#Trans male writers

[illuminaax]

Hi! This was a free write turned introduction for one of the most overpowered OCs I have ever made.

He's a part of the Marvel universe obvs, but his story is much darker than the normal films.

T͟r͟i͟g͟g͟e͟r͟ W͟a͟r͟n͟i͟n͟g͟s͟: (TW:) Includes non-temporary death, mentions of guns, violence, domestic abuse, evil aliens, a potential gary sue character if he wasn't so tortured mentally and physically, past mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of blood, mentions of the war (first and second, no detail)

I hope you enjoy it, if you like it i might put out at least the first real chapter I have for this AU.

Rumours of the Demigod have been around for thousands and thousands of years.

The fated magiks wielder of the Earthly plane who became Immortal through his lifetime of practicing magiks. A man who lived only to be as neutral as possible until it was his time.

There were countless prophecies of the Demigod on all worlds, though nothing gave away his legal name or exactly how old he really was.

The man had protected the human race since he crossed dimensions thousands and thousands of years ago. When he'd come to this dimension, this universe, this version of Earth, the Demigod had been a normal man. A man who had gone by the name Diego Damonte.

The man behind the myth had come across the spiritual magikal being by complete accident, he'd been trying to help a completely different magikal being to stay safe, but he hadn't known she was being hunted. He was a hunter himself, but he only ever hunted for the food that he needed to keep himself alive. That was the one good thing that his no-good of a father had taught him.

He hadn't even known that magikal beings existed until an injured, pony-sized fluffy, four-legged creature with a beak and three pairs of feathered wings and a long, prehensile fluffy tail almost twice the size of its body had appeared at the entrance to the cave he'd lived in at the time. He'd learnt later, after he'd died protecting the creature from the hunters, and then been brought back to life by the glowing blue nymph which had been about the size of his middle finger (who had literally slapped him across the face to bring him back to life and healed all his wounds with said slap), that the creature who had been kidnapped by the hunters after he'd died from multiple gunshot wounds had been called a Shapräk.

He'd later saved the Shapräk from the hunters with the help of the little light-blue nymph who had bound her incredible magikal potential and power to him. The Shapräk, in return had let him take the vials of golden blood that the hunters had drained from her, the golden blood was known for its insane healing properties when applied to a human wound, so three vials of her blood was more than enough to save his human life if he ever came to harm again.

Throughout the early decades of the nymph binding itself to him, the nymph taught him how to wield her power effectively and efficiently for whatever he needed, and she enjoyed her life being tied to his earthly body and soul, saving people and ending some of the most brutal wars, getting a job to pay the rent and the first time meeting their familiar, who Diego had named the boisterous, talkative, sarcastic, quite frankly annoying little German Shepherd pup Mars after he had talked in front of a Trogan leader and started the Trogan War with his sarcastic insults.

Mars, however, after only 12 years of life, was cursed to die, but Diego countered the curse and now, every time that he dies his soul enters a new German Shepherd body to live again, and the Demigod has to find the pup and return the knowledge of his previous lives to him, and allow him to speak human English like before, only for the dog to die again when his new body reaches age 12.

The Demigod only actually gained immortality when he met the first Sorcerer Supreme, back in Ancient Mesopotamia where he'd been blessing the Sumerians and saving the world for the sixty-fifth time. He'd had to absorb a Power Infinity Stone to stop the alien named Alfernda from destroying all of humanity with it, saving the Sorcerer Supreme of the time from certain death and becoming unable to age as a consequence. Another consequence was all his and the nymph's powers tripling in power, which made him the most powerful being on the earth for about three-thousand-years until another alien with a power stone fell to Earth and the Demigod fought long and hard, and eventually killed the alien who had brain washed 90 percent of the general population of Earth using the Mind Stone, which Diego kept for safe keeping.

Only a thousand years later, however, a very young Loki had tried to get a hold of it, and forced the Demigod's hand, and the Demigod had to absorb the stone to keep Loki's grubby little hands off it. Diego ended up with telepathy and an ability to telepathically communicate with any and all lifeforms, then a lifeform from across the universe about two hundred years later had begun to communicate with the Demigod through his mind, and visions of the future.

Loki and the Demigod stayed in touch throughout the years, and between the Demigod and his mother Frigga, Loki was taught how to harness the magiks he had running through his veins. With the Demigod as a father figure and confidant, Loki grew to be a playful trickster, master of lies like the Demigod was, sure, but he was, mostly respectful to others, even though his father was never a force for good in his life, and only ended up neglecting Loki for Thor, but luckily enough for Loki, Heimdall was good enough to let Loki go to the Demigod when he needed time away or comfort from the harsh way his father treated him.

Through visions, the Demigod was told of the way Odin treated Loki, and on one occasion, the Demigod teleported himself into Asgard and appeared directly in between Odin and the cowering Loki, and threw the Allfather back against the opposite wall, eyes glowing a fierce light blue, and he left the Allfather pinned against the wall, kneeling down to soothe Loki and teleport him to the Asgard healers, only then did he let Odin fall back onto his feet. He stood guard at Loki's bedside until he was healed again, and when Odin ordered his men to attack the Demigod, the man simply raised an impenetrable energy barrier at the door to the room which only let the healers and Frigga in and out.

Frigga has heard of the Demigod from loads of stories of Loki's and so she talked Odin down, and asked politely about where Mars had been at the time. The Demigod told her that Mars was doing his dying thing again, and he'd been about to go find the pup when he sensed Loki's distress through the realm barriers, and came to look after his apprentice.

When Loki awoke, he hugged the Demigod, and finally, the Demigod's eyes stopped glowing the fierce blue, and he dissipated the energy barrier, hugging the small teen back. He was pardoned by Frigga on account that he was helping her son. He returned home after making sure Odin would know what would happen should he need to protect Loki again from him, and if he heard of anything so much as touching his apprentice he would be back, and next time it wouldn't just be to pin him against a wall.

It appeared that his threat had been more than enough to stop Odin, and Heimdall still allowed Loki to visit him, because the next time, Loki brought Thor with him, since his older brother had been at battle practice when the Demigod had teleported to Asgard.

The Demigod ended up sparring with Thor as well as continuing to teach Loki magik. He practically adopted those two boys, but when they got too busy, they only had so much time for their Earthly father figure.

Everything was peaceful until the First World War, in which the Demigod did nothing but tried to protect the lives of innocents on both sides. Thankfully, the countries sorted it all out between themselves, and the Demigod's wooden log cabin in the middle of nowhere in Canada, had been kept safe thanks to Canada being, overall, very neutral in the war.

Just after the war, however, the being on the other side of the Universe his him with a series of very intense visions which depicted years into the future, a man from now fighting aliens alongside a group of misfits nicknamed the Avengers. One of which was Thor. The blonde from now was to be born in several weeks' time, he was to ensure that future came to be, and to avoid the deaths and pain of the other people involved directly, or indirectly with said group of Misfits.

And so, he did.

[dinkandballz]

NSFW

Imagine Giyuu riding you

His big, pretty, blue eyes full of tears as he fucks himself, bouncing up and down and messing up his ponytail

How his little pecs wound bounce with his movements, unable to stop himself from rubbing his own nipples as he rides you, so desperate

And the best part is his gorgeous hole, fluttering softly around your cock, so loose and wet from all your teasing a few minutes prior, greedy as it sucks you in even deeper

Giyuu is such a good boy, drooling and crying as he rides you, he’s so well behaved

[rodolfoparras]

I NEED Prices old man pussy on my face right now😩😩🤤🤤

- 🔪

It was a stupid idea but it was an idea nonetheless, having price sit on your face while fully clothed to prove he wouldn’t crush you with his weight.

It must’ve been one two or three too many drinks when you’d asked Price to sit on your face, which he’d only responded with a look as if you had killed someone right in front of him, which was ironic since that was what he did for living.

However he’d been quick to explain that he was too heavy, that he was bound to crush you with his weight and that you should just do things your usually way, with him spread out on your sheets and with you buried between his thighs.

Any other day you’d take him up on his offer but by that point you’d long forgotten about the act itself, too focused on the way he sees himself so being the person that you are with one too many drinks in your system you’d have him put his weight on your chest whilst the both of you were fully clothed just to prove that you could take it.

So here he is, with his weight pushing down on your chest, calves pressing at the side of your ribs and his hands fumbling around on your pecs to adjust himself

“See, told you that you had nothing to worry about,” you slurre out, bleary eyed and mindlessly caressing his thighs.

However he doesn’t respond, eyes looking anywhere else with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hands nervously fiddling on your chest.

“Hey, hey, we don’t have to do anything alright?” You say, snapping out of your drunken demeanor for a second “just wanted to show you I’m stronger than you think old man, you have nothing to worry about” you say, words coated in liquor as you flash him a reassuring smile.

“It’s not that” he croaks out, adam's Apple bobbing as he swallow hard, thighs squeezing the side of your ribs.

That’s when you finally get a whiff of his musky scent, eyes automatically falling to the spot between his legs, noticing the way the fabric outlines his cunt, with a small wet patch prominently showing on it.

“You- you aren’t wearing any underwear”

He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze but from where you lay you can see his face turn red, can hear the shaky breath escaping his lips, hands flailing in the air to explain himself. “I’m sorry I usually go commando -“

“Fuck it’s okay” you croak trying to ignore the way your cock twitches at the sight” it’s alright just - just relax yeah?” You say, your own hands shaking where they rest on his legs, as your pulse sounds through your ears. “Do you do you want to uh continue this? We don’t have-“

“I want to,” he says now meeting your gaze, and tone as firm as his words.

