#also if i'm starting to repeat myself on these

[ylangelegy]

is it casual now? (teaser) 🫀 seungcheol x reader.

★ seungcheol x makeup artist!f!reader. ★ teaser word count: ~8,000 ★ genre/warnings: mdni. 18+ content. situationship/friends with benefits, light angst, use of pet name ('love'). soft dom!seungcheol, making out, biting/marking, protected sex. let me know if i missed anything! ★ footnotes: this has been on my backburner for months. it's admittedly a full-blown story in need of hard editing, and so i'm posting this in hopes of bullying myself into working on the whole thing. should it come down to it, though, i like to think this can stand on its own. enjoy. <3

Seungcheol has been in the industry long enough to know that everybody had vices.

Trainees, rookies, veterans. It didn't matter. There were dangerous, risky vices. Alcohol, drugs, smoking. There was dating, too, of course. Dating fans, dating fellow idols.

Seungcheol didn't do drugs. He smoked socially, but he would rather not. And he drank, sure, but never to an unhealthy amount. Dating, however—

Did it really count when there was only really ever one person he treated like a vice?

You've been in his life since the group debuted. Nine years, give or take. And then, at one point, he just... tried something with you. And it clicked, fell into place, and now you've been sneaking around for the better half of three years. It's the one place Seungcheol feels like he can breathe, can get away. But it's also the biggest secret he's kept.

You're his makeup artist, after all.

When the two of you started off, you both insisted on nothing serious. To 'keep it casual'.

That worked perfectly for Seungcheol. He likes to think it's still working for him, as he raps at the door of your apartment and waits for you to open up. His wristwatch says that it's midnight, but it doesn't matter. He knocks a little louder, growing a touch impatient.

You open the door, and you're greeted with Seungcheol looking reproachful. "Yah," he chides. "Why haven't you been answering my texts?"

When you rub your eyes with the back of your hands and look over your shoulder to glimpse at your wall clock, Seungcheol almost feels apologetic. Almost. “Cheol,” you say exasperatedly, slowly. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

"So you were sleeping then, hmm?" Seungcheol says. The corner of his lips tilt up, just slightly. He leans against the doorframe, taking a brief amount of time to glance you over. As he does, a small wave of tiredness finally washes over him— just how late had he kept himself up working on new music? "I sent you texts hours ago."

"You didn't even read them." He reaches up, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He sighs, the sound almost exaggerated. "How cruel of you."

You let out a low hum at Seungcheol’s fingers brushing against your skin. “Mmm, I fell asleep with my phone in my hand,” you admit, the words coming out more like a soft sigh than anything else.

You seem to finally drag yourself out of your sleepy state to give Seungcheol a once-over. He knows it shows all over— the exhaustion in his eyes, his stance. He’s tired, and you can tell. You’ve always been able to tell. 

You step aside a bit and he takes that as his cue. Seungcheol moves past you, a small hum in the back of his throat. He toes off his shoes and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. In spite of himself, the moment he's inside, he reaches for you. 

One arm is loosely slung over your shoulders, pulling you in close. He rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

"You fell asleep..." he gripes. "Do you know how many texts I sent you? I sent five.” 

“Five”” you repeat as you bear Seungcheol’s weight. Your hand instinctively raises to stroke the base of his hair behind his neck, and he thinks he could melt then and there— your soothing touch, your light tone. “Oh, how ever will you live?”

Seungcheol huffs into the crook of your neck. The feel of your fingers in his hair does wonders to combat the tired, stressed part of himself. Slowly, his shoulders relax, and he sighs, the sound long and deep.

"Don't get snarky with me," he mutters. But there's no bite to it at all, just a quiet sense of contentment in his voice. "You could've at the very least read the messages." He moves, presses a kiss to your neck. "Would've taken ten seconds."

“I was asleep,” you protest, but— whether or not you notice— your head is tilting around a bit to press a lingering kiss on to the side of his face.Seungcheol's stomach flutters. You're sweet like that. Always have been, always will be. He hums under his breath at the kiss, his hand that's on your shoulder moves up to cup your cheek.

“That’s my penance,” you say drowsily. 

"One kiss isn't nearly enough," he tells you. 

He pulls back from your shoulder to look at you, now. The eye contact, the way he regards you, has a more focused weight. He takes a moment to look you over again— hair mussed, face still flushed faintly from sleep. "Two,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. 

“Greedy,” you mumble, but both of you know it doesn’t matter. 

Not when your free hand finds purchase at his side and you use your fingers in his hair to pull him down so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes. Not when you press your lips together into a kiss that's soft and sweet, almost sleepy.

All it takes is the sound of your voice for Seungcheol to be pulled in— when you tug at his hair, he follows, his chest against yours. He bends down, his own hands coming up to the sides of your face.

He melts against your mouth, his eyes closing in an instant. But it’s done as quickly as it started. You pull away, your face still inches away from Seungcheol’s, as you smilingly mumble to him, “There. Two kisses.” 

His eyes open again once you pull away, his grip on your face tightening just slightly. "Three," he mutters back, and then he leans back in. 

You hum against his mouth, the sound breaking free from the back of your throat. You’re both so tired from your respective work and it shows in the kiss. No heat, no fire. Your tongue swiping over his lip makes Seungcheol hum, quiet and low in his throat. He's usually so used to being the one who takes control, making the first move, but here with you, in the early hours of the morning— there's something else to it.

He pulls you closer against him, his hands moving down to your hips. Against your mouth, he murmurs, "Four," before his tongue slips in, just to get a taste. Just to linger, just to savor, but not take over.

“Cheol,” you huff, though your reprimand is tempered by the way Seungcheol is intent on keeping the kiss going. “You’re— mmph— being greedy—” 

"Five—" he sighs against your mouth. "Let me be greedy a second more."

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair. This is what he likes, this is what he always comes to you for. Something that's simple. This, he can deal with. This, he can handle.

It’s never a second more with Seungcheol. He’s always out the door when he can go, when he has to. He’s never been a glutton for time, and so it’s enough for you to sense that something is wrong. 

You break away from him. 

Seungcheol has to resist a whine when you pull back, his eyes fluttering open in a daze. Your hand has moved to his face and you’re looking up at him with a small frown and a quiet query. “Long week?” 

He lets your question hang in the air for a moment, the hand in your hair loosening its grip, fingers just idly combing through the strands.

He glances at your face— the furrow of your brow, the hint of concern in your eyes— and it makes him sigh. He turns his head to press a soft, quick kiss to your palm.

"Long year," he corrects.

You look like you want to say more. Seungcheol almost begs you not to. This— whatever the two of you have— it’s an outlet that won’t break him, won't ruin him, won't tarnish him or the group's name. He just wants— he needs—

You know exactly what he needs, even if he doesn’t always know himself. “How do you want your fifth kiss?” you ask instead of commenting on his obvious fatigue. 

Your question makes Seungcheol's head empty out in an instant.

It takes him a moment to think, to consider. His mind, hazy and tired as it is, struggles to come up with an adequate answer. All he knows is that he's comfortable, that he's tired, that you're here. And that's all he really needs, in the end.

He lets his hand fall from your hair, to the nape of your neck. "... Soft," he murmurs. "Soft and easy."

You’re back up on your tiptoes to give him what he asked for. A sweet, slow press of your lips against his. It’s a kiss that lovers give each other, even though you’re the furthest from that. 

It's easy, easy, easy for him to fall into the kiss just like that, a shudder running down his spine when your tongue doesn't invade him. It's sweet, it's chaste, it's simple. It's exactly the kind of kiss he needs after a week of work.

His hand on your neck moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. He breaks away for a mere second, a fraction of a beat, to catch his own breath, but he kisses you right back after. 

"Six," he whispers desperately. "Again."

This time, you laugh against his mouth— a slightly muffled sound, not any less amused— but you give in, still. When you separate for air again, one of your hands rests on his chest to keep him away. “You have to let me breathe, Cheol,” you huff. 

Seungcheol has to resist groaning outright when your palm on his chest keeps him from coming in for another kiss. You're adorable like this, in the middle of the night, with sleep in your eyes and annoyance in your voice.

He knows he's being needy, taking advantage, but at the same time? It's all he seems to be able to do. Greedy, he hears you call him, and it's true.

"I'll let you breathe when I get my seventh kiss, then," he grumbles.

He can see the annoyance blooming on your expression, but he’s saved by one thing and one thing alone: The fact that you can get pretty greedy sometimes, too, especially when Seungcheol was involved. 

