredible collaborative effort between animator and musician. First, we start with this sequence of a a child reaching out to the viewer while a larger hand engulfs them from behind. This is then followed up with a teddy bear erupting into a monster.

The trick here though comes from this incredible scene. This moment of Cheng Xiaoshi going back in time to attempt to save all of those close to him (and a few "others"), but being unable to reach them he begins his downward spiral through the flow of time once more.

It forces viewers to pose the question: which way is the right way? Is this the story of Cheng Xiaoshi clawing his way back from the depths of the Abyss, fighting backwards through time to create the present that he desires so much? Or is it his descent into atomization that fractures himself and Lu Guang into fragments of the past?

Whichever you see, it's impossible to not view it as an incredible sequence when paired with the music from JAWS that reverses as the flow of time switches. From start to finish it's a stellar opening that puts it on par with some of the heaviest hitters for this year.

The TIDES - Fanka, JAWS

This ending is a little more straightforward in its storytelling, as Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang are detectives that guided by Qiao Ling through an abandoned mansion to find something. In that sense it's rather literal, but the imagery shown and story told is more implicit.

Take this first still from within the mansion. A painting that shows a man and a woman together, obviously meant to display the closeness the two have.

The pair appear through Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang's exploration of the mansion quite often, and in very interesting and leading layouts.

The idea is that the woman is depicted as beautiful, the apple of the man's eye. A Saint that exists in opposition to his more devil-like existence. Someone that exists across from the man, so close yet so far away.

Regardless, through their exploration, they find figures of the man and woman with their hands reaching out for each other, and once their hands touch a secret door opens up. Through this secret door they find what could only be a time machine.

If the pieces weren't clear enough, this ending is all about one man's love for his (presumed) wife, one that he lost before himself. One that he could not give up, that he could not forget. A wife that he loved so much he would dare to defy time for. It's a really lovely and interesting story to tell from an outside perspective such as Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang's. Not stronger or better than the opening by any means, but still a very solid ending that tells a unique story.

[orions-choker]

I've got an idea for you. M/M, could be any pairing or combination of pairings, whatever your heart desires. Anyways, Kirk's a succubus, one whose appearance changes based on a person's preferences. If you like women, he'll look like a woman; if you like men, he'll look like a man. Interestingly, the guy(s) he's going after sees him as a man, not yet knowing what that means. Kirk knows they like men before they've even figured it out.

Warnings: Anal Sex, Spit As Lube, Minor Internalized Homophobia. Word Count: 6,579 A/N: Woooooh boy I am so sorry I took this request and then ran with it in kind of a different direction. I got excited my bad. Anyways I'm pushing Klars Supremacy!

Hunger, a never ending feeling that clawed at the pits of Kirk's stomach. No amount of consumption could ever satiate him, he could eat and eat until there was nothing left, it wouldn't fill the void in his stomach. It wasn’t a hunger for any material object, no food could satisfy. He needed primal desire, lust, arousal. It was really fucking difficult living like this. If he had ever existed prior to this he hoped his past life had it easier than he did now.

Sure he was granted all means necessary to push people into giving into their deepest wants. He was everything anyone ever wanted, he changed involuntarily to meet the desires of his food. If it got him what he wanted he didn’t mind, but sometimes he forgot what he actually looked like. He rarely looked in the mirror anymore knowing half the time what stared back at him was never really him…This is why now as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the puddle he was surprised.

Those were his curls, his smooth tanned skin, the glint of his sharp crooked teeth. Oh? This was unusual. His eyes drifted to the figure sitting on the bus bench curiously. Really? This guy wanted him? Just as he was. He found it hard to believe but the darker forces at play were never wrong, they couldn’t be, they knew everyone’s mind inside and out. It was a pleasant ego boost to see his own appearance for once, a nice reminder he was desirable just as he was.

There was a soft wet sound as his boots hit the dampened pavement. He couldn’t see the man’s face in front of him clearly but he looked cute, small even. The way he was slouched over on the bench, his soft brown hair cascading in curtains obscuring his face, the way his leather jacket hugged his body. Kirk was more than content with this assignment. His body cast a shadow over the other, looming over him silently.

“The fuck do you want?” The guy asked, not missing a beat, his head tilting up to look at Kirk. His accent was cute, European? He pronounced his ‘u’s more like ‘o’s and it was oddly endearing. His face was soft and pointed, he looked like a fairy from some shitty fantasy movie, elf maybe? He could feel his stomach grumble in intrigue. This would be tasty.