“Okay fuck okay” you say, laughing in disbelief and out of excitement, blood pooling to the lower half of your body as you squeeze at his thighs in reassurance.

“You’ll uhm you’ll have to move a bit closer, can’t really reach “ you say feeling heat creep up your own neck, ears and cheeks as the words tumble past your lips.

He doesn’t respond, head ducking down as he shuffles further up your chest.

You reach out with your hands to help him adjust himself so that you now can feel his heat licking at your cheeks, can almost see the way his pubic hair pokes out through the sinfully thin fabric, can almost taste him on your lips.

“Tell - tell me to stop whenever ” you croak out, before you’re cranking your neck up to lick stripe along his clothed cunt.

The slight hitch in his breath and the squeak of the wooden board is all you get in response to your question.

So you deliver another broad stroke and this time you earn a verbal response but instead of telling you to stop, you hear the words “please god please” tumbling past his lips.

And who are you to deny such a sweet request, you think to yourself as you crank your neck, swiping your tongue over his clothed clit and watching the way the fabric darkens more from your spit.

“Fuck” he squeaks put, hips bucking into your touch as he clutches onto the headboard for dear life.

However quickly your neck starts to ache from the awkward angle and you prompt the older man to sit on your face.

That’s when he freezes up again, familiar words slipping past his lips, I’m too heavy, I’ll crush you, but you're quick to shut him down with a slap to his thigh.

“If you think this attests my strength then I’m a little worried for your intelligence captain” you say with a chuckle which only earns you a slap to the head.

“Ouch! Okay I’m sorry” you say through a pained laugh “but really I can handle it”

The last bit of doubt trickles out his eyes, teeth releasing his worried bottom lip as he starts to lower himself down but you stop him with a hand to his hips.

“Clothes” is all you say and you see the look of realization flash across his face before he turns red as he quickly shuffles off his sweats, his lower half completely bare before he’s back to hovering over your face.

He’s about to say something, probably to state his worries once again but before he can do so you’re pulling him down onto your face, with your eager tongue pushing past his slick folds and tonguing his hole.

He doesn’t get a moment to breathe, doesn’t even get a moment to think about the thoughts that worried him previously, complety lost in the sensation of you relentlessly fucking your tongue into him.

It’s almost too much, it becomes too much when your lips mercilessly latch onto his clit, sucking eagerly at the numb til Price is sobbing, sweat trickling down his spine and hips clumsily grinding down onto your tongue.

He doesn’t even comprehend when he had started riding your face, uncaring of anything except for the fact that he’s inching closer to his release.

“Cu-cumming” he manages to squeak out before he comes undone with a cry, body shaking and headboard threatening to break under his hands.

Later when he’s laying on your chest, you got a smug look on your face as you say the words.

“Told you that you had nothing to worry about”

[waywardsou2]

Logan x Trans!MaleReader

Reblogged from my writing blog

Summary: Being a mutant was hard enough as it is, but being on trans on top of that. Well, you might as well be cursed. Luckily Logan has your back when it counts the most.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: misgendering, dysphoria, transphobia, comforting, fluff, slurs

You were in charge of the supply run for the school this week. It was always strange carrying around Charles’ credit card, over the years he had been able to invest in stocks- knowing when they would dip and rise, he had amassed money from government funding and social projects, as well as working many jobs over the decades he has been alive so he had more than enough money to provide for all of the children at his school, but still the sum baffled you.

But if it meant that the school could stay stocked and at the highest capacity to care for the children, and the teachers living in the school then you didn’t think on it too hard.

You went about grabbing what you needed by the handful and stocking your trolley. Even grabbing a few extra things for you and Logan. Any time you had been on shift to go for the supply run you made sure to grab some extra snacks for Logan and you to keep in your room. You grabbed a bag of Skittles for yourself and some Recess cups for Logan (you had no idea how he could stand eating those).

As you were grabbing some breakfast cereals to stock the cabinet with you overheard a group of people whispering behind you. You turned and out of the corner of you eye saw them pointing at you as they continued to talk

“Why does she look like that? She looks like some cringe teenager?”

“Who does she think she’s fooling with that hair cut?”

“She was probably in prison and is growing it out”

Their voices were hushed but sounded like thunderclaps in your ears

She

She

She

You dropped the box of cereal you were holding, it made a skittering sound as it crunched on the floor. Your heart rate increased as their words reverberated around your mind, your chest tightening and not from your binder. Why today?

“Young miss? You dropped this” A middle-aged lady come into your view as you stared at the box on the floor, its bright logo staring you in the face. It’s mascot smiling gleefully. Her hand came into view as she picked up the box and handed it back to you. Trying to snap your self out of your downwards spiral you smiled sheepishly at her but the smile didn’t meet your eyes.

“Thank you” you took the box and shoved it into your cart. She smiled back at you and continued with her own shopping

The group from before were now snickering at you, before you could grab the last box you needed and head to the checkout the tallest boy in the group threw a packet of biscuits at you and said “Hey tranny, shouldn’t you be in the circus or something?”

The whole group laughed but you just stared. You turned around to face them, glaring them down with as much hate you could muster. All of it was controlled like a grenade ready to explode, the blast steadily building with each second passing as the chemical reaction grew inside the chamber.

Right now, it was anger, bubbling and building but never exploding. All the rage being pent up as you walked towards the checkout. Your feet felt heavy, your footsteps echoing more than last time as you stomped down the isles. Your heart beat fiercely but you looked on blankly, your eyes seeing but not processing what was in front of you. You just wanted to get out of here and get home. Go back to the school and hide away.

Deep down you just wanted to be seen. Being a mutant was hard enough as it was, having to keep a secret from the world and everyone who would ever know you outside of the school. And now, no matter how hard you tried the world still didn’t see you how you were. As a young boy, just like any other human.

But you weren’t, you weren’t and you would never be. Because society decided to define you based on your internal organs and bone structure. Just thinking about it made you irritated. That notion occupied your thoughts quite often and it angered you, all this hate and bigotry towards a group of people because they were simply different. Why did everyone else get to decide your fate? Why did they get to decide who you were and who you were supposed to be? It was bullshit.

As you drove back to the school you anger leaked out. It showed in the whites of your knuckles as you gripped the steering wheel. In the crease at the top of your nose in between your two brows. In the speedometer on your car screaming higher and higher as you broke the speed limit two times over, your foot flat to the floor on the pedal.

As you pulled into the gravel driveway the car screeched to a stop as you cut the ignition and yanked of your seat belt, opening the door with more force than necessary and slamming it shut with equal strength.

You began grabbing bags out of the trunk and bringing them to the kitchen. Leaving them with a few of the kids who smiled and thanked you as they began unpacking the bags you placed on the bench. Their smiles were genuine and warm as they helped you put the items away. You went back for the last bag and as you shut the boot and took a step away from your car you turned and came face to face with Logan. Almost bumping directly into him. You jumped and almost dropped the bag

“Jesus Logan, we need to get you a bell or something”

He chuckled but looked playfully disgusted by the idea.

“I’m not a cat” he laughs at you

“Well you already have the ears and the claws” you say pointing at the curls in his hair.

He laughs and gives you a punch in the arm as he reaches forward to take the bag from your hand. But you don’t let him take it. Usually you would have let him help you but today you didn’t.

It was stupid really, the reason you held onto he bag. The masculine clique of being strong and being able to provide had entered your mind on the way home, all the overcompensating masculine cliques imaginable had played out in your mind as you tried to combat the dysphoria that was consuming your brain.

He tilted his head at you when you pulled away from him but he didn’t press you any further. He walked along side you as you took the last of the groceries to the kitchen and put them away with the help of the few kids that were still unpacking the bags. You moved through the kitchen in a whir, putting things in their place at record time and then depositing the bags back into your car before walking back inside.

Now with nothing to do you felt to wired, to unoccupied. You didn’t want to talk about what was on your mind. You were to mad about. But slowly that anger began to dissolve. The feeling hollowing out your chest, taking up space and crushing your organs.

You had managed to evade Logan in your flurry around the kitchen, not that you meant to but you just weren’t thinking. Your mind was so full but blank. Like TV screen playing static. Numbly you walked to your shared room with Logan, you pulled off your shirt and looked at yourself in the mirror with your binder on. There was a slight pudge out the arm holes from the extra weight your binder couldn’t hold. You didn’t get it. You looked like a boy, like any other man you might have seen on the street. So how did they know? How were you still being misgendered? The thought made you angry again and you glared at yourself in the mirror, getting mad at your own face for betraying you. You pulled your binder up over your head. But because you hadn’t been careful to pull up from the arms first it got stuck, with your arms caught at an awkward angle

You tried to grab at the binder but couldn’t pull it up and over your head. You heard a knock on the door, and you ducked out of view, turning around so that your back faced the door as Logan’s voice accompanied the previous knocking. “Hey, you good?”

You sigh frustratedly, how was this the third time this week you had been caught like this “No…I’m stuck, again”

The door opened and clicked shut quickly as you heard Logan walk up behind you.

“Trying to get it off, or back on?”

You contemplated telling him you were putting it back on, but you had been wearing it for 6 hours already and you ribs were hurting, you knew you were pushing your limits. You sighed and told him to help you take it off.

Gently he grabbed onto the fabric and pulled it over your head, making sure to keep his hands away from your skin as much as possible as he freed you from your predicament.