"Fine," you say haughtily, feigning annoyance. "Just one more kiss."

Seungcheol's eyes glimmer with something akin to mischief. His hands move to your face again, his own lips curving up in a smirk. You give him an inch, he wants a mile. It's his style. "One more kiss. That I can work with."

He brushes a thumb over your cheek again, his grip in your hair loosening only to brush some stray strands away from your face. "Only fair that I get to pick the way, then," he says, his tone low.

He's going to make the most of this opportunity, and you're letting him.

His tongue darts out briefly to lick over his bottom lip. "Open your mouth."

When you let out a noncommittal hom and oblige, parting your lips, he knows he’s gone. Seeing the obedience in your face makes Seungcheol's stomach do a little bit of an excited flip. You're like this, this, even when you're tired, when you're barely awake.

It's a little addicting.

"Good," he says softly. It's all the warning you get before he's got his mouth on yours again.

He kisses you— devours you, his tongue parting your lips, sliding into your mouth, taking. The kiss is almost bruising and seems to throw you off balance, but you quickly recover by pressing flush against Seungcheol and holding the sides of his arms. If he were a better person, Seungcheol would let this be the last one. Would let this kiss end and call it a night. 

But then the smallest of sounds escape you. A whimper, a soft noise that only makes all sense fly right out of Seungcheol's head. It's not fair, he thinks, that you still have a hold on him even in the middle of the night.

All it makes him do is pull you closer— press you up against the wall with his entire body, his hands still gripping your face as he kisses you deep. Harder than he usually would, rougher than he normally did.

He swallows the sound, his tongue still in your mouth.

Your fingernails are pressing into his biceps now. Your tongue is sinking into his lower lip; not quite biting, but enough to drag his focus away for a moment. "Seung," you sigh, and it’s like music to his goddamn ears. 

He was Choi or Seungcheol when he was in your makeup chair. Cheol, when it was just the two of you. But Seung was something different entirely. 

A small moan, low and quiet, gets caught in Seungcheol's throat when you bite into his lip, when you whine out his name like that. He knows what it means when you call him like that— knows what he's in for.

He relishes in it. In moments like these when he gets to be like this. When he doesn't have to be responsible, when he doesn't have to be a leader. He gets to be just Seung.

There isn't a single part of his body that's not on fire right now, not when he's got you pinned against the wall, not when you're all satin and soft against him. His grip on your face tightens, and now his lips are no longer on your mouth, but on your jaw, moving down to your neck, your throat.

A quiet, needy little ah falls out your lips when he nips at that spot on your pulse point, and there, there is exactly when he knows that he's got you exactly where he wants you. Pinned by his body, shaking and shivering like he's touching you for the first time.

If he was feeling a little less riled up, a little less needy, he'd keep up the teasing. But he can't, not now. His hands move from your face to your hips, moving under the satin of your pajamas. It's not enough, never enough.

Every sound that leaves your mouth, every little please, just, already sets a fire in his brain. Every part of his mind turns to static, white noise, as he keeps his lips on your throat, your neck, biting and nipping at your skin.

“Seung,” you hiss, your hands flying to his shoulders as you press your back on to the entryway wall, willing yourself not to crumple. “I’m going to get a noise complaint again—”

“I'll pay the fine,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips against your collarbone now, his hands still on your hips. His brain is starting to grow fuzzy, his thoughts less coherent, but this was the goal.

To get you like this. Soft and shaking and desperate. To make you his for the night, for just a little while. To hold some sort of control over something in his life.

“You can't just keep paying for— ah— the fines,” you’re babbling. “They're going— t-to kick me— Seung, fuck!"

Whatever you’re trying to say dies out when Seungcheol nips at your warm skin. The rational part of him, somewhere deep, deep inside, knows that you're right. He can't keep paying your fines for complaints of loud music and loud sex.

The part of him that's currently working on painting a bruise on your collarbone doesn't seem to care all that much.

"I'll pay," he repeats, between leaving a few more marks on your skin for good measure. "As many times as I have to—"

“Jesus Christ,” you cuss, your chest heaving as Seungcheol’s hand moves higher and higher up your shirt. “My neighbors are so fucking sick of me, and it’s all your fault.”

“My fault?” Even through the haze in his head, Seungcheol can't help the low scoff that he lets out. He wants to say that he couldn't care less about your neighbors— wants to say that your pretty mouth makes up for the noise, but something else catches his attention. The brush of his fingers on bare skin. 

His eyes go wide, his brain suddenly clearing.

"You're not wearing anything underneath your pajamas," he deadpans, his voice coming out in a low drawl.

Of course, that adds up. You hadn’t been expecting Seungcheol, after all, so he can’t blame you for foregoing the underclothes. Still, it only stokes the growing flame in the base of his stomach. Especially when you move your head back against the wall so you’re looking right up at Seungcheol, the ghost of a smirk on your face. 

“Wanna check for yourself?” you taunt. 

A low groan falls out of Seungcheol's mouth as soon as you ask that. Like clockwork, his hands go to the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up slightly. Just a little bit, just to see if you're really not wearing anything beneath.

"You always like to tease," he says, his voice low. That hint of a smirk on your face is only serving to drive him that much crazier. "Go on, then. Show me, since you want to act all cocky."

You give him half an eye roll that’s more affectionate than anything else before reaching over to the back of your pajama collar. You pull the top over your head in one deft, swift movement. Seungcheol's eyes go wide for just a moment, taking in the sight of you, undressed, in front of him. It never stops shocking him, never stops making his heart thump a little harder, his breath coming out a little more labored.

“Happy?” you half-joke, your voice low. 

He looks at you, up and down, before his eyes go back to your face. His hands move from your hips to your waist, fingers tracing over the sides of your chest as he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "But I will be."

His hands keep tracing over your skin, his touch light— almost feathery, as he keeps his eyes fixed on your face. There's something about seeing you so exposed like this that's driving him absolutely insane, something about you being entirely at his mercy that's making his eyes grow dark.

He leans in, bringing his lips just past your ear. "Turn around," he murmurs, almost like a command.

He sees how you swallow hard, how you take in the familiar darkness in Seungcheol’s gaze. You know him, have known him for years, and that comes with trust. Unflinchingly, you twist around in his arms to press your chest against the wall. 

He has you practically trapped, all against his chest and the wall. His eyes look at you up and down, taking in your bare shoulders and back, the way you've submitted to him so perfectly.

His hands go to your hips again, and his eyes look over your back, following the line of your bare spine. "What do you say we find a use for this wall besides me just pushing you up against it," he murmurs. "Hm?"

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and as soon as you agree, Seungcheol's hands tighten on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he pulls you a little closer to him. You're not going anywhere, not when he's got you like this.

He leans in, his body practically pressing up against your back, his chest against your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, pulling a strangled whine out from somewhere deep in your throat. "You look so goddamn pretty like this, love," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands move from your hips to your chest, tracing the skin there before he brings them up to your throat. He presses his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the thump thump thump of your heartbeat.

He can feel your heart thrumming against his hand, can practically hear you shaking. It's driving him absolutely insane— you, underneath him, trembling for him. The knowledge that he's got you like this, the fact that you're letting him take control, letting him do whatever he wants.

He moves his mouth to that spot on your neck again, the skin that's so sensitive that it makes you whimper and shiver. He always finds it so easy to tease those sounds out of you, and always relishes in doing it.

His hands stay at your neck, his fingers still pressed against your pulse point. This had always been one of Seungcheol's little habits— a single finger on your pulse point, as if he liked seeing which actions would make your heart rate spike, which words would have it hammering.

Seungcheol presses his lips on your skin again. "You're so loud."

He marvels at the way you ball your hands into fists, the way you shake all over with poorly concealed want and need as he keeps nipping and marking. "‘M not," you gasp, lurching forward against the wall. "‘M perfectly— hng!"

Everything is working in his favor.

You're shaking, and your heart is racing, and every noise you make is just more fodder for him. God, he loves it. Loves being the one to make you absolutely tremble and shiver like this. Loves the fact that he's the only one to make you feel like this.

"You're mine," he says again, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He bites the shell of it, hard, before letting out a low hum.

This is his favorite place in the entire world— right against your back, feeling your body heat against his chest, his tongue running over your skin. He loves how reactive you are to him, how sensitive you are, how your body just melts under his touch.

"Say it," he mutters against your skin. "Who's in control?"

There it is. The million won question.

