#and yes i suppose my music taste IS very easy to find out. and i agree that more options would be nice !!

[lostacelonnie]

Types of mutuals- the neighbor and the really cool person! I wish there were other options too..

[@lucypher @thenewborndeity]

WHHOAGH THANKS YALL........ IM JUST SOME GUY THO..........

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hannibal Lecter X Reader: Us lonely few

Warnings: talk of loneliness, smut, kissing, rough sex, unprotected sex, penetration (p in v), drinking, no use of y/n

Word count: 2,5K

The sound of Ave Maria floats out of Hannibal's office. It makes you hesitate, your hand freezing in mid air. You weren’t supposed to be here at such a late hour but you’d lost track of time. You started working as Hannibal's secretary a month ago. He’d never found himself in need of a secretary but you'd managed to impress him. He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up as he spoke about the mysteries of the mind so he decided to keep you around.

It was nice to have someone nearby. It didn’t matter that you usually remained outside of his office as you worked, just the thought of not being alone seemed to ease Hannibal. He liked your company. You were younger than him but you shared his taste for the finer things in life. Conversation came easy when he was with you. It was almost as if you’d been made for each other.

You knock on the door waiting for a response. When one doesn't come you lean your ear against the wood trying to listen for Hannibal's footsteps. The only sound that fills your ears is music. It’s likely he can’t hear you because of the song. You can barely hear yourself as you call out for him.

“Dr Lecter, I'm coming in.”

As always his door is unlocked. You push it open with ease, momentarily balancing the books you were holding on your hips. You close the door behind you before moving to scan the room, trying to find Hannibal. He has his back turned to you but somehow he still manages to sense your presence. 

“I thought you’d gone home.”

You walk over to his desk placing the books you were holding on it before going towards him. 

“I lost track of time. Your books are very fascinating.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them but I can't have you staying after hours.”

“You stay after hours.”

Hannibal looks up from his drawing to look at you. You meet his gaze, waiting to see how he’ll react to your comment. He stays serious for a second before smiling at you. 

“I suppose you're right.”

“I usually am.”

You grin at him before turning your attention back to his sketches. You lean over Hannibal's shoulder trying to get a better view. He watches you as you observe his work. He inhales deeply trying to commit your scent to memory. You're oblivious to his actions, far too focused on the drawing before you. It's a nude portrait of a woman. You can’t help but notice the way Hannibal has drawn her. There is a sensuality to the portrait but there is also a loneliness to the woman's expression.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes she is.”

“Why’s she sad?”

“What makes you think she’s sad?”

“The way you drew her.”

You point to the image carefully so that you won't smudge the pencil.

“She's looking behind herself as if she’s searching for something but the way her arms are wrapped around herself shows she didn’t find what she wanted.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well she’s holding herself isn't she? I mean, she didn’t find someone to hold her so she had to hold onto herself. She’s lonely.”

“ I guess I didn't think about it that way.”

“Art has a way of bringing our feelings to the surface. Even if we ourselves don’t know what we're feeling.”

“Are you insinuating that I'm lonely?”

“Aren’t you?”

Hannibal eyes bore into yours as he thinks. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe that is why, after all these years, he found himself with a secretary even though he didn't particularly need one. 

“It’s okay to feel lonely. It doesn't make you any less strong.”

“Do you feel lonely?”

“I’ve felt alone my whole life. So yeah you could say loneliness is something I'm familiar with.”

Hannibal placed his hand over yours causing you to look at his face. His eyes softened as he took in your features. You were a pretty thing. He’d been so impressed with your mind he often forgot you also had a beauty he hadn't had the pleasure of being graced with in a long time. 

“Do you enjoy filet mignon?”

You let out a laugh at his question, eyes furring in curiosity.

“I do. Why?”

“I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“At your house?”

“Yes.”

“As long as I'm not intruding.”

“Not at all. I enjoy your company.”

Hannibal's house was very him. There were artworks scattered around the rooms and knowledge seemed to seep out of the walls. You removed your shoes and placed them by the door. Hannibal looked at you questioningly. “I don’t want to get your floors dirty.”

“If you feel more comfortable that way, be my guest.”

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. The kitchen is this way.”

You followed Hannibal, eyes moving over every inch of his home you could see. A small gasp left your lips as you walked into the kitchen. You always enjoyed the culinary arts but you’d never had the pleasure of owning a kitchen big enough to explore your talents properly. Hannibal watched you as you moved around the room, a small smile tugging at his lips at your unfiltered fascination.

“I take it you enjoy cooking.”

“I’ve always had a curiosity for it but I'm not very skilled. I won’t die of hunger but I've never made any adventurous recipes. Just the basics you know?”

“Would you like to sous chef?”

“I’d love to.”

“Wonderful. You can start chopping the onions.”

You moved over to him grabbing the knife he handed you before moving to get the onions and a cutting board. Hannibal unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and pushed it up his arms allowing you to see his muscles. Your gaze lingered for a moment before focusing on your task once more. Hannibal moved around the kitchen with ease as he searched for the ingredients he needed. It was almost like a dance. You couldn’t help but watch him as he moved. He seemed so peaceful like this his mind completely focused on the meal he was preparing.

Your eyes started to sting as you continued to chop the onions. You sniffed quietly which caused Hannibal to look up at you. He watched as a single tear fell from your eyes before falling onto the counter. He moved over to you on instinct. You felt a hand on your cheek, turning to face Hannibal at his touch. His thumb moved over your skin, collecting your tears. It was an innocent caress but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. He pulled his hand away from you, moving his thumb to his lips. He licked at his thumb, removing your tears from his skin. Your heartbeat fastened at the action. 

“Let’s switch tasks dear. Can’t have you crying in my kitchen. You can cut the meat.”

He paused for a moment glancing at the piece of raw meat on the counter before looking back at you.

“Unless it’s too much for you.”

“I’m not afraid of getting my hands a little bloody Hannibal. I’ll be fine.”

He knew you didn’t mean anything but it but his mind couldn’t help but wonder what you were capable of. You seemed like the type of person who knew how to hold their own. Still he wondered how far you’d be willing to go.

Hannibal took over chopping onions as you worked on the main piece of the meal. One he’d finished he moved over to watch you. Your hands moved over the pieces of meat with an unusual softness. Despite that you seemed to be having a hard time figuring out how big the pieces should be. Hannibal sensed your struggle. He moved behind you, his chest brushing against your back as he reached to place his hand over yours. You twisted your head to the side to look at him.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not at all dear. But you can cut the medallions a bit larger. Here let me help.”

You relaxed your arm so that Hannibal could maneuver your body in the way he wished. 

“There. That thickness is better.”

You turned to face him once more expecting him to be looking at the meat. Instead you found him staring at you. Your eyes dropped to his lips momentarily. You were so close to him that you could smell his aftershave. A breathy sigh left your mouth the air fanning over his lips. You wanted him to kiss you. His mouth opened but instead of kissing you he spoke.

“Could you set the table for us?”

“Oh. Yeah sure.”

“The silver ware is in the third drawer on the left.”

With that Hannibal unlatched himself from you allowing you to move over to where you needed. You walked over to the dining room. Your hands trembled as you placed the silver ware down. Hannibal's voice rang out from the kitchen.

“You can take a seat. It will be ready soon.” 

“Okay.”

A couple moments later Hannibal walked in with a platter in his hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Do you drink?”

“Occasionally. But I'm not picky.”

“This wine was aged in a maple barrel. It has a sweet taste to it which will go perfectly with the meat.”

“Everything looks delicious.”

“I agree.”

You couldn’t help but notice Hannibal wasn’t looking at the food as he spoke, he was looking at you.

You ate until you couldn’t anymore. Hannibal filled up your cup as soon as you downed the last sip. After you finished dinner the two of you made your way to his living room. You were a little tipsy due to the wine causing you to become unfiltered. You padded against Hannibal's floor, moving to music that only you could hear. He enjoyed watching you like this. You were usually so formal around him it was nice to see you in a more relaxed manner. Hannibal observed you stumble over to his piano, hands toying with the keys before glancing in his direction. 

“Do you play?”

“I do.”

“Will you play for me?”

Hannibal could never deny an audience. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on, making his way over to where you stood. He sat down on the bench as you moved to rest your chin on the palm of your hand. Hannibal flexed his fingers, straightening his posture a bit before he began to play. The second his fingers began moving over the keys you became mesmerized. You walked over to the other side of the bench taking a seat beside him. You observed his fingers glide from one key to the other. He made it seem so easy. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sounds. As the song came to an end you slowly opened your eyes, a smile plastered against your face. You looked over at Hannibal only to find him already watching you. 

“That was beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Your eyes softened at Hannibal's words. Your hand moved to cup his cheek. Slowly, you inched your face closer to his until your lips were inches apart. You placed a gentle kiss to his mouth waiting to see how he’d react. When he didn't pull away you kissed him again with a little more strength this time. Hannibal opened his mouth to you. Your tongues moved together as you deepened the kiss. Hannibal's hand wrapped around your hips lifting you up with ease. He placed you on his lap. Your back dug into the keys of the piano as you continued to make out. Hannibal's hands dug into the flesh of your ass causing you to whine. You bit his lip, tugging at it with your teeth as you broke the kiss. Your hands moved over Hannibal's shirt, fingers working on unbuttoning it. He could sense the desperation in your actions. He moved his hand over to your chest tugging at the buttons of your dress shirt. The buttons seemed to be toying with him. He lost his patience. Before you knew it Hannibal had ripped your shirt open. You gasped as he leaned down to kiss the valley of your breasts. 

“Hannibal…”

“What is it?”

“Take me to your bed.”

The soft sheets of Hannibal's bed rubbed against your face as your body moved with his thrusts. Your fingers dug into his pillow as you screamed out his name. There was no mercy in his movements. He was fucking you so hard you were sure you wouldn’t bae able to walk tomorrow. You thought he’d stop after the first round but you’d been wrong. Once you’d gotten tired of riding him he’d flipped you around shoving your face down onto the bed before lifting your ass and continuing to pistol into your.

The bed creaked as he moved, muffling the sounds of your moans. His hands moved against your ass, fingers leaving crescent moon shapes on your skin as he continued to manhandle you. You were squeezing him so much that he was having a hard time moving in and out of you. He reached his hand to your waist lifting you off the bed. Your bare back pressed against his chest. Hannibal licked at your earlobe before biting into it. You let out a yelp causing him to shush you.

“You’re gonna cum for me again.”

“Hannibal i can’t-”

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

He placed kisses against your shoulder blade as one of his hands found their way to your pussy. His thumb found your clit. He grunted as he circled the small bundle of nerves. You panted against him, hands grabbing at his hair to anchor yourself. Your jaw fell slack as your orgasm washed over you. Hannibal stopped supporting your body causing you to fall forward into the bed. His grunts became more constant as he continued to fuck into you. It took a couple thrusts but soon enough he was spilling his seed into you. You heard his groan as he pulled out. You remain unmoving, still trying to recover from your orgasm. Hannibal returned to bed, laying down beside you. He tugged you closer to him. You laid your head on his chest, fingers moving to play with the hairs on his chest. He listened to you breath, his hand moving to caress your hair as he did. 

“You were right.”

“Usually am. But what was I right about exactly?”

“She was lonely.”

You let out an understanding hum, comprehending what he was confessing to you.

“Is she still lonely?”

“No. Not anymore. She found someone to keep her company.”

“I’m glad. I’m sure they were just as lonely as she was.”

“It's a good thing they found each other then.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The two of you had been crafted by different artists but in your own way you’d been made for each other. If you hadn't been sure of that before you were certain of it now.

[justwinginglife]

When You Know

Dedicated to my new follower @onna-musha-mari, more Howl fics to come, thanks so much for the support!

Your partner was an atrocious dancer.

But he was rich beyond belief, a nobleman, in line for some throne in some country, and a potential marriage prospect. You figured the least you could do was pretend to enjoy the dance; you owed his money that much.

As you glided along, using the sweetest of sweet smiles to mask your winces when he’d step on your toes or to hide your embarrassment when he’d miss his mark again, you remarked to yourself that apparently money couldn’t buy skill. No amount of money could erase the shame of having such a dance partner. No amount of jewels could erase the memory of his feet stumbling over yours, or undo the bruises he’d imposed upon your delicate toes.

Howl had been watching the whole disastrous affair and it pained him endlessly. When the song ended, he immediately flew to your rescue. You were a stranger to him, someone he’d never see again after tonight, but he felt the need to save you from this awful fate. He couldn’t bear to watch you struggle any longer. You were too beautiful, too elegant, to be resigned to such a sad, pathetic man.

“Mind if I have this dance?” Howl holds his hand out to you.

You meet the gaze of your savior and quickly - though not too quickly, so as to appear somewhat hesitant to be separated from your current partner- take his hand, letting him lead you further onto the dance floor.

“Well hello stranger.”

Howl bows to you, “Hello, my dear.”

He slips one hand around your waist and takes your hand with the other as he begins waltzing with you.

“Thanks for saving me.”

He grins. “Anytime.”

You dance another minute or two in silence, your bodies in perfect sync with each other. The ballroom is crowded, the music is loud, but somehow you feel like it’s just the two of you, alone in this room, lost in your own world. Lost in the rhythm of the dance, lost in the deep blue of his eyes.

Finally, you remark, “You’re not too bad at this, I suppose my toes can rest easy.”

He chuckles. “Oh, love, you’ll find I’m not bad at anything.” He winks, then he continues, “And might I add, you’re looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You laugh. “Oh, is that right? What a smooth talker you are, Mr…?”

“Pendragon. Howl Pendragon. At your service.”

“Well thank you for your service, Mr. Pendragon. Once again, I appreciate the rescue.”

He pulls you closer as you continue to dance, then he murmurs against your ear, “It’s Howl, actually. You can call me Howl.”

The feeling of his breath on your skin makes you shiver and, sensing the sudden motion, he pulls you even tighter against him, trying to steady you. You’re suddenly very aware of how warm the room is, of how warm your skin is, of how warm his hands are.

“So, Howl… what’s a guy like you doing alone at a party like this?” You try to keep the interest out of your voice, but it’s there all the same.

“Maybe I’m just looking for someone like you. Someone devastatingly gorgeous who happens to be a fantastic dancer.” He watches you intently, waiting for your reaction to his compliments.

You smirk. “You better be careful saying things like that, or you might never get rid of me.” You tease.

He grins, then rests his forehead against yours. “I just can’t help myself. You’re simply too beautiful. You might not be able to get rid of me.”

“I bet you say that to all the women.”

“Only the beautiful ones.”

“Ah, so I’m not special. A shame.”

The song ends, but he’s still swaying with you in his arms, his blue eyes searching yours as though trying to read your mind. He’s dangerously close to you, so close you can almost taste him. Close enough that you’ve started to imagine the way he tastes, against your will. You know he’s probably just a huge flirt, but you can’t help being enticed by him anyway.