Kirk’s grin was cocky and lazy. “Just wondering if you knew when the number seven bus shows up? I'm worried I missed it.” He sat down beside him, leaving a seat between them. His long legs stretched out languidly in front of him as he leaned back against the slightly damp wood of the bus bench, he could feel it seeping into the back of his shirt and his jeans but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

The man looked him up and down, his eyes lingering briefly on Kirk’s thighs. Kirk’s chest swelled with pride just a touch. Then the boy scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away from him. “Don’t know. Do I look like an information desk?” He asked him sarcastically. Okay, wow, ouch. His face was way too pleasant to end up being such an asshole. Kirk’s smirk fell into a displeased grimace.

“Christ, I was just asking if you had seen it come by yet.” Kirk bit back at him, his legs pulled back as he sat up a little straighter, on the defensive now. He desperately did not want to deal with a struggle like this right now. He was hungry, starved. He wanted this boy served to him on a silver platter. He forced a smile back to his face, charming as ever.

The boy’s eyes didn’t meet his face again and Kirk deflated further. “No, I haven't.” He finally grumbled in response. His fingers tapped against his denim clad thighs as he stared straight ahead at the street before them. ‘Look at me’ Kirk thought with a grimace. He almost wanted to snap his fingers at him like he was a dog who needed to be trained into obedience.

Kirk leaned forward, still smiling sweetly. He would force him to look at him if he needed. “Thanks, that’s all I wanted to know.” His voice dripped with honey and sweet saccharine. There was a soft pause before he spoke again, outstretching his hand towards him. “I’m Kirk.” He introduced himself kindly. He watched as the boy's eyes dropped to his hand, his gaze zeroing in on the slightly chipped black polish on Kirk’s nails.

“You some kind of fruit?” The boy scoffed in disgust and Kirk reeled back surprised. ‘Aren't you?’ is what he thought but he didn’t say it out loud. He blinked as the boy met his gaze once more. Ah, fuck. He did not have the time nor patience to deal with some internalized homophobic bullshit. He almost wanted to scream. Then the boy continued, mumbling out a heavily accented introduction. “I'm Lars.” His hand was warm and calloused in Kirk’s own.

He rolled the name over his tongue “Lars,” He repeated. It was sweet like butterscotch. He liked it. Maybe it would be worth it to break this one down, he could starve just a little longer. Their hands dropped away from each other and Kirk’s eyes landed on the shirt half hidden beneath Lars’s leather jacket. “You like Maiden?” He asked, pointing his chin towards the design.

Lars blinked at him. “Wouldn’t wear the shirt if I didn’t.” God this guy was a little prick, yet it made Kirk smile all the same. His eyes brightened when Lars returned the smile back. Oh that was cute, the way his upper lip curled in to expose his teeth, the corners of his lips pointed upwards sharply, the scrunch of his upturned nose. The hunger in his stomach crawled into his hollow rib cage and he was pretty sure if he had a heart it would have stuttered. The phantom feeling of real warmth spreading through his chest. It almost made him hesitate.

‘You’re pretty’ that's what Kirk wanted to say. He shook his head softly, like he could rattle the thought away. His soft black curls bouncing around his face. “What else do you listen to?” Kirk asked, leaning forward with genuine intrigue. He was good at faking interest in the things people said to him, it was part of his charm and allure, he had to be good at it. But he liked music, and he liked looking at the way Lars’s mouth formed words, just slightly wrong. Something about him felt all too familiar, he knew he had never fed from this guy before, he would remember a face like this.

No he felt familiar in a way that pulsated at the back of his brain, painfully, like he was trying to remember something that didn’t exist, never had. It made his ears ring and he winced, his hands clutching at the front of his head painfully. The world suddenly felt too loud, pounding and thrumming against his skull like it was about to crack open. Kirk’s eyes screwed shut, it hurt, why did it hurt, make it stop. He didn’t have lungs, he was hollow inside, why couldn’t he breathe he didn’t need to breathe?

“Fuck man are you okay?” The voice broke him out of it, cool relief washing over him as he blinked his eyes open, his hands falling away from his head as he saw the concern painted across Lars’s face. The boys hand was on his shoulder, brows furrowed in worry. He didn’t need to be worried about him, he didn’t even know Kirk.

