#because it's meant to focus your mind on a specific theme

[littlestickfish]

Edit: I fucking. Said "us" in the notes. I am not even Catholic anymore

I just grew up so immersed in the culture and theology (3rd generation Sicilian-American) that even after 6 years as a Gnostic I still cannot stop using the first person plural

Roman Catholicism is the Hotel California of religions

Being raised by areligious jews with 0 exposure to christianity outside pop culture is so fun. One time I asked my ex-catholic friend why a picture of jesus had a bristle crown and she looked at me like I was insane. One time I heard someone mention the "lance of longinus" and responded, word for word, "Like from Evangelion?" One time during a history lesson my professor described an important monk and scholar as "Dominican" and I spent the rest of class super confused and hung up on it because I was very sure that the Dominican Republic didn't meaningfully exist as an entity back then, maybe she meant he was a native Taino or something but that's a weird way to say that and I'm pretty sure this was pre- European contact? Really fucks people up when they realize I genuinely have no idea.

[darlingdekarios]

until the stars leave.

RATING: m for canon themes — LENGTH: 4,782 — Rolan x Tav [reader]

CONTENT: hurt/comfort, set shortly after the final fight, fluff, somewhat unspoken admission of feelings, first kiss, cuddles because they both earned them, brief indecent thoughts

when the celebrations are through a harsh realization sets in - with your companions returning home or answering to their new purpose and the city in ruin, you are alone with no where to go. as you wander in the night, your mind recalls a certain sentiment that was extended.

Your heart had decided what it wanted before your mind had the chance to catch up, and your feet had carried you to the location you were drawn to - really, to the one place you felt was an option for you at the moment. At least, it was the safest and most comfortable option for you at a time like this, and the one you felt confident wouldn't turn you away.

Entering the main doors was hardly difficult - you'd picked up enough lock picking skills along the way to make quick work of the lock, slipping inside into the darkness around what walls and books remained and releasing a sigh of relief. The stairs you had to climb were familiar - a comfort in some way, at least.

What would happen when you stumbled through the portal? In all likelihood at this hour you'd enter the Tower to remain alone for several hours yet, until its new inhabitants woke for the new day. It didn't matter - you'd happily sleep amongst the books propped against the wall knowing you'd get through the night without any surprises.

But that wasn't quite fate's plan.

"Tav?"

Could his voice be considered a surprise when he was the Master of the Tower you'd snuck into? Could it be considering sneaking when you technically had an invitation - albeit not one specifically for tonight?

"Oh, hells," fell from your lips in surprise nonetheless, scrambling backward and into a stack of books until you fell flat on your ass. Your face burned as your mind wrapped itself around the situation, huffing out a deep breath as you fought your way on pained bones and muscles to your feet again.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, rising from where he sat atop a throne made of books to walk closer to you, meeting you where the ceiling allowed the moon to illuminate the two of you. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's…fine," you breathed out again, reaching upward to remove your headwear and view him completely unobstructed. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of him - the bruises from Lorroakan had faded more since you'd seen him in-person last, something that brought a light smile to your face. It was easier to focus on the freckles that decorated his skin when you weren't distracted by hatred for his former "teacher." “Cal said I had a room here…anytime. And well, I don't quite think he meant at this hour but…”

“Of course you do, there's no question about that in the slightest," his expression was still perplexed, eyebrows furrowed together with one slightly raised as he continued to await any answer you were willing to provide.

Not that you'd intended it, but his careful - and clearly caring - scrutiny made your eyes start to water, one of your shaking hands quickly lifting to wipe away a tear just as it fell. Your voice was meek but you tried to maintain the level of sass and confidence he was used to hearing from you - as you spoke, you were certain it was hardly a convincing performance.

"Only if you don't mind, Master of Ramazith Tower."

He tried to smile his signature grin but his mind focused too hard on you using such a title for him, his cheeks burning several shades of red darker. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze quickly to re-center himself, though it was probably a laughable effort.

"Are you alright?" his voice was just as gentle as you'd needed it to be, your appreciation growing with each word. "You don't even look like you've been healed an-"

“I am…alone. My family is scattered to return to their lives and I'm…"

The words had slipped out before you could stop them, this level of vulnerability and amount of sharing with the Wizard Tiefling entirely new - territory much better explored with a clearer mind and healthier body. Inwardly you worried even that was too much emotion between the two of you for the type of relationship - if you could even call it that - the two of you had maintained up to now.

Another surprise for the night - his eyes were only incredibly understanding as he shakes his head in your direction, dispelling your feelings in the politest way possible.

“You're not alone. Obviously."

There was that agitation in his voice you knew had nothing to do with you. Rolan, complicated man as he was and growing more so by the day it seemed, was not one to share his feelings, few exceptions being made throughout his hardened life. But the truth was undeniable in that single word - four syllables that told you everything you needed to feel more at peace tonight in knowing you were wrong.

You have me.

It was silent - it was all you needed.

Your lip began to quiver again as another tear fell, but this time it was his hand raising to catch it on your cheek, his hands soft and warm and delicate in all the ways you'd dreamed they would be…far more times you were willing to admit. He hadn't thought about the movement before it was carried out, yet he couldn't bring himself to regret it, savoring the way your head seemed to lean toward his touch more.

When was the last time you'd been touched in comfort…in need? Had it been just as long as it had for him? He found it was hard to pull his hand away from the softness your cheek presented beneath his thumb.

“You’ve been through quite a lot recently,” he removed his hand as he spoke again and you immediately wished he'd return it, that you could continue to memorize the feeling. You focused your attention instead on his eyes, falling even harder as you gazed into his eyes. You found only honesty met you in those yellow flames. “You’ve always been here for us…for me. My home - and everything in it - is yours. For as long as you need it."

"I didn't help you to be owed a favor," you reminded, always the one to ensure everyone around you knew they owed you nothing. "Thank you."

"Only you could just save the world and feel you're not owed anything," there was a subtle laugh to his voice that you were happy to hear - that you were certain you'd never been gifted with before and eager to hear much more in the future. "When's the last time you ate?"

Just the word made your stomach growl - it'd been a while, that much was clear.

"We donated our leftover supplies," your answer was hardly a real answer and yet that told him exactly what he needed to know - whatever the truth was it was completely unsatisfactory. He sighed in response, shaking his head slightly as he reached upward to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly in frustration - it only meant he cared.

"Unsurprising," he breathed out, returning his gaze to yours again when he removed his hand from his face. His tone offered no chance of argument. "I'll show you to a bath, and I'll find something for you to eat and wear while you're in-"

His tone offered no chance of argument, yes - but that still wouldn't stop you from trying.

"I'd be okay not eating. You don't need to go out of your way."

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head again, though you could see the hints of amusement at your usual heroic antics flickering in his eyes. You'd starve if it meant you didn't inconvenience someone else. He was hardly going to let that happen, and he was more than willing to repeat himself to you after the interruption - but likely only just the once.

"I'll show you to a bath, and then I'll find something for you to wear and something for you to eat," his tone was more assertive now, dominant - you couldn't deny the way it made your mouth go slightly dry and your palms sweat. "Take your boots off at least, I can't have you tracking…whatever it is on them all over the Tower."

You nodded in agreement knowing he wouldn't agree to anything else now that his mind was made up, beginning to lower yourself down to the ground. Your weary bones were struggling from fatigue and you ended up falling into a heap on the floor instead. He was quick to follow you, dropping to his knees at a speed you knew would result in a bruise, one of his arms coming out to support you.

You thanked him by looking at him like he'd answered a prayer, an expression he'd refer back to frequently. For now, however, he was too focused on your condition to fully appreciate the sweet moment for as long as it deserved.

"Gods," he spat, clearly not in your direction whatsoever - as if he could ever truly feel that anger at you. "I suppose none of your friends could perform healing."

"It seemed selfish to ask at a time like-"

"Just…stop," he sighed out again, waving his free hand in the air to dismiss your piss poor explanation - unwilling to hear the excuse he knew was reasonable and yet didn't bring him comfort. "There is such a thing as being too heroic. I hope the next time you're faced with saving the world you remember that."

"I hope there isn't a next time."

The confession came fast and took him by surprise - he offered an understanding nod and the briefest rub to your lower back where he still held you. He began to remove your armor, gently pushing your hands away when you tried to help. Any amount of relaxation he could offer you now he would without being asked, if he knew it was acceptable.

"Why are you awake at this hour, anyway?"

Your voice was soft and much less upset as you just watched him care for you, trying to navigate the conversation away from yourself. His eyes flickered up into yours again as he worked the laces on your sides free, fingers brushing over the thin fabric covering your sides gently.

You were touch starved and it was hard to ignore - in the way that every cell in your brain was screaming with the desire to hold his hand. You were hopeful the conversation could distract you before you made your desires known.

"I have a lot on my mind," he confessed, placing what had covered your torso to the side. You could see the conflict in his eyes returning and growing, whatever his mind had trailed to as he came up with an answer disturbing the peace that had fallen over the two of you. "I'd like things to be normal for a long time, whatever normal looks like now, but…"

It was your turn to nod in understanding as he removed your gauntlets, fingers lightly brushing against your arm as the skin was exposed. Goosebumps raised where his fingers touched, a fact that he didn't miss. He wondered briefly if it was the reaction he'd get from any part of your body he touched.

"But? Something else worth sharing?"

He had to lie…

"I'm afraid not."

But unfortunately he wasn't very good at it.

"If it's from your mind, it's worth sharing."

Such a compliment took him off guard momentarily, his eyes widening with genuine surprise as he allowed them to soak in, hoping he'd remember how that sentence sounded from your lips forever. It was impossible to lie when faced with the weakness of his intellect being appreciated, especially when it was by you.

"I worried it would be a long time before I got to see you again."

With his confession of the truth both of your faces heated up - his face turning shades of red that only seemed to make him glow. It made both of you feel silly, this giddiness which neither of you were particularly good at hiding at the moment. He helped you to your feet again as you made a mental note of the subtle flick to the tip of his tail.

Being a little bashful wouldn't stop you from flirting with him altogether. It was far too tempting to tease him just a little more.

"So that's what keeps the Wizard of Ramazith's Tower awake at night," your tone was light and playful and he was thankful you were able to diffuse the tension with your personality. He wasn't certain if his efforts to flirt had ever been even remotely successful in the past with others, but he was becoming increasingly hopeful they might work with you.

"It's what was keeping me awake tonight. Who's to say what tomorrow will bring?"

Your eyes flashed with surprise that Rolan was capable of flirting in such a way and found you could only smile, his heart fluttering at the sight. Behind him his tail twitched again, and he quickly moved to ensure you weren't catching onto the quirk. An arm gently slipped around your waist as he began to lead you to the bathroom where the promise of a relaxing bath waited for you. On the way, you still wanted to fill the silence.

"Are you going to tell Cal and Lia?" you questioned, realizing quickly you needed to clarify. Forming a concise question proved to be difficult when you were becoming intoxicated by the smell of him that was flooding your senses at this proximity. "That I'm here."

"Of course I am, but in the morning. Tonight you need to rest."

You nodded in agreement and remained at his mercy as you made your way to the destination he'd chosen for you. The bathtub filled before your eyes with a simple wave of his hand, a smug expression forming on his face as you looked on in wonder despite all you had seen in the recent weeks. Reaching for a shelf he walked beside the tub to empty several vials of herbs, once again waving his hand so some of the candles decorating the room flickered to life.

When he turned to face you he realized all that was left was for you to remove the rest of your clothes…the thought alone returned the blush to his face. This time, however, it was joined by several beads of sweat breaking out across his brow, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck as he nervously cleared his throat.

"I'll find you some clothes," he announced, trying to maintain the composure in his voice. "And food."

And like that he was gone, disappearing in a flash to remove himself from any further opportunity of indecent thought.

The bath alone did you wonders in returning your body to a somewhat lucid state, though you still stumbled when you raised yourself from the relaxing waters. A simple robe in a shade of blue he so regularly wore awaited you on the vanity, which you dressed into slowly to ensure you didn't have any accidents.

It felt odd to dress for the day and not cover yourself in as much powerful armor as possible - even odder not to grab a weapon. You were thankful for the oddity.

An illusionary duplicate of himself waited outside the bathroom door to direct you to your next location - you weren't surprised at all to find Rolan hadn't bothered with giving it much of a script beyond what was necessary. Still, you found your mind focused on all the power he was displaying - Rolan became more impressive by the day, more powerful and capable of caring for himself and his family.

How very lucky Cal and Lia were to have someone in their lives like him.

You found him in the kitchen, amused at the flustered expression on his face as he plated whatever he'd whipped together - for the two of you it seemed, judging by the matching plates in front of him. With a pop his mirror image disappeared and Rolan's head lifted to meet your gaze, both of you smiling just at being reunited again, though it'd hardly been long since you separated.

(In fact, this would become a trend for the two of you very soon - minutes would feel like hours, hours like days, days like eternity until soon you'd find being apart at all was unbearable. When that day came for the both of you, you would hardly be far from his side again.)

He'd made a simple meal for you - something he somewhat bashfully admitted he used to make for Cal and Lia when the three of them were growing up. As you ate together in comfortable silence you decided it was the best meal you'd ever been made, and one you would ask for again whenever you needed an excuse to see Rolan.

Not that you truly needed an excuse.

Thankfully, it was still dark when it was time to retire to bed for the night, something you were already hoping you could manage despite everything that was still on your mind. As he escorted you to the room you'd sleep in he offered a quick explanation knowing there was an argument to be had when he'd finished.