“Howl…” You whisper.

He sighs at the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?”

“The… the song’s over.”

He shakes his head, gripping you firmly. “Have another dance with me,” He insists.

You laugh, amused. “Well, alright, if you insist. I suppose one more couldn’t hurt.”

So you indulge yourself in this fantasy a little more, playing at fake lovers as the music resumes and he twirls you around. You wonder if it’s the dance or the dancer that’s suddenly making you dizzy in the most intoxicating way possible.

Howl seems to notice the way you cling to him, the way your eyes never leave his. For a moment, he’s quiet. He’s just focused on the sound of your breathing, the feeling of your hand in his, the motion of your body mimicking his movements as he guides you across the dance floor. Then he breaks the silence with the first thing he can think of, “Don’t dance with anyone else tonight. You know as well as I do that no one else is going to be a better partner for you than me.”

You’re surprised at his bluntness. “Well, now that’s an interesting request. You’re right, I don’t think I’ve ever met a better dancer, and I’m not sure I’ll ever meet anyone again that’s as good as you are. But I have… certain obligations.”

He sighs, the disappointment obvious in his voice. Before he can protest, the song ends. He’s just about to request another dance from you when your former partner walks up to you, requesting your company. Howl stills. You watch his reaction carefully, looking back and forth between him and your suitor, but then you make your decision. You reluctantly take the nobleman’s arm, saying to Howl with as encouraging a smile as you can muster that there are no shortage of pretty women here tonight and he has no shortage of pretty lines, you’re sure he can find someone else to entertain him. Then you let the man lead you away, only turning back to look at Howl once more, before disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, Howl is frozen. He’s still clinging to the feeling of you in his arms, still wondering if the short time you’d spent with him meant anything to either of you. Was it just playful banter? Or was it a spark of something more? Before his thoughts can collect themselves, his feet have already begun to move in the direction you went in; he’s unsure why they’re pulling him towards you, you’re just a stranger he’ll never see again, and you’re right that he has no shortage of women to choose from, but on the off chance there could be something between the two of you, he allows his feet to guide his path.

When he finally stumbles around long enough to find you, it appears you’re leaving the party. He thinks to himself that you must’ve gotten tired of playing the trophy because you’re feigning sick and you excuse yourself from the party. He’s shocked that your poor excuse for a suitor hasn’t noticed you’re not really sick and he’s even more shocked when the man waves you off, telling you he’ll fetch you in the morning. Howl scowls at the word “fetch” as if you’re some sort of pet. He wants to wring the man by the neck, but then you make your way out the front door and he follows close behind.

You wave down a carriage, talk to the driver a moment, and then are helped inside.

He thinks he might’ve just lost his chance with you, but then you poke your head out the window and call to him, “Are you coming or not?”

His eyes widen as you gesture to the seat next to you, but he quickly recovers from his surprise and he slips into the carriage, closing the door behind him. His thigh brushes up against yours as he takes up position beside you.

“I’ve asked the driver to take the scenic route home, I hope you don’t mind.” You try to keep your voice calm and level as you attempt to ignore the warmth of his leg seeping into yours.

“And why is that?” He peers down at you, curiously.

“More time to get to know you.” You shrug simply, but you know your intentions are anything but subtle.

He laughs softly. “I’d like that.”

As the carriage rumbles on through the night, you exchange stories and easy banter, only pausing occasionally to admire the scenic view out the window with him. You find it pleasantly surprising how comfortable you are next to him, how easy it is to sink into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, how soothing his voice sounds when he tells you about his life. You were strangers mere moments ago, but now, now you felt like kindred spirits.

He admits to you that he’s into the practice of magic, and he braces himself for your reaction. You’re unsure if he expected you to burn him at the stake for witchcraft, dive from the carriage screaming, or whimper on the floor, begging him not to eat your heart. But you do none of those things. Instead, you smirk at him, and say, “Magic? So, something like this?” And you hold your hand up for him, a purple ball of fire manifesting itself in your palm.

He blinks. “You… you practice magic? You’re… a witch?”

“And you’re a wizard. So we’re two of a kind, I guess.”

He scratches his head and chuckles. “I guess we are. I was not expecting that, I’ll be honest. Pretty girl like you; now I know you can burn my hair right off my head if I’m not careful.”

You laugh. “Exactly, you better be careful I don’t turn you into a frog.” You tease, nudging his shoulder.

He scoffs, feigning offense, but he seems to be more relaxed with every discovered commonality the two of you share.

The two of you spend the next few moments showing each other your tricks, trying to outdo each other with the more impressive spell. He pulls a bouquet of flowers out of thin air for you, then you turn his flowers into chocolates and pop one in his mouth. When he licks his lips, you almost want to lick them for him.

At one point, you comment that you like one of his rings and he immediately takes it off and slides it on your pointer finger, telling you to keep it, telling you it’ll lead you to him if you ever so desire. He secretly hopes you’ll use the ring so much it breaks.

Then the carriage jostles as it rounds a corner and you find yourself in his arms again. You think he might kiss you. You think you might kiss him. But then the carriage pulls to a stop in front of your house, and you internally curse the ride for not being long enough. You think to yourself that you should’ve instructed the driver to go a couple more laps around your house before stopping, but it’s too late now. The dream has ended and reality has started to seep in.

“Well… this is my stop. I’ve instructed the driver to take you anywhere you’d like after I’m gone. It was… it was nice to meet you, Howl.” You pull yourself from his lap and disappear into the night, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts for company.

The next morning, your suitor does indeed fetch you. He takes you for a tour of the town, buying you anything your heart so desires. He doesn’t notice that no matter what he buys you, the ring on your pointer finger will always be your most prized possession.

Howl is having breakfast at a restaurant across the street and when you step out of a boutique in your newly purchased gown, he almost chokes on his tea. He’s not had more than a second to soak in the sight of you when your suitor steps out from behind you. Howl grips his cup tightly, knuckles turning white from the exertion. Then he notices your date kissing your hand before parting ways with you. He wants to burn the man’s lips off for daring to press them to your skin, but he thinks you’ll be long gone before he can speak to you again, so he makes the decision to quickly pay for his food and take off down the street after you.

You slip into an abandoned alley and he wonders where you could be going.

He hopes it’s somewhere safe, he’s nervous about the location. When he pokes his head around the corner, you’re leaning against a wall, waiting for him.

He sheepishly approaches you. “I gather you noticed me then?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “A tall man with bright blonde hair in a bright pink coat? Yeah. It was hard to miss you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I suppose it would be.”

“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you again so soon after last night. I didn’t think I‘d ever see you again.”

Howl stills. The disappointment in his face is clear. If you hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, then what was the point of all that chemistry? “And… and what if I wanted to see you more? What would you say to that?” He asks hesitantly.

“I’d say… that I’m supposed to be getting engaged soon and it might not be a good idea.” You say slowly.

He scoffs. “Oh, it’s not a good idea and that’s why you’re waiting for me, alone in an alley? You weren’t acting that way last night. What changed?”

You sigh. “Howl, you’ve a bit of a reputation, do you know that? All the noblewomen were fawning over you this morning at breakfast.”

He rolls his eyes. “And why do they matter when I’ve got you?”

“You’ve not got me, Howl. I’m not yours. I’m… supposed to be getting engaged.” You repeat, knowing you sound like a broken record.

Suddenly he pushes you up against the brick wall. “Don’t say that. Don’t say you’re not mine. Not until you’ve properly given me a chance.” His gaze is firm yet pleading.

You pull away from him. “Howl, last night was fun, but-”

He cuts you off, pulling you back by the wrist. “Last night was just fun? Last night was the best night I’ve had in my entire life and don’t tell me you didn’t feel the same. Don’t tell me you didn’t think about kissing me when you fell into my arms, because I thought about kissing you. Hell, I thought about kissing you the rest of the night after you left.”

You bite your lip. “So… why didn’t you?”

He scowls at you. “Because you’re ‘soon to be engaged’ or so you say. Which is complete bullshit by the way.”

“Howl…” You start again, unsure of what to say. “I’m the eldest daughter, I’m supposed to marry someone respectable.”

“So marry me. I’ll be respectable. I’ll be anything you want me to be, just let me be yours.”

You almost melt at his words. Almost. “Howl, we barely know each other, you can’t say you want to marry me.”

He rolls his eyes. “So? I know you enough to know I want you. Do you know the guy you were with?”

You look down. “He’s… a friend of a friend… of a friend.”

“So you barely know him too. So why can’t it be me? Why not marry me?”

“Because if I love you I might never stop loving you,” You snap. “And I’ve got a household to run, I can’t afford to be so careless, not when you could be running into some other woman’s arms behind my back.”

He pulls you closer to him. “So don’t stop loving me. I swear, I’ll never leave you. I’ll be useful to you. I’ll never even look at another woman. You use magic, you can just set my eyes on fire if I try to look at someone else.”

You laugh against his chest. “Oh, Howl. I’m not going to light your eyes on fire.”

He relaxes when he hears your laugh. “I know, I’m just offering. I’d offer anything to get you to stay. To get you to be mine.”

You sigh. “No other women right? Just me?”

He nods emphatically.

“And you’re going to spoil me rotten? So much that I forget I dumped my rich boyfriend?” You ask, half teasing.

He nods again. “I’ll give you the entire world on a silver platter, gold if you want it.”

“Well then, make it gold, and you can kiss me.”

“Done.” He whispers against your forehead. Then he trails kisses down your forehead to your nose. When he finally claims your lips, the kisses are passionate but gentle, like he doesn’t want to smother you with his love, but he also wants to reassure you his feelings are genuine.

When he’s finally done pressing the evidence of his affection for you against your lips, he pulls away to declare to you, “I know it’s only been a day that we’ve known each other, but I don’t want to go another day without you.”

And then your heart melts.

“Alright, love, alright. I’m yours. I’m all yours. But if you break my heart, remember I said I’d turn you into a frog.”

“I can live with that.”

And when he slides the ring off your pointer finger and nestles it around your ring finger, you swear you’re in love with him too.

——————————————————————————-

Author’s Note: yes, I’m aware it is super cheesy to do a whole “love at first sight, they’ve only known each other for a day thing” but hush, we ignore that for the sake of plot okay? We love Howl, anyone sane would fall for that man at first sight. And yall know I’m not into long fics, this was running way over and that was only from two days worth of content, can you imagine if I wrote their relationship over months? The ADHD in me cannot take the slow burn. We need the fast burn and we need it now. That is all.

[snootsrottmntcollection]

HC for Donnie Helping Reader Out with Astronomy Stuff (platonic)

Author’s Note: An indulgent little snippet. I’m rather interested in astronomy, and over the break I was given the privilege of taking the school telescope home with me to try out. I have no clue what I was thinking, since I’ve never operated a telescope before and I’m a total amateur. Last night, I spent hours trying to figure the thing out with a friend, however the instructions were worthless, and the Internet wasn’t helpful either. So, instead of wallowing in my terrible mood, I shall write!

Keep in mind that I live in the middle of nowhere, and seeing the stars is easy where I am because there is so little light pollution. I’ve also lived right next to a big city before, and the stars were essentially non-existent. If you want to look at the stars through a telescope, do your research! And because it’s very important, NEVER LOOK AT THE SUN THROUGH A TELESCOPE. Permanent eye damage will ensue.

Before he arrived, you already set everything up the way you thought it was supposed to be. The instructions told you to let the telescope cool down to the outside temperature, so you did.

It wasn’t just cold though; you were shivering from head to toe. Hot beverages have been made. And coffee, especially coffee. Stargazing is best done in the early hours of the morning after all.

The instruction manuals were all unorganized and open on the table. Preparation was a nightmare within a nightmare. Reading through everything was difficult, to say the least.

The filters and other attachments were still packed in their boxes. You have no idea when or how to use them, since nothing about color filters had been mentioned before.

The only thing keeping you away from a crime is your music taste.

He begged you to let him try out the telescope. Saying yes was the obviously correct choice.

Bouncing off the walls, absolutely insane, buzzing with excitement-

You had to pull yourself together and hush up about his bad boy image. So, so much self-control.

Donnie is so happy that he doesn’t have to wait for the telescope to cool down. He’s very appreciative of the drinks as well.

However,…

“I should have brought my heat lamp with me…”

“That would’ve defeated the whole idea of me putting it outside to cool off.”

“Dramatic sigh. Correct.”

This dude entirely disregards the manuals.

Walks away like they mean nothing to him. Which they don’t.

“Are you sure you don’t want to look through those?”

“Trash! It’s more like advertisement than instruction anyways.”

“Amen to that. I spent three hours looking up the terms they used.”

“That’s just a skill issue, and one that I do not have!”

Despite your apparent skill issue, he’s surprisingly patient when it comes to explaining what each little piece does and why it’s built in. His expertise was sadly not enough, as few pieces made him scrunch up his face in confusion.

The look of disappointment on his face as you finally convince him to look at the instruction manuals is comedy gold. It took you several minutes to stop laughing.

He didn’t want to look at the manuals anymore.

Donnie was quick to find decent explanations online, hidden in some wacky corner of the web that you were mildly suspicious of.

Whatever he read apparently did the trick.

You can actually see things now. And the filters are used for something important! You honestly just played around with them a bit, and took pictures on your phone. A totally violet Donnie wasn’t something you thought you needed, yet here you were.

You can confidently say you’ve seen Venus and Mars through a telescope.

Donnie even helped you find some constellations in the vast night sky. In a very meticulous and mathematical way, but hey, at least Gemini was fun to find.

You get to talking about the Andromeda galaxy for so long that your drinks partially froze over.

Taking everything back inside was so much easier with a helping hand.

Donnie decided to stay the night, meaning musicals and intense debates over miniscule junk.

You appreciate his company, even if astronomy wasn’t involved.

The two of you start getting ready for bed after the neighbors complained about your karaoke session.

“Regrets are for the weak.”

“I’m so weak dude, I can’t even.”

“Then cower.”

Best goodnight words in the history of goodnight words.

Thank you for reading, I appreciate it!

[ask-a-bot]

I don’t know if this has been asked before but what’s your favorite song/genre. Both earth and cybertroian if you have one that is

-🌑💫

I like Behind Blue Eyes by The Who. I think it's about me. I've got blue optics. I never had red ones. That was just a way to make me look evil and scary in the original cartoon (like I even need to look scary! Ha! You humans are fragging weird) – my optics were always blue. And I do lie a lot and I'm not good at keeping my cool and... it's me, isn't it? The bad guy.

Oh, Starscream. May I put an arm around you?

I suppose.

I like the song How Many Friends that you showed me. I feel so good right now. A handsome boy tells me how much I changed his past. He buys me a drinkie but I think he really just likes my aft. How many friends have I really got? You can count them on the one hand.