Slowly Kirk nodded. “Yeah, yeah, fuck sorry.” He said cautiously, his hands were shaking, why was he shaking? “I just got a killer headache.” He mumbled the lie out easily. That wasn’t a headache, that felt like dying, he thought, he didn’t actually know what dying felt like. Did he? Kirk was nothing but unsure about his existence, all he knew was how to consume. “Swear to god I’m not on drugs.” He cracked a small joke, it was even funnier to him considering the irony of swearing to the antithesis of his very being.

Lars’s hand fell from his shoulder as he nodded, cracking another hesitant smile at him. No Kirk wanted it back, wanted the heavy comforting warmth on his shoulder. “You sure?” He laughed. Kirk laughed with him, a real soft genuine laugh that surprised him. It happened easily, like it had happened a hundred times before. He wanted to lean in, rest his head on Lars’s shoulder and feel the vibrations against his skin. “Christ man, you scared me, it looked like you were having an aneurysm.”

Kirk shook his head with a grin. “Yeah that’s what it felt like.” The rough mechanical sound of an engine greeted his ears, the crunch of tires against pavement and the rumble of an exhaust pipe. He looked up at the bus, number seven. Fuck this was his fake bus number. He stood up slowly with the intention of getting on the vehicle. Then Lars followed him up. Kirk raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a dick huh, telling me you didn’t know the schedule, it's your bus asshole.”

“Yeah well I’m still not your personal bus schedule, you should know it yourself.” Lars bit back. He was a dick but not in an unfriendly way, in fact the banter seemed a little too personal for someone he had just met. He sat down next to Kirk, their knees knocking together gently as the bus rattled to life. Kirk had no idea where he would get off, maybe the stop after Lars just to be safe. “Anyways I didn’t get to tell you what I listen to after your little schizo freak out.”

Just like that Lars’s voice rambled on in Kirk's ear. Fuck this guy could talk a lot. Still he hung on to every word though. His grin brightening as the boy listed off bands, some mutual favorites and others Kirk had never heard of before. The guy liked a lot of European metal, he supposed that made sense when he took into account his accent. Kirk’s smile never faltered. “You know, your teeth are kind of fucked man.”

Ouch? What the hell dude. Kirk’s lips immediately pressed shut into a thin line, his eyes hardening as he looked at the other boy. He wanted to bite back that they couldn’t have been that bad considering his appearance was a direct correlation to the boy's personal tastes. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that, he had never encountered someone whose preferences were…just him? It didn’t make sense the longer he thought about it. He didn’t think he was particularly ugly but he was always tweaked just slightly to appeal to whoever he pursued. Why did Lars want him? “Rude.” He finally spit back.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Lars grinned. Kirk thought that this guy needed to learn to shut up sometimes. But it was endearing in a weird way. He wanted to kiss him and strangle him all the same. He watched with steady eyes as Lars pushed his hair from his face, his body bounced in the bus seat like he couldn't sit still.

“How do you not mean that in a bad way?”

Before Lars could open his mouth to speak, Kirk looked outside down the residential street they were pulling up to. This was Lars’s stop. He stopped, his brows furrowing. How did he know that? He could do a lot of things, reading minds wasn't one of them. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he felt like he might be sick. “This is me,” Lars said standing up as the bus rolled to a stop, his hand tightening on the bar to stop himself from falling over. “Listen I play at The Stone, sometimes with my band, swing by if you’re free on Friday.” He hummed before he stepped off with a small wave.

Kirk wanted to get off here too, follow the boy. Not for any reason other than it felt like he was supposed to. “Yeah, will do.” He mumbled softly but Lars was already gone. His eyes never left the boy’s form, peering at him through the window until the bus hummed to life again and he was pulled away. He got off at the next bus exchange to get on his actual bus, heading back to his apartment.

Sure Demons didn’t need somewhere to stay, they didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. However, Kirk enjoyed relaxing, he didn’t want to prowl the fucking streets all the time. He liked putting his legs up, watching some cheesy horror movie and plucking away on his guitar. Hell wasn’t a place to return home to, it existed more as a concept, an odd in between that existed in the cracks of life and death. He would avoid returning to those cracks by all means possible.

Sometimes, when he thought about it he was too human. He existed amongst them, a wolf in sheep’s clothing but he really didn’t feel like a wolf. He didn’t like hurting people, he was kinder than some of the other entities he had encountered. He didn’t really know why, it shouldn’t be in his nature to be good. Kirk didn’t know if he had always been like this. Kirk didn’t know what he had been like prior to a year ago. There was no guidebook on what to do when you’re born an incubus. What do you do when you suddenly just exist? With nothing to guide you but the never ending hunger beneath your skin that replaced the need for all other organs. His life force was this, it’s all he knew, yet somehow he had ended up so…mundane.