You snatched your hoodie off the end of your bed and pulled it back on. Adjusting it so your body underneath was hidden, and your curved figure became blocked out and flatter.

He looked at you as you adjusted you hoodie with a sad and now knowing smile on his face.

“What happened” he asked softly

You stopped fussing with your shirt and you looked at him. All the anger from before was completely gone, and instead, the was replaced with the sting of sadness and the feeling of tears welling up behind your eyes.

You bit the inside of your cheek hoping that it would deter the tears in your eyes, but it didn’t. You didn’t know how to explain it, you didn’t want to say it to him. You felt pathic and you were embarrassed, but your heart ached.

It shouldn’t have bothered you but it did, and you didn’t know how to tell him

“Why don’t they see me” you couldn’t explain what had happened but you didn’t need to. He got the gist of it.

He pulled you forward into him softly, holding you against him and locking his arms around your back. Keeping you pressed closed to his chest. Your head resting right over his heart. The organ beating rhythmically and acting as a metronome that was grounding you.

The sound of his life brought you calmly back to earth, bringing you here into the moment, pulling you out of the hole you had been spiralling down. His deep long breaths added to the grounding atmosphere that he had created between the two of you. Those negative feelings were slowly fading away from you, the same way that mud and filth dripped down your fingers as you washed your hands clean of it.

It fell away from you and left you feeling clearer, lighter and calmer.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply following the rhythm he set naturally and took it in, leaving behind the past hour and reveling in the comfort of this moment. Appreciating every moment you could take with him, basking in the glow that radiated from him whenever the two of you were together.

And in this moment, everything faded away except the two of you. And all of that pain and anger and fear melted away.

He placed a kiss on the strands of your hair and then rested his chin on your head.

“You will always be one of the strongest, most capable men I’ve ever met. And anyone who doesn’t see that is a joke”

You pulled away so you could look at him, and your eyes softened, you could see the pure unbridled love in his face as he looked at you. He cupped your face and pulled you in for a kiss, and that last bit of negativity slipped away from you.

Who cared about what other thoughts of you, they didn’t know you and they didn’t matter. Logan knew you, and he loved you however you were. He would never let you forget that because when he had met you at Charles’ school there was no doubt in his mind that you were the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

And that feeling never changed, each time he saw you no matter what state you were in or what you were wearing, each and every time, you would always be beautiful.

It didn’t matter what your body looked like under your clothes; it didn’t matter what society said you were supposed to be. All that you were, in its truest form, was more than he could have ever asked for in a partner. It didn’t matter to him that you were transgender because you were you. And that was enough for him, he hoped one day that you would be enough for you too.

This one goes out to all of my trans brothers out there, keep fighting boys. You've made it this far you can keep going!

And once again, I take requests. If you would like a one shot like this one or any of my other works then send me an ask!

[cj-ghostemoji-destielpie]

⚠️⚠️⚠️PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS IN THE ABOVE SCREENSHOT BEFORE CONTINUING!!! ⚠️⚠️⚠️

This is my fic btw 💖 it'll only get worse. Chapter two will be posted soon and it's... F-d up.

Royal Tastes, by Dragonborn_Eldenlord on AO3.

Chapter 1: The Young King, The Cannibal Knight, The Dead Knight:

Sir Hannibal Lecter. A knight, ruthless and merciless in his quests. Or hunts, as he calls them.

Hannibal was infamous among many kingdoms as the Cannibal Knight, or Hannibal the Cannibal, that ate his enemies as a show of strength; not a popular habit. Most Knights hated or reluctantly accepted their jobs, but he reveled in the bloodshed. The scars, the agony, the screams, the light fading in his victims eyes, blood gurgling from their mouths or dripping from shallow wounds til they slowly bleed out… He saw beauty in it all.

Hannibal was visiting a kingdom he hadn't visited in a good twenty years or more; the Ophiuchus Kingdom, named after the serpent constellation due to the multiple snakes that infest the forests. Ophiuchus was infamous. The past rulers were known for their vicious and violent tactics, for their greed and gluttony. The only reason Hannibal was coming here in the first place was to and get in the good graces of the new ruler, as they had recently had their coronation if rumors were to be believed.

Walking into the throne room, Hannibal noticed the grandiosity of the palace. The new King is obviously doing some remodeling since there's multiple portraits stacked in a corner, many of which are torn. Hanging on the walls in their place are tapestries, animal hides, and furs, making the throne room have more of an animalistic, wild, and feral vibe.

Hannibal noticed the lack of the King as the throne was momentarily empty but he knelt anyway, the dark gray metal of his armor scraping against the expensive tiled floor; dark inky black tile with gold outlines and occasional intricate designs. He kept his head hung low, and soon he heard the footsteps of who he presumed to be the new King.

“Sir Hannibal Lecter, at your service, my Lord,” He greeted, head still positioned towards the dark ground.

"My apologies, Sir Lecter, but I'm not exactly... Educated on the proper etiquette of societal expectations for how I'm supposed to act and talk so I hope you'll be patient with me. Stand. I'm Lokka La’Rose, new King, blah blah blah. Killed the last King because he was a dick, so on and so forth," Lokka says casually as he perches on the arm of the fancy throne, not even looking at Hannibal as the Knight stands, instead he's briefly frowning in distaste at the gawdy throne before finally looking back at Hannibal with curiosity, golden eyes slowly taking in Hannibal's armor clad body and handsome face.

Hannibal stood, looking at the new King now fully. He seemed young. At least, younger than most rulers. If he's an adult it's just barely. His outfit—well, it lacked any form of royalty. Wearing something like that in court would make him the laughing stock of all the nobles. He's dressed in simple hunter-like garbs; a simple dagger on his hip, faded animal hide trousers and shirt. His curly hair is messy but pulled back in a low ponytail to keep it out of his face.

There's an old ugly scar running across his face that somehow danced between both eyes without harming them. And his eyes are peculiar as well; unnatural gold, reflecting all light, and feline-like with slit pupils.

"No worries, there's nothing wrong with not knowing etiquette. You’ll learn, it’ll feel like second nature in no time at all, Your Highness,” Hannibal studies the scars on the young King's face, "May I ask how you got those?”

"The scar? I was eight years old, a starving orphan, tried stealing from some noble man and he actually noticed and decided to teach me a lesson. Left me with a scar so I'd be reminded of the consequences of theft. Instead it just reminded me of the power imbalance in the Kingdom and the greed of the rich.”

Hannibal stayed silent for a moment, his eyes locked onto the other man. He studied the scar again, as it ran across his face in a jagged line. It had clearly scarred over years ago, but it still looked quite prominent. He knew the old King, and he was a greedy man, for sure. He thought the entire Kingdom was a piece of him to flaunt around. And many of his nobles had the same mentality.

"I see. You didn’t deserve that, child," He said the word in a somewhat condescending tone, though his facial expressions didn’t change from their almost emotionless state.

A small quiet huff of amusement escapes the King, “So, what are you here for? You requested an audience with the King. I know I'm not probably who you expected but I suppose I can still hear your piece and possibly assist.”

Hannibal smirked at his slight amusement, finding the King somewhat amusing. He began to circle around the throne, eyeing the golden details. He then came back to the front of the throne, locking eyes with the young King who'd allowed the Knight to pace and circle around him, looking entirely unthreatened.

"I didn't expect y ou , no," He paused for a moment, "Though I heard that you killed the last King. Tell me, was it worth it?”

Lokka tilts his head in thought, ".... worth it for the people....perhaps not for me though. I didn't want to be King. I just wanted there to be change. But no one else had the power to do it.”

Hannibal nodded slightly, silently admiring his slight vulnerability. He seemed to have thought about it a lot. He crossed his arms behind his back, shifting his weight to one foot. He seemed to look him up and down again before speaking again.

"You did this for the people, not yourself. That’s very admirable, Lord La’Rose.”

"Thank you, but please, just call me Lokka. I'm still not used to that title… and you're interesting enough to keep around and befriend.”

"Very well, Lokka ."

The way Hannibal says the King’s name makes the young King shiver and his cat-like pupils dilate.

Hannibal tilted his head downwards slightly, his arms behind his back casually and nonthreatening but somehow still imposing. The boy seemed somewhat shy, but somewhat confident, at least for speaking to a Knight that was feared by many for his bloodthirsty killing. He took a few steps closer to the throne.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?”

“17,” The young King states simply.

Hannibal nodded as an indication of acknowledgement, slightly impressed that he had managed to kill a man—let alone a King—at that age. There was clearly a lot of determination and courage, perhaps some foolish bravery as well. He took another few steps, now being a few feet away from the throne.

"Ah. Young and full of life," He teases.

Lokka gives a small playful smirk, "I've heard of you, Sir Lecter. Hannibal the Cannibal . The Cannibal Knight . Are you here to add another man to your diet or are you after something else? I'm not easy to kill so I'd think twice if I were you,” His tone isn't threatening, just playful but with a hint of promise.

Hannibal chuckled dryly at Lokka’s comment, his hands still behind his back. Hannibal seemed amused by Lokka, intrigued even. Lokka was a curious thing.

" You're smarter than you look, kid ," He paused for a moment, looking into his odd eyes, before continuing, "And you seem a tad bit cocky for a young Lord.”

“Fake it til you make it," He says with a simple shrug, a hint of insecurity in his strange eyes.

Hannibal chuckled, noting a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, studying him a little closer.