You really listened to it! I didn't think you even liked The Who!

You were right. It is a good song. Their songs are so well written, even if they are a little too noisy for my taste. I like the words.

I thought you would! You might like Madness too. They're surprisingly poetic. Oh! And there's an Elton John song you might like, called Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting. That one's good!

One at a time, Starscream. Time and patience.

That reminds me! You need to try out The Divine Comedy, too.

Are there any bands you don't know and like, Star?

I know ABBA, but I don't like them much. I find the music too... bouncy. I don't like The Beach Boys much, either.

Oh. I like The Beach Boys! Does that mean I'd like ABBA too?

Maybe. I don't know. You like most music, so you probably would like them. At least a song or two, probably.

I like most music, too! Earth music is pretty cool. I like Highway To Hell! Woohoo! And Bohemian Like You. And the Woohoo song by Blur that says something about jumbo jets not being easy.

I like Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Beach Boys. That's a good song. And I like Meatloaf. We were racing! We were soldiers of fortune! We got in trouble but we sure got around!

Bumblebee! I'm not sure how I feel about you listening to that.

Why? It's a great song!

I liked the song that got sent in a while back. The video was weird, but the song was good.

Get Some Scars by Lux Lisbon. Yes. It is about how simply living our lives is constantly shaping us. It is by our experiences that we become who we are and can tell each other apart. When we are older, we should meet up and show the scars we got when we were young. Or... something like that.

While we're young, yeah, let's go out and get some scars... we'll wear them to tell us apart.

That's the one!

I think I like The Beatles best. Here Comes The Sun, The Blackbird, Hey Jude...

Maxwell's Silver Hammer!

Oh, you would like that one.

Back in school again, Maxwell plays the fool again, Teacher gets annoyed. Wishing to avoid an unpleasant scene, she tells Max to stay when the class has gone away, so he waits behind, writing 50 times "I must not be so..." But when she turns her back on the boy he creeps up from behind. Bang, bang! Maxwell's silver hammer came down on her head! Bang, bang! Maxwell's silver hammer made sure she was dead!

Yeah, but he got caught and came to a sticky end.

He killed the judge!

Maybe, but it was in a court room. With witnesses. Even the people who – very stupidly – said he should go free wouldn't be able to defend him after that! Next time, he'll be secured better and get his sentence. It won't be good.

He's just a school kid! He should go free!

Star. Being a kid isn't an excuse for killing people. It just isn't a thing you should do. It's wrong, OK? He killed his teacher for trying to discipline him. He killed a girl who he was supposed to be taking to the pictures (British word for movies, I'm guessing) and he killed a judge for... well... like the teacher, for doing his job. Each time, he's a little more... more... I don't know... he seems to care less each time about being seen or getting caught.

It's just a song! I like it – it's exciting! I want a hammer!

There is no way I'm getting you a hammer. Silver or otherwise.

What about a yellowhammer? It doesn't go bang, it sings. It says "devil don't you touch me" in Scotland and "little bit of bread and no cheese" in England.

I don't think we're allowed to buy or sell native songbirds here either.

[fanby-fckry]

How to Seduce the Radio Demon in 6 Easy Steps

Word Count: 2,323

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Kink, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Past Character Death

Relationships: Lilith Morningstar/Lucifer Morningstar, Alastor/Lucifer Morningstar, Alastor/Lilith Morningstar/Lucifer Morningstar

Characters: Lilith Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar, Alastor, Brief Charlie Morningstar

Additional Tags: Romantic Comedy, Comedy/Attempt at Humor, 5+1 Things, Polyamory, Open Marriage, Lilith Morningstar and Lucifer Morningstar Have an Open Marriage, Bisexual Disaster Lucifer Morningstar, Supportive Lilith Morningstar, Lilith Mange Ships It, Aromantic Asexual Alastor

Series: Part 2 of The Unholy Trinity ( <- Prev || Next -> )

Summary:

Lilith turned to her husband. “The Radio Demon?” she asked expectantly.

“Yes!” Lucifer answered.

“How did you do it?” Lilith asked, curiosity burning in her stomach like hot coals. “How did you finally tempt him?”

*

Lucifer walks Lilith through his foolproof, 6-step plan to seducing the Radio Demon.

Or, 5 ways Lucifer failed to seduce Alastor, and 1 way that actually worked – as told by one very patient, very supportive, and fairly amused Lilith Morningstar.

Better on AO3

Step 1: Research

“The Radio Demon, or Alastor – he almost never refers to himself as ‘the Radio Demon’ – is an enigma. From the day he arrived in Hell, he had power like no other sinner. He commandeered Hell’s airwaves, broadcasting his brutality and instilling fear in Pride Ring denizens from imps to Overlords. And while everyone knows his name, his sadistic nature, and his taste in music, anything else about him is a mystery…”

“But not for me,” Lucifer gloated, breaking from the theatrical tone of his earlier monologue. “Because I have paperwork!”

Lucifer took a seat beside Lilith and began reading from the files he’d brought. “Alright, it says here his sins are murder – oh, murders, that’s plural – pride, wrath, vengeance – I still can’t believe they marked that one as a sin. When Raguel does it it’s fine, but Dad forbid the humans get involved.”

Lucifer coughed around the word ‘hypocrites,’ and Lilith laughed behind the glass of wine she’d conjured.

“Gluttony,” Lucifer continued. “That’s an odd addition… Oh, never mind, the next one is cannibalism, so that makes sense.”

“Died November 27th, 1933 at age 37 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Death classified as accidental. Cause of death: Gunshot wound to the head – what?” Lucifer balked. “How do you accidentally get shot in the head?”

Lilith shrugged. “Stray bullet, perhaps?”

Lucifer kept reading. “Oh yeah, it says here it was a hunting accident. He was mistaken for a deer while burying the bodies of three victims – fucking incredible!”

“Impressive, indeed,” Lilith agreed.

“Also, that explains the deer ears,” Lucifer said offhandedly.

“Are those ears?” Lilith asked. “I assumed they were part of his hair.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re ears. I think I saw one move, once.”

“Hm,” Lilith hummed and took another sip of her wine. “I suppose you’ll find out when you tempt him. Do let me know, darling.”

“Will do,” Lucifer promised. “No spouse or children, no living relatives at all, actually… Occupation: Radio host and serial killer – serial killer counts as an occupation? Damn, who wrote this?”

Lucifer flipped to the end of the sinner’s paperwork. “Oh, Gabriel. Should’ve known; he’s actually got a sense of humor.”

“But,” Lucifer said after a moment’s thought. “That could work to my advantage. Gabe still talks to me, on occasion. If he handled Alastor’s sentencing, maybe he has some information on his love life? He can be a bit of a gossip sometimes, which would absolutely work in my favor.”

Step 2: Be His Type

“So I got in contact with Gabriel,” Lucifer said, sounding not quite as pleased as Lilith thought he would’ve been.

“What did he have to say?” Lilith asked.

Lucifer scrubbed his hands over his face. “Well, uh, not much,” he told her.

“Oh?”

“I asked him if he remembered sentencing a serial killer from New Orleans and he immediately knew who I was talking about. Good sign, right?” Lucifer asked.

It was somewhat rhetorical, but Lilith answered, anyway. “One would assume.”

“But then I asked him about Alastor’s love life and he laughed – fucking laughed!” Lucifer threw his arms up in frustration.

Lucifer put on a fairly accurate impression of his brother, Gabriel, including body language and facial expressions. “He told me, ‘Good luck with that, brother,’ and refused to say another word about it.”

Lucifer sighed, rolled his eyes, and dropped Gabriel’s affect. “So I guess I’m on my own,” he said.

“That’s never been a problem for you before, my swan,” Lilith reminded him.

“True…”

“So what will you do next?” Lilith asked.

Lucifer shrugged. “I guess I’ll just start throwing mud at the wall and see what sticks.”

“You could always just be your charming self,” Lilith suggested.

Lucifer blushed. “Yeah, I’ll try that too.”

Lucifer flopped down onto the bed next to his wife. “I have… absolutely no idea what his type is,” he told her.

“Did you try being yourself?” Lilith asked, rolling onto her side to face him.

“Yes, and honestly I think he responds best to me when I’m, well, me.” Lucifer sighed. “But it’s not really the kind of response I’m looking for. He seems to really enjoy messing with me.”

Lilith laughed. “He’s learning how to press your buttons before you can even find his.”

“I know!” Lucifer exclaimed. “I’d actually be impressed if it wasn’t so damn frustrating. I have learned nothing, nada, zilch.”

Lucifer began to list the different ‘types’ he’d gone through thus far. “He shows no preference for women over men or vice versa; various androgynous forms have also failed. I even tried highlighting nonhuman features, angelic, demonic, animalistic-”

“You did the goat thing?” Lilith interjected.

“I did the goat thing!” Lucifer closed his eyes. “You know I hate the goat thing,” he said, sadly.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Lilith replied.

The next words were Lucifer’s, but he’d said them so many times over in the past that Lilith joined him, “Because Baphomet wears it better.”

Lucifer opened his eyes to meet Lilith’s, and they each cracked a smile.

“They really do, though,” Lucifer insisted.

Lilith rolled her eyes and kissed her husband until she was certain he’d forgotten all about the Radio Demon’s many rejections.

Step 3: Make Him Feel In Control

Lucifer came to Lilith with a focused sort of look – one that he only wore when he’d put a great deal of thought into something and needed someone to share it with.

“I think I may have figured it out,” he said.

“Do tell, darling,” Lilith replied, ready to give Lucifer her full attention.

“The murders, the broadcasts, the cannibalism: it’s all about power,” Lucifer said. “Power and control.”

Lilith watched as her husband began pacing the room, talking with his hands as he explained his observations to her.

“Even when he’s with his friends or his allies, he always maintains an element of control,” Lucifer told her. “He’s very touchy-feely with people – no sense of personal space for anyone else – but I’ve never seen anyone touch him.”

“He doesn’t let them,” Lucifer said. “I thought it was just me at first, but he won’t even let Rosie touch him anywhere but his hands.”

Lilith hummed, taking a moment to consider Lucifer’s words. She turned them over in her mind, looking at them from different angles – thinking of how she and Lucifer might handle the situation differently.

“So your plan is to make him feel like he’s in control,” she said.

“Exactly,” Lucifer confirmed. “I’ll conceal my power, shift forms, and appear to him as an unassuming, submissive demon – one he can dominate.”

Lilith said nothing. She simply stared at her husband, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” Lucifer asked, incredulously. “You think I can’t pull it off?”

Lilith resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead kissing Lucifer on the cheek. “I think you’ll certainly try.”

“Well, I tried,” Lucifer said with a defeated sigh.

“And?” Lilith prompted. Lucifer’s tone had all but confirmed that his plan had worked exactly as well as Lilith thought it would – but she wanted details.

“It was working, or at least I thought it was,” Lucifer complained.

“We flirted for about an hour, then he leaned over and whispered” – Lucifer put on his very best smug, flirtatious Radio Demon impression, complete with a Transatlantic accent, doe eyes, and an ear-to-ear smile – “‘I know it’s you, Devil dearest. You used this form twice already.’”

Lilith stifled a snicker while her husband continued to recount this very unexpected turn of events.

“Then he clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Playing waif doesn’t suit you, my friend! Better luck next time!’”

Lilith hummed. “Better luck next time, darling.”

Step 4: Be Romantic

When Lucifer came home with a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates, and a dejected look on his face, Lilith immediately conjured a glass of wine.

“I have got to hear this one,” she said, taking a sip.

“I thought that since he likes using pet names and terms of endearment that he might be the romantic type,” Lucifer said, dropping the roses rather dramatically on their bedside table.

“And?” Lilith asked.

Lucifer huffed, before answering, “And he took one look at me, made this weird, screechy, feedback noise, then turned around and left.”

Lilith couldn’t help it, she just started laughing.

“Lili,” Lucifer whined, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, there there, my swan,” Lilith said, and patted her lap. In an instant, her husband was seated atop her thighs, his head nuzzling the crook of her neck.

“We can eat the chocolates together, darling,” she offered. “Would that help?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said, still pouting and muffled significantly by Lilith’s skin against his lips.

“My precious star,” she crooned. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Step 5: Consider Giving Up

“I think I’m going insane, Lil,” Lucifer said, apropos of nothing. “It’s been five years and I’ve gotten nowhere.”

Lilith, of course, knew exactly what – exactly whom – he was talking about.

Truth be told, Lilith felt more than a bit responsible for her husband’s struggles. After all, she’d been the one to suggest tempting the Radio Demon in the first place.

The living world had been in the midst of economic ruin and on the precipice of war, and Lucifer had needed some intellectually stimulating, low stakes entertainment. At the time, sending him off to tempt the up and coming Overlord had seemed like a wonderful way to provide that.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Lilith said as she stroked her husband’s hair. “When I said I wanted to give you a challenge… Well, suffice to say, I had no idea tempting him would be this involved. You can stop, you know. If you’re not having fun…”

“That’s the thing, though, Lili. I am,” Lucifer told her.

“I’m no closer to tempting him than I was the day I first met him, he’s the most infuriating demon I’ve ever met, and he’s driving me fucking batshit, but…” Lucifer laughed. “Damn it all, I do genuinely enjoy his company.”

With a resigned smile, he said, “Maybe I should give up on trying to tempt him and just be his friend instead.”

Step 6: Disregard Steps 2-5

Lucifer burst in as he often did: loudly, dramatically, and with no regard for what might have been going on there before his entrance.

The double doors of the Morningstar’s main sitting room slammed on their hinges as Lucifer threw them both open at once.

“I did it,” he said, sounding as if he was struggling to believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

Lilith met his eye from across the room. “You did it?”

“I did it!” Lucifer repeated, triumphantly.

“You did what?” asked Charlie, looking up from the hell school homework Lilith had been helping her with.

Oh, if this was the achievement Lilith suspected it to be, Charlie should absolutely not be around to hear about it.

“Oh shit,” Lucifer cursed. “I didn’t see you there, apple pie.”

Charlie looked back and forth between her two parents, before seeming to decide she didn’t want anything to do with this.

“I’m just gonna go, uh, somewhere that isn’t here,” Charlie said, scrambling to grab her things. “Bye!”

“Bye, sweetheart! Love you!” Lucifer called out as Charlie hurried towards the door.

“We love you, starlight,” Lilith echoed.

“Bye Mom, bye Dad! Love you both, too!” Charlie yelled over her shoulder.

As soon as their daughter had left the room, Lilith turned to her husband. “The Radio Demon?” she asked expectantly.

“Yes!” Lucifer answered.

“How did you do it?” Lilith asked, curiosity burning in her stomach like hot coals. “How did you finally tempt him?”