"You'll sleep in my room tonight, and I'll take the spare bed in Cal's room," his words were coming quick in the hopes that your exhausted mind would have trouble keeping up with them, intentions pure as he hoped you would just allow him to extend this kindness. "Tomorrow we'll be sure one of the other rooms is furnished to your liking."

"You don't need to go to all of this trouble for me."

The genuine offense that passed his features at your phrase was chased quickly by annoyance, his eyes narrowing again as he imparted his next words onto you.

"You've gone through far more for me. Please."

He opened the door and motioned you inside fluidly, following after you to light the fireplace with the wave of his hand, providing more light to the dark room. Even in the dim environment you could see his bed looked oh-so-inviting��despite the books that littered the top of it. Realizing the mess he rushed forward to begin moving them, shooting you a grateful look when you joined. A gentle brush of your hands together as you both reached for the last book caught both of you off-guard, his movements entirely freezing at the feeling of your skin against his again.

In the privacy of his bedroom, there was something about the touch that just felt more meaningful than anything that had come before it.

"Sorry about the mess," he quickly filled the silence with an apology before he got too lost in your hopeful eyes, before he thought too long on how exhausted you must be after everything. "You should be plenty comfortable here for the night."

You nodded in agreement and climbed into the bed, quietly moving to the opposite side and finding comfort in the first position you found yourself in. Taking in a deep breath you continued to gaze up at him, mind running through a million options as to what to do now and hoping he could see your desire written in your eyes.

Instead, he took a step back as if to leave.

"I'll see you later this afternoon, I hope, after you've gotten plenty of rest," his voice was quieter as he was conscious of you entering a relaxed state, truly hopeful it wouldn't be long before you were asleep. "Goodnight."

But as sweet as it was, it wasn't what you wanted.

"Wait," you called, reaching out to grab at his arm before he was too far away. He turned to look over his shoulder, a puzzled look on his features bringing a small smile to your own. A smile - a genuine smile. How very good it felt to do so without guilt again. "Stay…please? It's just…quiet. So quiet in my mind since the parasite is gone. I don't like feeling so…alone."

Thankfully, he'd never make you beg. He simply nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, breathing out deeply as he mentally talked himself into remaining calm - sleeping in a bed together was hardly something to get all worked up over.

"I suppose I will sleep much better knowing you are."

For as nervous as he now felt, he was thankful he was still managing to form coherent and articulate sentences. He was still living through the embarrassment of tripping over his words in front of you the first time you'd met.

"Then please.""

Eager to ensure you didn't have to repeat the plea again he only gave in to your desire, climbing into the bed next to you and trying not to feel overwhelmed by your scent flooding his senses. He stayed on his back for a moment deciding it was for the best as he decided exactly what he wanted to do - what the best way to continue the night was.

What didn't take much thought was the feeling that crackled in the air around the two of you, an undeniable mutual want drawing the two of you nearer. And yet, neither of you knew how to seize the moment that was presented to you, new worries taking root in your minds.

He was so thankful when you were the one to break the eilsnce.

"You said you worried it would be a long time since you saw me again."

"Yes, I did."

"Why did that worry you?"

"I suppose…"

His response trailed off as he elected to consider his words carefully, taking a moment to form them in his brain to ensure they were exactly what he wanted. No words - even magical ones - would ever be enough, and even if they were he was hardly the type of man willing to express them.

But for you? He'd do whatever h could manage.

"I suppose I am quite fond of you," he breathed out, admitting to himself inwardly that it did feel good to finally admit it aloud. "Though I find your heroics insufferable and wish desperately that you could practice a little more selfishnesses quite a bit more often, I…enjoy your company. I did not want to go long without it."

He was certain he'd chosen the right words when his eyes found your face again, greeted with the sight of complete and utter adoration. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him this way - it was instantly a sight he wanted to see forever.

"I was selfish…after the battle," you explained, biting at your lip nervously - a habit he found quite cute, no matter how many times he'd reprimand you in the future for it. "Everyone offered me a place beside them. I could be helping in so many places - I had so many choices."

He waited for you to continue your story, understanding that something like this may take extra time. If there was anyone that deserves it, it was you.

"I chose to stay in Baldur's Gate."

He could feel that you were burning beside him - your temperature had easily spiked. Were you embarrassed at such a confession? He hardly thought admitting to stay in the city warranted such a fuss, though he also wasn't going to be one to shut you down.

"No doubt you'll be detrimental to the city's rebuilding efforts."

"I intend to be, but that's not why I chose to stay," you offered a light smile and released a shaky breath before you continued with your confession to him, glad you could get it out now and that the suit hadn't died alongside you. "I chose to stay…for you, Rolan. To be near you. I wasn't ready to…to move on."

The realization washed over his face like a wave and he was very aware that he was burning now, unable to stop the smile that spread across his features - or the fact that he'd been moving closer throughout the lunch.

"It seems my worries were matched by your own."

He was mocking you playfully, in a way that only he was truly capable of. You adored when he was in a mood like this. If he was in the mood to flirt, you were more than happy to oblige.

"I'd love to not worry myself over you someday, Rolan."

"And I you," he agreed with a nod, his handsome smile still covering his features. It was lighthearted and peaceful yet serious and intense - you'd happily go mad trying to understand all the different sides to him. "Do you think that day will come?"

"Perhaps if we watch one another," you offered, knowing you had no intent of removing yourself from his side anytime soon if no one forced it. "Every day, to be safe."

Slow movement caught your vision from the corner of your eye as one of his hands reached up to cup your face in one hand, cutting what the conversation could've blossomed into short. Your joking expression melted away into serenity once again masked with bashfulness. You were nervous at what his next move was - you bit at your bottom lip to prove it. He adored seeing you behave so…smitten?…for him and couldn't resist the opportunity for more.

"I am so glad you are here," he breathed out deeply, unwilling to mask his thoughts from you anymore, feeling already that he'd wasted enough time. "That you chose this. That your decisions lead you here, to me. I wouldn't trade this moment for anything."

Your own hand joined his, laying atop his as your eyes fluttered shut. You held his hand against your face as you moved closer, propping yourself up on one elbow. When you were certain you'd be greeted with the exact sight you wanted you opened your eyes, taking in the sight of him gazing up at you patiently, waiting for whatever word you'd offer him next.

"You're quite a prize for saving the world.""

"And I haven't even thanked you properly," his thumb brushed across your bottom lip slowly, his hand then slipping to the back of your head to pull you downward, closer to him. Your faces were mere inches apart, the anticipation of a kiss waiting to be claimed growing by the second. "May I?"

It was a quick nod you offered that was barely finished before he was claiming your lips in his own. It was the sweetest, most delicate and heartfelt kiss you'd been given in your life thus far, all-consuming and addicting immediately. You pressed closer to him as you lost yourself in the kiss, singularly focused on how perfectly his lips moved with yours to the point his tail winding around one of your legs went fairly unnoticed.

The two of you only pulled away from air, both of you immediately breaking into a small fit of giggles, nuzzling your noses together in pure joy. As you laid your heads back down on the edges of your pillows so you could remain close you gazed upon one another with an adoration that could go unspoken for now - your shared devotion was perfectly clear. Your hands found each other between your bodies and he placed his atop yours in silence, enjoying the first true peaceful moment in so long for a moment, reminding himself it wasn't selfish to stop and appreciate you - particularly at this hour.

His tail released your leg to drape over your waist instead, pushing you closer to his form until you were burying your face in his neck. The warmth and his scent combined with how one of his arms also wrapped around you gently was lulling you to sleep before you'd even found the perfect position. Though really, any position with Rolan would be perfect in your mind.

"Goodnight, sweet hero."

You were already asleep, his hopeful sentence gone unheard by yours ears as the exhaustion finally overtook you and you succumbed to the comfort of resting beside him. Waving an arcane lock toward the door to ensure the two of you would go uninterrupted for as long as he could keep you in the bed.

The world and all its troubles could be forgotten awhile while the two of you found tranquility in your shared solitude - and neither of you would have it any other way.

masterlist. baldur's gate III masterlist.

[sailoryooons]

Incubus yoongi x reader

Go wild with smut maybe theres fluff and angst too! Love your writing so much

☾ Pairing: Incubus!Yoongi x archdevil!Reader

☾ Summary: 

Sunder (sun·​der) transitive verb : to break apart or in two : to separate by or as if by violence or by intervening time or space Sunder (sun·​der) intransitive verb : to become parted, disunited, or severed

☾ Word Count: 5,297

☾ Genre: Smut, Forbidden Romance, Angst, Fated Lovers

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Vague worldbuilding - this takes place in a Hell setting so.. Lots of talk of literal hell, implied violence and war, themes of classism/species racism, hint of political scheming, depiction of servants who are chained/collared, implications of sex work/incubi being bread specifically for sex work, honestly Yoongi and reader kinda give co-dependant vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, a little bit of overstim, cum eating if you squitn, multiple orgasms, bleeding/scratching/biting, possessive themes… um I don’t know the smut scene is more PrOsEy than straight-up smut. 

☾ Published: Sunday, April 7 2024

☾ A/N: We are using Forgotten Realms (dnd) lore because I was randomly inspired to do so. You need zero knowledge of Forgotten Realms or dnd lore to read this - there is vague world building and references to a plot on the side that I imagine Yoongi and reader are a part of but that does not happen in this little one shot. I just did it for the tension and because I’m out of control. 100% change I got some dnd lore wrong - don’t care, I kinda made it my own in parts as needed!!! Thank you!!! 

☾ A/N 2: Dear anon, I don’t have a clue what this is, but it was inspired by a very specific scene in the movie Troy when Paris (Orlando Bloom) sneaks up to Helen’s (Diane Kruger) room while the Greeks and Trojans are downstairs partying and he’s like hehe let’s bang it out. That’s it. I really hope you like this because sometimes I fill requests and I'm like ..... that probably was not what they had in mind and yet here I am, delivering whatever ??? this is ??

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾Filled Requests ☾ Masterlist  Milestone Request Event ☾ Ask

Note: I don't use my tag list for requests!

A pair of dark eyes in the shadows around the party catches your attention as you listen to Archdevil Belial's drone about his victory in Phlegethos. The fiend’s words fall on deaf ears as your gaze narrows to a deadly point on the man lingering in the shadows across the room, keeping away from the revelry with a single chalice in his hand.

And he’s staring at you. 

You feel your muscles constrict as you flick your gaze away, your heart rate picking up speed as you try and focus on Belial again. It isn’t a story you care to hear about - he’s been droning about his defeat of the Kelemvor worshipers on the fiery planes of Phlegethos. Hardly a battle as much as a skirmish outside of the city gates that demanded his attention. 

Archdevil Belial is none the wiser that the creature he really desires to kill is lurking at the edge of the party, burning eyes on you as he cocks his head and glances toward the empty staircase that leads toward the living quarters. 

There’s a twitch of irritation in your stomach as Yoongi turns and vanishes into the shadows. He is good at being seen only when he wants to, which works in his favor when he enters the hall of his greatest enemies, all in one room because of war meetings against the very fiend who now slips upstairs to your bedroom. 

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi showed up - despite the level of stupidity it takes to show up in the hall of your sworn enemy. Yoongi likes to show off though. He likes to remind his enemies - and himself - that he is not so easily kept out of places that he wants to be. 

Especially if those places he’s being kept from have you inside of them. 

“Thank you for the conversation, Lord Belial,” you interrupt. The devil looks at you with his mouth open, eyes blazing as you interrupt him to dismiss yourself. You feel a small twist of satisfaction. “I must retire for the evening. I am returning home tomorrow before starting my campaign through the realms to ensure my father’s army are being… led properly.”

Belial’s face twitches in irritation. You’re above his station - though not too far - and decorum is everything in matters of spoken insult. “Yes,” he agrees. “It is important for our… figureheads to inspire. The Whip of Asmodeus paints a threatening picture, to be sure. It is hard to be of influence on the battlefield - we do appreciate your efforts off the field.” 

A laugh like cutting glass bubbles from your lips. “You honor me.” You feel the ice in your mouth when you dip your head politely, pretending to be unbothered by the implication that you’re nothing but an empty threat. “I will see you in a tenday, Lord Belial, when I come to inspire in Phlegethos.”

With a curt turn, you cut through the party toward the stone dias. Those in attendance part for you like water parting around a sharp boulder, hurrying to get out of your way. Figurehead or real threat doesn’t matter - you’re the daughter of their lord and by rights their lady. 

Your father sits on his throne of twisted bone and fire ahead of the party, crimson eyes drinking in all that happens from his seat of power. Yet he has missed something incredibly important that now lingers upstairs waiting for you. The thought makes your lips twitch in a smirk as you ascend the stairs to where Asmodeus sits, a giddy tingle in your belly. 

A beautiful incubus boy sits next to the throne on the floor, a gold collar around his neck with a glittering chain that leads to Asdmodeous’ hand. The incubus looks at your father with adoration, gold eyes burning. Mouth agape. Breath catching. 

You don’t know how much of it is performance. It’s always hard to tell with the lower level fiends what is real and what is an act. It’s part of the dangerous game they play, and thought you’re more accustomed to their kind - especially the one lurking in your room - you’re still unsure how to tell the difference with this one.

You catch the scent of honey and vanilla as you step nearer, though the incubus doesn’t look at you. You immediately feel the ebbing power of allure from the creature, battering your senses just being so close. Asmodeus seems unaffected by the battering power of lust radiating from the incubus, but you see the two guards behind him glance toward the creature on the floor. 