"You're not confident, are you?" He teased him, finding a way to get under the new king’s skin.

Lokka shrugs, unperturbed, “No, I'm not. But I'm stubborn and spiteful so I'm planning on sticking around as King for a long time. At least until I find a suitable heir."

Hannibal hummed in acknowledgement, somewhat impressed by Lokka's determination and stubbornness. He seemed like a boy filled with ambition and power…and yet so vulnerable. So…breakable.

He'll be fun to break . Hannibal thinks to himself with a secret smile.

" And when you find that suitable heir, will you simply pass the throne over to them without a fight?" Hannibal asked, taking a small jab at him.

"I'll train them, have them educated on the life of the nobles and the poor, make sure they have decent morals and a support system, and then I'll peacefully step down, give them the throne when they're ready, and perhaps stick around as an advisor or something if needed.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised slightly, impressed by his thought-out plan. He had clearly thought it through for a while, which he respected.

"So you already have a plan in mind, that's quite…ingenious." He paused for a moment, "And you're sure they’ll be fit enough to rule your kingdom?”

"I've no idea. Haven't met a suitable heir yet. Enough about that though. What is it you wished to accomplish with your audience with the King, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal chuckled at him, slightly amused. Lokka was clearly done talking about the subject for now, which Hannibal was willing to respect. Sometimes you have to play the long game when playing with a new toy you wish to enjoy breaking.

"Ah. Straight to the point. I like you, Lokka." He commented, now towering over the shorter man, "I simply came to offer my services to you—to the kingdom, I mean.”

Lokka gives Hannibal a small playful smile, not bothered at all with Hannibal towering over him- most Kings would've had Hannibal thrown out for the attempt at appearing imposing or threatening, instead Lokka just peers up at Hannibal in amused interest, "You wish to be my knight?" He basically purrs sweetly.

Hannibal found Lokka's lack of fear for him amusing, almost down right hilarious. Most rulers would be intimidated by a man like him, but the boy didn’t even seem slightly bothered by it. Hannibal found it quite interesting.

"Yes, of course," He said, somewhat amused. "I am the best in my field. You’d be unwise to decline my services, kid.”

Lokka chuckles, "Most would be practically begging or at least respectful when offering their services to a King, even a young and naive King enjoys respect instead of being called a kid," Lokka says with a playful smile, casually crossing his legs as he remains perched on the arm of the throne.

Lokka studies Hannibal for a long few moments, golden cat-eyes piercing and intelligent as he takes Hannibal in, like a wild cat studying its prey. Slowly he returns his gaze to Hannibal’s.

"Ask again." He says, a small smirk tugging his lip, “maybe with a pretty please ?" He asks, basically taunting Hannibal.

Hannibal was taken somewhat aback by his request, his eyes widening a slight bit. He had expected him to be polite and shy in his response, not demanding and confident. Hannibal’s smug expression soon faded away, the slight teasing look still in his eyes.

"My apologies," He began, his expression almost blank by now, "I'll be respectful , like you'd like."

He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to hate it.

"May I please be your Knight, Your Majesty, Lokka ?”

Lokka giggles in honest amusement, golden eyes lighting up with joy before he schools his expression.

"hm...no," He says before smiling again. "I'm not going to waste your services as a common Knight. If you'd like to work for me, I'd rather you be my main security. Top knight, Housecarl, or whatever the fancy noble terminology is. I've heard of your skills and I'd love to see them in person. I've had multiple attempts on my life within just a week so I imagine you'll get a chance to prove yourself interesting . If you grow bored of being a bodyguard, then I suppose I can send you out to play with the other Knights. Does that sound appealing enough to you, Sir Hannibal Lecter ?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows shot up at Lokka's words, surprised. He was expecting to be a regular Knight of the castle, which was just fine. But security for the King? That was unexpected, but he was very much intrigued by the offer. And it would make it easier to toy with the King and slowly break him.

"That sounds very appealing," He commented, his smirk returning once again, "I agree to those terms.”

"Good. Splendid. Hope you don't mind explaining the seemingly stupid noble jargon the people here keep expecting me to understand. Do you understand the purpose of so many forks for one meal?" He asks, tone switching from the teasing playful to genuinely open and curious

He chuckled at his question, amused by the King’s clear lack of knowledge of the social rules.

"Of course. And I know the noble jargon.” He explained. "And it’s stupid, honestly. There’s so many rules for a simple meal. A commoner would eat an entire turkey with their hands, while Kings and Queens have to use specific forks and spoons for specific items of a meal. And don’t even dare to use your hands; you’ll be chastised by the etiquette police.”

The King sighs dramatically as he lays across the throne, "Everything has so many ridiculous rules and yet the commoners are more concerned with surviving, which is more understandable. Why so many forks when hands work just fine? It's stupid…”

"I think I'm going to like you, Sir Lecter." The young King says, rolling his head where he lays across the throne to look up at Hannibal.

"Perhaps I may say the same," Hannibal replied, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He studied him for a moment, admiring his confidence, especially for a young king like him.

“ Goddesses ! I need to get rid of this throne !" He jumps off of it dramatically, a good three feet in the air before landing on his feet in a squat like a feral cat before slowly standing like a normal human, "that thing is so ridiculously uncomfortable. And such an eyesore . Like, we get it! This is a throne! But if you're going to show off wealth you may as well use it for something comfortable . Especially if you're expected to sit in the evil thing for days on end and play nice with other nobility.”

Hannibal was surprised by Lokka's sudden outburst and unexpected agility as he jumped from his throne, not expecting him to be nearly as physically adept as he was for a King or a human. He let out a dry chuckle as he stood next to him.

"Most nobles and royalty don’t care about what’s comfortable. They just care about what looks good and makes them look better than everyone else," Hannibal replied dryly.

Lokka huffs and crosses his arms, glaring at the throne like a petulant child who was just told that he has to eat his veggies before dessert, “Well I'm not most kings. If I could have that replaced with a recliner I would... I suppose I'll just settle for having this fancy throne melted down to coins and donated to the commoners, maybe the orphanage. Then I'll just feckin' carve a nice throne from some cherry wood perhaps and get some nice comfy- but I suppose fancy fabric- cushions to line it with."

Hannibal chuckled at Lokka's…rant, finding his determination for a more comfortable throne quite amusing. He tilted his head to the side, studying the younger man.

"A cherry wood chair," He repeated, a single brow quirked, "With plush velvet cushions," He added dryly with a slight tone of mockery. He was clearly holding back his laughter.

The King huffs and throws his hands in the air with dramatic exasperation "Ye have better design ideas, Sir Lecter?”

Hannibal let out a few dry chuckles at his dramatic actions before replying with a smirk.

"Maybe. I was thinking something a little more… aesthetic ," He said, thinking over the design in his mind, "Dark oak. Gold or a dark material for the trimmings. Soft light fur as a cushioning.”

"....I might actually be able to work with that...I'll sketch something up and have you look it over,” the King says after actually seeming to seriously be pondering over Hannibal's words.

Hannibal hummed, finding him quite amusing. Who would’ve thought a newly crowned King would ask for his input on a throne design of all things? Hannibal had to hold back his smirk at Lokka's eagerness.

“Of course. I’ll look it over once you have it sketched up, Lokka.”

"....so," Lokka clasps his hands and rocks slightly in place, "I'm supposed to play nice and be all Kingly for a few more hours today. One of the servants told me that there were a couple different knights and messengers from different kingdoms coming today- aside from you. I was even warned that at least one messenger is going to try and get me to marry some King's daughter from a neighboring kingdom," he says, looking disgusted but hides it mostly, "Are you ready to play advisor/bodyguard today or do you wish to have a servant show you to your new quarters and start tomorrow?”

Hannibal could sense Lokka's disgust in his voice and almost chuckled but contained himself. It seemed he disliked the prospect of having to listen to someone ask him to marry someone’s daughter for political purposes. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest once again.

"I’m quite ready. And if any messenger does decide to try to convince you to marry an ugly daughter, I’ll be your bodyguard and advisor.”

"I'm not concerned with their looks , I'm just opposed to marrying some girl I don't know nor wish to know ," He says simply, reluctantly sitting back on the throne, though properly this time. He glances at the grand fancy clock across the throne room, "The next person should be here soon. Don't remember if it's a knight or some noble, or a messenger though.”

Hannibal watched as Lokka sat back down on the throne, this time properly. He still found the throne to be a little gaudy looking, no amount of proper sitting would change that. He took a few steps closer to the throne, positioning himself on the right side of him.

"Well, whoever this next person may be, I’ll be right here," He replied, referring to his position beside Lokka.

Lokka gives Hannibal a small smile, "Good boy," He says playfully, but praising, and before Hannibal can snark or react, a servant enters and announces the arrival of another visitor; another Knight.

Hannibal’s smirk quickly faded in surprise with Lokka's playful praise, his cheeks taking on a slight red hue. He was not expecting him to say that, but he quickly shook it off. He refocused his attention back towards the entrance to the throne room as the servant announced the arrival of another Knight. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the Knight carefully for his mannerisms.

The Knight was mature in age, probably around Hannibal’s age. His armor was shiny and well-polished; he's probably rather stuffy and hasn't actually seen many battles. He entered the room rather arrogantly—like most Knights were—and began to speak in an overly cocky tone.

“Your majesty, I am Sir Charles,” The Knight said, standing in the middle of the room, not bothering to take a knee or bow or show any respect, making Hannibal curl his lip in distaste.