In all honesty, she’d been starting to think the Radio Demon would be Lucifer’s white whale. It’d been six years since she’d turned Lucifer on to this little ‘challenge.’ She’d even considered attempting to seduce the sinner herself to see if he simply had some kind of supernatural aversion to Lucifer.

Lucifer folded his hands under his chin and flashed Lilith a downright sinful grin. “Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?’” he asked

“Of course,” Lilith said, sighing with the realization. “The cannibalism.”

“Mhmm!” Lucifer hummed. “I should’ve thought of it sooner – it seems so obvious now! Oh, and I was definitely barking up the wrong tree trying to tempt him with sex. He is a masochist, though.”

“Oh, good,” Lilith said. “You don’t get to express your sadistic streak often enough, my love.”

Lilith and Lucifer were no strangers to sadomasochism, but usually Lilith was the one dealing blows. They were each flexible in their roles, but Lilith had to admit, she leaned heavily towards both the Dominant and sadistic ends of the spectrum.

“I know, right?” Lucifer said. “I mean, humans tend to be submissive towards me, but they’re so fragile,” he complained. “I can’t really get rough with them, not even the hardcore masochists. It’s been a while since I had a demon sub to play with.”

“He’s a submissive, as well?” Lilith mused. “I can’t say I expected that.”

“Me neither, honestly,” Lucifer admitted. “He’s a huge brat, and I think he enjoys the struggle for control more than the act of submission – but ohhh Lili, you should’ve seen him! He begged.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Lilith cooed. She would indeed have liked to see the Radio Demon beg; she and her husband had similar tastes, after all.

“He’s so pretty,” Lucifer said dreamily. And oh stars, Lilith knew that look.

“I kind of wanna see him again.” Lucifer turned to Lilith and asked, “Would you be alright with that, darling?”

“Yes,” Lilith answered, truthfully. She kissed her husband and listened as he went on and on about his encounter with the Radio Demon. Perhaps she should start calling him Alastor… She had the sneaking suspicion that this little ‘challenge’ was here to stay.

[keicordelle]

Guiding Star

Fandom: Genshin Impact Rating: E Pairing: Kaeluc Word Count: 5.1k Tags: Established Relationship, Musical Instruments, Requited Love, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Porn with Feelings, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Top Kaeya, Bottom Diluc, POV Third Person

Summary: In the quiet refuge of his chambers, Diluc finds solace in the aged wood of his violin as the strings sing beneath his touch. But nothing soothes the soul quite as well as a duet with your love, be it in music or in more intimate matters, and Kaeya is ever willing to indulge his flame-hearted partner. A gentle morning spent together, the delicate strains of the violin exchanged for the thrum of their hearts and sweet nothings whispered into each other's skin.

-

As the final strains of the song rang out and the bow fell from the strings, Diluc opened his eyes to find Kaeya watching him, that private smile on his lips as he leaned against the door frame. He made no effort to hide the soft affection that shone in his eye, his heart laid bare in the safety of Diluc's chambers. "It's been a long time since I've heard you play, but from the sounds of it, you've kept up with your practicing."

"Yes, well, it's a lot less awful without Miss Marta standing over my shoulder and whacking my fingers whenever I played a wrong note," Diluc said, carefully setting aside the violin.

Kaeya chuckled. "She was stricter than any swordplay instructor I've ever had. Even old Master Albert was more lenient than she was."

Silence fell for a moment as they reminisced, caught in shared memories of escaping their studies to play in the vineyard and sneak cookies from the kitchen, until Diluc asked, "Do you still play?"

"When I can find the time. It's not easy to find space to practice in the Favonious lodging."

No, Diluc supposed it wouldn't be. Kaeya's trumpet was as loud and boisterous as the man himself, and Kaeya had never been very good at standing still while playing either. "You could come do it here, if you'd like." The offer slipped out before he could stop it, hanging enticingly in the air between them.

Kaeya cocked his head, his gaze keen and assessing as he weighed if the invitation was genuine. "I thought I wasn't supposed to spend too much time here. Mondstat thinks we hate each other, brother."

Diluc grimaced at the appellation, as Kaeya had known he would. "Don't call me that. You know that's not what you are to me."

"I know." Kaeya pushed off from the door frame, moving in until he could reach up and brush his fingers through the unkempt fall of Diluc's bangs. Diluc's arms rose automatically to encircle him, settling about Kaeya's slim waist and pulling him in. "I would love to come here to practice. Maybe we could even play together again."

Diluc huffed. "A violin and a trumpet don't make for the best duet."

"We'll make it work," Kaeya murmured, leaning in. "We always do."

His lips were soft as they claimed Diluc's, his mouth gentle he kissed him, a chaste little kiss filled with all the tenderness and affection they kept buried away. Here in the privacy of Diluc's own home, they didn't have to keep up appearances; they could love each other freely, untouched by the worries and embarrassment that usually plagued Diluc. With Kaeya's lips on his and the taste of him on his tongue, everything else seemed to melt away until they were the only two alive, the whole universe spun just for them.

A contented sigh slipped from Diluc as Kaeya pulled back, a small smile curving his lips. "I love kissing you."

"Just kissing me?" Kaeya asked, arching a suggestive brow, and Diluc snorted, tugging on the end of Kaeya's ponytail.

"I love the rest of it too. But right now, I love kissing you."

-

Read the rest on Ao3!

A sister fic to All the Things Left Unsaid. When I started that one, I hadn't decided whether I wanted to see Diluc with Childe or with Kaeya. I still can't decide, sooo I ended up writing both 😅

[dynamite-derek]

Super Mario RPG: An effective trojan horse

In 1992, a game called Final Fantasy Mystic Quest released. Despite being a Japanese game developed by Japanese developers, it had an English language target audience. Role Playing Games, specifically of the turn based variety, were all the rage in Japan. Dragon Quest in particular was so popular that kids would skip school to pick it up. You see, back in the stone age, there were no digital games. If you couldn't secure a physical copy, you were out of luck. So what does a young man who wants to fight slimes do? Skip school. According to an interview with Game Informer, police asked Enix to release their games on the weekend to avoid this. So they did.

But this sort of hysteria for role playing games was not seen in America. Yeah, there were definitely people who would camp out and try to snag a copy of Super Mario Brothers 2 or something, but there wasn't a bunch of nerdy kids trying to bum rush the store to see what the hell Cecil and Kain were up to. So Squaresoft wanted to fix this and their solution was Final Fantasy Mystic Quest. It was supposed to be a trojan horse into the genre. Instead of being overly complex and dense, it was simple and easy to approach. You get a small taste...but you still crave more. Yes, JRPGs are crack cocaine.

While RPGs would eventually find a foothold in the states, Final Fantasy Mystic Quest wasn't exactly successful in its mission. Whenever you hear people reminisce fondly about Super Nintendo RPGs, you very rarely hear someone wax poetically about Mystic Quest. In fact, I would argue it is one of the more 'obscure' Final Fantasy games despite its mission to act as an entryway for children. Square's intended trojan horse was a dud, but there's one other game a suspicious number of people think fondly of. It also goes for the same 'simplistic approach to a complicated genre' thing Mystic Quest went for.

That game is Super Mario RPG. I speak of it in a similar 'trojan horse to the genre' way as Mystic Quest because that was quite literally the case for me. I had never heard the letters "RPG" together before. I was an eight year old and all I knew about the game was that it starred Mario and the screenshots in gamepro looked cool as hell. I remember playing this game for the first time vividly. My eyes had just gotten dilated because they were testing my vision and my dad decided to rent me a game to make my suffering less apparent. I saw Super Mario RPG and the choice was obvious. Everything about the world charmed me.

I loved the music and the quirky dialogue. I felt there were a lot of mysteries in the world to see that were just beyond my reach. For instance, I spent hours trying to figure out what Toadstool's "???" was. I tried to figure out where Toad's bazooka was because if he mentioned it, that must mean he has one somewhere and maybe he could join my party! Hell, some kid at school told me about a weird glitch in the beginning of the game where if you pressed a bunch of buttons in some sort of order you would trigger three hidden characters who would join your party. I spent hours trying to figure out how to get Yoshi to leave Yoshi's Island and come with me. Things like hidden treasure boxes and the lazy shell actually existing in game helped propel these wild theories.

Basically, if you experienced the Pokemon phenomenon of the 90s, you know where I'm coming from. It was impossible to be on a school ground and not hear about moving the truck for Mew or learning about Bill's Secret Garden or Pikablu. Mario RPG was that for me on a much smaller scale. I had never seen a game with such a fleshed out story before. In short, I was hooked.

This discovery led me to many other video games I might not have tried otherwise. It led me to renting Earthbound, Chrono Trigger, Final Fantasy IV (2), Final Fantasy VI (3) and basically anything that I thought had turn based combat. Basically this simplistic game featuring Mario fighting a scary blacksmith kicked off my lifelong fascination with a genre. My excursion to a rental store as an eight year old probably led Squaresoft (now Square Enix) to profit thousands of dollars from me alone. And given the reverence surrounding this game, there's just no way I'm alone.

If you go back and play Super Mario RPG as an adult, it's still a really good time. As someone with a great deal of nostalgia for it, it's hard for me to look at it objectively. But when I compare SMRPG to its contemporaries, I really don't think it measures up. The gameplay is simplistic and laughably easy - the game's super boss Culex would probably be seen as a mid tier boss in Final Fantasy IV - there isn't a whole lot of depth to how you build your characters, the item inventory is extremely simple and easy to manage and the game's stages are very easy to navigate. SNES RPGs could feel labyrinthian at times and that's before I get to stuff like Shin Megami Tensei, which released in 1992.

This isn't to say that SMRPG is a bad game. It absolutely isn't. While it is simplistic, I think there are four things that carry it a long way. The things that make it a game that hooked countless children and made them RPG addicts.

First is the undeniable charm of everything. Super Mario RPG is bursting with personality. The story does not have a lot of depth, but the character dialogue is all interesting and quirky. If you compare it to the NPC dialogue of something like Final Fantasy IV, I think it's a lot more interesting. Children's media tends to be brightly colored and loud and I would suggest SMRPG fits in with that. Even the volcano world is full of personality and color. Who could forget the Axim Rangers? I remember thinking it was hilarious that you had to sleep on the boxes at the volcano Inn.

Second is the music. As is typical with most Squaresoft RPGs of the 90s, the soundtrack is excellent. If you pull up a random youtuber's videos, odds are you will hear a Super Mario RPG track at some point. The music is distinct and memorable. Honestly, as far as SNES RPGs are concerned, I think it hangs with Chrono Trigger and Earthbound in the sound department. This is insanely high praise and if this is your first experience with a game like this, you will remember these tunes.

Third is the fact that it is a Mario game. Final Fantasy Mystic Quest's main character is Benjamin. Not exactly a memorable name like Cloud or Cecil. His Japanese name was Zash though, I guess that's kinda cool! This game stars Mario. As a child, you could slap that plumber's face on anything and I would instantly buy it. Recruiting Princess Toadstool (before everyone knew her name was Peach) and Bowser into your party was just the coolest thing. This wasn't the first Mario spin-off, but it was probably the first one that didn't make you shove your head in a history book. People love those characters, so sticking them in a quirky and colorful world is going to make for a beloved game.

Lastly is the difficulty. It's no secret that RPGs used to be a lot more grindy than they are now. It's something you either love or you hate. SMRPG does not require a grind at all. You certainly *can* if you want to, but you don't have to be anywhere near the max level to finish off the game and even then, I think on my most recent run everybody was fairly close to it anyway and I assure you I did not go out of my way to fight goombas. This is a game that was designed to be beaten. No matter how much a kid runs into a wall, they will probably find a way to come out on top. So you leave this beautiful colorful and quirky game feeling good about yourself because you beat it. There is maybe one non-Culex boss that could be defined as 'that boss' and it's a monster wedding cake. ...Ya see what I mean about a world full of personality?

The things surrounding the actual game take what could have just been a ho-hum average experience and elevates it to the next level. You will see RPG snobs turn their nose up at this game because of its simplicity, but I think SMRPG accomplished exactly what it was trying to do. It created a horde of people invested in RPGs. Even if they didn't stick with other games in the genre like I did, they probably tried at least one or two others.

Whether intentionally done or not, Super Mario RPG achieved what Final Fantasy Mystic Quest set out to do. While I don't think there's any chance the remake will be able to capture that same magic, I would bet that a lot of 30+ year old men and women will be sitting in front of their televisions this weekend feeling that they've gone back in time. Cursing Sakurai for not placing Geno in Smash. Feeling like they need to figure out how to get Luigi to join your party because that one star in star road was clearly written by him and god dammit he is probably stronger than mallow at least right?

It's not the best game. But it is a beautiful one.

[ask-sad-ghost-piett]

Has been a while since my last speech, but anyways, I hope you find a way out soon enough, and I see that your relationship goes well, though I lack said luck it is nice to see others have a nice life... Well I suppose it helps fill the void but thats my own set of issues. -Ye Olde Ensign

Old Ensign,

Trust me, there is little reason to envy my life. While I was serving as Admiral, I used to receive gifts with notes thanking me for "being a living example for everyone of how it could be worse". I suppose I ought to be happy that I received gifts and inspired feelings of gratitude among my crew, but these incidents always made me feel rather disheartened.

And I did not have an easy path to romance either. For the part of my life that I was not single, I was mostly busy being disappointed by false promises. Before Max, the only moderately successful relationship I ever had were several months with an AT-ST gunner who I met after he almost crushed me with his walker. One day, the Rebels pushed him off a cliff to his death. We were having issues before then and I doubt we'd have lasted as a couple, but it was still a sour way to end the relationship.

While we are on the subject, a word of advice if you are seeking romance: do not date anyone in the ISB. They're very charming. They'll tell you things like "You're the most beautiful man who's ever reported a smuggling ring to me. How would you like to have dinner together and I can show you my ITO?" Do not fall for it. They're not looking for anything long-term. They have the worst taste in music. And they will break your heart like Darth Vader broke Admiral Ozzel's neck.

-Admiral Piett

(OOC: I love your messages, anon behind Ye Olde Ensign.)

[imnewherebyviva]

in defence of being new

N – Could you explain to me what it is you do, as if we met at a wedding

PD – Sure, so I make music that would come under the pretty far reaching genre of electronic. …I’m mainly interested in dance music and experimental sounds and where they intersect. I synthesize (make from scratch) or sample (arrange little bits of sounds that already exist) using my laptop mostly, sometimes other things. I teach a lot, and sometimes DJ but I’m less interested in that right now. If we really met at a wedding I would probably drop in that I have a mechanical engineering degree so that you’d know I’m smart and that I got into producing because for many years I was teaching sound engineering and physics, and I began to see I needed to understand more about production in order to be a more effective teacher.

N – Noted, so can you tell me what this is?

PD – This mailout?