There was no introduction, no training. He just was. He could think, he could speak, feel to some extent, therefore he existed and that was that. Fuck he was hungry. With a groan he tilted his head back against his old worn couch, His hand slipped beneath his shirt, blunt nails scratching at the skin of his stomach. He should eat, yet the thought of eating anyone aside from Lars now seemed disgusting. He had a craving, nothing else could satisfy. It wasn’t hard to sever the connection with his chosen meal, he could choose someone else, but he didn’t want to. He could wait until Friday, probably…

If he wasn’t eating, Kirk didn’t find any purpose in leaving his apartment. The world was loud, overwhelming. He was safe in the confines of these walls. A demon with social anxiety? It was extremely comical and he wished he had someone to laugh about it with. Lars. That was the only name that popped into his mind when he thought about it. Suddenly he was struggling to breathe again

His body crumbled, sliding off the couch onto the worn wooden floors. On his hands and knees as he retched and gasped desperate to fill his non-existent insides with cool sweet air. His bones cracked under and popped. He watched as his blunt nails curled into something claw like digging, into the wood beneath him. The pressure at the front of his head pulsed until it burst, the sound of flesh tearing like paper, black blood trickling down into his eyes and blurring his vision as porcelain bone sprouted from his head in long twisting spirals.. It never hurt this much. The thick tar-like liquid poured into his mouth until he was choking. His tongue drowned in the sulphuric taste. Kirk coughed and sputtered, spitting out thick globs of inky black. He heaved, his chest spasming under his uneven breaths until the pain subsided. What the fuck was that? He collapsed, pressing his cheek against the cold floor for some sort of relief as his body burned around him. Was this some sort of cruel punishment for thinking too much, for trying to pry into a part of his brain he wasn’t allowed to see?

At this point he wasn’t sure how long he laid on the floor of his apartment, days maybe? Long enough for his body to shrink back in on itself, concede against his most primal nature. He hated the theatrics, the horns, the claws, the way his pupils expanded until they consumed his eyes. Reminders he could never be human even if he tried. The blood had dried on his face long ago and when he scrunched his features he could feel it crack and flake off of his skin. Gross.

With a heave he pushed himself off the floor, stumbling into his bathroom. He didn’t look up into the mirror as he leaned forward to roughly turn the taps on. He scrubbed at his face with the lukewarm water, like if he did it hard enough he could cleanse himself of his infernal nature. He dragged the rough pads of his fingers across his skin, trying to pull it back, remove the flesh from his face because he thought that would be less painful than existing like this. He stopped when it hurt, he couldn’t go that far, he had someone to see. His internal Calendar told him it was Friday, he knew it wasn't wrong. Had he really laid there that long. Pathetic. He shook his head, keeping his head down to avoid his own reflection as he shuffled into his bedroom. He rooted through the piles of clothing on the floor, sniffing them until he found something clean. He was a fucking mess but who cared, he had no one coming back here to impress.

Kirk had been to The Stone before. Wait had he? He couldn’t actually recall coming here, yet his legs moved him through the streets like he knew where he was going. And he did. He ended up in front of the familiar venue, it shouldn’t be familiar. His brain thrummed painfully, almost causing him to double over. No he hadn’t been here, couldn’t have. Then the pain subsided. He pushed his way inside the dimly lit venue. Music filled his ears. Shit was he late? Gazing towards the stage he sighed in relief, Lars wasn’t up there, he hadn’t missed it.

He settled in at the bar, ordering a beer as he turned to watch the first band on stage. It wasn’t bad, maybe a little too flashy for his own tastes. His eyes glazed over the drummer, he wasn’t very good, certainly not as good as Lars. No, wait. Lars didn’t tell him he played drums. He didn’t know that, how did he know that? Push it down, put it away. He shook it from his head, obviously he had just assumed from the way the boy had been tapping against his thighs on the bus.

The next band took the stage and Kirk found himself smiling. Metallica, yeah he knew that name. He felt an excited warmth in his chest and the phantom feeling of a heart thudding against his ribs. His eyes fell on the drum kit being set up, and the short Danish boy who took his place behind him. Playfully Kirk hollered, an excited whooping noise calling out over the chattering crowd. Lars turned and scowled at him, a small blush on his pale cheeks highlighted beneath the harsh stage lights. He could feel that the displeased look was hardly serious, not when he caught the corner of Lars' lips quirking up.