Lokka tilts his head, studying the man, "Sir Charles... I'm Lord La'Rose. What have you come here to ask of the new King of Ophiuchus?" Lokka asks, all previous playful energy gone, in his place is now a serious calm intelligent King.

Hannibal noticed that Lokka even used his title this time, instead of being casual like Lokka had been with him. The change was sudden. Happened as soon as Sir Charles entered, only a brief moment of Lokka sniffing the air prerequisites his personality shift when Sir Charles entered.

Sir Charles was taken aback by Lokka's sudden and unexpected shift into a completely different person. From a giddy, happy, young King to a stoic, serious individual in a matter of seconds. He paused for a moment, almost intimidated by the change, but eventually responded.

"Well, your majesty, I have come to… congratulate you.” He replied, the word ‘congratulate’ sounding almost bitter coming from his lips.

"hmmm... Is that so? You could've just sent some gift like most of the others singing my praises lately," Lokka doesn't sound cocky despite his words, he actually seems uncomfortable with the thought of being praised for what he'd done, "So, what else is it you wanted from me, Sir Charles, aside from wasting my time?”

Sir Charles was once again taken aback, clearly not expecting the King to brush off his praise and assume he was just there to waste his time. He stood silently for a few moments, almost shocked, before speaking up again.

“I wasn’t just here to give my congratulations, your majesty.” He replied, his tone somewhat snarky and somewhat irritated now. “I also came to request something.”

"speak, no need to dawdle.” Lokka says when Sir Charles doesn't get straight to the point, making Hannibal fight a proud smirk.

Sir Charles let out a snort, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a few steps closer to the King.

“If you’d be so kind, Your Majesty, I was hoping you’d send a few of your troops to help us in a little battle we’re having.” He explained, the tone in his voice still demanding.

"A little battle?" Lokka asks, a single brow raised, "Why? Plead your case, Sir Charles.”

Sir Charles let out another snort, his arrogance seemingly taking control as he spoke again.

“My kingdom has been at war for over a year now. We just lost a significant amount of soldiers and are requesting backup.” He said, as if the reason was obvious and simple. “It would be immensely appreciated if you would send whatever soldiers you can spare.”

"...you have yet to explain why you're even at war or why I should be inclined to help. Perhaps I'd rather help your enemies, hm? What say ye to that?"

Sir Charles stood silent, shocked, for a few moments. The arrogance on his face now faded into disbelief. Obviously, he hadn’t expected the King to be so indifferent and ask for a reason to send soldiers to help.

“The reason for our war…” He repeated, “Why- the reason is…”

He paused for another moment, trying to come up with a reasonable response on why they were at war and why they needed his help. A good reason. One that wasn't seeped in greed.

Lokka chuckles, darkly, in amusement, before speaking with a light disturbingly kind tone despite his words, "Give me a good reason, Sir Charles, before I send you back to your King without a head.”

Sir Charles almost staggered backward in shock, horrified by the King's response. His dark amusement and the threat of beheading him if he can’t come up with a good reason was enough to nearly make Sir Charles piss in his armor, but he managed to stay composed. Mostly. He swallowed thickly before replying again.

“We’ve been at war with our neighboring kingdom for years now. A war we can’t win without you. If you do not help, Your Majesty…” He paused once again, his voice wavering slightly, “We will be overtaken and lost.”

"Still," Lokka says, casually standing from his throne, and slowly walking down the steps of the platform to the main part of the throne room, gesturing with one hand casually for Hannibal to stay, back for now, "You've yet to explain why you're at war. Just that you are and that you're losing." Lokka's tone softens to an almost teasing seductive tone as he nears Sir Charles and raises a hand to gently caress the taller older man's cheek and tilts his gaze to meet his eyes, "so... Explain to me, Sir," Lokka practically purrs, "why," he traces his fingers over the Knight's pulse point, "you need me?”

Sir Charles froze as the King suddenly approached him, his hand gently caressing his cheek and moving his head to face him. The sudden shift in his tone and attitude to something more seductive and playful shocked him, his heart almost stopping as he felt his slender fingers tracing over his pulse point.

He inhaled deeply, unable to find the words to respond. His words got caught in his throat, but he eventually began speaking despite the dryness in his throat.

“I- We…” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"ooh, has a cat got your tongue?”

Sir Charles tensed his shoulders, his cheeks turning a slight pink at his words. It didn’t help that Lokka was so close to him, his slender but firm and calloused fingers still gently caressing his pulse point. Sir Charles swallowed again, his words stuck in his throat like a frog for a few moments.

“N-no.” He managed to stutter out, cursing himself for stuttering like a boy with a middle school crush.

The King chuckles playfully, dancing around behind the large Knight and draping his arms over the man's shoulders from behind, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and resting his hands teasingly on the man's chest armor.

"hmmm..." Lokka hums in thought, glancing over to Hannibal, "Sir Hannibal, what do you know of Sir Charles and his Kingdom?”

Sir Charles tensed more as the King began to dance around him, jumping slightly as he suddenly draped his arms over his shoulders. He immediately tried to look at whatever Hannibal’s reaction was to the King’s action, his stomach twisting into knots at the King’s forward and almost…flirtatious behavior.

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the pair, his head tilted to the side observing the King’s behavior, and Sir Charles’ reaction. He noted his tension and how he seemed almost afraid of the small young King.

The boy continues to surprise me…

"Don't tell me a cat's got your tongue too now, Sir Hannibal," the young King calls out playfully to his Advisor and Knight, "Do you know of Sir Charles or his Kingdom? Feel free to speak your mind, Sir Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s eyes flicked over to the King as soon as he spoke up, his eyes narrowing for a moment before his normal, calm demeanor returned to him. He raised an eyebrow, a little surprised with the King’s almost childish behavior. He took no issue with it, it was almost…endearing…

Hannibal glanced back at Charles for a moment, observing his behavior further, before speaking up in his usual polite but crisp and composed tone.

“I know of his kingdom and his cause. I also know of his king.”

"Hmm," Lokka hums, teasingly nuzzling his face into Sir Charles' neck from behind, though from where Hannibal stands, Hannibal can see the way Lokka curls his nose in disgust at whatever he smells, or just disgust for the Knight Sir Charles in general.

“Continue to speak your thoughts, Sir Hannibal. What's your opinion? Since you know of him and his King. Should we help them? Why are they in a war?”

Hannibal noticed the way the King’s nose curled in disgust as he nuzzled into the Knight’s neck. That was interesting. Clearly, there was more going on than a simple plea for help. Hannibal kept that thought in the back of his mind for now as he continued to speak up.

“They’re at war with their neighboring kingdom because of a fight over land.” He explained, “Their King wants to expand his kingdom and is willing to take it by any means necessary, even if it means going to war.”

"Hmm...." Lokka hums, tracing his hands teasingly in a sexual manner over Sir Charles chest armor from behind as he continues to nose Sir Charles' neck, "pathetic," he hisses out before suddenly biting down and tearing into Sir Charles' neck, tearing out a large chunk of his flesh and causing blood to gush from his artery.

Sir Charles drops dead to the ground, a few brief gurgling noises before he dies. Lokka is now covered in Sir Charles' blood but looks unbothered. More annoyed with the blood on the beautiful tile throne room floor than anything else.

Lokka whistles out a sharp note and a servant enters.

"Maria, darling,” Lokka says sweetly, almost apologetic, and it seems genuine, “Can you have the gardener get rid of this one like they did with the King? You and the servants may sell or keep whatever he has on him. I'll need someone to clean this blood out of the floor. Again."

Hannibal’s eyes widened in utter shock the moment the young King suddenly bit the Knight’s neck. He stood speechless for a few moments, unable to speak or form any words or coherent thought. Everything about this moment was so…unexpected..

And strangely attractive.

Hannibal watched as the King called in a servant named Maria, almost stunned as he listened to what the pair said. He was still trying to process what just happened, and it almost felt like he was dreaming.

Maria nods and quickly fetches a few other servants. Soon the dead Knight is gone- a handsome but awkward looking man, the gardener presumably, fetching the body and carrying it out- and there's a servant cleaning the blood up. Lokka walks slowly back up to the throne and stops a few feet in front of you.

"Do you still want this job?" Lokka asks, unknowingly licking the blood on his lips.

Lokka's mouth, jaw, neck, and the front of his shirt is soaked in blood from Sir Charles.

"I promise to play nice and let you leave without harm if your answer is no. Though I will be sad if you do choose to leave.”

Hannibal’s eyes remained fixated on the bloody, almost gorey scene before him, unable to tear his eyes away from the blood on the floor.

He stayed silent for a few moments as he finally registered his question to him, his eyes snapping up to meet his gaze. His usual stoic features were now replaced with slight shock and awe. He wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this, it was all so…unexpected…

“I…I do still want the job, Your Majesty.” Hannibal says with a small stutter, surprising even himself. It's not fear though that makes him stutter. Something about the way Lokka looks with blood dripping from his chin is just… delicious. Maddeningly so.

"hmm... Very well then," Lokka turns and looks back at the servant currently cleaning the floor, "Maria? Sir Hannibal and I will be gone for a few minutes. If any guest comes, please apologize for the wait and have them guided to... I don't know where, just somewhere nice and keep them entertained and fed til I return. Understood, doll?”

Maria, a young, brown-haired, and freckled servant, looked up as the King addressed her. She paused for half a second before nodding her head. She didn't seem afraid of him despite the gore and violence.

“Understood, Your Majesty. Will do.” she says simply.