You grit your teeth and ignore the twist in your gut, trying not to be irritated. Only one man has power over you this way. It isn’t the incubus’ fault that he’s doing what he was trained to do, but the sudden pitch in your stomach and dizziness you feel around him unsettles you. 

“I am returning to my chambers, Father,” you murmur, bowing deeply. “I have grown wear of Belial’s peacocking.” 

Behind him are two massive Orthons, no less than eight feet in height and wide like a troll. Their horns are curling and battle-scarred, ugly tusks showing from thick, fat lips. The beasts are hellish weapons from wars passed, now assigned to the personal guard of your father. You note that they also did not notice the shadowy incubus slipping into their party and up the stairwell.

It almost makes you tsk. Even for a creature as skilled and powerful as Yoongi, slipping past an entire party full of the most powerful infernals in the realms is impressive. He is, of course, more than just an incubus now, but still. The sheer magnitude of doing it successfully is not lost on you - and makes you worried for his sanity. 

“Sleep well,” Admodeous voice rumbles, his voice like stones grinding together. “Tomorrow, you return to Malbolge and ready to set out on your campaign.” His fiery eyes turn to you and you feel the weight of the burning Nine Hells press against you. “They will feel the crack of the Whip of Asmodeous and know that we are mighty. 

“It will be done.”

“She is as pretty as My Lord is,” the incubus boy purrs from where he sits at the foot of the throne. You glance at him, realizing that his golden gaze has broken away from your father and turned to you. Your stomach twists in equal parts anger, guilt, and disgust as you feel the lick of his power. “The House of Asmodeus is as beautiful as they are powerful.”

Again, it’s hard to discern if the incubus is performing or if he means it. Asmodeus pulls the chain hard, yanking incubus toward him. You hear his neck pop, though it doesn’t break as the creature wimpers at the sudden show of violence. “Do not speak to her, worm. You are nothing. She is the Heir Apparent and Princess of the Nine Hells. You are fodder.” 

The incubus cowers, and ducks his head away from you, curling in on himself. The sensual allure to him lessens distinctly, the energy souring. You feel your fingers twitch as you think of Yoongi. It is not difficult to guess that Asmodeous’ newfound desire to humiliate and dissipate incubi and succubi are inspired by his hatred and inability to rid himself of Yoongi’s stain. 

Swallowing thickly, you bow once more, slipping backward off the dias and toward the stairs that lead upward. No one guards them - there are supposed to be no enemies at this party - and shadow falls over them, the torches flickering as though watching you ascend.

Music and voices follow you up the stairs, the soft click of your shoes against the carved stone louder in the growing silence as you navigate to your bedrooms. The staircase winds and the sounds drift further away from you until it’s only the crackling of occasional sconces and your steps.

Two heavy doors in the west wing of the Citadel belong to your bedroom. The crackling energy of the arcana buzzing along them acting as a lock makes your skin tingle. You mutter the password and feel the pop of magic as it vanishes, allowing you to push heavily against one of the doors to grind it open. 

The room is both yours and not. It was your room for most of your life growing up under the ruler of the Nine Hells, opulent and dark, full of old possessions and heavy, draping curtains to keep out the smoke and ruin, rich art painted by careful hands with red and purple splashed across canvas. 

Now, it feels like a room that belonged to someone else entirely. You’re no longer the vicious little thing that thought would sit on the throne in Nessus one day. You’re no longer the unthinking weapon that Asmodeous uses to maintain order and public punishment. 

A large bed stands on a lifted dais, covered in silks and piled high with pillows. They lay undisturbed as you close the door behind you and mutter the password again, feeling the static of magic seal them shut behind you. It would take a small army to batter through them, thankfully. 

Your eyes scour the room. Embers burn in a smoldering fireplace, offering little light in the dimness of the bedroom. A large sitting area stretches to the right with leather chairs and velvet chaises, tables covered in untouched books and scrolls. 

To the left is an open study, a heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room backed with bookshelf-covered walls and heavy chests locked with tombs inside. You see the cover of a journal flipped open, the only sign that Yoongi had been lingering in your study snooping. 

Your mouth twitches at the corner as you look away from it. Yoongi leaving something out of place is only ever on purpose, a confirmation to you that yes - his visit has double meaning. You might be the primary reason the incubus and favored chosen warrior of a death god has snuck into his enemy’s home, but you’re not the only reason. Of course he is looking for any extra information he can use against his enemies. 

It stings a little more than you’d like. 

Stepping further into the room, you swivel your gaze back and forth, looking for a sign of the slippery man himself. A master of shadows, Yoongi is only seen when he wants to be. Strange, for a fiend whose very nature is to be seen and devoured, to give and to receive, to lure and enjoy. Most of his life has been spent in spectacle, and now he spends it in the shadows. 

Warm breath brushes against the back of your neck, making your skin prickle. “I like this dress.” 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi’s callused fingers brush up your arm. It’s a ghost of touch but it makes your eyelids flutter shut, warmth thrumming in your stomach immediately. Unlike the incubus downstairs, you don’t feel a magnetic pull that is arcane here. You just feel the pull to Yoongi - a desire that is your own and fueled by nothing else. 

He has no reason to use his charm here. It makes you shiver as you lean backward into him, eager to feel the solidness of his chest and smell the sweet wine on his breath. 

“You always say that,” he purrs, the words low and scratchy. His other hand comes up to brush his fingers up and down your other arm, pulling you toward him full. You melt, fading into him faster than you should. “When will you learn that I will go wherever you are?” 

“Even if it means your own demise? You’re in the Citadel of Asmodeus.” 

“He’s killed me before.” Yoongi’s touch is more solid now, hands exploring your waist and curves, squeezing your flesh, pressing you against his waist. You rest the back of your head against his neck, inhaling cedarwood and sage. “I’m not so easily destroyed.” 

“Don’t.” 

You don’t want to recall the many times Yoongi has been wrenched away from you. Each time a little closer to permanence than the last. Time and time again, he has been ripped from your hands as your father attempts to destroy the fate linking you, to burn it until there is no tether there. 

“You’ve been good,” Yoongi notes. His hand goes to the silk strings on the side of your dress, pulling them undone. “He truly thinks you no longer think of me? That he has succeeded where he has failed a dozen times before?” 

“Yes.”

“His arrogance knows no bounds. He’ll think he’s a god, soon enough.”

You turn your head to the side, brushing your mouth against Yoongi’s. His lips are warm and taste of wine, urging your tongue to swipe across his bottom lip for a taste. “Is he not?” you ask against his mouth, fighting the need to shiver as one side of your dress falls open. “He rules the Nine Hells absolutely.” 

“Oh come off it,” He laughs. “You and I both know that isn’t true, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a civil war. Plus… I have recently acquired Avernus and Dis.” 

You straighten and turn around sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. For a moment, you forget what it is he’s said to shock you. You’re hypnotized by eyes dark enough that they reflect the stars when in the mortal world, a mouth that is soft and sensuous, a gentle, round nose that is opposed to the way he can turn it up at someone in a sneer. A faded scar over one eye - one of many that he's received over the years.

Yoongi is beautiful the way the moon is, distant and cold, but with a glow of softness that is often underestimated. 

You had made that mistake before. A long time ago, incubi and the lower creatures of the Nine Hells hadn’t been a blip on your radar. They were nothing to a princess of the Nine Hells, someone whose entire purpose for existing would be to one day step into ruling over all nine of the realms crushed in your father’s fist. 

Now, you know better. You’d been a silly, arrogant girl then, head filled with dreams of ruling over the dread cities and bringing the dukes and duchesses to heel. You’d never considered that perhaps your existence was more for appearances and leverage than anything else. 

A puppet. 

Belial, was, unfortunately, quite right about that. 

“What do you mean you have Avernus and Dis?”

“The skirmish in Phlegethos was a distraction. The dukes and duchess’ have been so frenzied about making sure they don’t have any disruptions in their rule that Belial scrambled to deal with his, turning his eye away from the others. Mammon… well you know Mammon. He is not a concern, for now. He cares little who holds Avernus and Dis.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I had help with Dis.”

That sours your stomach. “Bel.” 

“He has no love for Zariel. And he’s from Dis.”

“He’s a traitor. You’d do well not to trust him. Who knows when he’ll turn on you if promised something.”

“The Nine Hells are full of traitors.” Yoongi’s deft fingers undo the other side of your dress. “Including me. You think I would not sell out every single one of my fighters for you, hmm?” Yoongi presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You lean your head back to give him access to your throat. “You think I wouldn’t throw away being Kelemvor’s chosen and carrying his mantle for a chance to have you forever?” 

“You do have me.”

“Not in the way we are designed.” His voice is a growl as he bites at your throat, teeth scraping. You feel dizzy in his arms, but he holds you steadfast. “You were designed for me by the wheels of fate, and I for you. All of this - war, death, political scheming - it stands in our way and I would betray the god who gives me my many lives to cut to the chase in an instant.” 

The rage-laced words are an anger you’re familiar with. Two creatures born to exist for one another - more than fated mates. Your very existence tied to Yoongi’s is a matter of universal balance, two threads of fabric that must remain woven together, lest the realms collapse. 

Divine Scales. Two lives bound together that must remain in balance for the rest of the world to exist. You and Yoongi are not the only Divine Scales in the realms, but you’re perhaps one of the most difficult to balance in a world set on keeping you apart. 

You, the daughter of the Archduke of the Nine Hells. Yoongi, an incubus servant whose purpose was to lure, steal, and spy on behalf of Asmodeus. It was an unfit match that your father was set on destroying - his daughter an heir would not be tied to a lowly creature of lust and servitude. 

“Careful,” you murmur as Yoongi peels the fabric from your skin. The air is warm but you feel a shiver anyway, nipples pebbling at the temperature change. “Your god might not like to hear you say such things.”

“He is not my god,” Yoongi mutters. His eyes are hungry, burning with desire as he drinks you in, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips. “He is a convenience. I need power to take control of the Nine Hells, he gives me power. You are the only being I worship. The only goddess I recognize.” Yoongi sinks to his knees and your stomach flips. He looks up at you, lips parted and pupils blown, eyes so dark you could spill into them and never find your way. “Let me prove my devotion. Let me worship the only divinity I’ve ever known.”

Yoongi’s words are a spell on you, and not because he’s in an incubus, created and bred to be alluring and lead mortals to the Hells to give up their souls. Yoongi’s words have power because he is Yoongi, a being who he designed to be your other half. Another being you love so entirely that you intend to sacrifice the realm you call home, that you actively betray the people you’ve known since you were a child in order to be with him. 

These snatches with him are so few and far between. He fights a war against your father and his archdevils while you unravel them from the inside. Two knives carving away at the system which fights to keep you apart. 

You forget about all of the atrocities committed and to come. You push away the anxiety that Yoongi is thwarting his power by coming to the seat of his enemy’s power, just because he can and because he wants you. 

Instead, you focus on the way his mouth leaves wet kisses across your thighs. Yoongi’s fingers press into the back of your legs, holding you to him as his tongue lavs at a small scar on your hip, his teeth nipping the flesh.

Your world falls away as his tongue and mouth suck at your skin. Heat gathers between your legs, feeling the wet ache in your folds as Yoongi purposefully avoids going toward the apex of your thighs, instead showering your inner thighs, calves, and hips with soft kisses. 

Strong hands pry your legs apart. You let him slide your foot over, widening your stance easily. You cannot recall a single person you have ever been pliable for. You are the Whip of Asmodeous, a sharp weapon made to force subservience and delve out punishment. 

You are no whip in Yoongi’s hands. You are silk, sliding through his fingers as his mouth presses closer and closer to your heart. To everyone else, you are a weapon. To Yoongi, you’re just you. A mind to adore, a body to worship. 

Your knees threaten to buckle when the first, slow swipe of his tongue runs up your drenched folds. Yoongi chuckles, the sound throaty. Gently, he lifts a leg and pulls it over his shoulder, providing a counterweight as you stand but also giving him access to your aching cunt, pressing his face close as he licks you from hole to throbbing clit again. 

“Yoongi,” you whisper, a hand shooting to his hair. Your fingers slide through soft, silk strands and twist, rooting him there. He groans in appreciation, focusing his tongue on slow, up-and-down licks, avoiding your clit as he works. “Fuck.” 

He hums, the feeling buzzing through your pussy as he closes his mouth over it, sucking gently. His mouth is wet and warm, tongue soft as it circles your aching bundle of nerves. Your legs feel gummy as you waver, holding onto him to keep yourself standing as much as you are to keep him in place.

Yoongi’s hunger can rarely be sated. He devours you, mouth eager as he sucks and licks at you, lips smacking loudly as he does. You barely register the obscene noise, canting your hips up into his mouth as the pleasure begins to build slowly. 

A hand presses into your ass, pressing you harder against the flat of his tongue. Yoongi opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, looking up at you with fucked out eyes as he urges you to fuck his face at your pace, to use him like a god would use a conduit. 

Yoongi is your conduit, and you are his. You vowed centuries ago to be his whip, a weapon at his command. He vowed to be your shield, your knife in the dark. 

The powers of the Hells would keep you apart. Beyond the impropriety that someone so lowborn could be fated for one of the highest powers among the infernals, the two of you together are too much of a threat. Too much power tied to one another, a divine match that cannot be broken.

Still, they try. 

The two of you have died before. Keeping you dead isn’t easy, though. Neither can truly die while the other lives and no one has quite managed to kill you both simultaneously - a familial crutch that Asmodeus cannot seem to overcome. 