Watching the performance was like watching his favorite movie playing out for the hundredth time. He knew every moment before it happened, wrapped his lips around every lyric as if it had been memorized. Every beat felt familiar like it could replace the hollow feeling in his chest. Panic was rising in his throat like bile. His fingers twitched around the air longing for the feeling of heavy corded strings and smooth metal beneath them. Those were his chords, his riffs his-

The pressure against his skull was back again, he couldn’t breathe. He could feel the sickening ripple of bones cracking beneath his flesh. He needed to stop, needed to- get the fuck out of here. He stumbled through the press of warm sweaty bodies, his hands flying up to the front of his forehead like if he pressed down hard enough he could stop the protrusions threatening to break through his skin. Kirk barrelled through the heavy door leading into the restrooms and throwing himself into the nearest stall. His chest heaved with unheavy breathing and he didn’t even fucking need to breathe. His body was running on some sort of panicked autopilot he wasn’t familiar with, or maybe was too familiar with?

“Kirk, you okay man?” Great, the exact opposite of what he needed right now. Yet somehow the Danish boy’s voice soothed the pain, his skin felt a little smoother, flatter. How long had he been standing here that their set was already finished? There was a gentle rapping of knuckles against the stall door. From his peripheral he could see the faint outline of Lars through the gaps in the door.

With an unsteady hand Kirk pushed the door back open, He was nearly positive he didn’t look entirely human right now. He towered over lars a little more than usual, his eyes felt hazy and unclear like the darkness still swirled overtaking the whites, his nails a little too sharp as the dug into the wood of the frame and pushed himself forward. His suspicions were confirmed by the way Lars was looking up at him, eyes wide and swimming with unease. Kirk had never once appeared like this to any of his conquests, had never seen fear strike through a human heart quite like this.

The lights were flickering, was he doing that? Kirk couldn't be sure if the shadows moving up the walls were in his mind or a real product of the way he was closing in on the smaller man. He needed to near him, needed to feel his flesh beneath his fingers, rip away until there was nothing left but bone so that his existence would stop fucking with Kirk’s head. But all the same he wanted to be gentle, drown in him like he was coming home. Coming home, home, home he didn’t have a fucking home…not a real one, why was Lars home? “I’m sorry,” His words sound a little jumbled and choked.

Lars looked up at him in fear as his bare back was pressed against the wall. Kirk could read the confusion behind those eyes but It didn’t stop his pursuit, closing in on him like a predator does prey. His arms cage him in, he can’t escape. “The fuck is this?” Lars asked and his accent is even sloppier when he’s scared…cute. “What are you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kirk mumbled, his head dipping down lower to meet Lars’s eye level, and then he realizes he’s not quite as tall anymore, finally dropping back to equal height, his finger’s don't ache with the pressure of claws and the bathroom seems a little brighter. The urge to destroy and consume has faded from his bones. Lars was his complete undoing. “I really…really want you.” Kirk’s breath is hot ghosting over his lips.

He is vaguely aware of hands pushing against his chest, so Kirk stumbles back. Disgust has replaced the fear in Lar's eyes, and oh yeah, there was still this bullshit to deal with. “The fuck? Fucking homo.” He spat at him with pure vitriol. Enough that made Kirk flinch back. “Is that what you thought this was?” No, that wasn’t disgust, that was anxiousness on his features. Had his Lars always been so pent up and insecure, was this the same boy he had held in his arms night after night. Skin to skin, hearts beating in tandem.

Wait no. His Lars? His Lars. Kirk doubled over again with a groan, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, so hard that it hurt causing odd shapes to float in dim colors behind his eyelids. “Can you cut the bullshit already?” Kirk hissed, his head hurt too much to deal with this. He just wanted him back beneath his hands, soft and warm. The lines between his reality and these thoughts were blurring, rippling and crackling. It pushed against poorly sewn seams of realities. “Who are you fooling Lars? Just let me fucking love you.”

The words snap with the same harshness of a whip. He’s said these words before. Standing in his mom’s house, hands curled into fists at his sides. Lars had looked a lot smaller and uncertain than. Hurling every slur he could think of towards Kirk, the sting of a kiss still fresh on both of their lips. “Why won't you let me love you.” Kirk’s voice was more unsteady, shaky under the weight of the situation unfolding between them. “This isn’t wrong, we aren’t wrong.” He had pleaded.