The whole reason you started these rendezvouses in the first place. He had been spinning out of control, and you had been lonely, and you clicked into place like magnets. 

You give in, like you always do. The words are a soft whimper, almost a shout in your otherwise empty apartment. "You. You're in control, Seung."

That's all he wants to hear.

He digs his fingers into your jaw and wrenches your head so it's turned to look at him, his lips inches from yours. Even if there's a little pain, nothing in him is stopping. "Good," he mutters, his breath hot against your lips. "Good girl."

The kiss that follows is absolutely messy, the kind of kiss where it's just tongue and teeth and raw need. It's worlds different from the soft and easy kisses that Seungcheol asked for earlier, when he first came in complaining about five unanswered texts.

"Seung," you groan as you pull away for air. "Please—" 

When you moan his name, it's like something snaps.

He growls low, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your shorts, gripping the fabric hard enough that there's a very real chance of them ripping. "Please what?" he mumbles against your neck. "You need to tell me what you need, love. Use your words."

"I hate you," you whine, and Seungcheol nearly smiles. He knows you’re not fond of begging, but he needs to hear it from you. At least, he wants to. 

"You know what I—" you’re saying, but dammit, his control is already razor thin as is. He rips off the last fabric of clothing on you until you’re completely bare, pressed entirely up between the wall and him. 

Somehow, your mind still has some shrivel of coherence to complain, "I liked this set, asshole!"

He grins against your skin at your words, chuckling at your whine, at the way you're just reacting to him. You can act annoyed, you can act like you don't need him, but he knows. "I'll buy you a new one," he hums, finally letting go of your shorts and letting them fall to the floor in tatters. "One for me to rip to shreds all over again."

That thought alone makes his blood sing.

It takes you a great effort to turn around, but somehow you manage. Seungcheol is still fully clothed and so your bare chest presses against the front of his shirt. The sight of you, naked, his hands at your hips, pressed right up against him, against his chest like this— he's gone.

And then you’re asking him, low and sweet as he has you caged in, "Where are you going to fuck me tonight, Seung?"

He can't even manage a word for a moment, his hands holding you so tight that he's definitely going to leave marks on your skin, his eyes fixed on your face.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry at the question. "You want me to say it out loud, hm?"

You go to steal the upper hand for a minute or so, and you do it so effectively. Your hand rises almost lazily to his neck, your finger instinctively finding his pulse point. He feels his heart rate speed up as he watches, just watches, you do it. You stand on your tiptoes to raise your lips directly to his ear. 

All he can feel is the thunder of his heart racing against your hand. You seem to notice it, too, if the smile on your face is any indication. 

"How about you just show me instead?" you say, and he’s convinced he’ll pass out then and there. 

"You're a brat," he mutters through gritted teeth, his hand moving up from your hips and up your spine. "A brat who needs to be taught a lesson."

He takes a shuddering breath, almost completely lost in your little game, before he snaps back to himself. Seungcheol's hand leaves your hip and goes to your hand, gripping your wrist hard. "On the sofa," he says, and it’s nothing short of a command. 

He practically drags you on to the piece of furniture, watching intently as you fall back with a small oomph. Seungcheol stands on the edge of the couch as you prop yourself up by the elbows to watch him right back. 

The sight of you underneath him— your hair splayed against the cushions, your eyes half-lidded and fixed on him? It's absolutely perfect. It's the kind of thing that he wants to keep in his mind forever, the sight he wants to always be able to remember.

He lets out a noise under his breath as he undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper going down obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Gorgeous,” he breathes. 

He gets his jeans undone and kicked off, his shirt following them not long after, and then he's on top of you, caging you in, his hands either side of your head, staring down at you.

The look in his eyes isn't something he really gets to show often— that raw need, that want, how desperate he is for you. He wants you, God, he wants you so badly, and you're letting him have you.

He dips his head to your neck, his lips against your skin, his breath hot against your pulse point, still absolutely obsessed with that spot. His hands find your wrists, pinning them back against the couch, while his knee finds its way between your thighs, pressing up against you.

You arch and squirm underneath him, visibly distressed with the facsimile of friction that you’re getting from his knee. “Seung,” you pant, grinding your dripping core against his knee. It sends a jolt of electricity through him. “Please— don’t wanna wait any more—”

“Where’s all that snark now, hm?” he teases, his teeth running over the skin on your neck. But he’s not any better off, his own self-control slipping through his very fingers as his hips grind down against you desperately. 

"Been driving me insane, love," he whispers, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck. "Been dreaming about this for days. Missing you—” 

A low keen escapes you, and he can only echo it as you tug at the last piece of material separating you. “Can we get this off already, please?” you huff as you hook your fingers at the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

He groans against your skin, his teeth finally letting go when he lifts his head to look down at you, the expression on his face looking like he's fighting for control. "God, yes," he groans, lifting his hips just enough for you to tug them off him.

He kicks them off once you’ve yanked them down, and his hand— which has instinctively gravitated to your pulse point— feels how the beat absolutely skyrockets. One of your arms goes around his shoulder and the other, surprisingly, clutches his jaw.

You’re looking right at him as you say, "Fast and hard, Seung."

"Yeah?" he says, just the slightest hint of a surprise in his voice. "You want me to be rough with you, love?"

Seungcheol was usually a sweet lover. He liked taking his time, liked being gentle and responsible even in bed.

But there were particularly rough weeks, terrible days, where he just needed a means to an end. Where the sex was an outlet, where the best thing you could be for him was his. 

He waits for your permission, because he still always remembers to ask no matter how far deep you’re in. The agreement comes in the form of the best three words. 

"Ruin me, Seung."

You know him too well. You know how he works, you know how he thinks, and you know him better than anyone.

He groans in response to your words, his head dipping down to drag his teeth gently over your collarbone. He's trying to hang on to his control, he is, but it's a losing effort.

"I will, love." His breath is hot against your skin, his hands finding your hips. "Just give me a minute—"

He shifts, just for a moment, to find the condom in his jean pocket. He goes through the motions until he's back on top of you again, one hand coming up to grip your hip again, the other coming up to rest against your throat. He looks down at you, his eyes almost glowing. 

"You trust me?" he mutters. His hand at your hip tightens; his hand at your throat barely clenches around your pulse point, his eyes never leaving yours.

You can feel it, see it. The way the little threads are beginning to unravel and fray. The way this was no longer Seungcheol of SEVENTEEN; not the leader, not the idol. This was something different entirely, someone else completely.

"I do," you whisper back, your eyes so full of adoration for him that he has to bite back the urge to scream. "I trust you, Seungcheol."

His full name is what really does it for him, because then he's pushing in, and you’re gasping, whimpering, trying to adjust around him and the fact that you’re practically clenching him on the get-go. Seungcheol eases in, nice and slow, because you’re too tightly coiled for him to do more than carefully bottom out. You’re both heaving, your breaths coming out as gasps; your own breaths are sharp, harsh, because Seungcheol is still choking you a little. 

His head dips down to your shoulder because he needs something to hold on to, anything, while his mind spins. His head is dizzy feeling you like this, feeling you around him so tightly. He's trembling, his thighs shaking, but he's holding himself back as long as he can.

When Seungcheol gets as far in as he can possibly get, you let out twin groans. He’s completely sheathed inside of you and you’re fluttering around him in a way that’s dangerous. 

“Y’can move, Seung,” you reassure him after a moment, the words coming out strained with desire. “As fast and hard as you want.” 

You sound strangled, just like he feels, and it's taking him a mammoth amount of control to hold himself back. He groans against your shoulder at the sound of your voice, the words you say. He wants to move, to thrust, but he's trying to have some semblance of composure. 

"Love," he says, his voice wrecked. "I—"

His voice breaks. It breaks, because there is only so much he can take, and he's beyond that point now. There's a tremor in his thighs, his hands clenching in the cushion below you.

You drag him right back down, with the sound that you let out that’s halfway a whine and a sigh. One of your hands goes to rest in the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades, as if to steady the two of you. 

Your voice is surprisingly firm when you speak. "Let go," you command. And then, softer, "I need you."

Your words, your voice— it's in complete conflict with the situation you're currently in. And yet, it works. He lets out a sound, one that's somewhere between a growl and a whimper, his breath hot against your skin. And then he's moving and he's holding nothing back.

He's hard, brutal, and he's taking. His teeth on your shoulder; his breath against your neck; his nails digging into you.