You’d die every day to have this moment with Yoongi, your breath caught in your lungs, sweat beading on the small of your back, head tilted back as your heart beats so loud it's all you can hear. You feel every part of your body coil before there is a moment of white noise as your orgasm crests over, your cunt squeezing, your hand pulling his hair. 

Yoongi drinks you in like he cannot get enough. Gluttonous, ravenous man, pressing into your heat as he sucks. Your hands tug at his hair, the stimulation going from warm and fluid to sharp and biting. He grows a little when you pull his face back by the strands of his hair, a picture of madness with the lower half of his face covered in your slick, lips red and swollen, eyes unfocused. 

You pull and he stands, knocking you back as he does. You stumble the remaining footsteps to your bed, mouths connecting in a tangle of teeth, tongue, spit and cum. You taste yourself on him, sucking his tongue greedily into his mouth as your hands claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. 

He complies, letting you push the shirt off his shoulders as he climbs over you, pressing a knee between your legs as he traps your lips in a searing kiss again. Your lips feel bruised where you kiss, his mouth demanding. His hands claw at your hips, pulling you down into his knee, grinding your slick cunt against his leg.

You let out a breathy sound, both from the feeling of pleasure blooming between your legs once again and the warmth of his skin, your hands rubbing across his chest, seeking to chase the inferno within. Yoongi has always been warm, but something hotter burns in him now. Something divine, vicious, and powerful lurking beneath his skin, the unlikely power of a god of death lurking just beneath the surface. 

You know that Kelemvor, the God of Death and Lord of Judgement has chosen Yoongi as a conduit of power because Yoongi seeks the balance of the world - he is a part of the balance of the world. His very existence is paramount to a deity whose very nature is to maintain the scales. 

It doesn’t stop you from wanting to eat away at the divinity under Yoongi’s skin, to drive out the influence that isn’t yours, to assert your dominance over a god and remind him that Yoongi does not belong to Kelemvor, he is not an extension of death. He belongs to you and you alone. 

It is an irrational, violent bout of jealousy that overtakes you for a moment. Your nails rake down his chest a little too hard, leaving trails of blood beneath. You bit his bottom lip a little too hard, the taste of iron and salt spilling into your mouth with his tongue. 

Yoongi smirks against your scarlet mouth, pulling back to look down at you. He knows what it is you seek. Yoongi always knows. Your minds are not connected, but your souls are and there is little you can hide from him. “You cannot rip him out of me, no matter how much you want to.” 

“I will try.” 

“Good.” He leans down and bites hard on your collarbone, making you gasp. “I will tear Asmodeous’ influence from you in kind.” 

Your hands are less harsh as you undo the laces of his pants, pulling them down powerful thighs. Your viciousness cools in the shower of the whisper of his love against your ear and the scrap of his tongue against your skin. Every single part of you burns hotter than the deepest part of the Hells, driven there by him alone. 

You love him - such a simple word could convey it accurately, anyway.

It seems too small of a word, unable to fit the fountain of want, desire, trust, and yearning that spills out of you into such a small cup. You don’t know if love can truly hold everything you feel for him, if it conveys that there is nothing god, archdevil, or fate that would stop you from being here with Yoongi, getting to touch him, to taste him, to whisper into his mouth as he presses the head of his cock into your weeping entrance. 

“You’re mine,” you gasp, rolling your hips forward to meet the slow, powerful strokes of his cock. Yoongi cradles you to him, his hands gripping you tighter as he presses your bodies together, as though you could meld. “Mine mine mine.” 

“I’m yours,” he agrees, voice throaty and strained. “Who else could I belong to?” 

You have no answer. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you move to his rhythm. Yoongi’s skin is heated and sticky as he moves against you. You feel his heartbeat in exact time with yours, twin rhythms. Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers twisting in the hair at the nape of his neck. You feel the muscle of his back and shoulder flex as he fucks you slowly, each stroke pointed and driving you to the edge again. 

Yoongi’s mouth brushes yours. You breathe in his air, unable to put anything else into words, thoughts consumed with him. With how he tastes, with how he smells, with how he feels. Nestled in the deepest part of you, you feel home. It is such a rare feeling, only discovered here like this, connected. 

It makes your breath catch, barely audible above Yoongi’s low groaning and the loud smack of skin against skin. Your heels dig into the bed, head pressing into the mattress as you throw your head back, unable to do anything but take what Yoongi is giving you. 

His pace quickens, slamming into your cunt with enough force to break you. But you do not break - you could never break with him. You squirm in his hold, babbling and panting and trying to breathe as he drives you to the edge of madness - and then you peak. 

A wild sound escapes you as you seize into him, muscles clenching, cunt spasming. Yoongi’s thrusts turn vicious, fucking you through your orgasm as you clench down on him with a vice grip. His fingers grip the back of your neck, pulling you toward his chest as he leans backward, your legs sliding as he seats you in his lap, fucking up into you. 

“Imagine thinking they could take you away from me,” Yoongi hisses. His thrusts are sloppy and hard, spearing you and sending you hurtling right toward the edge again. You submit to him, head lolling to the side as he takes you. “Imagine thinking that you could defy a prewritten fate that you are mine, that you are anything less than what was made for me.” 

A sob slips through your lips. You cannot think of a response, only able to cling to him as though to say yes. 

“They cannot take you away from me,” he growls. “I will destroy this world again and again if they try. They cannot sunder what is here, they cannot rip you away from me any more than you can rip the stars from the sky.” 

Just as you begin to teeter on the edge, Yoongi slams his hips home, clenching as he comes. “You cannot be anything else but mine.”

It sends you hurling over the edge again, so powerful that you forget where you are for a moment. It is intoxicating, this bliss that unfurls like the flowers of a petal. Nothing exists here but calm water and the scent and taste of Yoongi. There is no war here. No fight to keep you apart. No demands, no expectations. It’s just you and him. Like it was always meant to be. 

Slowly, awareness creeps back toward you. It is a lumbering, lazy thing. You only feel somewhat aware that you’re in a bed and that you feel the heat of Yoongi next to you, the press of his mouth against your shoulder. The aftereffects of sleeping with an incubus are not lost on you, even as a powerful infernal. 

Everything feels melted, like it could fall through your fingers like grains of sand. Perhaps you could float away if you tried, but Yoongi grounds you. The feeling of his hand on your hip and his mouth on your skin is the most solid thing that exists in this world in between, keeping you tethered to something real. Something substantial. 

When you blink away the sticky high of the post-orgasm daze, Yoongi is watching you with soft, round eyes. The burning desire is still there, but at the forefront is adoration. Worship. Love. Anything stronger than words can describe. 

“Are you okay?” he kisses your jaw before drawing back to examine your face. You nod, head heavy. “Too much?”

“No. Not with you. Never with you.” 

His mouth twitches like he’s unsure. You nestle closer to him, closing your eyes as you’re cupped in the safety of his presence. “With Avernus and Dis at your command, you can take Phlegethos,” you murmur. “Mammon will give you Minauros if you can do that.” 

“Hmm.” 

Your eyes flutter open, watching as Yoongi closes his. You can tell by the twitch in his mouth that he is thinking. “I will deliver you Phlegethos.” He cracks an eye open and looks at you, seeing the hunger that burns there. “Belial needs a good whip to put him in place.” 

“The Whip of Asmodeous?” 

“No.” You grin. “The Whip of Kelemvor’s Chosen.” 

[majinbangus]

Majin~ idk if my original ask sent so I'm gonna send it again just in case, Tumblr must find my asks delicious bc they get eaten like 85% of the time 🥲

Hello! Idk it you're taking requests now, or if you've already done this prompt/theme before, but I was wondering what it'd be like to be one of the many people Johnny flirts with on base, and you brush it off bc he's such a flirt. And yes, while Johnny will flirt with just about anyone bc thats his default setting, he's low-key going out of his mind bc he wants you to see that with you, it's different! It's genuine and sincere! What will it take for you to realize that the only person he's got a huge crush on is you?

Idk just wanted to see this from your perspective! No worries if you don't feel like writing anything for this, still love ya!! 😘

hey anon, sorry for the wait, getting my groove back slowly, but here it is. i might do another version of this some other time tho bc i had another vision for it but ended up with this

You don't know why he's been so affectionate with you lately. His playful flirting has gotten excessive, too. It's weird. He's being weird.

It's not like you dislike the attention, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it. That's just how he is. You know you're firmly designated as ‘friend’ in his eyes. A painful fact you've known ever since he made that comment to his ex about never seeing you in a different light because you ‘weren't his type.’ 

Yeah, that stung a bit, and you were a little offended, but that was more ego talking and less romantic feelings at the time. 

Unfortunately, things have changed. Feelings have changed. Yours, specifically.

You don't quite remember when exactly it happened, but you know it was sometime during the last few months of his last relationship. That was an agonizing time, and over a year since the end of that relationship plus several flings later, you're still pathetically pining over a man who will never see you as anything more than a friend because quote ‘he could never be attracted to someone who wasn’t his type’ unquote.

Now, you have to put on a smile and pretend it doesn't make your heart malfunction whenever he flashes that dimpled smile at you, or when he rests an arm over your shoulder while he walks next to you calling you all sorts of pet names he's never called you before. Not to mention all the times he feeds you a piece of his lunch, and when he grabs your wrist and makes you feed him. That barely scratches the surface of his newfound behavior around you.

Soap has never shown you more flirtation than the usual shallow amount he gives to anyone he's not dating. To be bathed in it out of nowhere is a shock to your system. An enigma you can't comprehend, nor are you eager to question it lest you lose his sudden affection. And despite the delusional part of you wishing he meant something by it, deep down you know it's simply false hope making you imagine the romantic adoration reflecting in those pretty ocean blues of his.

“–so what do you say?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You blink a few times, trying to force yourself to focus on Soap and not how bright his eyes are, or how warm his body feels pressed up against yours with his arm slung around your shoulder. He's so close, it's making your heart do fireworks.

“I asked if you wanna meet up next time we're on leave? We rarely hang out outside of work and drinks at the pub.”

“I can't.” It's not that you don't want to, but you don't really see the logic behind it, either. “One, we don’t live remotely close to each other, and two, I have family coming to visit.”

Soap laughs at your excuses, tightening his arm and pulling you impossibly closer. “That just means I can meet them, love! I've been meaning to sight see where you’re from anyway!”

It's your turn to bark out an incredulous laugh. “Sight see what? Soap, the city I live in is shit.”

“Och, can't be that bad if the locals are half as lovely as you, darlin’.”

“That was terrible!” You giggle, nearly doubling over at his cheesy flirtation, but despite yourself, you can't stop the fluttering in your heart, hoping he doesn't realize how much you actually like his attention and stupid charming words, or how you can barely share the same space with him without feeling like your chest is going to burst, or the obvious hearts in your eyes every time you look at him. “Please tell me you use better lines than that!”

Soap pays no mind to your laughter with that lopsided smile on his lips. He stares at you with those stupid, pretty blue eyes, strong arm still around you almost as if he's staking some kind of claim on you, like a leash or collar. You wish that was the case. You'd give anything to be marked as his.

“They seemed to work for me so far.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Aye.”

“Psh, then save the cheese for someone you want.”

“What if I want you?”

“What?” He sounds so earnest you have to stop a moment, shrugging off his arm, and turning to face him. Soap doesn’t flinch, staring back at you with such intensity you laugh uncomfortably to ease the growing tension in your chest. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Soap. You almost got me.”

“I’m being serious. I want you.”

“Since when?”

It’s a genuine question. You’re not playing dumb intentionally–well, maybe a little–but after so long of pining after him, this is something you need him to spell out for you. Even then, a part of you is ready to laugh off whatever he says next. 

Because what you have with Soap doesn’t go any deeper than a close friendship. It never has and never will be anything more than that. Even when you want it to be more, you know he’d never love someone like you. 

“Soap?” You tilt your head at him when he doesn’t answer. His smile has dropped and he’s looking at you with that cute frown of his you’ve always loved. The one when he’s deep in thought, doing all sorts of calculations or analysis on whatever has him stumped. 

“I don’t know how I can be any clearer, hen.” He talks slowly. Low and soft as if in disbelief. “Thought I’ve been obvious with my flirtin.”

“We ‘flirt’ all the time!” You laugh, trying to deflect the growing hope you feel. “We’re friends, Soap. Stop messing with me! Besides, I know I’m not your type.”

Surprisingly, he sounds offended when he asks, “Where’d you get that idea?” 

“What, that I’m not your type? You said it.”

“When?”

“When you were with what’s-her-face? The crazy possessive instagram model.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’, that always stuck with me, so thanks for that.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

You give a derisive laugh. “Then why’d you say it?”

“She was insecure.” Soap furrows his brows in regret, running a hand through his mohawk. “I thought I liked her at the time, so I said it to make her feel better. She didn't like you.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” You mutter bitterly. “I respected boundaries, and she always thought I was trying to ‘steal you from her.’”

Soap mumbles under his breath, “Don’t think I would have complained if you did.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin’, bon.” He sighs, the tension falling out of his shoulders before he squares them again, staring at you in a way that makes your breath catch. “Listen. I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not takin’ the piss. If you give me the chance, let me prove how serious I am about you.”

“Soap…”

“Darlin’...”

Fuck. A flash of those blue eyes and you can feel yourself hope. Would it really hurt to give in? Just this once? Maybe, maybe not.

Sighing, you inwardly scold yourself knowing you’re jumping headfirst into the unknown, but…

 “Fine. One chance.”