N – Yes

PD - This is a place to document my experience of learning about sound, and learning how to produce music, how I came to think of myself as a “producer”, my investigations into how gender, class and disability (I’m deaf) has shaped my musical taste. For the last two years I’ve been on a quest to answer a series of questions. Many have more or less categorical answers that would be easy to find with a quick google search. But I’m trying to find the answers experientially so that they live in my body not just my conscious mind.

Here is a non-exhaustive list of these questions:

How do I learn and why?

What makes me retain information and commit to memory, see it as important to me, contextualise it, and crucially, pass it on?

What drives me to learn something “hard”? 

How and where did I learn to perceive certain things as “hard” to learn?

Where does my assigned gender fit into the answers to the above?

How do I perform my gender differently depending on who/what I’m teaching?

How does this performance impact how the information is received/interpreted?

How has my teaching practice shaped my practice as a producer/composer?

Mostly this mailout will include writing but it will also have lots of things to listen to and bighugefeelings.

N – bighugefeelings?

PD – Yeah, this is kind of a love note to everyone who’s held my hand thru this journey called music so far.

N – Ok, and what is this?

PD – What, this interview?

N – Yeah

PD – Well, I wanted to talk to you and lay out the many reasons why I’m starting to record and share my process in this way, because, I’m kind of nervous about it, and I don’t think the reasons are self-evident. Maybe I’m just reminding myself why exactly I’m revealing myself in this way and hopefully it will strengthen my resolve.

N – Ok, so why *are* you writing about your process and sharing it in this way?

PD - So, I suppose it began one day in the car with my mum I put on some drone1 because she asked me to play some relaxing music.

N - What’s drone?

PD – Drone is a genre of noise music that’s defined by a slow rate of change. In its essence it’s exactly like what the verb to drone means in regular speech, if something is making a droning sound we hear that as like traffic sounds in the distance, a fan, maybe like the hum of a room of people talking as heard through the wall. It’s considered minimal, because although the sound might be quite loud or full, nothing really happens, it just goes on and on. It can be subtle or intense. It’s often atonal as in there’s no recognisable like melody, it’s more of a texture and sensation than what I would would typically refer to as music

N – hmmm yes I can hear it in my head… so you’re in the car with your mum and you put on some drone.

PD – Right, so I put what I consider to be a very low key, relaxing drone on she asked me quite genuinely why I would want to listen to those kinds of sounds. It’s a good question! And probably a moment of me being not a very good DJ and not reading the room/car. But to me drone is like being in the womb or something. Or what I imagine it might sound like to be deep under water like rushing, undulating, repetitious and steady. I think drone is an acquired taste not because the sounds themselves are unfamiliar but because we usually encounter them by chance, in our day to day life. I think in that moment I just realised how much of the sounds I really love and am interested in are ostensibly not that pleasant or not recognisable as sounds you would actively seek out.

N – So you’re saying you’re writing this in an attempt to explain your music to your mum?

PD – On the first hand, yes… I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about what the outcome of making music could be other than the final track, EP, tape, record. I think there is a very linear perception that “making music” will come to the natural conclusion of music (a thing) that has been made (action, completed). But there are several issues with that like who or what deems music finished? Just because it’s released does that mean it’s finished? And could there be various other outcomes like for example could the outcome be a piece of writing like this?

There’s such a hyper saturation of music, as tools to make music become more accessible, I could sing a song into my phone and upload it to SoundCloud and that’s me I’ve made a song. It’s hard for me to think of my musical abilities as my primary most useful contribution to this world. Not to put myself down. But I think my strengths lie in how I think about sound and the discussion around what I’ve learned could be more impactful then the sounds themselves.

I heard Emma Warren mention this book in an interview called Musicking by Christopher Small and I went out and bought it (still to finish) but basically he argues for a more far reaching and integrated understanding of what making music means and coins the term Musicking to encompass the complex web of roles carried out in the pursuit of making music happen. One of the quotes I love so much “The act of musicking establishes in the place where it is happening a set of relationships, and it is in those relationships that the meaning of the act lies” I’ve always understood my pursuit of music to be relational, a way to connect and receive messages and understand people in this nonverbal way. As if musiking was a practice that I absorbed rather than something that was inside me waiting to come out. So that’s why when people say you should make music for yourself first, it never made sense to me…

N – What do you mean?

PD – I just feel like music is so often a vehicle for me to get to know someone, form experiences together, connect. And as such, I find it difficult to make music without imagining the context or the person by whom it will be consumed…consumed is such an ugly way to put it…absorbed? encountered? or to create without thinking of who I fancy or am I’m trying to impress at that particular time. All of these things that guide my interest…it feels kind of cringe to admit that.

N – Why have you chosen to *write* about it?

PD – I used to feel really uncomfortable to speak with conviction about music. Part of this was because I thought my opinions weren’t developed enough to discuss them confidently.

I would be nervous I’d label a genre wrong, not know the difference between a hat or snare sound or the difference between a stab and an acid line and a bassline, are all rhythmic things drum sounds? Are all melodic things synthesizer sounds? Nervous that I’d sound new.

Sound is abstract and our language is so limited when it comes to describing it, you have to speak in all these different abstractions and use metaphor and simile that are usually related to other senses not to do with hearing, we talk about the colour of sound and the texture of sound. So learning how to pull these things together in a way that doesn’t sound totally nonsensical is quite daunting especially when you’re usually talking to men and there are very few women in the field so you already feel like you stick out.

I think an archetypically masculine way to speak is to put distance between the speaker and what they’re saying. To speak definitively or to reach for objective language like it’s not just your opinion but the categorical truth. For example talking about why a track is good, as if to say I like it because of its objective merit not because you had an emotional experience that has imprinted a positive memory of this into my brain, it’s really impenetrable and impersonal and just not true.

Anyway I’m getting a bit off topic, I’m writing about it as opposed to something else because writing about it means the I have to summon the confidence to put down in black and white for other people to read and stand over it like yep that’s what I think. Writing and sharing is legitimising my experience. Emma Warren says “Explanation can be an act of protection, validation and resistance”

N – You’ve called it “I’m New Here” could you explain that title a bit to me?

PD – So I chose the title I’m new here after much deliberation (and several rambling voice notes to Ly) because on the surface it’s quite cute and self-effacing, relatable. Something my supportive friends would refute when I say it. But what does it even mean? New is synonymous with lack of experience and naivety, maybe also lack of skill. But relatively speaking of course, I am new, I’m new to making music, I’m new to thinking of myself as a sound artist/producer. So I think of this as like a manifesto In defence of being new, because I mean new in the sense of fresh, enthusiastic, unlimited but the preconceptions that come with experience, malleable.

I can say (because I’ve seen it over and over) that being a beginner is a precious time, you’ll never see things the same way, you’ll never hear things the same way again, you’ll never be so bold as when you don’t know any better. This time is so interesting and is worth documenting, archiving, discussing frankly.

What I’ve found interferes with this, is ego. I definitely spend most of my time trying to cover it up or to not sound like a beginner, worrying about sounding obvious or not like “myself” (whatever that means). I spend so much time musically trying to sound more accomplished and further down the line than I am and plagued by a sense of urgency like I need to impress the producer boys in my phone.

In the end I went with the title I’m New Here because it makes me a bit uncomfortable, it doesn’t sound edgy, it sounds soft and vulnerable and humble and open. I think it’s important to lean into that feeling.

N – The bi-line is “A Public Research Archive”?

PD – Yeah the name is a hybrid of what I originally called it “An archive of sonic learning” and a description Frank gave it when I was talking to him about an application “Public Research Notebook” I think the concept of an archive is important to me, important to a lot of people, Irish people, people who’ve had their history interfered with or decimated entirely… I’m plagued by a feeling of impermanence that I think is a common malaise in the world we live in today, but is also very personal for example I’ve moved house… I don’t have the exact figure on me but around 20 times...bouncing around magnolia rentals with my mam and then around lets and sublets as an adult. It really difficult to piece together a sense of continuity… my family is quite fractured and I have huge holes in my understanding of where I come from… blanks I’ve got to fill in myself or just make peace with I suppose. More contemporarily, it’s just part of life now that good things don’t last long, people, places, things. They get knocked down, knocked back, pushed out. Documentation and record keeping is so important. I’m re-reading The Price of My Soul by Bernadette Devlin. She wrote it when she was 22. It’s so important to document things as they’re happening, not just with the retrospective of things that became important with time. Memory is fickle and unreliable. Already I’m feeling my present reality colour my past and how I think about how I got here, like these things made sense at the time, the benefit of hindsight. Emma Warren says “Tell it now”

N – Is that from “Document Your Culture”?

PD – Yes, that pamphlet is a big inspiration for me.

N – So the culture that you’re documenting is what exactly?

PD – Well first and foremost as I said, I’m documenting how I’m learning to make music. And I think, in thoroughly documenting that, my network, people who inspire, influence me, offer me help support and guidance, my culture will become evident, by proxy. it’s important to me to centre my experience in all of this. To link it with how I came upon information and to try to show my complex web of sources, the flow of information. Relinquish the cloying notion of original thought.

I think explaining things clearly feels like practicing generosity and maybe a kind of indirect collaboration with whoever is reading. Whereas explaining things in a veiled or jargonistic or inaccessible way feels like showing off. Mystery really doesn’t appeal to me, but sharing so openly feels incredibly exposing, and makes me really uncomfortable. And that’s a big part of  what makes me sure I need to do it.

N – Could you tell me more about what it is about sharing your process that makes you uncomfortable?

PD – Gosh there are so many answers to that… I think a base fear is that once people know exactly how you got to the point you’re at it’s less interesting? Or it takes the shine off, takes away from the image of you as a singular mind and talent, exposes what’s propping you up and maybe you’ll seem less special or they’ll draw lines of comparison between your work and others that make it less impressive. That your references are basic. and maybe your praise and validation will have to be shared.

Again I think it’s a symptom of our atomised society that we’re so obsessed with being perceived as individuals with a distinctive voice rather than just one of many voices in a choir. Brian Eno’s “scenius“ and all that.

When it comes to electronic music which is my primary outlet, this fear is becomes heavily gendered… women struggle to be taken seriously in technical roles, we’re consistently left off production credits. There are so many layers to it, something I have lived experience of and that my friend and long-time collaborator Kate Butler is producing a whole radio documentary on. Credit will be deferred to the nearest man. So I suppose I can feel the fear that if I reveal my methods I’ll be outing myself as just a girl who’s basically cheating somehow or doesn’t have any original take or contribution.

N – So in sharing your learning process as thoroughly as possible you’re trying to kick against that fear? Maybe attempting a kind of collectivist gratitude, building some kind of resource or maybe charting a course?

PD – Emma Warren says “offering hope and permission by example” so yes, something like that. Although I would never be so bold as to think what works for me would ever work for someone else. For example, I’m talking from a very privileged position right now as I’ve been really well funded the last couple of years. I got the basic income and a couple of Arts Council Bursaries on top of that, as well as taking freelance bits here and there which means I have a decent salary. I’ve had TIME and MONEY to literally and figuratively fuck around, pay people for their time to mentor me etc etc so that is really really important to note. I am someone who’s had a sense of artistic legitimacy handed to me, through renumeration. A large portion of which I was awarded by lottery.

On this point, there’s a lot of mystery that goes along with making a living in the arts. How do you actually do it? Accusations of having rich parents abound. Accusations I’m not above throwing around by the way. Because it’s often the only explanation available and you can become embittered when someone seems to be managing just fine doing ostensibly nothing other than producing “art”. I’m in the extremely coveted position of “full time artist” and I feel a certain amount of responsibility to let people in on how I got here.

N – Who do you imagine will read this documentation that you’re producing?

PD – I’m not sure, maybe no one will read it haha. Assuming someone or more than one person reads it I have a feeling it will at first be people I know, people who know of me through Instagram… probably mainly my musical peers, some of my family or people who are nosey/fancy me. I imagine they’ll all be people with phones, internet access, probably mostly a similar-ish age.

N – That doesn’t sound like a very broad readership? how does that make you feel?

PD – I don’t know.. not like wildly excited tbh but it’s a step in the right direction that maybe people who don’t fuck with the actual sounds I make at all might get something from the written bit… it’s funny though because usually you only are interested in learning about the process of people whose output you like… anyway I don’t know how I feel about it yet but I still feel like it’s worth doing. Maybe it might enrich their experience of the sonic world. That’s the dream.

N – So, what’s next?

PD – You mean what am I going to share here next?

N – Yeah

PD – I’m not sure, I’ve written a lot about the piece I made for my first big commission at the Regional Cultural Centre, how I made it and why, what I found hard about it. Going through that was a metamorphosis because I started as just me and finished as Viva Dean – Sound Artist. So, I think that transition and how it basically happened because I could invoice someone is important for me to document.

N – When can we expect that?

PD – Erm.. I think sometime in the next 4-6 weeks

[audio-luddite]

Good Enough is it enough?

Just to start it is very difficult to define the concept of "good". You cannot define it without using that word or one of its variations in the definition. Look up quality in a dictionary. Good is used to define that or at least better. Then quality is used to define good and better. The loop goes round. I have an unpublished book about that. It goes on and on.

Good is a personal gauge. You know what it means. What it means to you depends on many things. Quantum mechanics is simple in comparison.

Analogy.

There are two global brands of fizzy Cola Drinks. There is Coke, and there is Pepsi. I recall each brand was famous for making lovely inspiring TV commercials about how good life is with their product. Some people love Coke others like Pepsi. They dislike the other product and heap scorn on those on the other side.

Both products are very sweet dark caramelly and to my mind taste OK. There was a time when Pepsi had a huge taste test campaign where customers were given samples of each and asked to choose the better one. It was a blind test. Of course the TV ads only showed the people who picked Pepsi over Coke. Without the label most people could never tell.

I find it easy to tell one from the other. I also very much dislike the taste of Diet types as the sweeteners are unpleasant to me. And yes I can tell them apart.

Some people insist that only Coke or Pepsi made with real cane sugar is worthy. Even within ranks of fans there are distinct groups of this is better than that. Around here you can buy, at a stupid premium, Coke made in Mexico that has cane sugar on the label. I wonder about the water quality though. It is mostly water.

I do go on don't I?

So it is a human trait to align with this is better or that is better based on really no rational or rigorous foundation. And then fight about it.

OK Tubes versus Transistor amplifiers.

It is really the same thing. The "testing people" prove again and again that tubes distort more and are noisier than transistors. The "Tube People" claim those instruments do not measure what they are hearing as they know it is better. Yet what is BETTER?

My hearing is far less good than when I was young, but I still hear subtle things. My brain instrument tells me that this is one way and that is another. I tend to lock on to tiny little details. If I can hear them that demonstrates the accuracy and resolution of my system. These sounds can be the woody resonance of a clarinet or the metallic sheen of a cymbal or the lips of a singer parting before a note.