It's a relentless, dizzying pace. Seungcheol bullies into your weeping cunt, fast and hard, and it draws out the most obscene sounds from you. Gasps, whines, an occasional scream when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. What has him seeing stars is the fact that you can't seem to settle on a name to moan. "Seung— Seungcheol— Cheol—"

Yes, you're saying, yes.

Seungcheol loses himself, utterly and completely, in you. You're on the edge, he can hear it; he can feel it, and God, he wants to hear you say his name. Every single one of them. 

It almost sounds like a mantra, your voice, as he takes and takes and takes, his breathing harsh, ragged.

You go through all of the names you have for him, breathless and wrecked, until you can't even say anything because his hips are snapping into you with a ferocity that's rare but not unwelcome. Your pornographic moans reverberate in your otherwise empty apartment, and Seungcheol thinks he might go insane. 

"'M close," you choke out. "Cheollie, baby, I'm— ah, fuck— Seung—"

His breath catches at your words, his eyes closing for a moment as he groans. You, you, in all your perfect, glorious, undone state. It’s a sight he wishes he could capture, freeze in time.

He lets out a whimper, his words almost slurred when he responds. "Love— I—"

He's never been this rough, never this intense. You're the only one, the only person he's ever let himself go like this with. The only person who he's ever let see everything, take everything.

He's on the edge, he's there, he's—

"C'mon," he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching hard around your hip. "With me, love, please."

It's a miracle that you can even nod, can even find your voice as Seungcheol keeps on going with his erratic, stuttering thrusts. "With you," you gasp. 

He snaps into you, then, and you arch up with a scream of his name. There’s the familiar white-hot flash of pleasure; the impossibly tight clench of your walls around him.

He stays buried in you for several long moments, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He has never felt so utterly spent in his entire life, never been so completely, utterly drained of energy. He's weak against you. He’s weak because of you. 

"God," he finally manages to mutter.

He lifts his head, just enough to be able to look at you, but he can't even muster a grin. He's spent and he knows you know that.

His hand comes up slightly, to brush the hair off of your forehead. "I think..." he says, his voice thick and hoarse, "I think I ruined you, love."

You let out a breathless laugh, one that you have to push out of your heaving chest. "You—" you try to say, but the words don't form, not at first. You take a few moments to take in some air, to gulp past the lump in your throat. "You're a fool."

His lips twitch into a tired but genuine smile at the sound of your laugh. It’s a soft sound that he's always thought sounds beautiful, especially coming from you.

A hoarse, broken laugh of his own escapes; his hand coming up to rest at your jawline, his thumb gently tracing over the warm skin there. He's still catching his breath, but he's slowly gathering himself.

"Am I a fool?" he asks quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. "What does that make you, then?"

You’re a fool, too, he thinks to himself. For letting me have this. 

Instead of answering him, you press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s the only answer he’s going to get from you for now, it seems. 

He lets out a soft huff, moving his head back just slightly, his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says quietly, his voice still rough with fatigue.

"Every time," you respond. Your own voice is strained, almost tired, but there's a hint of amused exasperation. "You say that every time, Cheol."

His eyes opened once again to look at you.

"Because it's true," he says simply, his voice soft and sincere, the hand resting at your jaw moving to brush your hair back from your face. "It's always true, love."

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes tracing over your face, taking in every inch of you. His eyes pause at your lips for a moment, his tongue gently wetting his own, his gaze finally moving back up to meet your eyes.

You thread your shaking fingers through the back of his hair and answer his unspoken question. "Kiss me soft and easy, Cheol," you whisper.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he's in action.

He leans forward without a second thought, the hand not buried in your hair going to rest on your hip, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

There's no heat in it, no want or need. Just a soft press of his lips against yours, gentle and slow. 

It's languid and unhurried. Like there's nowhere either of you have to be after this. For a moment, you can pretend that this is normal— that Seungcheol will not have to leave, and that you’ll not have to change into new pajamas because he'd broken yours, and that you can be... well, something, anything aside from what you are now.

But it's wishful thinking, you both know, so all Seungcheol can do is kiss you. He lets out a soft sound, almost a sigh, as his tongue slides into your mouth, his hand on your hip tightening slightly. His other hand is in your hair still, his fingers gently tracing over your scalp, his body almost melting against yours.

He will have to leave. He always does. But for now, he's here, with you, and you feel perfect, and—

Five minutes, he bargains. Five more minutes.

And then things end, not really by your own accord.

The sharp, shrill sound of Seungcheol's phone ringing breaks through your haze. You pull away, a bit jolted at the foreign sound— at something other than your words, your breathing, reverberating in the room. It takes you a beat too long to realize someone is calling him— his phone in his discarded jeans— in the godawful middle of the night. 

He lets out a loud groan, the sound tired and drawn out, and he can't help but rest his forehead against your shoulder once again, letting out a resigned sigh.

"God, save me," he mutters, his voice rough. "What time is it?"

You chuckle lightly. "Go on," you urge softly, not because you want to but because you have to. "Answer."

Seungcheol lets out another loud, drawn out sigh, his shoulders slumping in obvious defeat. He reluctantly lifts his head from your shoulder with a grumble, but he can't quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek just before he shifts up and off of the couch.

Once he’s reached down to grab his phone from where it's stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, he answers without looking at the caller ID. "Yeah?"

"Hyung!"

It's Soonyoung— of course it's Soonyoung— calling.

"Are you still at the company?" the younger member asks. "I think I forgot my headset in one of the practice rooms, and Minghao said you didn't go home with them."

"It's midnight, Soonyoung." 

You shit over on the couch, careful not to make any sound. Not to give Soonyoung any suspicion that Seungcheol might be somewhere where he shouldn't be. You press a small, reassuring kiss to Seungcheol's hip as Soonyoung goes on to whine, "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's the expensive headset, hyung. If you're still there, could you check? Please?"

Seungcheol lets out a huff— a mixture of resigned affection and irritation— at the feeling of your lips against his skin. He can feel the exhaustion deep within his bones now, and all he wants to do is go back to snuggling into you for the night.

But he can't say no to Soonyoung, especially not at this time of night.

"Fine," he grumbles, letting out a huff. "Which practice room?"

You can hear the moment Soonyoung practically brightens with triumph.

"Third floor!" he says happily, and you bury your face into Seungcheol's side to keep yourself from laughing. "You're the best, hyung! I'll buy you a meal tomorrow for the trouble!"

He reaches down with the hand not holding his phone, pressing his palm to the top of your head, pushing lightly down. A warning of don't laugh. "Just be thankful I'm your hyung, kid," Seungcheol grouses.

Soonyoung ends the call soon enough, saying some things about sending Seungcheol a photo of his headset so he knows exactly which one is missing. When it's back to just the two of you again, you tilt your head up to look at Seungcheol. 

"You're really going back for it tonight?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. 

The corner of his lip twitches into a half smile at the way you look up at him. His eyes takein the sight of you— his hand on the back of your head, his fingers gently twisting strands of your hair.

"Of course I am," he sighs. "I can't say no to him, love."

You shift upward so you can sit side by side with Seungcheol. Both of you have yet to put on any clothes, but you’ve at least gathered your bearings enough to form coherent words now.

"You can't say 'no' to any of them," you tease as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. There's an almost blinding affection in your tone as you say, "You and your goddamn boys."

Seungcheol reaches out, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you closer to him. Briefly, he presses his lips against your hair. His eyes are almost tender as he speaks.

"They're my boys," he says, his voice soft.

You let the words hang there for just a moment. It’s an admission, one that both of you have known for the longest time, but it's also a reminder. It’s the reason why you and Seungcheol can never be more than this—because he has his boys, and he would never do anything to jeopardize them.

You press your face against the column of his neck for just one more precious moment. You’ve never been selfish about Seungcheol, but there were nights when you thought about it. Just… thought about it.

The thought never wins.

"Let’s clean up, get dressed," you whisper into his skin. "So you can head to the company sooner."

He lets out a soft, almost painful exhale. He knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling; he's thought about it himself, as well. He hates having to leave you, hates having to say that he has to leave you. But his boys are his boys, and one day all this will be over, and then...

He can't think about it right now, though.

Instead, he nods, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "Yeah."

It takes about ten minutes or so for you both to gather everything together. Seungcheol still looks tired, though for different reasons now. He’s essentially traded one exhaustion for another.

As he puts on the shoes he left in your entryway, you lean against your doorway with your arms crossed over your chest. "I’ll be holding you accountable for my pajama set," you warn him. "And for tomorrow’s noise complaint."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffs, taking a step toward you. "Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."