Soap’s never broken that trust before, and from the grin on his face, it tells you he’ll always be there to catch you.

“One chance is all I need.”

[noctivague]

PAC: What area of your life needs nurturing?

Hello! Felt like doing another Pick a Card/Pile reading.

The topic of the day is: "What area of your life needs nurturing?"

How it's going to unfold is that I'll first narrow down to an area of life, look at the challenges and then the advice on how to nurture this area. This is meant to be a supporting reading that will help you grow in that specific field.

Focus on the 4 pictures above, pick the one that resonates the most (it can also happen that you feel drawn to more than one) and then read more below the pile(s) you selected.

Take what resonates and leave out the rest as this is a general reading meant for multiple people and situations.

Feel free to tell me if that resonates as I wish to improve :)

PILE 1

Cards: 4 of Swords + Valiant Courage: Take Actions with Passion Rx; 4 of Cups Rx + The Chariot + 4 of Pentacles; The Creator + The Shadow + The Mystic

The area of your life that needs nurturing is your mental and perhaps physical health. As in, you are currently depleted and in need of a rest, with a sense that your energy levels are so low that you are unable to take actions towards what matters to you.

Right of the bat I notice you got 3 out of 4 Fours of the minor arcana (Swords, Cups and Pentacles), which indicates a need to go back to the foundation and restructure yourself. Your foundations are crumbling and it's stopping you in your track because you are not tasking good care of your basic needs.

You are not allowing yourself to be bored, to rest and contemplate what's happening within and outside of yourself. So focused that you are on pushing through and advancing your life. I'm getting strong ambition and goals from this pile. You are afraid that if you take time off, you're going to lose what you have so you hang onto it for dear life, but it is counter productive and keeping you stuck in place.

The advice on how to nurture this area of your life is to:

1) get in touch with your creativity in a free, childlike and non-judgemental way. Whether you are a creative person of not doesn't really matter as it is not about skills but about expression, and we all have things to express. Keep your creations for yourself so that you can truly feel free from expectations and results. So whether that is drawing, painting, collages, sculpture, pottery, cooking, music, dancing, acting, sewing, makeup, making floral arrangements of cutting bonsai, whatever it is, pick up something that calls you and start expressing yourself creatively. Doesn't matter if you're a beginner or have done it in the past, as long as it is fun to practice.

2) another important aspect of nurturing yourself is understanding your shadow. In non-esoteric speak, what it means is that there are things withing yourself that you are pushing away because you don't want to accept them. The problem is that by denying these important aspects of yourself, you are cutting your growth short. The most important messages we can receive come from the depth of our own mind, and the shadow, while it may be painful and scary, contains keys that can make you free through understanding, compassion and acceptance. I would suggest meditation and journalling, but something else that's quite cool that ties with the first advice is that you totally can look at your creations and see what themes, thoughts or emotions are naturally emerging. Nothing is ever random when it comes to creativity, there is always something from you that comes out!

3) Once you've started being in touch with those dark thoughts, feelings and patterns, you must learn to sit with them, integrate them and make them part of your full self so that they are not a shadowy treat lurking beneath the surface anymore, but something you are fully aware of and can live in peace with. I'm getting that you should not hesitate to reach out for help if you realize at any point that you need support in order to overcome that. Some traumas are better handled with the help of a professional to guide you through it. I would also highly suggest looking up and reading about the concept of integration in psychotherapy as it could help and empower you on your quest.

Hope that helps Pile 1 and I wish you good luck on your journey! 💚

PILE 2

Cards: Queen of Pentacles Rx + 8 of Swords; 2 of Cups + Page of Swords Rx + 10 of Wands Rx; The Underworld + The Shapeshifter + The Maiden

The area of your life that needs nurturing is your relationship with love.

I'm sensing that this pile is for people who are single, either since birth or for a long time, or people who got out of a relationship and have trouble finding their footing.

What I'm getting is that you feel powerless, stuck and can't seem to see an end to your situation. You are eagerly waiting for things to blossom again but loosing hope because it's taking too long in your mind. It's like you set yourself this goal that you would find love and you're frustrating yourself that it is not happening.

You have a very idealistic view of love and are looking for something perfect and transcending, which is not necessarily a bad thing, I truly believe that we're often better off alone than with the wrong person, but the problem here is that you are being overly defensive and it's stopping the flow of things.

You may have trouble communicating your desires, which again, implies that you found someone willing and able to listen, but there is something in the way you express yourself and come across that feels like a wall between you and potential lovers. You are guarding yourself up at all times and it's not a good strategy.

Also, you are carrying a lot of baggage that you have not faced yet and so long as you don't do it, you will either be stuck where you are or cave in for something that is not the beautiful relationship you're dreaming of. There is again a message to open up, free yourself to let enough space for someone to get in.

Here is the advice on how to nurture your relationship with love:

First, you need to dive within yourself and face those burdens and over-defensiveness regarding forming new connections. The Underworld implies that it is something you dread a lot. It might be scary and ugly at times, but it is so necessary. It's an internal process that may take some time depending on your dispositions and willingness to do the work, but going through your own personal hell will make you stronger when you come out of it.

I'm getting that some of you might have a lot of disgust and shame towards intimacy and sensuality.

Your self is composed of so many facets and it's time to explore those you have been neglecting for so long. Again, I'm getting that you are neglecting your romantic, emotional, and/or sensual side. You don't have to make it your whole personality but it seems that it's important for you and that you should integrate that in your whole self more.

I'm getting that some of you have also either been neglecting their appearance, or been stuck with the same look for a while, so it might be a good idea to switch things up a little! Get a haircut or find a few new outfits. The important thing is not to look like someone else but find something that makes you feel fresh and confident and that expresses a new part of yourself, one that has been hidden for a while. This might take so trial and error as you are lacking practice, so don't expect to find the right thing straight away, but trust in the process and have fun exploring!

The last card asks you to reconnect with your sensuality and candid openness to romance. Whatever gender you are, there is a lot of healing energy in the Maiden archetype you can embody. And you don't need anyone to do that *wink wink* use your imagination or whatever support you want (audio, visual, written, etc...) the goal is to explore your body, your sensations and your emotions, and, again, explore that neglected part of yourself.

As a result you will be more willing to open up to new connections, whether it be from people in your circle or outside of it.

That's it for today Pile 2! Hope that helped and I wish you good luck on your journey! 💗

PILE 3

Cards: 4 of Cups Rx + 8 of Wands Rx + Crossing Bridges Rx; Judgement + The Chariot Rx + 6 of Pentacles; The Creator + The Riddle + The Father

The area of your life that needs nurturing is your own stance towards life. More precisely, I'm getting isolation and refusing to be on the receiving end of things.

Basically, it seems you are shutting yourself off from the world and people around you. Refusing help and advice and shutting yourself off in your own familiar world of self-reliance. You are reluctant to leave this old way of doing things behind, metaphorically crossing the bridge and leaving the past behind.

Perhaps you hold unresolved grudges and resentment towards someone or a situation and you are unable to let it go and move forward. Perhaps you have been a carer for a long time and forgot that you al so need to receive sometimes to keep the balance of things.

It seems like you are stopping the flow of exchanges between you and other people, as in, you refuse to receive and you are giving too much of yourself, your time, your energy and/or resources, and are depleting yourself in a way.

You are getting stuck in your track and unable or unwilling to transcend to a new state of being and looking at the world. You are unable to see that life holds so many possibilities and potential for growth and you are stuck in stagnation.

The advice for Pile 3 is the following:

Like Pile 1 you got the Creator archetype, but I feel like it's way less literal in your case. For Pile 3, I'm getting that you need to focus on yourself and your own self expression more. Do things that make you happy and fulfilled and stop always trying to please everyone. The Creator archetypes creates for their own pleasure and enjoyment, and you need to embrace that stance on life, which might or might not include creative endeavors, but you've been neglecting your own enjoyment of life and it's time to stop.

I'm also getting that you are facing an impossible problem to resolve and you're getting stuck in mind games, trying to find the answer to the Riddle. The truth is, you need to step away from finding the answer to this problem because you are looking in the wrong direction. I'm getting savior complex. You are just one person, you cannot neglect yourself for the sake of your family, your friends, your community or the world. You need to help yourself first before you can help anyone else.

Finally, the Father here indicates me that you are over-focusing on the negative aspects of masculinity, and I'm saying that regardless of your gender, as everyone embodies these qualities in one way or another.

Basically, you need to learn to talk about your feelings and ask for help when you need it. Don't try to be a carer for everyone and find balance in the knowing that you can be taken care of to, and you need it!

If people around you don't accept that, I'm sorry but you're going to need a time out from them until they understand and change their way, or cut them off completely if that's not an change they are willing to make. You deserve so much more than what you are getting Pile 3!

That's it for this reading, I hope it was helpful and I wish you good luck on your journey! 💛

PILE 4

Cards: 2 of Wands + 4 of Swords; Knight of Wands + Page of Cups + X of Pentacles Rx; The Box + The Orphan + The Eternal Child Rx

The area of your life that needs nurturing is towards your career and your future goals regarding prosperity.

It seems, when it comes to your career, that you are stuck in a state of inaction and vague contemplation towards your future.

You feel quite dissatisfied with the state of things but you can't quite tell what it is you need in order to finally feel fulfilled. I'm getting that these thoughts are nailing you down.

You feel like you need to wait for something to happen, to show you the light, and that then you'll be able to find your path.

For the struggles regarding this situation, it seems you are balancing between two states. The first is some type of tense over-activity that pushes you to run towards the first potential opportunity that arises for you. You might jump from one idea of path to another, or one job or education to another, never truly digging deep enough or being committed enough to go anywhere. You're basically running in circles.

The other side is to get lost in your wishy washy stance and drowning in your feelings of indecision. Again, it's like you find a thing that seems cool, you go for it, get cold feet, and opt out. The result is that you are blocking your own prosperity, which by nature takes time and dedication.

The advice for Pile 4 and their career is the following:

First, it seems you are putting yourself into a box made of expectations learned from your upbringing and society. You feel like you need to find THE solution, find it fast, and earn success and/or fulfillment straight away. Reality is unfortunately rarely like that.

So you need to examine these expectations you are imposing on yourself and free yourself from them, because they are hindering you more than they are supporting you. They seem like a good idea to motivate yourself but really they are only making you more confused.

Because at the core, you are not asking yourself what you truly need. Perhaps the reason why you struggle so much to find your path is because you are rejecting what you need the most. Perhaps even it's related to the box because you've been told that this isn't possible or desirable.

This is not for everyone, but I'm getting that some of you have some undiagnosed disorder making it difficult for them to function. In that sense the box is literally you not fitting the mold of society and the best thing you could to is to seek help in order to navigate that because you've been trying for a while and you can't do this on your own.

Lastly, there is a need to grow up, and I'm not saying this to be mean, but rather, to encourage you to take accountability for your life and make decision for yourself. Not what other people wants from you, not what society tries to makes of you, but what YOU want to do. Stop waiting for an answer to fall from the sky, pick a path and work towards it. It doesn't mean that you will forever do that, but at some point you need to get out of your nest and pursue something with dedication.

Voilà I hope it was useful Pile 4! I wish you good luck on your journey! 💚

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

cold nights & a sunday morning

nico hischier x f!reader one shot

warnings: swearing, (no specific opposing team), fluff, smuttish themes

You were weary, eyes blinking slowly under the curtain of exhaustion that had seemingly enveloped you – encouraged by the thick duvet you’d pulled up to your chin to keep out the chill; the dull lighting you’d left on on the other side of the bed helped shroud your pocket of the bed in darkness, and the TV was on, a movie playing at the foot of your bed, the volume turned down so you could only just make out the muttering of the characters. 

You’d been half-trying to sleep, half-trying to keep yourself awake, and it seemed the internal conflict waged a battle in your mind and kept your body balancing constantly on the edge of sleep. You’d been yawning for at least half an hour, but for whatever reason, you just couldn’t find it within yourself to go to sleep.

You’d read an article a couple of days ago, about how people tend to fall asleep around people they love. It had something to do with safety and comfortability, and lately you’d been finding that particular theory to be true. Take now, for instance, you didn’t know if it was because you acknowledged that study and were thinking about it that was the reason you couldn’t sleep, or if it was an unconscious and intrinsic need to actually not be alone when you went to sleep.

It had to have been another ten minutes before you gave up on the idea of sleeping entirely, and you’d rolled over onto your back, eyes bleary and dry from attempting to sleep, and tried to focus on the TV screen at the bottom of your bed. You’d seen the film before; once when you were younger and your parents had put it on, not realising exactly how rude or explicit it had been for an impressionable nine year old.

The Rebound. 

It was only around half way through, but it didn’t take much to get back into it – especially considering you’d been half listening to it the entire time, and it made you smile, it really did.

If anything, the bright colours and moving pictures only seemed to lull you into an even deeper exhaustion, so much so that by the time the front door had shut – it was a gentle sound, and you knew that he’d tried to be as quiet about it, but the door on this house always seemed to rattle the walls – you’d nestled back down under the covers, eyes heavy and constantly yawning.

And by the time you heard the telltale padded footsteps traipse up the stairs and head to your bedroom – slowly and carefully, as though he expected you to be asleep and was trying his hardest not to make a sound – you’d perked up a little, anticipation and excitement taking away a hint of exhaustion. You pushed down the covers a little, so you could peek over the duvet and wait for the door handle to turn.

When it did, you knew that it would be virtually impossible for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in time to see if you were asleep, so you took a moment to appreciate him in all his shuited glory.