"Good." Lokka says with a soft smile to the girl, though the blood on him ruins the attempt at a kind image.

He turns and gestures for Hannibal to follow as he leaves the throne room and heads for his private chambers.

They're not the original King's Chambers- far too casual and not as overly decorated. There's still nice furniture and a sitting area but it's also decorated with multiple books filled with notes and scribbles in the margins, animal hides and leathers tossed everywhere, half finished crochet and wood carvings and leatherworking projects everywhere.

Lokka leads Hannibal in and practically ignores his presence as he goes to his wardrobe and pulls out a nicer but still not exactly Kingly clothes; simple black pants and a long sleeve black shirt. He changes and washes the blood from his face at the water basin before finally turning to look at Hannibal, not caring that he'd stripped down to his boxers and undershirt in front of the other man since the boxers and undershirt hid the parts of himself he likes to keep hidden from everyone who doesn't need to know his secret.

"So, any opinions or questions as to why I killed that Knight? You're allowed to speak freely. I won't give you the same side of me I gave him.”

Hannibal took the invitation to speak his mind, taking a moment to properly organize his thoughts before beginning to speak.

“You’ve clearly got a distaste for people who you see as weak, a person like the late Knight.” He began, keeping his voice and tone calm, and his words precise and careful to avoid sounding disrespectful. “Perhaps the Knight said something, or you simply got…fed up with him.”

The King chuckles softly, "hm, good theory but not quite, Sir Hannibal," He says as he sits on one of the couches in the sitting area of his private chambers, "I was going to kill him the moment I smelled him- I'm not a normal human if you haven't noticed yet."

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he fully assessed the king now, taking in his unnaturally keen sense of smell. This kid was far more than he seemed. He slowly walked over to the same couch and sat down a few feet away, keeping his usual polite composure still.

“You’re a werecat.”

Hannibal stated, not asking but saying it like it was factual.

“Precisely," the King says with a chuckle.

This was a very interesting development, to say the least. Werecats were relatively rare. Hannibal noted that Lokka's eyes resembled that of a cat. Sharp, unwavering, and almost predatory in a way.

“I assume you could smell that he was a coward…” Hannibal mused out loud, pausing for a moment as he noted more differences about the King.

“I did not kill him for his cowardice. But rather what I smelled on him- what he'd done- before he'd dirtied my Kingdom with his presence."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, intrigued to know what he smelled on him. He never would’ve expected such a young king to be so…violent. The death was so vicious and sudden, and not to mention messy. And it was all over a particular scent.

But God, was it beautiful…

“What did you smell on him?” Hannibal questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A murderous snarl tugs Lokka's lip, but not at Hannibal, rather the Knight he'd killed, "He smelled of children, suffering children, at least two. Two whose scents were far too different from his to have been his offspring. And scents that reeked of fear and pain. He'd harmed them. I dare not dwell in what ways."

Hannibal’s eyes momentarily darkened as he listened to the kid’s reply. Child abuse, a particular weakness of his. His hatred for it was almost as strong as his cannibalism.

For a split second, Hannibal suddenly felt a pang of…admiration. The kid had a sense of justice, in a way. A strange moral sense of delivering justice but still. He wasn’t a normal royal, that’s for sure.

“Is that why you killed him the way you did?” He questioned, masking his previous internal admiration and remaining composed and polite.

"Yes.”

Hannibal didn’t know how to feel about the King being so…unapologetic and straightforward about his violence, yet he found it almost refreshing and…charming. Usually, nobles danced and tiptoed around the subject and acted disgusted or horrified when acts like this were brought up.

“A brutal, yet justified death.” Hannibal muttered under his breath, speaking his thoughts out loud by accident.

"I'm glad you think so," Lokka says softly, head tilted slightly as he looks up at Hannibal.

Hannibal noticed his head tilt, taking in the small action further. He couldn’t help but find it…cute. The little King was clearly not an ordinary King, especially for his age. He was young, wild, and violent, and yet there was an almost endearing quality to him. Almost like that of a small, feral creature.

Hannibal's eyes drifted to the King's lips.

Soft and stained a faint red from the blood that he'd just washed off.

Lips that had parted to kill a man.

Lethal but beautiful lips that Hannibal wants to-

------

The gif of Hannibal covered in blood belongs to @bloodydancy ☮️💖

[toomuchdivergentformyneuro]

i’m tired 

i’m constantly stumbling, falling, getting back up, 

but just in time to be kicked back down again to my hands and knees 

i see trans people, my age, and older, and younger, taking steps towards their transition or even meeting some of their goals for self image already 

i see my fellows getting up after getting kicked down for so long and finally starting to make steps 

and i’m happy for them, i’m rooting for them, they’re so awesome and i’m so proud of them and i’m so happy that they can do that for themselves

but i’m left here and i’m still getting kicked down 

even when i bind, my chest is nowhere near flat 

my binded chest looks like a trans person’s unbound one

and i don’t look anything like a guy

and i’m nowhere near T or surgeries 

i’m tall or lanky or anything else like that

the veins on my hands don’t show up

i don’t have an adam’s apple or anything close to one 

my hips are too hippy and my boobs are too booby

and nothing hides those things

no amount of large clothes, makeup, or exercise will do anything for these things

i feel left behind 

the other boys are starting to look like themselves

and i’m over here always stuck as a girl, getting gender envy even from them

i’m tired

— it sucks to be stuck as something you’re not, 8/23/2024

[r3n0-5]

Before or after?

He/Him/Reno pls

[ywooni]

hiii!! how are you? hopefully your well! I saw you take requests for dead plate and I just had to send one in!!

may I request vincent charbonneau sfw + nsfw headcanons with a trans male! reader ? (gn reader can be fine to if your comfortable doing that as well).

— thank you so much!!! :)

Vincent Charbonneau x FTM! Reader Headcanons! SFW + small NSFW

“ ..You don't need to worry about that, someone else will get the mess.”

Author's note: Omg! Hi!!! Well, sorry for taking long, since it takes me a while to do requests, and I have some unsolved personal stuff, but I will always write as much as possible!

Note: In my blogs, the reader personality will always sound vague, so that anyone can identify, regardless of the trait (Kind, Quiet, Clingy and so on...), since I particularly don't like having the reader's personality described, after all, it could be any reader who is reading this, not one in particular, that's why I don't make fics. He might sound OOC, and sorry if so!

★ I feel like wouldn’t have an type, like, he doesn't seem to be that picky about a lover, but I get the impression that he's more likely to fall in love with a man he's known for a while, or by a man who is present in his daily life (For example, Reader works on La Gueule de Saturne as a waiter, cook or anything...)

★ As we know, Vincent generally maintains a polite, charming persona and a successful chef persona in public, though, as already known, he can be a bit strict with his employees... But, he would soften up a little with you, well, it's not noticeable at first.

★ It's never anything too big at first, he seems more relaxed around you, he seems to smile, even if it's barely noticeable, he looks at you longer, little things like that...

★ I would be calmer and gentler with you than with your other employees, he doesn't seem to get mad at you, at least not easily.

★ Over time, you would become more intimate with him, just as he would become intimate with you, you discover things about him, and he discovers things about you.

★ When you two are finally in a relationship, not only is he more open with you than he was before, he seems to trust you more.

★ When you give him physical affection, he is somewhat surprised, it's not that he doesn't like it, is that he didn't expect it, much less is he used to it!

★ It will take some time for him to fully get used to it, but at some point, he would reciprocate as well...

★ He insists on knowing your favorite dish, he loves you, he wants to show it in his own way, after all... He wanted to cook with love for you...

★ He would support you about your gender dysphoria, no matter what anyone says, you are a handsome man, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

(Now... Here begins the NSFW Headcanons, so if you are a minor and have read this far, well... Until the next reading.)

★ He wouldn't go so rough with you, unless you want him to be...

★ He wouldn't compliment you so directly, compliments between his groans would be heard, of course, but it's kind of indirect.

★ He’s a switch, it depends on what Reader wants him to be, maybe it depends on Reader Himself...

★ It wouldn't be too tall, but not too short either, it's kind of neutral, but his groans are low, ranging from long to short.

(Again, sorry for taking it long!! My condolences, I hope you enjoyed it! Now I’ll finish the other requests)

XOXO, YWOONI!

[angel-archivist]

It's so interesting and so exceedingly frustrating how agab is being utilized now within the queer community as a way to isolate and sort nonbinary and genderqueer folks into binary boxes that determine their moral purity levels, and their authority to do and write and exist.

The way nonbinary writers are being put under accusation of fetishizing gay men while their AGAB is continually brought up in a way that feels like queer-space-approved misgendering.

The way feminist circles that are supposedly trans-inclusive will use the word AFAB in a way that implicitly but intentionally isolates nonbinary people who aren't AFAB from joining. It's for women*.

The way the language is already flawed and leaves out intersex folks from the conversations while focusing on a binary of sex that isn't truthful.

The constant obsessing over whether someone is AFAB or AMAB and whether or not that gives them the privilege to join, do, write, or be present in certain spaces really really concerns me. How are we supposed to dismantle a binary system of gender if we can't even move past forcibly assigning and focusing on people's genders assigned at birth?

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity Ch20

Michael Myers x ftm reader

Read on ao3

Staring at the photo wishing it would change, your chest begins to hurt. You don’t know when you’ve sunk down onto your knees, but your free arm wraps tight around your torso as short breaths whistle past your teeth.