His face softens as he reaches you, his hands coming up to grab your elbows, gently pulling you closer to him. "Sorry," he says. "Again."

 "You’re not sorry, " you sigh pointedly, more out of spite than anything. It’s the truth—he’s not really that apologetic about losing control every now and then, about your neighbors knowing you’re being pulled close every so often.

When you bury your face into his chest, he lets out a low, gruff chuckle, his chin resting gently against the top of your head. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him, just like every single time before.

"You’re right," he murmurs. A quiet, affectionate admission. “Not sorry. Not even a little.”

He holds you there against him, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows himself just a few more moments before he has to leave. You both stay there, allowing yourselves that moment, until the tension in Seungcheol’s shoulders fades and your annoyance at your torn pajamas ebbs. It could’ve been five minutes, maybe less, but then Seungcheol’s phone pings with a text—surely Soonyoung asking if he’s found his headset.

You’re the one who takes the step back, putting some distance between you. "Drive safe," you tell Seungcheol. "Text me when you’re there."

Resigned. That’s the only way to describe the smile that tugs at his lips. "Yeah," he says. "I will."

True to his word, Seungcheol does indeed send you a text about an hour or so after he'd arrived at the company, informing you that he was there and had found Soonyoung’s headset.

He's still exhausted, and all he wants is to be back. Back inside of you, back with you. But he can't do any of that. At least, not right now. Not at this point.

I miss you already, is the only other thing he adds to his text.

Your text comes in only moments later, like you had been waiting by your phone. 

you're a fool. head home. take care.

A soft sigh escapes him the moment he reads your text, his eyes flickering over the words you'd typed, the harshness of it. It's another layer of protection for the both of you, but it's still not easy to read.

He's about to respond with something snarky, some light-hearted joke to tease you a bit, but he stops himself at the last moment. He knows that you're right.

He needs to head home. He needs to take care.

And he’s an absolute goddamn fool, in more ways than one. 

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #3: ROT FOR CLOUT

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

WHAT'S going on guys, welcome back to another Constant Companions Closeup, the show where we take a DEEP DIVE into what makes these tunes tick! Last episode, we went aaaaaall the way there on Not Quite There, and today, we're making that liggity-line go up up up up up with ROT FOR CLOUT featuring VISUALEYES!! Before we get started, remember to SMASH that like button, SLAM subscribe, and FUCK the bell icon. This week's community challenge: leave your credit card info in the comments! Bet you won't!

(*cough*)

---

I check my notifications way too fucking much. It's a habit I'm trying to curb, and to my credit, I am doing better lately, but being chemically predisposed to dopamine deficiencies has done a number on my ability to go five minutes without checking the funny glowing numbers on my phone. Naturally, I also very much seek more validation than I should from the opinions of strangers yadayadayada yeah that's what the song is about but none of that actually has to do with why I started writing this song in the first place.

Have you ever taken a flight with American Airlines?

This was after waking up at 4 in the morning to fly out of Houston thinking I'd be napping on a couch in Ohio by 2 pm at the latest.

I want to make one thing clear here, and that's that I made this bed for myself. Tucked the sheets in and all. You see, on the rare occasions I fly, I normally take Southwest. Southwest does not overbook flights like a lot of other airlines do, so it's a practice I am mostly unfamiliar with. So, when I received a notification on my phone promising genuinely ridiculous amounts of flight credit money in exchange for taking a slightly later flight, I thought - well, shit! That sounds nice!

This is how they trick you. I didn't really realize I'd been tricked until I was on my second flight of the day, sitting in a middle seat at the very back of the plane, heading from Dallas, a city I don't live in, to Washington, DC, a city I was not trying to get to, staring down the barrel of another flight I was destined to get on that had been delayed like two fucking hours.

I became the Joker. All I could do to remain sane was write a song about it. This is how ROT FOR CLOUT came to be.

I guess the moral of the story is this: Don't go to Ohio. And to answer your question,

Yes I am

Not really

No

---

This is a complete sidenote but I want to mention it here: I'm genuinely overjoyed at the amount of people excitedly talking about my songwriting or the intention behind my lyrics. For a long time, it really felt like lyricism was the last thing people cared about from me, while it was always the thing I wanted to take pride in the most... So genuinely, thank you everyone for caring!! Every single fire emoji people have put next to a line I've written has extended my lifespan by multiple years

There's a brief little moment where the song's chords leave the key, doing a really stereotypically jazzy 2-5 movement, and it's one of my favorite parts of the entire song. I'm not really a music theory buff or anything, and I'm certainly not formally trained, but I've always been very passionate about more complicated harmony in otherwise poppy and accessible contexts - bo en's album pale machine really rewrote my brain when I first heard it.

On that note, there are microtones in the vocal melody - During the chorus, some of the rapidly repeated words move up in quarter tones! Possibly the simplest way I could've included microtonality, but I'm genuinely afraid if I learn more than what I already know about it I'll be lost to the darkness.

Obviously, the work of Sasuke Haraguchi was a massive influence on this song, particularly the song Igaku. I think basically everyone on the entire planet has picked up on that at this point, but I do also wanna point out some other songs that were on my mind at the time! (two for three on these posts mentioning louis cole now)

I'd also like to take a moment to spotlight the vocal samples on this! They previously appeared on エビチャーハン!, and they've honestly become some of my favorite samples to throw in things. They're also just a fucking goldmine sincerely

Finally, HUGE thanks to Visualeyes for the delightful synth solo on this!! I had put out a call on Twitter looking for instrumentalists, genuinely originally envisioning a super jazzy piano solo, but their synth playing genuinely brought the whole song together perfectly!

That's about it for this song - though again, if there are any more questions people have, I'd be happy to answer them in the replies to this post or elsewhere!! (*ahem*) THAT'S gonna do it for today's video, folks! Feel free to leave a like, comment, hit the subscribe button for more and click the bell so you don't miss any new videos. Tomorrow? I Wish That I Could Fall. it hurts.

[kandadze]

Ep 26 loose (and rambling) thoughts

I find it almost comical how Chongwu Camp took over the whole shapeshifter case and everyone just nodded and went home. What is Fan daren even doing? Playing weiqi with the Situ guy, instead of actually running the Demon Hunting Bureau so that it doesn't look completely inept in comparison?

Aww look at WX waiting for ZYC to come back! It's kind of interesting how, as she was moving closer to him, the camera moved away so we can only see their silhouettes in the end, and just the very beginning of a hug-

But then we get to follow ZYZ as he's almost floating through the rooms of the Bureau. I imagine these are ZYC's private quarters... It might be the fighter training, or ZYC is just so attuned to ZYZ's presence, either way the fact that he noticed the Great Demon immediately despite being deep in thought, *and* wasn't surprised in the slightest, is kinda amusing to me. (Don't get me started on the bed in the foreground as the scene  switches to them talking 😂)

I'm afraid I was not wrong when I thought that "I understand ZYZ now" might mean, among other things, that ZYC understands the demon's wish for death, and thus feels less conflicted about fulfilling it. At the same time, the relief in his face when he talks of breaking the oath, regardless of the consequences... These two, I swear. Because of course ZYZ cuts in immediately with, absolutely not, no dying on my watch, ZYC!

(Also, did we forget the little detail of ZYC not possessing an inner core? Or have they already discussed it behind the scenes and this way we got the "do what you want to become who you want to be" because of course they're going to repair the sword so ZYC *will* be protected from his own demonic energy?)

Now don't come for me, I don't have medical training or anything, but I know depression, and I know how I can extend the gentlest of care and understanding to others while completely unable to do the same for myself, and this is what I see in ZYZ in this scene. He reassures ZYC, encourages him to think about the future, talks of how they're family and they're in this mess together, and yet, and yet, almost in the same breath, he still insists on only one thing for himself. I understand him *and* I want him to want to have a future too, goddamnit.

Is everyone in this place suffering from insomnia? I mean, not that surprising all things considered, but we barely see anyone from the crew resting... You tell him, WX! Him and ZYC, the two self-sacrificial idiots. Also, for such a short scene, it sure did pack a punch... I love the tenderness between them.

Finally we got around to repairing that goddamn cloud ceiling over the Wilderness lol And of course, now that Bai Jiu's mom is back to her human form, he's - where?