He must have been wearing a beanie at some point, because his hair looked a little windswept, the ends poking up in an unnatural way – one that made him look effortlessly beautiful, even in the glow of the TV light. He walked through the door on his tiptoes, blinking a little as he adjusted to the darkness, a duffel bag in his hand and a waistcoat draped over his other arm. He’d undone his tie and unbuttoned the first few on his shirt – probably as soon as he’d gotten back into his car, and through your squinted eyes, you could make out his grimace as he knocked his bag against the doorframe, his eyes immediately going to you curled up in the bed.

He waited a few seconds, expecting you to move at the kerfuffle, before continuing his journey, gently placing his bag on the ground and his waistcoat and tie on the back of the chair next to his side of his bed – the opposite side to the one you were on. This time, however, you had to shut your eyes fully because his bedside light meant he’d get a full view of your face, and you were thankful that the duvet covered your smile as he turned around to face you, his fingers working to unbutton his shirt. 

You only opened your eyes hesitantly, one eye at a time, when you heard his footsteps recede towards the en-suite on the other side of the room. He had his back to you, and you didn’t know when it had happened, but he must have picked up his pyjamas from underneath his pillow (did you fall asleep?), because he was wearing his sleeping shirt and a pair of shorts.

Just before he went to shut the bathroom door, however, he sent a glance in your direction and your eyes flew shut – eliciting silent laughs from underneath the duvet on your end – and after a couple of seconds you heard the mumble of the TV cut out and the light diminish entirely – the light behind your eyes blacking out. Then, when you thought he’d make his way to the back of the bathroom, you heard footsteps heading in your direction.

You froze. You held your breath and used all of your willpower to mute said laughing and neutralise your facial expression. You felt him pause at the side of the bed, and your resolve almost crumbled entirely when you felt a warm breath hover over your cheek for a second too long. It briefly crossed your mind that you’d been caught at lying, and that thrill sent a shot of adrenalin through your veins – but it all halted when he dropped a soft kiss on your cheek. 

This time you had to stop yourself from smiling for entirely different reasons.

He honestly and completely melted you everytime he showed you some affection when he thought you weren’t awake – a simple kiss on the cheek or forehead was the most common gesture, but there had also been the occasional hand on your hair when he’d walk past the sofa and you’d fallen asleep.

You had once thought that men like that were only limited to pages of a book or movies, but Nico had quickly demolished that view when he waltzed into your life with nothing but soft touches and sweet nothings.

He was so fucking gentle you had to stop yourself from screaming sometimes. 

You only opened your eyes when you heard the bathroom door click shut, and from then on out you spent the next four and a half minutes hanging off every sound in the bathroom – the whir of the toothbrush, the tap switching on and off.

You had neglected to move from your position, but before he came back into the room, you made sure to let loose on your laughing, a hand securely clamped over your mouth at the hilarity of it all. You never really had the opportunity to get back at Nico with his silly teasing, but now you were kind of excited at the opportunity to get one for yourself.

You heard the light switch off and the door click open, and you shut your eyes, heart thrumming with the inevitable anticipation of knowing he’d climb into the bed and shuffle himself as close to you as he could without trying to wake you.

He did just that; gently lifting up the duvet and sliding under the covers as efficiently as he could so as to not let too much cold air draft inside. And when he’d made himself comfortable, switching off the light at the side of the bed, you felt him shuffle closer. You knew he’d be watching your face, anxious not to wake you, and you took the opportunity to open your eyes.

It was almost instantaneous, the way he reacted. He seemed to pass through multiple stages of grief, his eyes widening as he recoiled, before sighing and rolling onto his back, hands over his eyes as he laughed softly. 

“You should have seen your face.” You whispered, unable to help yourself from smiling as you took his wrist in your hand to peel his own away from his face. 

He let you take his wrist, and his other hand flopped onto his stomach as he twisted his head to look at you, just as you used his wrist to lift his arm over your shoulders as you rested your head against his shoulder.

“You made me jump.” He replied, rolling his eyes but moving impossibly closer to you anyway. You both knew neither of you would end up waking up in this position, but it was always nice to have a quick game debrief in bed when you didn’t go to the odd match.

They’d won tonight, and Nico had played an insane amount of minutes on the ice so you knew tonight’s debrief would be short. 

“It can’t have been that scary.” You defended, lifting the duvet back over both of you. 

“Believe it or not, you’re very good at pretending to be asleep.”

“Thank you for that information–”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’m not promising anything.” You shrugged, unashamed to find that not a single part of you felt guilty for giving him such a fright. If anything, you guessed it probably woke him up a bit.

There was a slight lull to the conversation, and you felt a sudden onslaught of exhaustion hit you, the adrenaline wearing off as the giddiness and anticipation from your previous trick began to dwindle. You yawned just as Nico took a deep breath, a curious leg swiping over to your side of the bed.

You practically felt his confusion and the way he furrowed his brow as he moved slightly underneath you, “Is there a problem?” You muttered, knowing exactly what the issue was. 

You didn’t know if it was a Nico thing, but whenever he climbed into bed and noticed the searing heat coming from the heated blanket, he always had something to say – usually it was a grumble about the warmth contaminating the cold sheets on his side of the mattress, but this time he said nothing against it.

Instead, he tightened his hold on you and somehow manoeuvred the both of you so you were laying completely on your half of the bed, you surprisingly finding yourself almost entirely on top of him, save for one leg that had found its way out of his hold.

You pushed yourself up with your arms caging his head in and tilted your head in an inquisitive manner. Nico copied you, and through the film of darkness you could just make out a sheepish glint in his eyes as he crossed his arms behind his head, seemingly pleased at the position he’d managed to get you in.

You rolled your eyes, unimpressed with his behaviour.

He shrugged, “I was cold, and you’ve been on this thing for hours now, so what better way to warm up than to have one side pressed to the heated blanket and the other to my equally hot girlfriend?”

You arched a brow, half bothering to smother a smile at the double meaning he’d implied, “You’re despicable, honestly.”

“Despicably handsome, no?” He yawned, running a hand through his hair, before smirking at you shaking your head. 

You didn’t have the heart to deny him his good looks, but instead you pressed a kiss on his lips. It was short, and you peeled back almost immediately after – as though you were testing the waters, but Nico seemed to have been expecting you to pull such a move, because a hand on the back of your head prevented you from recoiling too far before you’d practically collided with him in a mess, only just managing to catch yourself on your elbows. It was a searing kiss, one that took you by surprise with his eagerness and sudden burst of energy, and then before you could control yourself, you were laughing against his mouth.

“I mean, I was going to say you’re despicably good at hockey, but I guess that’s also true.” You were a little breathless, and your cheeks were burning under his scrutiny, “That goal you scored was–”

“Sexy?” He asked, and you could feel his chest heaving a little from underneath you, so you slid off him, only keeping one leg draped across his torso after he caught it with his hand. You still propped yourself up on your elbow, but welcomed the heat from the electric blanket.

“Sexy.” You repeated, “It was from a mile out and went through three pairs of legs, an honest miracle.”

You could see him grin excitedly as he squeezed your leg in response, “Always happy for your support.”

“Oh, but let’s not forget that assist, either–” Your fist landed on his chest, and you could tell he was laughing to some extent, thoroughly amused at the spectacle you were making of his performance, “because that was incredible as well.”

“Keep talking dirty to me.” He bit his lip, and you swore you melted when he literally giggled. You couldn’t make out much in the dark, but you swore the light from the shut bathroom door caught the glint of mischief that seemed to have a permanent residence nowadays.

Of course he’d relate hockey talk to more suggestive themes, but if you were being completely honest, it was probably one of the things you loved most about him. He did seem to have a rather talented knack of making you laugh at the cheesiest of lines. 

“You shoulder-barged number seventeen into tomorrow and gave Jack the chance to score, that was impressive – your tackle, I guess the goal was alright, but it wasn’t you–” you stopped, holding up a finger, “let me get my notes.” You pretended to roll over to root through the drawer on your bedside table but a firm hand curled around your waist and pulled you back against a rather solid chest, eliciting a groan from you as the wind was knocked out of your lungs for a brief moment in time.

“You don’t need your notes.” He breathed a laugh, stifling an awkward yawn at the same time.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, reaching a hand up to brush the strands of hair that had fallen into his face and were tickling his nose uncomfortably. 

“Please can you turn off the electric blanket?” He mumbled, and from the tone of his voice alone you could deduct that his drowsiness was beginning to take effect, so you nodded, twisting over to reach down the side of your bed and flicking the switch off.

“I’ll be cold.” You let the unspoken question lingering behind you words hang in the air for a few moments before readjusting yourself so you had your head back on the pillow, and it barely took a second for the words to register in Nico’s head before he was wrapping an arm around you, tugging your body closer to his.

He draped a leg in between yours and placed his forehead against the back of your shoulder blade.

“I won’t move, promise.” You felt his lips press a delicate kiss on your back.

“Thank you.”

___ 

You woke up earlier than usual. You could tell it was earlier because the light peeking out from behind the blinds was dimmer than it usually was – but it wasn’t that that was your main concern.

Your main concern was that you were uncomfortably hot. The duvet was pulled up over your forehead, and tightly, which meant the air was stiflingly hot, and you could feel the repercussions of it burning your entire body. It also didn’t help matters when you could feel an even warmer body curled around your back – like how a koala hugs a tree. Nico had his chest pressed against you, his head resting on your pillow (because it felt as though neither of you had moved much in the night), but an arm tightly slung across your waist and a leg snaked between yours.

The tangle of limbs and sharing of body heat certainly had added a little more intricate difficulty to the predicament.

He kept his promise, then.

You laid there for a few more minutes, knowing that you’d eventually have to remove yourself before you ended up suffocating – either from the weight of his body on top of yours, or the heat that was putting you on the edge of sweating. 

You were fine until you weren’t – until the desire to get out and until that magnetic force emanating from downstairs compelled you to the point you just couldn’t spend another freaking minute in that pit of…ew.

You were close to the edge of your side of the bed; so close that you could stick a leg out and touch the floor with your feet and slide out. When you’d planted both on the floor, you slowly grabbed Nico’s arm, careful not to disrupt the covers too much or startle him awake. It was no easy feat, trying to wrestle yourself from his grip whilst also trying not to let him roll over onto your side of the bed too quickly; you had to turn awkwardly, a hand going up to catch the shoulder that had been resting on your back and gently lowering him onto the mattress.

You slipped out yourself, turning around momentarily to make sure he didn’t fully wake up: he threw an arm out onto the space you’d previously occupied, and shoved his other arm under your pillow. Apart from that he didn’t stir one bit.

You shrugged on a jumper, and took a pair of socks out of the drawer, putting your slippers on over the top. It was still chilly, but the heating had clicked on a while ago, and you could feel the warmth from the radiators whenever you walked past one on your way to the kitchen.

Quiet Sunday mornings were rare, even more so this particular morning, because Nico didn’t have an early skating session. Sure, he had practice after lunch, but it was only nine.

Breakfast in bed was almost tradition at this point.

By the time you’d made it back upstairs, a tray full of food and drink, Nico was awake. He was sitting up (on his side of the bed this time), an arm dropped across the top of his head and he was lazily flicking through the TV channels.

When he saw you push your way through the bedroom door, however, he threw the covers off himself and took the tray from you, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Good morning.” He smiled sweetly, moving over to place the tray in the middle of the bed. 

You followed him, careful not to nudge the tray as you climbed back in, kicking your slippers off before doing so.

“Morning.” You replied, taking your half of what was on the tray and placing it on your bedside table, taking an eager gulp of coffee as you did so.

_ _ _ 

It didn’t take long for either of you to scarf down your breakfasts, and for some reason you’d found yourself at the foot of the bed – still under the covers – and leant against the small endboard, a pillow cushioning the sharp edge.

You cradled a miraculously still-hot cup of coffee, but it was Nico your attention was on. He wasn’t doing anything anyone else would deem particularly interesting, simply put, he was just being. You were deep into a conversation about your plans for the next week or so, but he was so deeply ethereal with his morning messed up hair, pyjamas, and that stupid smile on his face when he talked your ear off that it practically took your breath away.

Three years of this gig and you never once weren’t insanely head over heels for him. Sometimes it scared you, but times like this cancelled out any fears you’d ever had.

You had to duck your face into your hoodie to hide the dopey grin that had made its way onto your face because you couldn’t keep the adoration off your face. And the more you thought about it, the less control you had over how absolutely crazy you looked trying to hide it from him.

He stopped talking, a secretive smile curling at his lips when he caught your eye. He raised a brow, and you felt your cheeks redden at getting caught – what for, you didn’t exactly know, because it wasn’t like you had any reason to hide from him. You rolled your eyes, feeling your cheeks redden as he nudged your leg with his.

“How long have you not been listening?” He asked, tilting his head in amusement.

He wasn’t annoyed by any means, not if the smirk now gracing his features had anything to say, if anything he was teasing you. There was a sparkle of cheek in his eyes, and you could tell he was a little confused at your staring.

Your heart was pounding a little in your chest, and you swallowed somewhat anxiously, “I was listening, you were just talking about the game on Tuesday.”

He blinked, the smirk dipping a little, “Then why were you looking at me like that?”

You shrugged, tucking your hoodie back down so he could see your face. You were tempted to deny his accusation – that you weren’t looking at him in any particular way, so you negotiated with yourself. 

“And what did it look like?”

He paused, “Like you were thinking really hard about something, but you looked almost happy about it – and it was a soft kind of look.”