My tube amps cannot resolve much of this. But the sounds are lovely.

I recall I had some really crap tubes in my old tube preamplifier. They were a supposed good brand, NOS Teslas. I LOVED the sound and texture they gave to some of my albums. BUT they were microphonic. The tiny bits of metal in the glass vibrated in sympathy to the sound from the speakers and imbued the music with amazing textures. I recall this foot tap sound became a leather shoe on a wood floor. (At least my brain interpreted it as that)

I would have left them in but for every time I touched the preamplifier it made a Bong sound. Once I swapped out the tubes that audibly rang when I tapped them by my ear those textures went away. This was not accuracy. This was indisputably distortion and wrong. Still I liked it.

Nelson Pass the long haired mountain dwelling California hippy of audio has shown that people prefer certain types of distortion over hard accuracy. I know in my heart that what I like about vacuum tube sound are the things it ADDS to the music.

OK so here I am saying that accuracy may not be the goal. It does not constitute what is better to very many people. What is good to me may not be what is good to you. The "testing people" measure accuracy. That is all.

I am compromising. I hear and love the wonderful sounds that a good tube amp adds to my music. But I know it hides things too. Noise and distortion wash over tiny subtle things. I have both. I can hear things on both sides and I like them. Is one better? That depends on the air temperature.

The Franken-Amp goes back in tonight. The ARC goes on a shelf. I will miss those sounds, but I will no longer miss my tiny details. They are both good units.

[anicekidlikeme]

Do you know how I grew up?

Back when I was dating Peter, I was always aware of just how much he would talk (about his accomplishments, about his friends, and different annecdotes). His stories would go far back as elementry school. I hated it. I know that is a horrible thing to even think as somebody's girlfriend (I knew that then too) but at the time getting myself to like the person I was dating felt like a crushing expectation. How am I supposed to love you unconditionally? How am I supposed to love you at all? Your friends are mean, your music taste is okay, and I cannot stand the way you refuse to walk alongside me.

There was a moment when we were walking to Target to buy Kombucha, and holy shit was I pissed off. Peter would walk ahead of me, constantly, and turn around in tiny spurts to tell me to speed up. Could you please walk with me? I know now that love is definately not supposed to feel like that. It is the easiest thing in the world. Drew walks next to me, always. Even if it means having to slow down his pace (often, also emotionally). He grabs my waist everytime we have to cross a road, or everytime I walk into a room I've never been in before. He has incredible patience. I could hear Drew talk and talk for hours, and just keep wanting to listen to even more stories of his. He teases me about how many times in one day I ask him How was your day?! But I just want to hear you talk!

Anyway, a year ago I would think a lot about Peter and I's out of sync walking. It felt like he was ahead of me often. Especially when he told stories. I would sit at the dinnertable with his family and just listen most nights to him sharing annecdotes. About Sam, Adam and Holden, about Miss Gurb from Middle School, and about going to house-shows with Isabella. I would think holy fucking shit, how can you remember all that? How do you have so many happy stories to tell?

The earliest my memory goes to is sometime before 3rd grade when my mom was texting my father on her Nokia, and my uncle had been bugging her all day about selling their Dad's house. I realized then how easy it is to just block out undesirable moments out of your memory. Forget about them completely so they are never to be spoken of, and better yet, never to be remembered. After that, it is a blur. I don't have any stories to tell from growing up, all I remember is how some days felt. There was never enough room where we lived post-divorce, always too many angry people, always too many bugs, and always so many fights in this tiny one- bedroom apartment we shared with 8 other people. My mom told me that I was once in the hospital for 6 months. I had no fucking clue that happened. I still dont.

If I told somebody that I slept most nights of my childhood on a purple straw mat (yes, no bed. not even a mattress), they would probably be so fucking confused. But it is true. And it happened, and it is not a very tell-able tale. Not like Peter's atleast. I am trying to think of other things that happened but I am noticing myself getting fatigued. It's too hard, and there is a big lock on that door. Let's not bother. It is much easier to say Im doing well now. Oh, she sucks and he's dead.

So if you were to ask me how I grew up, I would tell you I have no fucking idea. I dont know how I grew up. Bitter and scary and mean, is probably what my friends from high school would say. Unfortunately, as a result of me changing as a person, I had to quit talking to them. I couldn't find it in me to say, hey guys, I'm in America now so I've decided to be a completely new person. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be this person I was anymore. It's not their fault, and it is not mine.

I am now very emotional (something I was very very afraid of, and am still coming to terms with), very silly, not obsessed with being smart anymore (I'm surprised by that one too), and very very Vaibhavi. Everyone calls me Vai, and I hate it. I want to shout at them, and instruct them to call me Vaibhavi. That is who I am! I am intensely focused now on the memories I make, even if they are bad ones. I dont want to forget anything. I don't want to forget my fights with Fawwaz, or my sick days with Drew, or my secret-spilling sessions with Atharva. I dont want to forget when I had awfully pink hair, or when I was friends with people I hated. I want to have stories, and I love the stories I have now. I am obsessed with getting engaged, because then I will have a family. A family I like, a family to tell stories about when I am asked so, tell me about your family.

A family to love, a family of two. Definately not one with Peter, but I wish him luck. I really do. We are both good people with so many differences, and my hope is that he finds someone to cherish them. I know I did (and god, is Drew a sight for sore eyes).

I have no idea how I grew up, but there was a tent in a balcony. Don't know which one, we have moved too many times.

[floripire]

start from the beginning.

can we talk about what happened? // @behttys

she's making a face. she's definitely making a face. start from the beginning, betty says, and flori sighs as if she's in actual physical pain. as if betty has just greatly inconvenienced her with this request but she does as she's told, anyway.

"it started when i hacked into the database of triad industries. it was awfully easy to gain access and trawl through their servers. i thought i hid my traces well enough. turns out, i didn't."

flori runs a hand through her hair with a sigh and continues.

"that night, triad sent a hit squad to my place to set an example. to make one out of me, i guess. but---but i wasn't home. i was enroute to, and at a, birthday party. so they got my mom and dad instead."

it's something she'll never forgive herself for. never, ever, ever.

"i figured i could take a shortcut, you know, through the maple hollows cemetery. so i did. i saw a man there, standing over a grave. he looked sad. anguished. so... so i told him i was sorry for his loss. i think that set him off. he attacked me, i blacked out and next thing i know, i wake up in a shallow grave with the taste of blood in my mouth and that man - who turns out to be my sire - nowhere to be found."

slender shoulders rise and fall, as if to say: oh, well, what can you do about it?

"after getting out of there, i was still panicking but somehow got it into my head that i could still show up at sue carson's rager of a birthday party; she invited me and her parents were out of town and at that point, i was crushing on her. i'm pretty sure the feeling was mutual. it didn't matter that i got dirt all over my prettiest dress or that i dropped her gift on the ground earlier. i attributed the burning sensation to... seasonal allergies. or coming down with a cold, suddenly."

flori laughs and laughs but there is no humor in it. no warmth, either.

"so i showed up there, right? i showed up at her party. my ex, doug - who is also sue's brother and yes, i know that sounds very elena gilbert of me - told me to go freshen up because apparently, i looked like a zombie. he wasn't wrong. well, he was wrong about the zombie part. i hid in the bathroom for an hour and a half before i could get my fangs to retract again. by the time i looked presentable enough again to rejoin the party, everyone was outside. sue wasn't. she'd snuck back in and she'd been opening her birthday presents, even though she wasn't supposed to yet."

stay with her, betty. she's nearing the end of the tale now. please, stay with her.

"all it took---all it took was a papercut. sue was bleeding - there was so much blood, it soaked into the carpet, into the floorboards - and i lunged. i didn't think. it was just... instinct. i exsanguinated her. drained her dry. when i saw what i'd done, i fled. ran all the way home to find my parents dead and my home ransacked. and triad waiting for me."

"the squad leader, burr, got new orders on the spot from veronica greasley - triad's leader. he knocked me out and took me to the triad industries detention facility. i spent years there. most of it knocked out again. asleep. often, i was fed vervain. other times, i was fed just enough blood to make it through the day. but there were also times that i wasn't fed at all. dessication is no fun, i can tell you that. but the venom extraction was the worst." a long, drawn out groan escapes her lips. "my poor salivary glands..."

she sobers, then. "...anyway, i---i struck up this weird, ah, friendship i guess you could call it? his name was caleb smallwood and he was one of the guards. at first he ingested vervain too. kept it on his person somewhere. but we got to talking. movies, tv shows. books. music. games. world politics. philosophy. our families. over time, he stopped keeping vervain on his person. then he stopped ingesting it all together. because i'd been 'one of the good ones'. when he was clean of the herb, i compelled him to get me out of there, as far from the detention facility as possible, and to tell everyone that the boss had signed off on it. i don't think he ever caught on to the fact that i knew the codes. or if he did, he certainly didn't tell me."

a shiver dances down her spine as she murmurs: "once i got outside - once we were far enough from the detention facility - i fed from him and compelled him again. told him to walk until his feet bled and to keep walking. no matter how hungry he got. no matter how thirsty he was or how much he needed to relieve himself. he just had to keep walking. so he did. he vanished into the nearby woods and i never saw him again."

flori wrings her hands now. "i walked away too. made it a few miles before a good samaritan picked me up and dropped me off in grove hill. at the grove hill trauma center, to be exact. walked in with me to the front desk. but when no one was looking, i sneaked away and ended up gorging myself on the bloodbags i found. and then i fled. again. through the side-door. i was aimlessly wandering around grove hill when jeremy gilbert found me. i've been a year-rounder at the salvatore boarding school, since. although i've long since graduated, too."

"there. now you know my sordid history, betty cooper, which means that you know as well as i do that i did not kill reggie mantle: i was too busy keeping tabs on, and hiding from, my sire."

[eleanor-bradstreet]

You and your hidden cruise missile fics - coming out of nowhere to decimate my heart and hormones, leaving me reeling for days on end, unable to think of anything else. GOOD GOD this is a perfect piece of writing. More than any other song-inspired fic written by either of us, IMO this one most perfectly captures the essence of the song that inspired it. I had never heard this song before - it’s an absolute banger and very to my taste - and then you seamlessly pulled me into a vision that was so precise in tone, it is the only thing I will accept as the accompanying music video for this song. Period. 

It is just so deliciously evocative and achingly beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop listening to the song since you posted this, and as I do, I envision all these gorgeous moments you crafted. Specifically:

“enveloping you completely in the safety of their vast reach” 🫠 those long arms and giant hands omg yes daddy

“sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and… him” A lot of us associate lavender with him and I’ve never really pinpointed why. Not that there needs to be a reason. It does just feel like it suits him though, doesn’t it? I suppose if I had to theorize - lavender is calming, used to ease the nerves just as he is so skilled at doing. It’s got a dusky simplicity to it, not overly feminine or fussy. It’s grassy and wild too - associated with cottages and the countryside just like he is. Something soothing and beautiful blended effortlessly into untamed landscapes. There’s just something so very ‘Benedict’ about that.

“It was like running. Not the harsh pounding of feet on pavement, but the effortless strides of freedom found in childhood as you dashed across an open field…The high that tingled down your spine as your lungs expanded to capacity, filling every cell in your body with its drug of choice - oxygen.” Guuuuuhhhhh this is amazing!!! How does one take that song lyric and equate running to lovemaking? THIS. 👆 This is how. *chef’s kiss* I love your brain.

“He was fluent in the way you moved, in the ways you needed to be touched.” 🤤🤤

 “saturating you in his desire.” 🥵🥵 *already starting to scrunch myself into a ball to prevent implosion* 

“pleading with him to continue finding his pleasure. In the search for his own, he would expertly deliver yours on a silver platter.” GODDAMMIT my eyes are already crossed, how am I supposed to read the rest of this???

“You could rub against him like this for the rest of time and it would still never be enough.” Mmmmhmmmm - girl, preach

Ok, I have to give you props for talking about teasing his nips too. Men can love that and I feel like it’s not featured enough in smut. Bravo 👏👏

So many little touches that speak so much to his character - that he wants eye contact before you are connected; that he uses all of his body to deliver pleasure in four different ways simultaneously (sweet jeezus); that he intuits everything you want and surprises you with what you need - that pulling the leg back, omg 😵; that he ensures your pleasure first then waits “patiently for you to come back to him”, uggggnnnnhhhhhhhh

“You knew he would come right back, but even that split second of emptiness was too much to bear.” FUCK OFF I LOVE THIS

“The lines that crinkled on the outer edges of his eyes were your favorite things in the world. They were evidence of his easy smiles, like the secret one he was currently pressing into the crook of your neck. They reminded you of the moments of joy that you had already experienced together, and all the moments still yet to come. The life that you’d have together, shaped by love, trust, and respect. As your hair turned grey, and your hearing faded, you prayed that those lines that framed his soulful eyes continued to deepen.” GODDAMMIT THIS COULD BE ITS OWN FICLET. I’M CALLING IT ‘Eye Crinkles’ AND IT'S THE MOST PERFECT THING THAT HAS EVER BEEN WRITTEN. How dare you slide so much sweet romance into this when I am focusing on…other sliding things. Campaign for our whole circle of writers to mention the eye crinkles in every fic moving forward? Done and done.

“His story soaked into your soul, like ink absorbing through your fingerprints, impossible to be ever washed away.” 😩😩😩 Stopppp ittt, stooopppppp. Nothing has any right being this sexy AND this romantic. Stop.

“Everything he did, everything he was, made you ache with longing for him.” [colon] The Benedict Bridgerton Story

Wow, I simply…wow. In re-reading to write these notes I got sucked in again and just read through (in awe and lust) because it’s so captivating. The pacing is perfect, the mood is tangible. Also - the art is too perfect (?!?) That looks just like Ben! HOW DO YOU WEAVE SUCH MAGIC??? PLEASE NEVER STOP. This is exactly what lazy, half-conscious, but desperately horny lovemaking is like. You bottled it, and it’s a molotov cocktail. 

You can determine the appropriateness of me quoting a beloved children’s film in association with this story, but the line from Hook keeps playing through my head: “Do you know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you.”

Thank you for this 💙

Again

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Summary: Modern AU - Reader has a sleepy, sensual night with Benedict. 

Warnings: 18+ Smut , Explicit Language, Graphic Sexual Depictions

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note: This little fic was heavily inspired by a song that has refused to leave my head for months. It’s called We’ve Been Loving In Silence by MARO . I highly suggest you check it out before reading. It sets the mood for sure. A big thank you to @colettebronte for the beta read. You are a lifesaver, my friend. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to leave a comment or reblog telling me what you thought. I love hearing from you all! Artwork was painted by Sergey Galanter, and made into an edit by a friend of mine.