The way I cackled at the way my question was answered in the very next scene... Li Lun, the drama queen of all times, does not want to miss the family excursion! (Also, I've seen it said many times but it bears repeating, the kid actor is phenomenal. I literally forget he's 12 when he's portraying Li Lun.) Ying Lei is the goodest boy, and I'd give him all the head pats and high fives. Don't die, please.

I find myself cheering for WX repeatedly in this ep, probably because she keeps saying what I'm thinking, ZYC, ZYZ, stop being idiots!

Well this took an unexpected turn. I love how unruffled ZYZ appears up until the very moment ZYC says, let's give up on restoring the sword, and I hate how his reply seems to be the drama once again reminding us that apparently there are only two possible outcomes. Come on, give us a secret third thing, I'm begging you!

"Even if it's restored... please don't die." What I just said! I remember how we were all, ZYC is going to regret his oath, and we definitely got that, but for him to outright put a condition like that on restoring of his fate weapon, demanding ZYZ to promise not to die is just - top tier. My heart. And then I cheered for WX again, she was *so* mad lol Good on you, girl, you said what we were all thinking!

Ugh ZYZ, stop breaking my heart. I don't think he's ever outright lied to any of them, but the way he seems to categorize his own promises to ZYC... I guess the one about not seeking death is not the highest priority. Ffs

All demons in this world, including ancestors, seem to suffer from loneliness above all else... I love how fast ZYC refuses. He's ready to sacrifice himself, but he'll never sacrifice any of his companions. Ngl I don't think I breathed through the whole sequence that followed. The goodbyes (PSJ, can you act like a normal person at least once? Not sure if it's the actress, but oh goodness does PSJ grate on me sometimes), the "I choose myself," and then ZYZ activating his energy to break the ice, because of course he would. To be honest, at this point in the story, I would really rather these two died together doing something heroic, as opposed to one of them dying and the other continuing on in misery, but hey, unfortunately I'm not the one calling the shots here.

(Also, seeing Bingyi and Ying Long in the preview... hats off to the costuming and makeup folks, because damn, TJR and HMH are already exceptionally good looking, but in the demon get-up they're just out of this world, achingly beautiful.)

[jasminedragonart]

Oh okay so I'm actually getting some genuine interest in this post.

I actually did a course on publishing when I was at uni, the process to actually make a book is actually really easy. Doing it alone might seem daunting, especially if you're planning on making more than one copy but it's possible.

I'm going to put the process here which I'm using to make my own book. By that I mean with my atla comic, my goal is, once I reach the end of book 1 I'm going to make myself a physical copy with my own hands.

First, you need an idea. Sounds simple but it's actually the hardest part of the publishing process. My advice: get it down, make it messy, do it fast.

Second, if you're doing this on your own, you're gonna want to take a day or two and not look at it at all. You want to wipe it from your mind and not even think about it until we get to the next step of our journey.

If you aren't doing this on your own youre going to send your draft to your beta. You're going to get that second opinion and listen to every disgusting plot hole and problem until you want to cry. If you are doing this on your own you will also be doing this step but you are the beta. Your fresh eyes will tear that project apart.

Third, redraft. This is where things get good. You have a skeleton of a fic at this stage, what you're going to do now is add meat and blood and skin until you're just as in love with this draft as you were the first.

Fourth, repeat the second step.

Fifth, take a break. Take a long break and then read over your second draft again, you're going to find a lot more wrong with it now than you did before. It shouldn't be as bad as the first purge but you should be able to fine tune your draft.

You're going to do and repeat this until youre happy with your draft and your beta is too.

This is where we go to our next stage.

Sixth, the proofreader and editor. If this is you, print your work out, it's a lot easier to find mistakes when you have a physical copy. You're fine combing it now. You're finding little mistakes, little grammatical errors and words that don't sit right. You're going to send this out into the world so be happy with what you've produced, dont leave anything to chance. Even if you have to get your parents or siblings or friends to read your work just do it. A new pair of eyes spot things you don't even think about.

Seventh, if you're finally happy with your work you're going to start the publishing process. If this is an Amazon book I can't help you since I'm going to be printing and creating at home but there are a lot of sites out there and youtubers that can help you with that.

If you're doing this at home you're going to typeset your work. You're going to adjust the margins, the paragraph space, font and size until they're the typeset you're wanting. Since mine is a comic I will be making sure the margins leave a big white space near the centre so the art isn't lost in the spine. There are pages out there debating the best typeset to use depending on your book so it's entirely up to you really. For example young adult books have larger fonts than adult books.

Eight, after this you need to either, manually, or with a pdf app put your book in printing order. This is where you need to know about how books are actually made. Books are made up of signatures which are three or four pages folded together. This means the pages go 1 on the right, 2 on the opposite side to the left, 3 goes onto page 2 and 4 on the opposite side to the left. It goes on like that and it's not impossible to do it manually but it does require a bit of thinking.

Nine. Once youve put it in printing order you need to print and make those signatures.

Ten, you sew those signatures together. There's a tutorial on YouTube on how to do this and, again, there are variations and it comes down to taste, a lot of stuff after this is taste. You can add a bookmark at this point as well as binding around the top. Make sure you glue your spine.

After that you need cardboard and book cloth and a tutorial on YouTube because, again, it's personal taste but at this point it's not impossible, you've almost done it and books don't have to be expensive to make no matter what some people say. Make it how you want to make it. Research book covers and bookbinders because they will tell you how to make the most amazing book ever.

I'm sorry I don't have a more informative tutorial. I will definitely post my process when I'm making the physical book but that's going to be a while from now. Some people to look into for cool books are Nerdforge and Seallemom. These are the people I watched on YouTube to learn how to make a book. When I was in uni we used Amazon books to make our own. But I hate how those ones came out, physically, not people work since they were great, and the book itself was a collaborative effort so when I make my own I want it to be my own.

With that in mind, so many people on Tumblr know how to bind a book, they love to read and have a keener eye than some professional proofreaders. I literally don't know how a bunch of us haven't got together and made our own publishing company by now.

genuinely wondering how some people on here haven't started their own publishing company. It's not like we don't have the skills. The amount of bookbinders, proofreaders and artists on here could rule the publishing world if they had the right motivation.

[andorshitdaily]

it's that time again. Andor characters as shirts that go hard

bonus:

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Crazy issues that come up when a character is written a little too well

[vimbry]

jumping off the back of the post about genres of song lyrics, another thing about tmbg's lyrics in particular is that even when they write about pleasant themes, they still manage to frequently do so through a sinister lens:

the experience of having children and looking after them:

a nice little nightlight protecting a child muses on the shortcomings it would have outside its assigned responsibility:

fantasising about getting high in the park with your crush:

[glorious-blackout]

Introduce yourself! What’s the story behind your username/what should people call you? 

Picked the username Gloriousblackout for my fanfiction.net account at the age of 15 because those were my favourite Muse songs at the time. Twelve years later, I'm simply too attached to bother changing it 😅

(I also answer to Rachel)

How will you be participating in the Shadowmonkeys Big Bang 2024 (e.g. organiser, artist, writer, artist, reader etc)? 

I'll be a writer, and also looking forward to taking part as a reader 🥰

What are your favourite fic tropes? 

I'm a sucker for a good 'Friends to Lovers' fic or anything with a 'Sharing a Bed/There was only one bed' trope... I also just love angst and hurt/comfort in general more than I should.

If you’re a writer/artist, what’s your favourite piece of work you’ve created for this fandom? Feel free to link it! 

It's been a long time since I revisited it so I'm not sure how well it's aged, but I'm still very proud of my 'You've Always Been Here' series for being my gateway into writing for this lovely fandom and for marking the first time in many years where I was writing a fic purely for sheer self-indulgence. The fact that other people seemed to like it was a lovely surprise 💖

What’s a fic/piece of art in this fandom you’ve loved recently?

I absolutely adore 'Four Walls' by @uhbasicallyjustmilex which I recently binged while stuck in bed for a few days with a chest infection - it was a beautiful, gorgeously written distraction which I was very grateful for and can't wait to read more of 💖

Can also highly recommend 'Maybe Tomorrow' by @applysome which is the most recent fic I read - it's such a beautiful little piece 🥰

Do you prefer reading/writing from Miles or Alex’s POV? 

Don't have a strong preference! I have more multi-chaptered fics written from Alex's point of view so I suspect I'm more naturally drawn to him, but I've finally broken that pattern with my Big Bang fic 😅

What’s an album that you love reading/writing/drawing to? 