You nodded, “I guess that’s accurate.”

“What were you thinking about?” His voice was gentle, and you could feel the piercing weight of his brown eyes boring into you when you looked down at your mug, unable to look him straight in the eye.

You were thinking about him, truthfully. It was a topic you’d both discussed multiple times before, and one that both of you felt easy and comfortable approaching, but there was something about this specific train of thought that had you getting suddenly flustered. You felt heat crawl up your neck, and you tapped your fingers against the mug.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He breathed an awkward laugh, and when you looked up at him you could see the slight red flush on his own cheeks.

Was he afraid of what you were going to say? You’d been silent for a while, and nearly dodged almost every question he’d thrown at you, so it would make sense for him to look a little tenser. Or was it out of anticipation - the way he seemed to push himself further up against the headboard? Did he know what you were thinking about?

“I was thinking about you.” You admitted quietly, knowing you needed to throw something out there before the tension in the room became too awkward to bear. You knew he could tell you were holding back, but you wanted to keep some cards close to your chest for the time being.

Perhaps if he asked the right questions…

You knew the insecurity that had rooted itself in your mind was irrational – you guys had openly talked about it before, and agreed with each other on the matter, but now you were really considering doing it, there was a whole new wave of apprehension you were drowning in when you even thought about spitting the words out.

He seemed to perk up, however, when you spoke. His eyebrows shot up, as though he was surprised, but you had an inkling he was just curious about what exactly you were thinking about him. And judging from the smile on his face and the way his ears burned redder, you could tell he was flattered by the attention and the admission.

“What about me?” He maintained eye contact, but you could see his throat bob and hear the tightness in his voice.

He was fidgeting – you could see him playing with his fingers on top of the covers.

You shrugged, trying to play it off as more casual. The last thing you wanted was to put him on edge.

“Just…the future, I guess. Us.” 

Something flickered across his face, and you could tell immediately that saying that was the wrong thing to do. It sent warning signals blaring in his mind, and his smile faltered momentarily.

“Nothing bad.” You corrected, eyes flicking to his chest when he took a shaky breath.

“What constitutes as ‘nothing bad’?” 

You shrugged, hesitating, “Like, where would we be in a year's time?”

The question caught him off guard. He turned his eyes away from you, and you watched as his gaze danced around the room for a brief moment. His brows pulled together and his lips parted before he returned back to you again, “Together, for sure. Maybe not in this house, though.”

You swallowed, unable to help feeling a hint of disappointment in his answer. Moving house wasn’t the issue, it was more of the fact that he didn’t talk about what you wanted him to talk about.

Still, you were curious as to what he meant; this house was amazing. It was big enough for the both of you, and maybe even a dog or something, there was a spare room and you guys had an ensuite. It was also slap bang in the middle of a nice enough neighbourhood. In other words, you didn’t see how it could get much better than this – it was almost perfect, and you knew even if you stayed here you’d be happy. So, understandably, you couldn’t help but be a little confused at his words.

“What’s wrong with this house?” You asked.

He was the one that chose it – you just moved in with him, so you couldn’t really see the issue.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Nothing really. It was just an idea that’s been in the back of my mind for a while now.”

You were even more confused now.

“Why?” You couldn’t help yourself, but by not giving you a reason, you were even more intrigued that you had been initially, and judging from the way Nico stuttered in spitting out his words, you gathered that maybe he wasn’t telling you something either.

“Just that it’s quite small. I mean, we could only ever have one person sleep in the spare room at a time, and we’ve got a fair amount of friends and family members that might want to stay at the same time as each other. I thought we might just need to upgrade a little.” 

Fair enough.

“So, in a year’s time, you might want to have moved out of here?” You clarified, and he nodded.

You took a gulp of coffee to buy yourself time.

“And what do you see us as?” You worded the question a little differently, hoping that he’d somehow catch onto the insinuation. You’d figured you probably wouldn’t get very far into what you wanted to actually talk about if you kept dancing around the subject and getting distracted with his wordings of things.

Nico gulped, the colour reappearing in his cheeks as he once again resumed fidgeting with his fingers. You wanted to sit next to him and pull his hands apart, get him to mess around with yours instead, but the anticipation of what he’d say next had you on the edge of your seat; frozen into place at the end of the bed as the potential weight of your future relationship hung in the balance.

You knew if he didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear that you’d just have to take matters into your own hands (and it wouldn’t be for the first time, either), but from the way he’d seemingly blanched and turned nervous on you made you think maybe you’d hit the nail on the head and finally gotten through to him.

“Don’t be getting all shy on me now.” You echoed his earlier words, and he shook his head, pushing himself back up against the headboard with an anxious laugh. 

Even the fact that he couldn’t look at you gave something away. Nico usually never shied away from eye contact – even in the worst of times, like when you’d be at some sort of conference and he’d catch your eye and you’d spend the rest of the night trying to ignore him for fear of making a fool of yourself – he was incredibly good at breaking you with a simple glance. He was wicked like that.

But now, he seemed to be the complete opposite.

He looked as nervous as you felt.

“Honestly, I kind of hope that in a year from now we’d be engaged – at the very least.” He admitted, and almost instantaneously his eyes shot to yours – seeking reassurance that you felt the same, that there might be some form of an answer written in the contours of your face.

He attempted a smile, but you were so stuck in your own head – because that was exactly what you’d wanted to hear – that you’d been struck dumb and completely speechless, your face a frozen picture of subdued shock.

Your mouth had parted slightly and your brows had furrowed, not in a way that suggested disapproval, but one that had your eyes widening.

You were only shaken out of your reverie when you let his words really sink in.

At the very least.

This time it was your turn to move – still clasping the lukewarm cup of coffee you sat up and moved across the mattress to sit by his side, still ensuring you were facing him. At your flurry of movement, the nervousness on his face melted away, and in its place was a rather relieved smile. The tension had dropped from his shoulders – this time it was his turn to suffer the anticipation of getting an answer.

“When you said ‘the very least’, did you mean–”

“–That I’d also like to be married in a year's time?” He interrupted, an eyebrow quirking up in amusement.

“Yes.”

“I did mean that, yes.” He nodded.

Your heart damn well fell out of your chest at that confession. So you had been on the same page.

That Tiffany’s box you’d found hidden at the back of his bedside table was intended for what you’d initially assumed.

“Okay, that’s good.” You sighed in relief, this time giving into your urges and tearing his hands apart from where he was tapping. You took one of his hands in his, not meeting his eyes despite every single morsel of will in your body compelling you to.

“Is it?” He lowered his head, trying to encourage you to look at him as he squeezed your hand.

You met his eyes, a spark of confidence shooting through you. You knew it would be momentary – a passing feeling, but you grasped the opportunity anyway, “It is. I was actually wondering if today would be an appropriate day to ask if you wanted to get engaged?”

Silence.

His expression didn’t waver in the slightest, and you gave him the benefit of the doubt in that he was just taking his time processing what you’d just asked him. The only sign you knew he’d heard you was the widening of his eyes and tighter grip on your hand.

“Did you just ask me to marry–”

“Yes.”

Your heart was hammering so hard against your sternum you wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped through your ribs and landed on the bed between you both. It was almost painful. Asking him to marry you wasn’t exactly on the agenda when you’d woken up this morning, and by putting the question out there, you’d practically bared your entire heart to him anyway. To you, this was as intimate as it got, and somehow you felt even more vulnerable knowing he had the power to break your heart with a simple syllable.

He seemed to jump into action before you could ask him if he needed some time to actually consider your proposal, because he was suddenly digging a hand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms, until he took your other free hand and opened the palm.

You felt something drop into your hand, and you didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was.

“No fucking way.” You breathed, incredulous at the timing, “You had that in your pocket? So you–”

“I was gonna propose when I made you breakfast, but you woke up before me, so I couldn’t.” He grinned, excitement thrumming through his entire body. 

“I ruined your proposal?” You asked meekly, feeling a little bit of guilt at the realisation. 

Nico laughed, “No. If anything, I prefer this proposal to what I was gonna do.”

You swallowed, too stunned to really say or do anything but to turn your attention to the magnificent ring in your hand. It had a divine weight to it. It was silver, and even before you’d held it up to the light you could see the diamonds sparkling; they were dotted along the entire band, and the main diamond was encased in a delicate halo of them. 

Emerald cut.

You’d only mentioned that kind of cut once in your entire three years of being together, but he’d listened, and most importantly, he’d remembered.

“Fuck, this is stunning.” You breathed, not even thinking twice about it before sliding it onto your left finger and holding it up to the light.

It was gorgeous, and even then you didn’t think the beauty of it lived up to simply just being ‘gorgeous’. You couldn’t find the words to even begin describing it, and the only way you could even express anything was to kiss Nico with absolutely everything you had. 

It was messy, so messy. Teeth clashed, hands seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, and when you both pulled away, your hair was a complete mess, and you were almost heaving to recover some oxygen. Nico’s cheeks were flushed and his lips were red; his chest was also moving up and down at a rapid rate – even to say he was a professional athlete – and his pupils were blown so wide you almost had to do a double take. 

“Was that a yes?” He breathed, gulping and trying to smooth some of your hair down from where he’d raked his fingers through it in a mad haze.

“Definitely.” You nodded, rolling over to your side of the bed.

A body followed your movements, and you were plastered to the bed, your front pressed into the mattress as Nico took your hair in his hands, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck and succeeding in distracting you immensely from the task at hand.

“What are you doing?” He mumbled, goosebumps rising on your skin as he continued his path, hands sneaking under your jumper. 

You sighed contentedly, pleasant shivers rolling down your spine as he squeezed your waist and used his newfound grip to flip you over. Your hand remained fixed in its goal to open the small cupboard door underneath your drawer in your bedside table, and you purposefully turned your cheek and pressed it into the pillow. You knew you’d be completely fucked if you even so much as looked at him right now.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see his hair fall into curtains in front of his face, and you had to restrain yourself from fixing it yourself, trying to ignore the burning desire that seemed to drip slowly from your head right to your toes. Your nerves were on fire, as though they’d been exposed to something, and that delicious warmth of craving only seemed to accumulate – made even worse when Nico used one of his hands to lift his shirt over his head.

You pressed your cheek further into the pillow and turned your eyes to your bedside table, trying your absolute best to ignore the trails of desire his touch left in its wake.

“I’m trying to get you your ring.” You whispered, and he froze, arms stabilising him as he secured his fists against your pillow.

You looked at him, eyes briefly flickering down to his exposed torso; broad, toned and nothing short of delicious. Your gaze trailed down, and before you let yourself get carried away, you turned your attention back to the cupboard.

“My ring?” He echoed, ripping his focus away from your face to your hand, of which was doing an incredibly poor job at trying to locate a simple box.

“Yes, your ring.” You replied, sighing in frustration of more than one type, and twisting your torso out from his cage of arms so you were half dangling off the bed, looking at the cupboard upside down.

“Careful.” Nico exclaimed, his hands reaching out to grab your torso to prevent you from falling to the ground. His concern was short lived, however, because after only a few seconds, you could feel him get distracted at the exposed skin bared to him. It started with soft touches that had your muscles jerking away from him, and upon seeing how you unconsciously reacted to his touch, you felt him adjust himself. Before you knew it, his hair was tickling your exposed skin, and the exact same hot, open-mouthed kisses that had previously been decorated against the skin of your neck were being dutifully pressed to your navel – in an even more distracting area.

You groaned, reaching one hand from the back of the cupboard to try and shove his head away, but he must have predicted your movements because a warm hand clamped down on your wrist before you could even touch him.

“Do you want me to find that ring or what?” You muttered, and you felt his breath halt against your skin.

“Yes.” Was his answer, and before he could even continue speaking, your fingers made contact with the soft surface of exactly what you were looking for.

You took it in your hand, and without even needing to say anything to Nico, he helped pull you back onto the bed.

You flicked the latch, and spun the box around to face him. He was sitting back on his heels, legs straddling yours, but as soon as his eyes landed on the silver ring with a strip of diamonds in the centre he pushed himself up slightly.

“Holy shit.” Was his reaction.

You smirked, feeling a little smug. “See, I actually put it somewhere you wouldn’t have accidentally found it, say, if you were looking for the TV remote.”

He took the ring out of the box, and wasted no time in slipping it onto his finger, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you took a while working up the courage to propose, didn’t you? You’ve had this ring,” you lifted your hand, placing it next to his and admired them both as a pair. You’d gone out of your way to pick one for him that was similar to the one you’d found in his drawer a few months ago, and quite frankly, you were beginning to lose some patience, “for at least a couple of months.”

Nico turned his head, raising his brows, “How did you know that?”

“I found it when I was looking for the TV remote a while ago.”

“So you knew I was planning to propose this entire time?” 

You nodded, this time your eyes unashamedly raking his torso. 

God, you were so lucky.

Then, “Can we get married in Switzerland?”

His eyes shot to yours, a hopeful grin on his face – excitement practically oozing from his pores, “Really?”

“Yeah. I just figured it’s about time we went to your folks instead of them coming to us.” 

It was a partial truth, and Nico seemed to light up from the inside, sunshine emanating from his features. 

“I knew I wanted to marry you for a reason.” He joked, and you rolled your eyes, scoffing lightly.

“Switzerland is way prettier than New Jersey anyway–”

“Not from where I’m sitting.” 

Your jaw dropped, and before you could say something about how smooth and how quickly he’d responded with that comment, Nico had shut you up by winding his hands in your hair and pressing his mouth to yours in a frenzy of desire.