Your brain buzzes with too many thoughts, but it’s almost a background noise to the panic that grips you. Something inside you wishes Michael was here.

You force your fingers to drop the photo and your eyes stare at the empty space it used to be. Curling your fingers into a fist, the sensation of nails digging into your palm grounds you just enough to suck in some deeper breaths. Getting oxygen to your brain gets you short commands and jeers from some detached part of yourself focused on survival.

‘Get up’.

’Get up. You left your doors unlocked and now you have to fix this.’

On shaky legs and arms, you pull yourself up using the counter. Your eyes land on the back door and you lurch over to lock it.

***

You walk thirty minutes to the nearest thrift store, looking over your shoulder constantly, and load yourself with as many blankets as they’ll allow you to buy (nearly all of them, the clerk didn’t care). The trek home carrying the pile was awkward, but the physical exertion kept your mind focused.

Dumping the blankets in a heap and stepping over them, you head towards your toolbox to grab a hammer and nails. To hell with the walls, you can spackle them when the house has less pressing priorities.

You immediately wish Michael would make his stupid height useful for once and was here to help you.

Your new (mismatched and fleecy) curtains go up with sweat and swearing, and you drive nails into the frames of windows with loose locks. Come summer, you may regret not being able to open the windows, but for now these blankets will help insulate and protect you from peeping Toms. And hopefully stalking Steves.

Exhaustion hits all at once and you drop the hammer after the last window, probably denting your bedroom floor, but you couldn’t care less.

You turn towards your bed feeling like you could fall into it (literally, you still don’t have a bed frame).

But you don’t feel safe here. Not after that picture.

It makes you feel nauseous thinking about it and you wish, not for the first time, that you could be anywhere but here. You want to ask Quentin if you could stay over again, but you can’t risk getting him hurt.

The frustration of it all makes you want to cry and have a meltdown, but the testosterone in your body won’t let you. Your feet move on their own, practically running out of the room.

You don’t know why you end up standing in the doorway of Michael’s, but what you do know is that being there relieves some of the pressure in your head and chest.

It’s barren- not that your room is much better. You haven’t truly been in here since you moved in and the grey light through the window highlights the faded wallpaper and dusty floor.

A ratty sleeping bag is bunched along the wall facing towards the door. You feel guilty when you don’t see a pillow, just a small pile of bunched up clothes.

You’re hesitant stepping inside, crossing what has always been a boundary for the two of you. It feels forbidden, but the exhaustion left behind after the initial torrent of emotion and subsequent exertion leaves your knees weak and you sink down onto the sleeping bag.

Curling in on yourself, your fingers pull at something from his clothes pile. His black t-shirt.

Over the mustiness of the sleeping bag, his shirt smells like the deodorant you bought and something more distinctly him. Normally you would probably be more grossed out, but right now you close your eyes and feel comforted instead.

Your heart aches.

***

Michael left before the sun came up, he just couldn’t be around you right now. The closer it gets to Halloween, the more the itch becomes an urge becomes a burn and he can’t be sure the urge to put his hands on you will stay gentle. And if not gentle, at the very least survivable.

Since that night you confronted him, he’s been picking over the new feelings with more curiosity than frustration. Keeping things from you and trying to force things his way wasn’t working the way he thought it would, you’re not the same person he used to stalk anymore. Instead of running, you confront him; don’t get him wrong, Michael’s blood still runs hot for the chase, but this new familiarity leaves your vulnerability for teasing wide open.

Michael grips the handle of his knife harder thinking about the way your eyes widen when he steps into your space and your protests fall silent on your tongue, knowing you’re at his mercy. The way you squirm and try to hold your ground, pretending it does nothing to you - he can almost hear your heartbeat.

The woman he’s been stalking from the park’s tree line does nothing special for him, but watching her from this distance and biding his time satiates the buzz in the back of his head. It excites him too. Watching, waiting…it almost edges him, building up to the moment he can feel the pulse in someone’s neck speed up and give out or feel the knife slip past skin and bone. Their indulgent color red spilling out of them like a release, stuttering their final breaths.

From this distance, the woman’s blonde hair almost looks like Laurie’s. Michael exhales. He doesn’t like her so near to you. The night you went to the place with the campfire, he wanted to kill you then just to keep you away from her. But you went with him instead, promising him anything. And so he didn’t kill them that night.

But Laurie is still orbiting this house and you. So Michael may soon have to take that anything.

The blonde woman is joined by an unremarkable man and she emotes heavily to show her enthusiasm. The man looks almost bored, an indifference that Michael used to match for the rest of the world.

His favorite part of boring people was how much they would change when his knife was in them.

When the two begin to follow the wooded biking trail, Michael matches their leisurely pace out of sight. The sun is on its path down the sky and ducking behind clouds along the way. His vision tunnels with bloodlust, the longer he tracks, the longer his anticipation for the kill grows- keeping you at the back of his mind and humming under his skin.

***

The cardboard in the glass of the door is easily punched in, unnoticed in the dark. Stepping into the vestibule with the liquidity of a cat, Michael shuts the door behind him with a soft click.

He looks down at his boots. Mud and something that rhymes with it. Memories of the last time he made tracks in the house make him contemplate doing it again.

Michael toes off his boots. Without them, he’s quiet as a ghost, moving into the kitchen to find something to tear into.

His muscles feel relaxed and loose as he pulls the remnants of some Chinese takeout from the fridge, as if the red on his skin was a massage oil. He doesn’t bother with utensils and uses his fingers to pull noodles into his mouth, sticky brown sauce gaining a new iron flavor.

The empty container goes in the trash this time because Michael is in a good enough mood to follow your rules. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, having sated his two other needs tonight he begins to search for you.

Michael doesn’t plan for when he finds you, he just follows the trend of satisfaction he’s riding on. He enjoys the search of the bottom level of the house, the thrill of seeking excites him as if you two were playing a game.

Clearing the floor, he stops before the stairs looking up into the dark. Each step drags it out, bringing the second floor into view. The bathroom is dark and the door is open, leaving your bedroom as the last possibility.

Breath hot against his mask, Michael pushes your door open. You don’t jump at his entrance and your bed lies empty.

Confused and then frustrated, Michael huffs against his mask, his game ruined.

He exits, annoyed and ready to make that your problem.

His room is dark, but unlike the others where you seem to have blocked the windows, the moon and streetlights give enough ambient light to see the floor. Immediately, Michael can tell that things have moved.

Instinct has him strung tense in a moment as his gaze falls on your form. Fighting back the urge to yank you by the ankle, Michael walks closer. The fight response slowly dwindles as he silently observes, your form curled around his shirt replacing it with a different kind of tension.

Your arms are tucked in on yourself with his shirt, goosebumps prickling your flesh. Michael wants to run his hands over them and watch as your body shifts from sleep to surprise.

Would you try to get up and leave? Or maybe you would curl into his warmth…

Feeling a flush of heat, he turns and leaves the room. His legs carry him to yours and he pulls the blanket off your mattress. You don’t stir when he lays it over you, wrapping you up among his things.

Michael is good at watching and waiting.

[sekaicards]

hey whats Stars Align

hello. 'Stars Align' is a 2019, 12 episode anime about, among a lot of other things, soft tennis. one of its main characters is yuu asuka, a character who is explicitly non cis.

weirdly, i've been seeing a lot of criticism popping up for copal's handling of the recent mizuki event especially on the topic of their gender. i have also seen both prior to and after the release of the event people not so subtly implying that as a japanese company they have no knowledge about being trans or non-binary or any other sort of non cis identity. or that it would be "more realistic" for ena to have not known about trans people or reacted poorly to the news.

western perspectives of gender and being trans do not apply everywhere, of course, but to suggest that a complete lack of knowledge and a more unknowing/bigoted reaction to such news would be more inherent to and make more sense from a character on account of them being from a non-western culture doesn't exactly sit right with me for a number of reason i'm sure you can figure out.

japanese people are capable of understanding being queer. this should not be a novel concept. and if it is to you, try to think about why.

[dinkandballz]

NSFW

INCLUDES: daddy kink, trans obanai, dom top reader, amab reader, spanking, squirting, dacryphilia, established relationship

Just imagining Obanai with a daddy kink

Obanai is a well behaved boy in general, he’s sweet and soft spoken… at least around you and only you, he is

When you learn that Obanai isn’t as sweet and kind as he pretends to be around you, you’re pissed

He has the nerve to bully his coworkers like he’s a teenager? What the hell?

So you take him home and knock some sense into him

You pat your thigh expectantly, staring at Obanai and waiting for him to do as asked, hearing him sigh and attempt to explain why he acted so badly, but you don’t listen

“I- I’m sorry, daddy,”

And you stop, nodding for him to continue

“I’m sorry for being a brat, I promise I’ll be a good boy now,”

You consider what he’s saying, making sure he’s being honest, before you nod and sit on your shared bed, patting your thigh

He just accepts his fate and lays over your lap, feeling as you remove his belt and tug down his pants, rubbing circles over his bare ass

And you spank him. Over and over again until Obanai is sobbing softly and gripping the bedsheets, wetness dribbling down his thighs

“I’m sorry, daddy! I’ll be good!”