Back then Lars had relented easily, curling into Kirk’s grasp at the first sight of tears welling up in his big cinnamon colored eyes. Lars had never liked it when Kirk cried. Now however, Lars was older, more hardened. “Love me?” He exclaimed in exasperation. “I'm not a fa-” Kirk drowned out the rest of those words. What happened, what had changed inside of Lars? Kirk’s head thrummed uncomfortably. What the fuck was he thinking. He didn’t know him. He didn’t fucking have memories, he didn’t have a mom, he never felt the embrace of a warm body around his to soothe him through the night. He was a fucking infernal creature, he lived off of nothing more than primal wants. A low ugly growl spilled past Kirk’s lips.

“Cut the shit Lars.” He ran a hand through his thick long curls. Squeezing his eyes shut as he sighed desperately. “Do I look like I’m human?” Kirk chuckled humorlessly as he gestured to himself. Maybe he did right now but there was no denying what the other man had seen. “I feed off your lust, your desires.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Demon, Incubus, Succubus whatever way you want to sugarcoat it. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay I am what you want me to be.” He opened his eyes again to stare at the man. His heart twisted warmly at the sight. He wanted to eat him whole but mostly he wanted to hug him. “I am what you want, you want this…me.”

Kirk stepped forward once more, leaving no room for arguments or dismissal. His head tilted, lips slotting against the other’s. Then something popped in his mind. The pressure being released. A sharp pain then relief. A heavy feeling settled in his chest and suddenly his husk of a body felt less hollow. There was something of subsistence to him now. It was sorely overwhelming the way it all came back to him. Soft sticky sweet nights in his backyard, hot summer day’s in someone's garage as he sweat over the frets of his guitar, the steady beat of Lars’s drums behind him. His friends and sharing lukewarm beers stolen from the store on the corner. His mom’s cooking. Lars, Lars, Lars. The name on repeat in his mind. He was consumed by him, his soft impish smile, the lazy way he spoke just between them. Then blistering pain, all consuming in a way that he could still feel it beneath his skin. Nothingness.

There was wetness pooling between their lips. He was crying, or was Lars crying? When had the others hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer with the desperation of a dying man. “Lars, Lars stop please.” He mumbled against the boy’s lips pulling back and finding recognition in his face.

“You died, you’re dead”

The words were said with a crushing heaviness. “I did,” Kirk replied. “I am.”. The room was spinning with the knowledge that shouldn’t exist in his brain. “I’m not supposed to be here.” He whispered in a soft disbelief. This is what had become of him in death? He wanted to retch. A demon, mindless, empty and hollow. He didn’t like that there was nothing beneath his bones. He wasn’t supposed to know this for a reason, wasn’t supposed to find Lars. Yet even in this infernal state whatever that remained of his soul sought him out.

Lars shook his head as the same mental block was crushed under the weight of their reunion. Kirk’s very existence had been wiped from the minds of anyone who mattered. A demon couldn’t have mortal connections. Kirk didn’t exist in this reality. But he existed within Lars. Ingrained in the boy's very soul he couldn’t be removed, only hidden. “I watched you die,” Lars choked out brokenly. “W-why did I forget you?”

“I know.” Kirk didn’t know what else to say, there was no comfort he could offer with his words. He wasn’t anymore privy to this information than Lars was. “I forgot me… I forgot you.” He could feel Lar’s heartbeat where their chests pressed together and if he closed his eyes and focused hard enough he could almost pretend it was his own. “I’m a fucking monster Lars.”

Calloused fingers pressed themselves to Kirk’s cheeks, a thumb running over the mole on his cheek fondly. “No, no you aren't a monster, you’re here.” Lars whispered in disbelief. Kirk knew he felt cold, knew that Lars could tell there was no movement to his chest, no pulse beneath his skin. Yet still here he was looking at him with surprise and adoration. “Holy fuck you’re here.”

Everything came crashing down as Lars tugged his face into his own, their lips colliding almost painfully. There was a clacking of teeth and the sloppy press of tongues together. It was sloppier than the way Kirk had kissed him the moment prior but it was so perfect. Like coming home after years apart, god it had been years hasn't it. “Thought you weren't gay?” Kirk sneered against his mouth.

“I'm not,” Lars bit back, his teeth catching on Kirk’s plump bottom lip. “You’re different, this isn't…just fucking shut up.” He groaned. Kirk smiled against him as his inhumanly long tongue slipped out against Lars’s teeth. He could feel that same hunger building in the pit of his stomach. How could he have ever felt satisfied with anyone else? Kirk’s hands dropped to the waistband of Lars’s shorts. His fingers curled in the fabric as he went to tug it down. “Lars, I need you, please.” He groaned desperately. His lips trailing to the underside of his jaw. Reveling in the familiar scratchiness of Lars’s cheeks against his own. He dragged his teeth across the skin of his neck achingly slow, earning him a strangled noise from the boy pressed against him.