'Songs of Leonard Cohen' was an album I kept revisiting during the writing of my Big Bang fic, but my writing playlist changes with every fic. 'Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino' has been an endless source of inspiration in the past and I find classical or instrumental music quite helpful as there's no lyrics to distract you from what you're writing.

Here are some of the songs I listened to on repeat or referenced during the planning/writing of my Big Bang fic 💚

If you’re a writer/artist, what do you struggle with most in your creative process? Is there anything that helps? 

Mostly just motivating myself to write that first paragraph - honestly that stage alone can take months. Once I've gotten over that hurdle I tend to really enjoy the planning and writing process and working through the first couple of drafts is enormous fun. The stage I'm at right now (i.e. the final few edits) are when it starts to feel a bit like a chore - the novelty's worn off and my eyes are more drawn to the flaws in the text rather than anything that makes it good 😅 Chatting with other writers certainly helps me though, as does creating a good writing playlist that fits the mood of the fic.

Have you participated in a fandom big bang before? 

I have! I wrote this fic for the last Shadowmonkeys Big Bang which was immensely rewarding, not least because it inspired the cutest artwork ever from @rock-n-roll-fantasy:

On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you for the Shadowmonkeys Big Bang 2024?

9/10. I'm docking a point for the fact that I'm also a little nervous after working on my fic for so long and the fact that the week I want to start publishing it is a nightmare in terms of my work rota 😅

✨ SHADOWMONKEYS BIG BANG GAME ✨

As we're now officially into the second posting window and the gloomier half of the year, we thought we'd share something hopefully a little fun to keep everyone feeling motivated!

If you're taking part in this year's Big Bang in any way (whether that's as an artist, writer, beta-reader, or just as someone who's going to be reading and supporting the collaborations when they're posted!) and feel like sharing a little about you and your relationship with fanfic/fanfart then please reblog this post with your answers to the questions below 🥰

Introduce yourself! What’s the story behind your username/what should people call you? 

How will you be participating in the Shadowmonkeys Big Bang 2024 (e.g. organiser, artist, writer, artist, reader etc)? 

What are your favourite fic tropes? 

If you’re a writer/artist, what’s your favourite piece of work you’ve created for this fandom? Feel free to link it! 

What’s a fic/piece of art in this fandom you’ve loved recently?

Do you prefer reading/writing from Miles or Alex’s POV? 

What’s an album that you love reading/writing/drawing to? 

If you’re a writer/artist, what do you struggle with most in your creative process? Is there anything that helps? 

Have you participated in a fandom big bang before? 

On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you for the Shadowmonkeys Big Bang 2024?

[boysareouttonight]

my barbie

[notonlymice]

rumbelle + rapunzel au moodboard (traditional version)

[astarab1aze]

➥ The Devilliers

so, something i mention but don't really dig into is the time between loux going into the fostercare system leading up to the full and complete commitment to his life as a criminal - and how important his foster family actually was to him when he was separated from his sisters.

to start, we'll list off his foster family members:

silvère devilliers ; grandfather (deceased)

letha devilliers ; grandmother (deceased)

jackie devilliers ; mother

beau devilliers ; father

fleur lalonde ; aunt

antonetta lalonde ; cousin

absalon lalonde ; cousin

most of the family lived in the town known as monroe, sister to altus but furthest from belle's hollow,

of all his foster family, he was closest to letha and silvère, who really had guardianship over him in the first place. old black folks who resolved themselves to care for wayward boys like loux. they were retired, genuinely good people, and they gave him the best love and care he could've ever asked for when he needed it the most. they were both very patient with him, despite how much trouble he got himself into, despite how much he caused, how many days of school he missed, how bad his grades got, the number of times they caught him smoking or high, and especially in spite of what jackie and beau had to say about him. in a sense, they understood perfectly where loux's heart was and had always been, and were the only people in his life to have ever figured it out; sometimes, a spade is just a spade, no matter what it's made of. rather, they accepted that there would be no controlling him, which wasn't their goal in the first place - merely to love a boy who could not love himself.

it sounds a bit like they were enablers, but i assure you, they most certainly were not ; much of loux's childhood and adolescence was very touch and go, thanks to dual puberties and his decision to go full-bore into the underground, but they never just let him get away with anything ( getting into the specifics of what they tried to do on a day-to-day would make this already long post even longer ), though some of their ( relative ) inaction had a hand to play.

anyway; he was lucky to have been placed into their care, as there simply weren't any shifter homes on the docket ( it's effectively legally considered attempted murder to try to place a shapeshifter in a vampire or were- household ; shifters are a favorite source of nutrition for vampires and weres are notoriously territorial even with each other ; all of this often means that shifters end up falling through the cracks anyway ). it was by the skin of his teeth letha & silvère devilliers applied when they had, and while they might not have been the same particular base breed he was ( both of the skunk variety ), they most definitely treated him as one of their very own. he was loved by letha and silvère, as if he were related to them by blood, the both of them endlessly impressed by how advanced his magic was at so young an age, his resourcefulness, his capability, his intelligence, how quick-witted he was - they adored him. they took pity on him and took him home, gave him a place to comfortably rest his head, a home to return to when he was tired and afraid, a place to be a child while he still had the chance.

but loux was always decisive and devious; in more ways than one, he'd already made a certain choice that would alter his life irreparably, and such was the choice to covet power. he cried for a day, when his parents died, and it would more or less be the last time before he set his childish plans in motion. all he needed was a place to sleep, and someone to pet his hair until his achy, feverish shifter body finally shut down. he never expected to love the devilliers, too. he never factored in how much they'd end up meaning to him, thinking of them when he'd make his worst decisions, wander into the underground in search of...something that would start him properly down the path. the fastest way to reach his goal wasn't school but experience and a willingness to do everything it took, including selling his soul for just a chance to bring his parents back. and he killed himself every day for it.

in his early teen years, when he first really dipped his toes into the underground proper, witnessing death and untold misery, he was hit with blasts of ice in a run-in with deadeye and his crew, whose thugs dumped his unconcious body at the edge of the mirewood, the expansive swamp between monroe and belle's hollow. he was found by mauszan clerics, but in all the uncertainty and all the commotion, silvère fell ill; hysterical with worry that loux, a boy he and letha had been trying so hard to adopt while he threw his life away so he'd have something to come back to when all his fighting was done - suffered a heart attack that ultimately killed him in the days following. loux was in a grave condition of his own, barely clinging to life as ice burned its way through his body, afflicting him with enfeebling ice-sickness, lost in a coma, which did absolutely nothing to help matters within the family. all distraught and beside themselves, the devilliers began to fall apart, and nearly all of them blamed loux for it in some fashion or another - the way they treated him changed, how they talked about him changed, but the only person who didn't blame him, who put it on 'the way of things', who perhaps babied him a smidge because she was terrified he'd die too, was letha.

misplaced though it was.

when he woke from his coma, it was jackie and beau who broke the news of silv's heart attack and subsequent passing - they made no effort to hide their personal feelings toward him, going so far as to fight with him the same day he was released from the bloodweaver's. at the time, he was disoriented and confused, so it didn't quite set in that maybe, perhaps he'd been the catalyst after all - silv wouldn't have had his heart attack if loux could keep himself out of trouble for five godsdamned minutes. but in the aftermath, he started to drift away from the family, from everyone but letha, silv's death acting as a tipping point for him. he couldn't deal with the truth, not properly, and ultimately rejected it, stepping further and further into the underground - committing more of himself to learning more and becoming worse. doubling down led him down a much darker path, then, and the troubles with deadeye began in full.

loux was a scrapper & drug mule for deadeye's competition, when he first dipped his toes into the underground following silv's death, meaning he fought and committed crimes for rival gangs, small-time or not.

because of loux's renewed and dogged persistence, deadeye felt the need to send a particular message - you and everyone you love will die if you continue to work against me. this did nothing but stoke an already high-burning flame within him, tweaking achy nerves and urging him to make foolish decisions, like stealing from deadeye. it wasn't enough to have loux beaten to the brink of death the first or second time, he had to make his message clear and unavoidable. so, he put a tail on loux and had his every waking moment stalked and recorded - who his family was ( meaning the devilliers; lucienne and leonie were unknowns and carefully kept secret ), who his friends were, what he ate for breakfast, when letha would do her shopping, etc. all to blindside loux and make the message ring loud and clear. and one day, when loux had left the underground and was making his way home, deadeye dispatched a handful of his goons and had letha murdered in her home - but loux was quick in his return and found them hovering over letha's body, having just ripped her to pieces. he set them on fire one by one, instinct kicking in and guiding his actions, and exposed those flames to high-oxygen, causing them to pop like balloons and explode like grenades, painting letha's home with the guts and gore of the people who killed her.