He tries bucking his hips against your thigh for some stimulation but you don’t let him, landing another hit on the curve of his ass

If he was really sorry, he wouldn’t have tried humping your leg

And he whines because he knows you’re right, you’re always right, he needs to be punished

So he just takes it, sobbing and whining, but he takes it like a good boy

Once he finishes counting, you sit him up and hold him close, kissing away his tears and trying to calm him down as you rub his aching clit until he can’t take it anymore

He squirts all over the bed, exhausted, and you praise him and get a wet rag your prepared earlier, cleaning him up and soothing his red ass

“T- thank you, daddy,”

He bites his own lip, embarrassed, before you kiss his forehead and tell him how proud you are

[minhosbitterriver]

🫐 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 ( p1harmony )

❛ In which you undergo a profoundly personal transformation with the support of your doting boyfriend, Jongseob.

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐛 + trans boy reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 6 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Definitely at the very top of my favorite pieces I've worked on, it was so incredibly self-indulgent (I'm masc non-binary, for context). Am I the only one who gets insane gender envy whenever I look at him? Anyway, this piece was requested by my wonderful 🩷 Anon! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! Enjoy! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Established relationship, Y/N recently came out as a trans guy, Jongseob cuts your hair, non-sexual partial nudity, Jongseob helps you put on your new trans-tape, mentions of anxiety and relief, extremely soft fluff.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢��𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

Your formerly long hair lies scattered on the bathroom floor, a silent testament to the transformative act that has just taken place. The once familiar cascade of locks is now a mere memory, replaced by a new, lighter version of yourself. Your gaze meets the mirror, and you are confronted with an image that is almost foreign yet curiously comforting. There is something soothing about the new reflection, a symbol of change and renewal that resonates deeply within you.

Jongseob stands behind you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the sea of change. His eyes are soft with a mixture of care and concentration as his fingers navigate through your wet hair. He holds a pair of scissors with a gentle grip, every snip measured and deliberate. The usual meticulousness he brings to everything is evident in the way he trims your hair, his subtle anxiety betraying his desire for perfection. It’s clear he wants this moment to be as perfect for you as it is significant, his love and attention to detail blending seamlessly into his every movement.

On your bed, the brand new roll of trans tape he’d ordered online sits untouched in its packaging. It is a tangible reminder of the heartfelt surprise Jongseob prepared for you after you confided your greatest secret to him. The gesture, though seemingly small, carries a weight of emotional significance—a symbol of his unwavering support and the deep bond you both share. It is a testament to his understanding and acceptance, a touching affirmation of his commitment to stand by you through every step of your journey.

As Jongseob finishes the impromptu haircut, a grin spreads across his face, reflecting in the mirror. His hands gently scrunch up your freshly cut hair, molding it into soft curls that will dry into a new shape. The satisfaction in his expression is palpable, his pride in the results evident as he admires his handiwork. The moment is imbued with a sense of shared triumph and intimacy, a celebration of not just a physical transformation but the deepening of your relationship—a bond that has grown stronger through vulnerability and trust.

“What do you think?” Jongseob asks, his voice floating in from a realm that feels almost distant compared to the whirlwind of emotions you are experiencing. The question hangs in the air, mingling with the sound of your pounding heart, which feels as though it might escape from your chest at any moment. The change in your appearance, marked by the dramatic reduction in your hair's length, has an almost liberating effect. It feels as though a heavy burden has been lifted, replaced by a newfound lightness and freedom.

As you turn to face Jongseob, your face lights up with a smile that seems to stretch wider than you ever thought possible. It’s a genuine, unrestrained expression of joy and relief, radiating across your features with an intensity that is both beautiful and profound. The act of hugging Jongseob tightly becomes a physical manifestation of the immense gratitude and affection you feel for him. It’s a silent thank you wrapped in the warmth of your embrace, a way of conveying the depth of your emotional release and the significance of his support.

In that tight hug, you find solace and a shared moment of triumph, your new look symbolizing not just a change in appearance but a step towards embracing a truer version of yourself. Jongseob’s presence, so close and reassuring, anchors you in this moment of personal victory, making it all the more meaningful. The joy and relief you feel are mirrored in the closeness of your embrace, a tender affirmation of the bond that strengthens with each shared experience.

The remnants of your once long hair lie scattered across the bathroom tiles, a silent testament to the transformation that has just taken place. As you peel off your shirt, revealing your bare torso, you feel a sense of liberation. The act of shedding your clothes, like the shedding of your hair, symbolizes a deeper release, an embrace of your truest self.

Jongseob is absorbed in the task of unwrapping the trans tape, his voice a soothing murmur as he explains the proper way to use it. His words flow continuously, a gentle reminder of his care and dedication, but your focus drifts with each step he takes closer to you. The proximity of his presence is comforting, though it makes it hard to concentrate on anything but the fluttering emotions within you.

Every now and then, Jongseob steals a kiss on your cheeks and jaw, each touch tender and affectionate. The gentle press of his lips against your skin makes you giggle, the sound light and joyful. He carefully tapes the fabric onto your chest, his movements deliberate and attentive. You watch him through the full-length mirror you own, observing the way his expressions shift with concentration and care.

By the time Jongseob finishes his task, you are overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. The euphoric difference the tape makes is almost too much to contain, and you find yourself pushing back tears. The sight of your new appearance, paired with Jongseob’s loving attention, brings an intense wave of relief and happiness. The emotional weight of the moment is palpable, a mixture of joy and gratitude that touches the core of your being.

“You look so handsome,” Jongseob whispers into your ear, his breath warm and intimate against your skin. He stands behind you, his arms encircling your waist in a loving embrace. As you catch glimpses of him through the mirror, his eyes are alight with a depth of love and admiration that makes your heart flutter uncontrollably. The intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words make it impossible for you to maintain eye contact, and you find yourself looking away, overwhelmed by a soaring sense of joy.

Without waiting for a response, Jongseob moves towards your bed, where your carefully chosen outfit lies neatly. He picks up your brand new shirt with a sense of purpose, his movements smooth and deliberate. As he helps you put it on, the sight of your chest appearing flatter and more aligned with your true self fills you with an overwhelming emotion. The change is profound, and the reality of it tugs at your heartstrings, causing tears to well up uncontrollably.

Jongseob holds you close, his words a gentle, repetitive murmur that reassures you of his pride and admiration. “I’m so proud of you,” he repeats, each phrase infused with genuine affection. As he kisses the side of your head repeatedly, the touch of his lips is both soothing and affirming, reinforcing the bond you share and the significance of the moment. His tender embrace and heartfelt praise become a sanctuary, enveloping you in a cocoon of love and validation as you navigate the depth of your emotions.

As you finish dressing, you find yourself captivated by your new, masculine appearance. The reflection in the mirror reveals a transformation that feels both affirming and exhilarating. Your gaze is interrupted when Jongseob excuses himself into the bathroom, carrying his familiar backpack filled with spare clothes. The wait feels interminable, each minute stretching into what feels like an hour as anticipation builds.

When Jongseob finally emerges, the sight before you brings tears to your eyes all over again. His long blond hair has been styled into whimsical space-buns, adding a touch of playful charm to his look. He’s applied white mascara and a hint of blush, enhancing his features with a subtle yet striking glow. The pink sunglasses perched on his nose add a splash of color and fun. He wears a black and white striped sweater, its distressed holes lending it a well-loved, worn feel. Completing the ensemble is a long, flowy black skirt that swirls gracefully with each movement.

Jongseob’s grin is a mixture of excitement and nervousness, a reflection of his own emotional journey. As you take in his transformed appearance, you feel an overwhelming surge of affection and admiration. You rush to embrace him tightly, the hug conveying a depth of emotion that words alone cannot capture. “You look so beautiful,” you tell him, your voice filled with heartfelt sincerity.

His cheeks flush with a rosy blush at your compliment, the effect of your words visibly touching him. The warmth of his blush and the radiance of his smile combine to create a moment of shared joy and mutual admiration. The connection between you is palpable, the exchange of affirmations deepening the bond you share and celebrating the beauty of each other's true selves.

With both of you ready, you set out for a nearby park, the anticipation of the evening adding a lightness to your steps. The park, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, provides a picturesque backdrop for your picnic. You find a cozy spot on the grass, spreading out your blanket and settling in.

As you begin to enjoy the picnic, the conversation flows effortlessly between you. There’s a natural ease in your dialogue, a comfortable rhythm that makes the moments feel both intimate and joyous. The simple pleasure of feeding each other blueberries becomes a delightful ritual, the small, sweet bursts of flavor adding to the sense of shared contentment.

The sun dips lower on the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the park. The soft light reflects off Jongseob’s face, highlighting his features with a gentle radiance. Each laugh and smile is amplified by the serene setting, the beauty of the moment enriched by the perfect harmony of your company and the tranquil surroundings.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

[sharkboywrites]

Women are female, men are male. Please live in reality instead of demanding for the world to live in your fantasy.

Guys I got my first transphobic dm let’s fucking go!!!

Anyways imagine being a fanfic writer, taking a term made by trans people to be more inclusive, using it incorrectly, and then being mad when trans people want you to use it correctly lmfao

Also if you wanna talk to me like this, turn off anonymous you pussy

[vaugarde]

i'm not exactly innocent of this and i am not defending her at all as a person, but sometimes when people criticize l!ly 0rchard, i can't help but side eye a liiiittle bit when they nitpick EVERYTHING about her writing... including stuff that i knowwww the average person wouldn't criticize a cis and/or male writer for doing.

and it bugs me more that you cant point that out without people going "omg its not transmisogynistic to criticize a bad youtuber!! look, we don't misgender her, dont we get a medal for that?"

[parisiterileymoon]

Someone PLEASE send me a story request my inbox is dry as a desert