Lars’s chest heaved, his breathing uneven and shallow as his own fingers went to work open the button on Kirk’s too tight jeans. “For helvede,” He hissed and Kirk’s stomach ached with how much he realized he had been missing hearing Lars' desperate voice. He liked hearing him in his native tongue, the way the words dripped from his mouth naturally. “Fuckin’ take me already.” His English was sloppy when he was overwhelmed.

Suddenly Kirk’s zipper was tugged down and his jeans were falling around his ankles. He laughed heartily at Lars’ eagerness but he couldn’t blame him. He was pretty sure he might combust and return to his primordial form if he wasn’t inside Lars…and soon. He spun the brunette around, pressing him forward to lean against the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink. His thumbs hooked into the shorts before tugging them down, exposing the soft pale skin of his ass. “Fuck,” Kirk hissed. His hand curved over the small of Lars’ back and down the swell of his ass until his thumb came to rest against his hole. “You’re so beautiful.”

“God, you always knew how to make this embarrassing.” Lars groaned, pressing his forehead against the counter. His skin was flushed and blotchy, still sweaty from the aftermath of his performance tonight. It was all too familiar, his head didn’t feel like it was going to pop anymore when he thought about it. He felt warm. He had seen this very view so many times before and it still managed to take his breath away. “Stop staring and hurry the fuck up.”

With a disapproving click of his tongue Kirk, pulled his hand back. “I die and don’t see my boyfriend for two years and when I finally do he wont even let me enjoy the moment.” Kirk scoffed, maybe a bit too playfully for the situation they found themselves in but he never really did take anything too seriously. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, wrapping his tongue around them and coating them in a thin layer of saliva. With one hand he gently pulled back on lars skin, exposing his hole to him, one spit coated finger prodding carefully at the small puckered ring. Then he sank in down to the knuckle with ease.

A soft shuddery gasp spilled past Lars lips, his hips angling back in a desperate attempt to take more of him in. “Oh god,” Lars groaned, his fingers curled around the edge of the sink as he tried to hold himself steady. Another sweet moan bubbling up deep from within his chest as he felt himself stretched further by the addition of another of Kirk's digits. It stung a bit, he knew this was dumb, he wasn't prepared but in that moment the only thing he could think of was finally being with Kirk again. “Hurts,” Lars hissed.

Kirk stilled his movements, leaning over to spit again where his fingers disappeared inside of the other. “Sorry baby, better?” He asked breathlessly as he began to gently scissor his fingers again. The nod he received in return was enough for him to continue his movements. Curling his fingers up until he rubbed against the soft bundle of nerves, the placement memorized in his brain. It sent Lars forward with an almost pathetic squeak, his thighs trembling as he clenched down around his fingers. “So good, fuck, think you can take me?” As Lars whined out a confirmation there was a loud wet squelch as Kirk pulled his hand back, watching Lars’s hole flutter around nothing desperately. Kirk was quick to reach into his boxers, tugging his aching cock out, his slender fingers wrapping around it to pump a few times. He let out a soft groan, spitting into his hand to slick himself. This wasn’t ideal but it would do. Satisfied with his work he shifted forward, pressing the blunt head of his dick against Lars once more. “Tell me to stop if it's too much.” He mumbled sweetly.

“I swear to god if you don't jus-” Lars' threat was promptly cut off as Kirk pushed inside past the tight ring with a pop. “O-oh fuck.” He cried out softly, his whole body going lax only being held up by the sink and Kirks hands on his hips. With each inch pushed inside it felt like the air was being forced from his lungs. His breathing shallow and uneven as he tried to relax his body for Kirk to bottom out.

After what felt like ages Kirk’s hips pressed flush against the soft skin of Lars’s ass. “Oh god,” Kirk whined, because he always got whiny and needy when he was inside Lars. “You feel, s-so so good, I missed you, I missed this.” He mumbled sweetly as he leaned over to kiss the other boy's shoulder blade. “You’re so pretty, so good.” His words muffled against the skin.

Lars shifted his hips back, wordlessly requesting that Kirk finally start moving. “M-missed you too,” Lars huffed, he was never one to be sentimental during sex but he granted that this was a special occasion. It's not often your dead boyfriend comes back as some sort of sex demon. It was comical actually if he really thought about it, the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. He reached down between his legs, pumping his own length in time with Kirk's slow rhythm.