_______________________________________________

Eyes fluttering open, the stillness of the night settled in around you. A light breeze whispered over your face from the cracked window across the room. The air held the beginnings of Autumn, inviting goosebumps to meet its caress on the surface of your skin. On another sleepless evening, it might have been enough to coax you from the bed, rising to close the access to the outside world. But tonight, the comforting warmth of a broad, strong body draped itself over you, seeping into the bare skin of your back, lulling you home to join it in slumber.

Your sated muscles sank deeper into the mattress, heavy from blissful exertion, unwilling to drag you away from the firm arms that held you, enveloping you completely in the safety of their vast reach. The entwined limbs of your lower-bodies clung to each other beneath the soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and… him. It was a scent so intoxicating that you were lost to it every time it invaded your senses. Your body, wide awake with the knowledge of his proximity, nestled deeper into him, chasing the memories that now flooded your mind. Your chest drew in a greedy inhale, pulling his essence into your lungs. The echo of his hands on your body from just hours before started to quicken your heart, sending a low, simmering burn pulsing through your veins.

Keep reading

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

A Sister's Love

Pairing: Platonic Damian Wayne x Al Ghul!Reader

Warnings: Injuries and blood. Drugging, Trafficking and sexual assult but these are not the main themes.

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: You realize you have a lot to learn about yourself outside of your little brother, Damian's, shadow.

A/N: Was originally gonna make this a Dick Grayson x Reader but realized it would be weird cuz of mixed families and stuff. And I don't wanna be pushing the boundaries of incest.

Growing up in the League of Assassins meant a lot of things for you. It meant that you were raised to be powerful and commanding. It meant you knew how to kill a man in 47 different ways and counting. It meant that you were raised to rightfully think that you were the best.

Although for every good thing there was always cons. Your schedule was rigid and your peers were unfeeling. Your mother most of all, but that didn't stop you from trying to win her affection. It was the reason why when your little brother was born you felt threatened.

That was until you met little Damian. Your mother had handed him to you with a smile of pride that she never showed you and you hated him. But then you saw his precious little face, a nose tinier than a button and adorable lips that were curled into a pout. He was so beautiful.

Since then, you put any differences you might have had with your mother behind you. According to Ra’s it would have been a mistake to show Damian such tenderness, to teach him about loyalty to your heart, instead of without it.

But Talia couldn't ignore the tug she felt in her heart seeing you and Damian together. You still worked hard, harder than she had ever seen before, now determined not to show that you were weak and have them take your brother from you. Damian followed your example, training to her approval, however taxing it was for him.

And more importantly, Damian loved you. You were the first woman he had ever loved and he was smart enough to know that would never be a mistake. You were his shelter in a storm, his fire in the cold. You were the best sibling that anyone could ever even dream of.

But then you had to part. At age 10, Damian went to live with his father, Bruce Wayne. You had never met the man when he was with your mother and you assumed you wouldn't need to, he wasn't your father.

Both you and Damian didn't want to leave each other. You'd miss your little brother and you'd miss the feeling in your chest whenever you'd look at him. Damian would miss home; he would miss your presence and he would miss the familiarity. But he couldn't stay.

That's something you learnt at the League. Damian couldn't stay, with you. He was meant for bigger things than you.

Another thing you learnt was that you didn't have to stay either. You wanted to see the world, see what everything else had in store for you. And your mother, bless her, gave you her blessing.

Of all the things the league taught you, there were things they missed out on. And a part of you was thankful for that. Because you enjoyed the feeling of wide-eyed wonderment when you stepped into a train station for the first time ever.

You had never tasted a chocolate muffin before, you realized as you stuffed your face at a local bakery. Coffee and chocolate muffins went well together. You liked sweet things better than spicy things, you noted when you didn't enjoy the tteokbokki you bought at a Korean food stall.

People were kind, not foolish. They smiled at you when you came in and genuinely asked you where you were headed. Like the woman you met on the tram who was heading to Washington DC. Even through the short ride, the two of you had bonded and she had left you with her phone number and a promise that if you were ever in DC, you would ring her up. Diana was trusting, too trusting. You could have assumed it was because she was stupid, but you wanted to believe it was because she was smarter than even you.

Some people were kind like her but of course, some were impolite and pig-headed. You of course didn't waste any time putting them in their place. Maybe that was why you shouldn't have any faith in humanity.

But isn't humanity just the thing you should be putting faith in?

It was fun at first, discovering new things, seeing how people really lived outside of books and things taught to you back at the League. You knew everything, you weren't naive enough to be oblivious but reading about something was miles apart from actually experiencing it.

After a while however, you got lonely, it was a huge world with people constantly moving and you've come to realize that unless you're with somebody, you can't really move from your place. Instead, you'd be stuck watching all of them. So, you sought after your brother.

It was easy enough to track Bruce Wayne, he lived in a house large enough to be seen from outer space. Getting to Gotham took longer than you expected. Time passed so easily when you didn't have a purpose but now that you had somewhere you needed to be, the train couldn't go any slower.

Gotham City was less gloomy than people made it out to be. The sun was shining and the city was bustling. In some ways, it seemed a little homey. Maybe that was because you didn't have to worry about someone hurting you. If anything, they should pray that they don't choose you as their next victim.

Of course, you could've gone to Wayne Manor and introduced yourself civilly but you wanted to see Damian more than anything and didn't want to delay it any longer. And more than that, you wanted to see Damian is his cute little school uniform.

That's what led you to wait outside of the well-reputed Gotham University, waiting patiently for the bell to ring and students to file out of it. You already knew that they wouldn't come out singing like in the movies but a very small fraction of you still hoped.

Your heartrate increased with every passing minute, excited to meet your brother after nearly a year of being apart. Eventually, the bell did ring and students began trickling out of the doors, looking like bumble bees, excitedly zipping around and talking to their friends.

'Would this have been my life if I was never born in the League?' You wondered, looking at a girl who was animatedly chatting with her friend, arms interlocked as they moved towards the parking lot where their parents were waiting.

When you finally saw Damian, you suddenly felt out of place. Like an outsider watching someone else's brother when you saw his eyes lock onto someone in the commons. Even though you weren't on the school campus, you could still recognize who it was.

Richard Grayson, oldest son of Bruce Wayne, waiting to pick up your little brother on a motor cycle.

And for the first time in your life, you experienced insecurity, watching them greet each other like brothers. The feeling was sour and you wondered if it was a mistake coming here, thinking that you still had a place here.

It was true, people didn't move from their place unless they had someone to go with. You hadn't felt fulfilled like that since your brother stopped being at your side. He was everything you knew. It was just your mistake for thinking that in the year apart your brother wouldn't have found anyone either.

***

"Drake, pull up the security cameras from today at my school parking lot." Damian ordered, stepping into the Batcave.

"No 'Hello', no 'How you doing?', it's always 'Tim, do this' 'Drake, do that'," Tim commented sarcastically but still pulled up whatever he needed, "And then as soon as I give you what I want, you're going to forget me again. And not even visit the kids."

Dick spared him a laugh at his dramatic scene, ruffling his hair as greeting and then turned his attention to the screen. The footage was played at double the speed until Damian's eyes locked onto just what he wanted to find.

It was just for a second, when Dick's motorcycle had zoomed past but that was all he needed. Damian had seen your face and it wasn't any mistake, he'd know you even if he was blind. Even though he was so sure it had been you, he still couldn't hide the way his body froze, eyes wide when he saw your face.

It was the same face he'd see every night before he went to bed and the very first person he wanted to see every time he woke up. Your image was what came into his mind when he thought of being nurtured, when he thought of being safe.

There was a time when he was younger, too young, there was a thunder storm. He doesn't remember much from the night, just hiding his face against your chest and you wrapping a blanket around him. His mother trained him even harder the next day, until he almost dropped but he'd never forget curling up to your warmth. Not even now, when he knew that thunder storms were the least of his fears.

It was as simple as that. With his father and brothers, he didn't have to worry about looking weak, he didn't think of love as a weakness, rather he considered it as the fuel behind strength. Yes, his father taught him well. And now he would show you just how much he's grown. So, you can be proud of him.

"We need to find her."

"Why? Who is she?"

"My sister."

***

Of all the things you wanted to experience, visiting a bar was one of them. Was the air really enough to intoxicate you? Were you really going to lose all sense when you stepped into it? Would be able to drink your troubles away?

You were sorely disappointed. The alcohol didn't taste good, it burned when you swallowed it and made your tongue feel fuzzy. The music was so loud that your brain began throbbing against your skull to the beat of the song.

Men were picking fights and women were having fun but even then, you couldn't find it in yourself to get up and actually have fun. I mean, how were you supposed to? How was cosying up against a drunk man supposed to make you feel better? How was getting lost in throngs of sweaty people who didn't know what personal space was meant to improve your mood?

If anything, it just reminded you of just how pathetic your life was.

You were realizing you had no purpose. Damian was all you had known for years now, knowing only to protect him with your life and love him with your heart. Who were you without him? What did you like? What made you happy outside from your duty at the league?

A man knocking into you brought you out of your thoughts, which had been happening all night. Except this man stopped in front of you and gave you a smile that turned your stomach upside down.

"Sorry about that pretty lady, let me buy you a drink to make up for it." He spoke with a voice that was trying to be smooth but instead sounded like metal scraping over each other.

"No, thank you." You said sharply, not yet done with your Manhattan anyway. You were barely enjoying your time here as it was and you were sure another drink wouldn't change your mind.

"Not a fan?"

You shook your head at him, choosing to humour the man.

"Then let me buy you another one, if you don't like it then you have nothing to lose."

You pretended to giggle at him and he swelled with pride. Did he think he was winning?

"One Boulevardier." He told the bartender who nodded and began preparing the drink. Until it was ready, you indulged the man in front of you who reeked of cigarettes and alcohol.

He placed the drink in front of you and if you hadn't known that it would burn going down and turn you into a shell of yourself, you might have been curious to what it tasted like.

"You see that dude over there?" He nodded to a man standing in the other corner of the bar and you turned to look at him. Another man, covered in tattoos who didn't look any different than the one standing behind you.

"He's my pal, owns the bar. Ask him and he'll hook you up with free drinks tonight. For a price, of course."

You turned back around to face the man and out of the corner of your eye saw something dissolve into your drink. It was only for a second but you saw the last remaining grains turn invisible and you definitely noticed the way the once steady drink was now swirling into a vortex in the middle.

"Drink up, princess."

You smirked. Tonight, might be fun after all.

***

This was boring.

You had been pretending to be unconscious for about 40 minutes while these men drove you to some undisclosed location. Their conversations were unbelievably dry and it's not like you had anyone else to talk to. Everyone else who might have been even mildly interesting were knocked unconscious.

Eventually they pulled up to some sort of holding facility and if your assumptions were correct then this would be a midpoint before they sold all the girls here to some sort of pimp.

Once they lugged you off the truck and threw you into a room with so many other people, you could hear their breathing did you open your eyes. It seemed like this was some sort of abandoned butcher or meat factory, judging by the ominous hooks hanging above your head and the metal walls. The door had been bolted shut, the only way to look through it was a small glass window.

Only after you finished taking in your surroundings did you even look at the other women who had been trapped in the room along with you. Your stomach turned.

There were so many unsuspecting faces who looked like they didn't sign up for this. Half of them looked under the influence of something, sweating profusely even in their sleep, faces scrunched up in pain. The other looked like they were forcibly taken, bruises covering their skin, hair and clothes in disarray and more than half of them had either a black eye or a swollen lip.

Maybe it was their fault for not being trained, that's what someone at the league would've said. But isn't it their captors’ fault for misusing their training, their strength, for something as vile as this?

You decided to wait, you couldn't assume that this small group of girls was the only one in the confines of the building. How many more were here?

You weren't feeling overwhelmed, not at all, not with the weapons that were littering you. A kunai hidden is either of your boots, throwing stars in your pockets hidden underneath your vest and a war fan in your pocket. You could handle these clowns without even looking up.

But it wasn't your life you were concerned about. It was the lives of these underaged, vulnerable girls who had fallen prey to these monsters.

While you were waiting a couple of the girls started to wake up. Some were still heavily drugged, still groggy when their eyes fluttered open and unable to focus onto anything. Others shot up straight as an arrow and began crying, screaming, begging for them to let them out.

They were ignored, by both their captors and you. Why try and reassure then when you weren't sure what was going to happen. More importantly, why throw off the monsters lurking outside the door that there was one woman who hadn't been phased.

Instead, you just stared blankly, trying to get comfortable and hear anything through the walls. Eventually, you heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the room. You covered the lower half of your face with a scarf, making sure that anyone who left here alive today, wouldn't be able to remember your face. Whether it be as a saviour or their punisher.

The girls whimpered and curled into one another, crying quietly and you felt sympathy. There was no way they'd be able to move forward from this without having fear stab at their heart with every step they took. You could only hope they had something in their life that would make them feel safe.

For tonight, you'd be that for them.

A few men opened the door with a cruel smile, stepping inside for a second before bolting it shut. They flaunted guns and other weapons to the girls, finding pleasure where there should be compassion and worry. You were disgusted watching their smirks twist maniacally when the girls cried harder seeing them brandish their weapons.

One of the men stepped forward and grabbed the girl closest to him who begged and cried to spare her. His disgusting hand might as well be made of acid because you almost felt the sick burn when it snaked between her legs and copped a feel while she sobbed and screamed, trying to fight him off.

You grabbed one of your weapons and returned their sick grins with one of your own.

It was going to be hard to cop a feel when he can't feel anything.

You were going to break each and every bone in his hand to ensure that.

***

"Can I borrow your phone please?" You asked the bloody and broken man by your feet. He glared at you and spat blood on your boots, unable to do anything else. You sighed and faked a pout.

"Is it here?" You wondered, holding the dirtied boot over his ribs and his eyes widened, catching drift of what you were about to do. You rammed your foot into his broken ribs, courtesy of yourself, and he screamed bloody murder. Music to your ears.

"Apparently not. Want me to check your pants?" You asked, raising a brow and he frantically shook his head, using whatever strength left to pull out his phone from his pocket and you smiled, thanking him quietly.

"Now, let's hope that one blow is enough to put you out of my misery." You sang, punching him right in the face and he passed out. Lightweight.

You took a look around the place, seeing bodies littered over the place like confetti. Blood was scattered on the ground and you're sure if people looked hard enough, they'd find someone's teeth. You on the other hand looked fine.

You sat on the floor, crossing your legs comfortably, tired after the fight and dialled a number onto the phone.

"Hello, police?"

"Yes, how can we help you?"

"Well, there's a sex trafficking scam going on at my location. Quite shoddy but they have a number of women trapped here and it would be nice if you could send backup to have them escorted home safely."

"A sex trafficking scam?"

"Well, it could be just a regular trafficking scam but I'm not too sure."

"All right, I'll have someone check it out."