letha's death is what drove home the fact that loux is, in fact, at fault for everything that letha and silv had suffered, from economic frustration to their deaths, but he was in far too deep to ever find a way out of the hole he'd dug himself. it is his fault they're dead, the only two people in the world who loved him for him, unconditionally and without reproach. he may as well have killed them with his own two hands. it would've been easier on them, less violent, a subtle poison in their morning coffee, slipping away in their afternoon naps-- it would've been easier and better if it'd just been him; and when the sorciers came, he lied. everyone lied. jackie, beau, and antonetta all lied to keep him from being taken to the triangulary ( where he would've been stripped of his magic, tortured and experimented on until he died, then magically super-glued to a flesh-warden's body ). but they lied so he would feel worse, so the guilt would weigh on his conscience forever, and they would each and all turn their back on him from then on.

the guilt ate him alive and though he didn't try as hard as he should've, he was now left with no option but to put the final nail in the coffin and let it all go. he could never live a normal life, he had to accept the consequences of his choices and actions, and that meant taking the final step and becoming who he is now. ruthless, unforgiving, distrusting, murderous, careful, scheming, just bastard enough to outwit the likes of deadeye ( who, while understated, he loathes immensely ). he became deadeye's biggest competition, cutting into his most lucrative profits, stealing from him, killing swaths of his goons just for happening to cross his path, sending oh so many messages of his own. in just under two years, he became such a problem for deadeye that he paid off a group of weres to kill him while he was staying at the packhouse. obviously, they didn't succeed, but there were enough of them that he was caught by surprise again and overpowered - they came very close to killing him, but just his will to live alone proved enough to save himself ( his flame really helped ).

at the time of silv's death, he was 13. at the time of letha's, he was 16. at the time of his departure from the family et al, he was 17. when deadeye tried to have him killed, he was 19.

ultimately, he spent nine years with the devilliers, and was both directly and indirectly responsible for everything that happened to them. he was and is the problem, every bit as much as he is a victim, and everything he does is a not-so-veiled attempt to protect himself and others from him. he cannot shake the guilt he feels, but he's grown so used to it, it slowly burns away at him, everpresent but nameless, now. it has all irreparably damaged how he sees and interacts with other people, how he sees relationships of any and all kinds be they romantic, professional, friendly, etc. he refuses to form attachments if he can avoid it ( however untrue that seems to be at present ). he lies, hides, denies, omits information, ghosts, shrouding himself in a happy-go-lucky sort of disingenuousness to prevent himself from being known, understood, loved, from ever feeling all that pain again. if he doesn't care, it's easier. if he has no attachments, he won't miss anyone and no one will miss him. no mourning, no grief, no pain, no nothing. it's better this way. it's fine this way. he has shit to do anyway. a family to save, a star to find. fuck everything else.

needless to say, the devilliers meant a lot to him, even if he doesn't necessarily have the words to express why and what he felt, or realize just how much they influenced some of his choices. he was always going to be a criminal, taking shortcuts and resolving himself to delusional undertakings because the ends justify the means, and he's already made up his mind - but he took everything he learned from the devilliers and applied all of it to how he lives his live in tandem.

individual relationships with listed foster family members, in order of importance and closeness;

⸻letha... retired nurse; she is the one he misses and loves the most, genuinely so. she spent the most time with him, got to know him inside and out, figured out what made him tick and how badly he just wanted to be loved. she couldn't make him see it, but she would love him no matter who he chose to be, and she would protect, nurture, care for, and discipline him when he needed it most. they were two peas in pod, singing songs and telling stories, practicing magic and shifting when things got especially bad. he was her boy just as she was his gran, and he respected her, listened to her best, feared her disappointment, her rejection of him. he wanted her to be proud of him, and she was, she was... she taught him how to sew, how to cook, how to brew potions, what to do when he needed to discharge magic, how to speak creole and sunjatti, and so much more; were it not for her, he wouldn't be half as resourceful as he is now.

⸻silvère... retired sorcier; they had a tense relationship, but loux didn't love him any less. they had a sort of...understanding. silv knew early on loux was gonna cause a world of trouble, and came around to the same realization letha had - that all they could do for a boy like him was love him, whatever form that had to take. he gave him tough love, a stiff upper lip, stoicism, courage, flights as herons above the mire, dances with water moccasins in the swamps, death rolls with alligators-- in a few ways, silv taught loux how to be a man, and how to be a shifter, how to appreciate both aspects of himself and to never let anyone break his spirit ( just put it to better use! ). he played a pretty big role in loux's education as well, often pushing him to learn new things, to master them, to do and be the best he possibly can - he had the decency to help with difficult subjects, shapeshifting, birds & bees, etcs.

⸻fleur... runs a clothing store in altus; auntie fleur, ant fannie, fluflu, fluff queen, vanity in bright colors and deceptive sass. he liked her spirit, her individuality, her unwillingness to tolerate bullshit. very shrewd business woman, and on days it was her turn to deal with the family's biggest problem child, she'd let him sit in and watch her work her magic. he picked up on a lot of her energy, her exuberance and persistence, charisma and body language, committing a bit of it to memory. he learned how to bookkeep from her and she was a hardass about it. if he was gonna hang around, he was gonna get put to work. good thing, too, idle hands and all. he liked her a lot. their relationship was like any aunt-nephew relationship otherwise, something, well, normal about it.

⸻absalon... kind of a douche, studying douche physics at douche college - but loux never had any particularly strong feelings for or against him. they were bros at times and enemies at others. they were never close, even when they played together as kids. they shared remarkably few interests. any conversation beyond blahblah small talk was something loux found horrifically drab. much as he liked certain sports, talking about them was just boring. talking about anything with absalon was boring, and he had a slight ' i'm better than you cos i don't cause problems ' air about him. not a bad guy, just.... blah.

⸻antonetta... he wouldn't have pissed on her if she were on fire. next. they had a very intense aversion to one another that oscillated between cold shoulders, silent treatments, screaming matches, and outright fistfights. part of the reason they butt heads so much is because of how similar they are - both big personalities with a penchant for causing big trouble, both lashing out like wildlings in an effort to be seen, heard, and understood, being too selfish and starved for attention to give each other a few minutes in the spotlight. antonetta felt like she had to compete for letha and silv's affections, so she took it out on loux, and loux ain't a fucking rat so he never tattled ( her losing out on some minutes of fame was just a bonus to adhering to his wayward principles ).

⸻beau... he didn't hate beau at first, but the more time he spent around him and jackie, the more convinced he was that there would never be a positive bond between them. he ignored him, for the most part, but they'd always end up in verbal fistfights over some sideways comment. blah. indifferent if a little annoyed towards him. beau was a blowhard, had his head shoved up his ass and a sense of humor that dragged. just wasn't a fun person to be around.

⸻jackie... he misses the fight - the screaming matches, nearly coming to blows from how intense their fighting would get, throwing fire and lightning at each other - but not her specifically. at all ( maybe the teeniest of hints, but still just for the fight ). they didn't have a good relationship. in fact, jackie hated him and with good reason, sure, but she was constantly calling for sorciers, evoking death, blaming him for every little thing that went wrong, demanding letha & silv give him back to the state. he would sell her ass to sanguinach himself for half a potato.

[wildflowercryptid]

i've already latched onto dogen as my resident blorbo kiddo in psychonauts so of course the gears in my head are already spinning for what i think he'd be like in his teen & adult years. i wanna see him happy and healthy and also get that pet his parents promised him.

[finniestoncrane]

running around in a circle tugging at my hair and holding back tears: too many things too many things too many things too many things too many thi

[stellacadente]

i realized how much it scares me that my mind will convince itself of even the ugliest things if i start thinking them often enough and it's... yeah. like i had a good session with my psychiatric rehabilitation therapist i think it was very useful but then at the end i got hit by this feeling of fear... like i'm so scared of myself and how low i can get

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Also speaking of my son Dism scrolling through windows help forums is so fun because yay :) that's my son :)

[artykyn]

Not me crying because I had a really bad beginning of 2023 and signed up for a program that would proceed to make the rest of my 2023 rough and I spent the whole first three months of 2023 trying to pick myself up and motivate myself like "I'm gonna make it through this year if it kills me" and well look at that I made it