Each drag of his cock against Lars’s warm tight walls had a slew of soft curses spilling past Kirk’s lips. He stood up a bit straighter, fingers curling into the others hips with an almost bruising force as he snapped his hips forward. Maybe their reunion should have been a bit more romantic, not some depraved fuck in a bar bathroom. But the undeniable truth was Kirk was still hungry and as much as he loved the boy beneath him, the primal urge to consume was too strong. He could feel that ache beneath his skin subsiding as he took and took from the other. It helped that Lars seemed more than eager to give.

The sink creaked and groaned under the sheer force of which Lars was being fucked forward against it. It pressed achingly hard into his ribs and made it difficult to breathe. Either he was going to break or the sink was, that's what it felt like. His hand tightened around his dick, his strokes messy and fast as he felt himself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. He squeezed down around Kirks girth as his breathing hastened, he was so close, so fucking close.

“Thats it, just like that, fuck you’re so good for me, such a good boy.” Kirk whined, had this been any other circumstance Lars would have reprimanded him for saying something so fucking cringe inducing but his voice was like sweet honey to his ears and it was enough for him. Lars let out a strangled gasp, his hips twitching as he spilled white hot over his hand, dripping down onto the tiled floor beneath them. “Fuck.” Kirk hissed as he felt the way Lars clamped down around him.

Kirk fell forward, tucking his face against Lars back as he pushed himself fully to the hilt, his own cock twitching as he shot hot spurts of his release as deep inside him as possible. For a moment they existed only in an endless bliss. It was just them, connected. A warmth blossomed in Kirk’s chest that shouldn't exist and he felt just a little less hollow. Lars reached back, gently pushing Kirk back so he could pull up his shorts and underwear, Kirk lazily following suit so they were both dressed again. Then Lars wrapped himself into Kirk’s arms, resting his chin on Kirk’s shoulder. “Please don’t leave me again.” He whispered into the others ear.

With a small laugh Kirk nuzzled his face against the side of Lars’ head, burying his nose into his hair. His arms tightened around the boy as he held him as close as possible. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me now.” He mumbled softly. “I’m not the same…I’m kind of insatiable.” Despite the delicious encounter Kirk could still feel that ache in the hollow pit of his stomach, he was never fully satisfied. He felt Lars’ fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt in a vice grip.

“I’ll manage.”

[lgcbk]

⸻ BAEK BYEONGKWAN ( 𝗚𝗬𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 )

𝗨𝗻𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗣𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 ⌑ 𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 ⌑ 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗛𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿

⸻ 𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡

Baek Byeongkwan descends from a long line of treasure hunters. It's been said that the thrill of discovery courses through their veins as naturally as their qi - often channeled into various skills from the telekinetic movement of objects to heightened perception. Byeongkwan has always leaned towards the latter, even if his demeanor suggests otherwise ( he senses the danger that looms, he just much rather find out what lies at the end of it ). He is particularly adept at wayfinding with a keen sense of direction, familiarity with terrains across the continent, and ability to read the smallest details or obscure symbols ( particularly those unseen to the naked eye ). He is also well versed in the teachings of the Unbreakable Peak School, but much like his father who separated from the sect long ago, Byeongkwan has always been a bit of a trailblazer, claiming that all rules are meant to be broken. ...But a firm whack about the head from his grandfather usually followed such declarations. The treasure hunter spends most of his time under the elder's watchful eye, kept preoccupied by eccentric training regimens with the woldo - a weapon all members of the Baek clan must master before embarking on their first journey away from the island. While Byeongkwan would prefer to rely solely on his fists, woldo and his trusty sack of treasures are never far from his side ( and his rubber duck companion, duck fury of course ).

⸻ 𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 & 𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗬

Though Byeongkwan has no want for power nor fame, he is easily moved by his love for riches. Despite being raised in modesty and taught to desire no more than one needs, he often found his thoughts drifting to the lavish lifestyles of the nobility. But until he is taken as a consort by some wealthy family, he bides his time by taking on side quests - often for associates of dubious character. This habit has landed him in precarious situations more than once, but such is the path for an adventurer of his kind. His pursuit of wealth might bear more fruit were it not for his fondness for the drink. He spends as many hours in taverns as he does on the training courts, though he claims that his skills in object manipulation grow stronger the better the wine. Paired with his frequent bouts of motion sickness, it creates an odd combination for a treasure hunter, yet he has managed to complete many a successful quest.