"Good, and I realize you might get a lot of calls like this but please don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. Tell your people to send a couple of ambulances as well, you'll need them."

"Of course."

You could only hope the person on the other end of the line would eat their words when it was on the front of the newspaper. For now, your work was done.

In the meantime, how were you going to get anywhere from here? Where even were you? Was there anyone even conscious here who could give you directions? Or would you have to call the police again to find out where to go?

Not that you'd wait long enough for them actually arrive here. You'd return to the bar way before that for another drink. Maybe now you'd actually be able to enjoy one.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard a creak coming from the other end of the warehouse. It echoed through the halls and you leapt to your feet, soundless moving to hide in the shadows and pulling out a kunai.

The footsteps that followed it were light and airy, barely even touching the ground. They were trained, whoever they were. You kept your ears open in order to hear something.

"Whoever was here was trained." You heard someone comment.

"Are you really that stupid, Nightwing? It's obvious that my sister was the one who took out this ring and reported it." Came the snappy reply back and your breath caught in your chest. Make no mistake, that was your brother's voice.

"We must find her."

He was actually looking for you? He knows you're here? You're not entirely surprised, you haven't exactly been careful or stealthy when it came to concealing your face around Gotham. A mistake on your part but you couldn't have been more relieved.

You still remained quiet, not wanting to disturb the flow, not wanting to interrupt. You had the mind of a soldier but when there was no one to follow you seemed more like a sheep. It made you feel slight shame, that you were unable to stick up for yourself despite being so many things.

Maybe, the league wasn't the best thing for you.

Immediately you scraped the thought from your mind, berating yourself for even thinking that. The league had given you everything, everything you were today was because of them. You were strong and calculating, the leagues proud soldier.

You were proud of your roots, thankful that you grew up to be the person you were. They had given you everything, and your brother was just one of the gifts that you had been blessed with in your life.

"Damian." You spoke softly, stepping out of the shadows. His head snapped towards you, eyes widening when he took in your form. It really was you. His sister.

Damian wasted no time in bounding towards you and you knelt down to meet his eye level, catching him with open arms. A part of your heart sang when you realized he was still small enough to fit in your arms. He still held you close. He still loved you.

"I've missed you, Ya Amar." You spoke softly, cradling his head that was buried in the junction of your neck.

"I as well, Okhti."

***

Damian was ecstatic that you were in Gotham. Of course, it didn't look like it to anyone but everyone who knew him well could tell that he was happy that his sister was home with him. He didn't wait for even two seconds when you got to the Batcave (much to Bruce's surprise) to show you all his pets.

The next few days would be considered the best of his life.

Damian wanted to be as close to you as possible, sitting near you during meals, training with you, talking with you, even going as far to sneak into your temporary bedroom at night for cuddles. He certainly got more comfortable showing affection since the last time you were around.

He showed you his hobbies like painting and sketching and you were impressed. He had the skills to be doing something like this? Damian had picked up many new talents and many new stories since you last saw him and he was eager to share them all with you.

The next few days would be considered the worst of your life.

You had found Damian now, so why didn't you still feel fulfilled? Why did you feel like something was missing? Like this wasn't meant for you? Why weren't you satisfied?

Why did you feel envious that Damian got to experience so many things? Why did you feel resentment against him when you realized you never got the same things he has?

Your life felt like it amounted to nothing.

You loved your brother but so far you had just been living for him. And now that you realized there were parts of the world that you wanted to see. There were thoughts in your mind that were of your own and desires that you didn't have to explain to anyone. As long as it made sense to yourself.

And you realize one thing with an aching heart.

You couldn't stay here in Gotham.

"Does Damian know?" Bruce asked you one day when you had asked him a favour. Bruce so far had been a little cold and unfeeling ever since you had met him in the Batcave uninvited. His feelings towards you got more negative when you gave an offhanded comment about how you thought he was taller. But he was the only one you could ask for a favour. He was the father to your beloved brother and you could only hope he would offer you the same consideration.

You had asked him for a flight to Washington, to see if Diana really meant what she said. To take a leap of faith for the first time in your life.

You shook your head no, "Not yet. I'm hoping he will take the news well. It's not like I'm leaving forever. I just—I need to—" You trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Bruce nodded, "I understand. Just tell him before you go. I don't think I've ever seen him this happy before."

"It makes me feel worse." You admitted, feeling a little guilty. How could you not feel happy at your brother’s happiness?

"You need some time to figure out that your world is yours. No one else should determine how you feel about yourself."

"You are very wise," You said softly, "Thank you."

***

"I love you dearly, Damian." You tried to coerce him from his room where he had locked himself in only 5 minutes ago. No doubt he was sulking since he found out that you would be leaving for DC in two days’ time.

"If you did, you wouldn't be leaving!" His voice was muffled, as if his face was buried in his pillow or even Titus. You had been trying to coax him into open the door for 20 minutes now and had multiple offers from Grayson, which you turned down.

"Oh, for the love of—Damian Wayne, you open this door right now!" It was silent for a moment before you heard the lock click open and took that as the indication from him to step into his room.

It was large and from the moment you stepped in, it was easy to tell the space was his. There were swords mounted on the wall, paintings on the wall adjacent to it. His desk was tidy and in the corner of his room, there were multiple easels and sketch pads.

Damian was sulking on his bed and you sighed, feeling guilty. You sat beside him and ran your fingers through his hair. Even though he was upset with you, he still sank into your touch, feeling comforted by mere contact.

"It's not forever, Damian. Wherever I'm going, I'm going to come back. I just need some time to myself." You tried to explain.

"But why!"

"The league taught me well, Damian. But it taught me to live like a soldier, but not as a person. There are so many things that I don't know about myself. What do I like? What do I want to do with my life? And I need to figure it out for myself."

"Why can't you do that here?"

You gave him a pained look and realization dawned on him, "Because of me."

"Damian, in the time we spent apart you learnt so many things about yourself. That you like animals, that you like art. There are so many blanks in my life and I need the distance to figure it out. I need to understand myself." You explained wistfully.

It was true, there were so many blanks in your life. You didn't even know what food you liked better, what hobbies you enjoyed. You wanted to experience new things, without the influence of Damian, without relying on him. And more importantly, you were scared you would put Damian above yourself time and time again.

It was all you knew. Damian was worth more than your life, worth more than your heart. But if that was true, you wanted to know at least what your heart was worth to you. If you didn't hold any value to yourself, it would be foolish to think you would to anyone else.

You needed the distance. You needed something new. You wanted to dive into uncharted waters and figure out the magic for yourself, without anyone to help you.

"It's not forever," You reminded gently, "I'm going to come back, I can promise you that."

Damian began leaning until his head was settled in your lap and you chuckled, gently scratching his scalp and he nestled into your belly. Hard to believe this was the same boy who left only a year ago. You wondered if you would change as much as he did or if you were stuck in your ways now.

"Okay," He said, voice muffled and you smiled, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you for your blessing, Ya Amar. It means the world to me. I love you; you know that."

"I do." He said, now wrapping his arms around your waist, "I love you too."

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

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@tadpole-san

[sixeyesgojo]

jjk characters handling your period

Summary: “What do you mean, no baby this month either? Okay, suffer then.” - your damn uterus

Pairings: Gojo/Megumi/Nanami/Naoya/Toji x Reader

Content warning: the monthly bloody nightmare your uterus puts you through and the whole shebang that comes with it, language warning, suggestive themes, explicit warning for Toji (you’ll see why)

A/N: purely self-indulgent because I suffer. @megumifushi and @sukirichi , my gals, I gotcha. Also dedicated to all readers who suffer from the same fate (may it be right now or not). Also: Yes, absolutely open the video I linked in Megumi’s part (it’s safe, I promise).

Gojo Satoru

You turn and turn in bed uncomfortably. Something isn’t right, you think and it’s not the fact that Satoru is missing next to you. Not knowing immediately irritates you. All of a sudden you become painfully aware of your lower region. Yes, of course it had to be that time of the month. You just knew you already stained your panties and perhaps the sheets haven’t been spared either. Getting out of bed, then realizing it was already past noon, you sprinted to the bathroom. Fuck, moving fast was not a good idea. 

Having changed the sheets and your stained panties, you made your way to the kitchen. Your stomach growled, signaling you were hungry, but at the same time you feared. Smelling food, let alone tasting too much of it, was a slippery slope – either your nose would protest or your stomach, no in-between. Regardless, you had to eat; or were you supposed to starve to death because of this? Not in this lifetime. “I AM BACK!” an annoyingly loud voice rang through the apartment. You groan and turn around. “Fuck off, Satoru,” you say. Your irritation flaring up for seemingly no reason. “Stop being so motherfucking loud. My head feels like it’s going to split in two and my pussy is fighting the crimson war right now,” you snarled at him.

“Oh honey, seems like I called the right shots then,” he declared proudly and held up a bag filled with... snacks? “I already called in sick for you for the next few days,” Satoru continued to explain as he wrapped his arms around you, “and I’ll be by your side 24/7 for the next two days. We’ll do fun stuff. How does movie night with lots of cuddling for tonight sound?”

“Why are you so nice to me right now?” you mumbled, tears welling up in your eyes. “Simple: I don’t want to be castrated by you,” he whispered back and planted a kiss on your cheek. “Fair enough. What will we do tomorrow?” He stayed silent but pulled out a black card out of his sleeve. You gasped.

Fushiguro Megumi

Ping. A notification. Quickly, you scrambled to get your phone to see what that was about. You desperately needed some distraction right now. The pain was too much. Your boyfriend Megumi had gone somewhere you didn’t know. All you knew was that your boobs were sore, the sensitive nipples rubbing against the fabric were already too much. In addition to that, you also experienced period cramps, resulting in back pain as well. Life was not easy at the moment but at least you could lay in bed for today, doing absolutely nothing.

Unlocking your phone, you saw a new message from Yuji: “omg look at this???” [Video link] It was a video of 42 seconds. There was a cute seal – probably the cutest and fluffiest seal you have ever seen – and background music. It may have only lasted 42 seconds but it definitely triggered some happy feelings inside you; it was so pure and you loved the energy of the clip. Perhaps these feelings were a bit too intense and overwhelming. Tears streamed down your face and you started sobbing uncontrollably. Why were you like this? It wasn’t even a sad video, was it?

You buried your face in the blankets, weeping as if someone just broke up with you. Through your loud crying, you did not notice the door opening. A jangling noise could be heard from your nightstand. Instantly, you shot up to check for intruders but luckily, it was Megumi. A frown spread on his face. “What happened?” he asked as his thumbs wiped your tears from your cheeks. You showed him the video, still sobbing, “Look at the seal... It’s so c-cute. I just... got emotional because it really t-traveled the world. This cutie deserves the whole world...”

“And so do you,” he bluntly stated, “now take the ibuprofen I brought you for the cramps and rest up.” As a matter of fact, he not only brought you painkillers but a hot water bottle and food as well.

Nanami Kento

“No, give me that. Lay down and rest. I can dust off the shelves on my own,” his deep voice commanded. If there was a man that screamed “male wife” it was definitely Nanami Kento, particularly when it came to you being on your period. You weren’t allowed to do anything in the house, except for very light chores. With good reason. “Kento, I can do–” Yeah, no, it wasn’t possible and Kento knew it too well.

You weren’t lucky when it came to period symptoms. Besides excruciating back pain, extremely sore breasts and headaches, you also had the luck to suffer from dizziness every single time you experienced the monthly nuisance. The first time you even passed out. In fact, it had happened several times. And that was precisely how Kento decided to not let you do anything. Still, you felt bad to leave everything to Kento. His work already demanded so much from him and here you were, being babied and even spoon-fed. You didn’t even have to cook your own meals or wash and iron laundry.

You had barely said those words when the unwelcome whirling sensation took you over again. Your feet wobbled, you were in danger of crashing to the ground. In a flash, Kento was by your side to steady you. “I told you not to overdo it.” He cupped your cheek with his warm hand. “Sorry, Kento. I’ll... just rest for a minute.”

Zenin Naoya

Period pain? Laughable. Naoya thought it was pathetic. A woman – these already weak creatures – having period symptoms was a mystery to him. What could possibly hurt about bleeding a little? He couldn’t understand. Your pitiable and sorry state was only another inconvenience to him. Not that you hindered him in any way – you were obedient enough to be quiet and complain as little as possible – but he absolutely despised seeing that annoying expression of pain on your face every time he had to look at it.

Hell, he didn’t even want to engage in sexual activities with you during that time, even though he had randomly picked up somewhere that it might help. Not that he wanted to help you, it was your problem and yours only, not his. “Stop looking at me with those eyes. It’s disgusting,” he remarked condescendingly as he got dressed for wherever he had to go. “When will you be back?” you croaked out but he totally ignored you.

“Women are so damn weak. It’s so fucking pathetic, I almost want to give you a hug,” Naoya gagged. He was about to leave the room but stopped in his tracks. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of your face that was contorted with pain. In long strides, he made it to one of the cabinets, fished out a tiny box and threw it on the bed. “Tsk, you better get well soon so you can serve me again, dumb bitch.”

Fushiguro Toji (soft)

Work hadn’t been treating him kindly: not yesterday, not today, not ever. Although he was highly capable and never failed to exceed himself, all Toji truly wanted to do was to go home. When he finally made it through the door, he called out, “Am home.” Usually, you would come running to greet him but when nothing but silence greeted him, his hand instantly moved to the cursed creature lingering on his shoulder. It was suspicious. Did enemies manage to find this hideout? Where were you? His hands started sweating.

Stealthily, he approached the kitchen. To his surprise, he saw your form in front of the counter, hunched over in pain. Dropping his offensive stance immediately, he quickly strode over to check on you. “Hey, what are you doing there?” he asked, hesitatingly putting a hand on your shoulder. You looked at him, grimacing with pain, “Oh, Toji. I didn’t realize you were home yet. Sorry, I’m not done cooking dinner yet, I just feel so nauseous, exhausted and my entire back  and shoulders hurt so much. It’s so sore.” “I see.” He nodded, understanding what was happening. Suddenly, he lifted you effortlessly. You squealed, “Toji!! What are you doing?!” “Taking care of you,” he promised. “But dinner!” “Don’t care.”

Making his way to the bedroom, Toji laid down with you on top of him. Something about his warmth already made you feel better but as his large palms rubbed your back in circular motions, you felt as if you were in heaven. Toji’s ministrations soothed the pain so well, you almost let out a moan. Now that the pain didn’t overshadow all the other symptoms anymore, the drowsiness took over. “Toji, ‘m tired,” you mumbled; eyelids fluttering already. “Then sleep. I’ll take care of dinner later,” he whispered. You only hummed in response, already far too gone. Slowly but surely, his steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep. “Sleep tight.”

Taglist: @megumifushi​ @gojos-mochi​ @assbuttbaek​ @bleueluna​