[cleabellanov]

Jet-Skiing through Identity: a deep dive into Mobius M. Mobius (part 1) 🚤

The story started when you said hello.

Our first interaction with this character dates back almost three years now, on the 9th of June 2021. That was when the first episode of the Loki series was released.

So it goes: we see Mobius at the guiding side character, someone to follow in this vast new space the main character is suddenly thrown in. He is a calm, steady figure. However, his serious status as an analyst not cancelling a friendly character. The first ever shot in the series introduces Mobius under the sunlight. The following scenes show him speaking French to a little girl, proving a soothing behavior despite the tight situation they were in.

For someone who works at the TVA, he shows to be quite open minded. He, of course, has a very analytical mind - while still considerating he could think outside the box, whereas other of his colleagues wouldn't accept that a box exists. Even having studied variants, having a focus point is Loki, and knowing the danger it would bring to have to trust one, he still gives this variant a chance. More than that, he takes full responsability for it: when Ravonna says: "If anything goes sideways, it's on you" he responds with a relaxed "Okay".

The first impression Mobius leaves is, therefore, one of a relaxed, almost joyful one.

Although meant to be playful, his response to Loki's threat to "burn this place to the ground" with a flippant "I'll show you my office, you can start there" hints at a potential underlying dissatisfaction with his own situation within the TVA.

But that's not all, and when the easygoing dialogue doesn't work to get under Loki's skin (which couldn't have happened so easily anyway) we get to see where studying variants brought Mobius: to knowing how to manipulate through emotions, using the information at his hands. The only way to get Loki talking was to shatter the illusion he was maintaining, and Mobius knew that. Being able to see this variant for what they truly are proves his smartness, but "lack" of empathy. However, it is more of a block than a lack- for the sake of efficiency- as a consequence of not only working, but living your entire life in the TVA. As a consequence to this, great strenght is also required to keep your true nature instead of just letting it be erased by time and the utter dedication to the time keepers- the only beings allowed to tell right from wrong. Mobius proves that strenght too.

Then, in the second episode of the series, the frame narrows down: from the big scheme to a lower one. Now, a more comfortable theme seems to be growing in the atmosphere between these two characters. We can see Loki sitting with his feet on a desk, magazine in hand, having a small quarrel with Miss Minutes. This is when we find out that Mobius still has more to introduce about himself. There is something that gets him closer to the viewers: having a personal interest with no specific corrrelation with the rest of the story: jet skis.

Going on the first mission of finding the rogue Loki variant (Sylvie, as she is later called) Mobius doesn't let himself be fooled away by Loki's silver tongue, even if in attempt to give him the chance he brought him in for, he almost gets into his play. "You almost had me for a second. My ears are sharp too" Therefore, this character with a first impression of a calm guide and a comic relief isn't to be underestimated. Just because he believes in his cause (collaborating with Loki to fin his variant) it doesn't make him a fool. -> If you have to courage to believe in something impossible, you also have the strength to make it possible.

There is also a soft jelaousy in his character; and seen not only in his attitude towards Loki finding an ally in Sylvie. It's there when talking to Ravonna Renslayer about "other analysts", and the traces left by them in her office.

This might appear as a personal pride, when for Mobius, it is more like a fear: he's afraid of being abandoned or replaced. (Remember the "Who's gonna miss an old analyst with a heart of gold" from season 2?) This internalized feeling therefore translates to the jelaousy we see on screen (or the blocking of emotions once again, but we'll get to that later).

Ravonna's "I know you have a soft spot for broken things" reveales how this character always cared, maybe more than he should have. This desire to help Loki get better (spoiler: he succeeds) is rooted in his own heart, in need of the same care he is giving away. -> Look at you comforting others with the words you wish to hear.

It also grows quickly into something more, that strictly has to do with this variant, a sympathy that is not put into words, but is seen in actions.

He once again proves to be gentle with Loki, despite the latest mission not going the way he was supposed to. He's stubborn, still wanting to go his way even when there are so many others: safer, and that conform to the TVA. He wants to give Loki his daggers back (LOVE IS A DAGGER WHO?!?), clear proof that he is confident in what he is doing. While the potential consequences outweigh his previous actions , Mobius's determination stays the same.

The one unforeseen factor that disrupts his meticulously ordered plan is Loki's escape through the time door after Sylvie bombed the sacred timeline. For the first time, we see Mobius's cool crack, his frantic calls of "Loki!" echoing in vain.

[rin-and-jade]

A Cup, and A Thread: A Post About System Communication

Hey, you know classic string telephone? The one made with two plastic cups and a piece of yarn, i suppose you recognize that old-school science toy? It's one of the simplest inventions that showcases how messages are sent from one place to another!

This little invention is very fitting to explain how inner communication works, so i hope today's theme of analogy will help you understand all of my messages im about to share, with a twist of a fiber.

There's a lot of things i want to address on this topic, thanks to all my 8 great friends who had helped me gather a variety of insights on what seems to be the problem, i have the answers right here that will be shared to the community, because of them!

You know what communication is?

I sure do, but let's both revise on what it means, according to Merriam-Webster, it's defined as..

"a process by which information is exchanged between individuals through a common system of symbols, signs, or behavior."

It also means "a technique for expressing ideas effectively."

..Alright, we should be in the same page now, but, do we actually know what counts as 'good' communication in system context? After some examination from the given data, it was a resounding "No." This can also mean many may not have a clear idea on it, which will also be addressed.

Okay, tell me please?

Before i do tell, remember that communication is diverse, with no perfect or right way to do so. Just like animals, where different species use unique methods to pull it off, means can systems have their own unique styles too.

There are a few examples we see in animals; like how some use pheromones to talk to its own kind, while some read off from their signature body languages, and some use tones or cues that is meant to be recognized specifically, to each their own meanings.

So, good communication means ensuring that everyone in the system can understand and receive messages effectively which eases functioning and cooperation, regardless of how frequent or indirect the communication may be.

For us, systems have unique internal methods of communication that are based on how our brains function, not having any unique features in animals. These methods are very personal, so find what works best for you.

Here are the common styles so far:

Verbal: Where you talk aloud, or in a media like notes.

Abstract vibes: Where you speak no words, which encompasses feelings, or concepts, or ideas, that can be "felt" instead of heard or seen.

Images: Where the share of messages are conveyed through memories, expressive actions or symbols that are projected in the mind.

Direct thoughts: Where an internal dialogue is present, parts communicate using this inner voice, that can vary in different accents and intonations.

The media represents a lot of the stereotypical kind, direct thoughts, while the rest are less recognized. These four kinds are not limited to, but are the ones often represented, they are equally as important and real.

It's important to note that alters within a system can have different communication styles, or the collective may share the same style. You can't force yourself to use a particular kind, so focus on practicing and mastering your style.

..But there's many problems!

Which is why it's a good idea to educate yourself and find proper solutions in order to resolve them. I know some of them at best, as there might be issues i have not heard of, though will still be shared.

Consider a clear communication between two alters with an example of both cups, connected to the string with no obstructive noise at the background while exchanging messages, one conveys the content clearly, and the other hears and received with maximum clarity/understanding. This will be our main example that will be used to compare with the problems that usually arise in this topic.

The problem with multi-talking

Now, to explain interruptions from another part would be like having an extra string-attached cup tied to the middle of the initial cup, now with two inputs and one receiver, the messages will overlap each other and become obscured.

This can be resolved by being aware, then slowing down when talking and take turns between each other to avoid clashes which can easily overwhelm or confuse the receiver, or even the sender itself since losing track of thought or words can happen.

The problem with worser performance from stress

When stress happens, this can sometimes mess up your state to receive messages, imagine that outwards stressors had pulled and tugged your thread, now a bit twisted out and weak, which still can be used to communicate and hear, but now in a weaker clarity.

Because parts communicate mostly from internal ways, our brain networks are responsible to allow when activities inside (that doesn't necessarily involve system things) can happen. Just like how imagination runs in a mind that's wandering off, stress alerts you instead, snapping off from any safe or calm activities until the 'threat' is resolved.

You can gain temporary clarity by calming yourself down and bring all your focus to send your messages if any responds, if it doesn't happen, it would be best to wait it out until you naturally feel at ease once more, or solve the issue at hand and try again afterwards.

This may not work when you are in a fight or flight response, if you do got cutted off and need to contact anyone from inside, try using strong triggers to probe a response.

The problem with ineffective communication

It is like talking to a part who uses a rubber strand instead of cotton string as its mediator. Threads can conduct finer vibrations that can preserve the original verbal message, while rubber can represent for those who use vibes, as they're more broad and less specific. So if they attempt to talk to you with rubber, you might not receive it's message well,

This can be solved with having another part that are flexible or able to decipher, or find the middle ground where both can exchange better. (e.g. texts)

The problem of talking outside your subgroup

This is where it gets tricky, because there is a notable difference in communication where it's easier to converse inside your group while it's harder to converse outside of your group. What i mean by group is they are the people you meet and talk the most and have easy time communicating.

Imagine that the same group has the same length of the thread, the shorter, the better it retains or transfers message with no effort. Talking outside of your group would require you an extra pair of string telephone, but this time the thread is long as you're talking to another neighboring group, who isn't directly related with you.

Suggestions varies from trying different medias to contact with and see what works best, or rely on someone who have direct relations with the group you mean to interact with, acting as a bridge. Lowering barriers by consenting to get closer in co-conscious might do the trick too. Long term solution would be building ties to strengthen communication. (can also work with layers, better if you can 'travel' there to get direct interactions)

The problem with front and innerworld disconnection

It is normal to be out of contact from the inside when you're fronting, since this would mean you put down the cup to focus doing task or role job. To remedy this, try finding a moment to sit down or close your eyes, and feel yourself going back to your mind, since in order to contact those inside, you must lightly disconnect from the real world to focus better inwards.

The problem with having aphantasia

As if you heard the noise from the cup, but you're not sure where that sound is coming from nor aware of your surroundings as this condition blinds you visually (can vary from mild to severe, blurry/vague mental images to blank respectively).

Your innerworld is still there, using visualization is one way to immerse in, start relying on your tactile awareness, or your 'radar' that is, since it is possible to detect parts in your proximity. Rely on tangible medias such as texting or notes to keep track of things.

The problem with external noise

Having a comorbid of something, such as ADHD, autism, or OCD can create a mental chatter that exists in the background constantly.. if not most of the time, imagine that the location of the telephone is somewhere bustling, now it is harder to tell which one is intrusive, random chatters, or an alter's voice.

There is not a lot to say except learning how to separate those noises from your people, it is done best by slowing down and voice your messages wide and clear to create a distinction from such background chatter, making it easier to differentiate.

Other conditions like depression and anxiety can also affect the clarity and ease of communicating.

The problem with distinguishing others

For those with comorbids and aphantasia, this can make it much harder, though still possible! One last problem with communication is sometimes not knowing who is who, which creates obstacles in different ways. Imagine that there are multiple cups lined up to you as the receiver, this creates difficulty on pinpointing whose speaking. Thus, having problems on replying back or made sure if the first sentence relate to the second one, or it belonged to someone else.

The only solution there is, has to be a long term one. As you're suggested to slowly collect and recognize different speech pattern, assigned vibes of other parts, when they usually reply or what topics/mentions brings them up, and different accents or tone if any.

It is not required to 'know' physical attributes or what they look like, but this one will help a ton and usually the easiest way in distinguishing who is who. The solution is to go through a trial and error (arrange all the attributes you like/feel connected to, and see what sticks) and document all the findings somewhere, incase you're forgetful/difficulty memorizing.

Special mentions

It is worth knowing that communication is greatly affected by your state of mind + physical health, the conditions you have, the maturity of the alter in communicating skills, and the style you or the collective dominantly have.

That being said, having the same role, or source, or how old or new an alter is doesn't generally affect the ease of exchanging messages.

Lastly, inner communication also obeys similar rules to how conversation works in real life, this can be taken from examples:

The proximity of the talker you're with affects how much you can understand what is being said. It makes sense that you need to focus harder to hear what the mumbles meant when they're further away from you.

Being with people you can vibe along always results in a better and more effective exchange, as you don't have to explain twice for them to get the message. (mutual understanding)

How loud the environment is also affects how focused/undisturbed you are within a conversation, and it takes effort to separate the background noise to catch what they're saying.

People also have their own ways of expressing their message, some are more dominant in body language or etc. This is why it is important to recognize and understand what it means. You will always have your own dominant way of socializing, but this doesn't mean you can't learn other ways, partially.

Now comprehending the concept of system communication does become easier, right? This should serve as a good framework to start building and understanding connections.

One last phone call

I hope everything i have said here has been loud and clear, if there is a problem that has not been mentioned that needs fixing, give this string telephone a tug and i'd answer your call alright?

May this post address all the things you need more than a hotline help centre and leave with full satisfaction.

If you please, i will now indulge in the whole history of telephone strings, join me if you wish! Did you know it's originally made of tin can instead of a plastic cup?

-- The next post that will be out: all about introjection. Stay tuned!

- j

[yn-honeybun]

April Showers Bring May Flowers

Bucky x black!reader

Summary: You had a crummy day at work. On top of the micro-racist remarks made by your colleagues, there was heavy traffic, and don’t forget the horrible weather. However Bucky is here to “save the day” or night more of.

⚠️ Warning⚠️ : Cursing/swearing, racism in the workplace, angsty themes (super small spat), mention of steamy things but it’s up to your imagination, it’s Bucky let’s be fr. Fluff

Word count: 810

It was one of those days that just pissed you off. You know those days where everything and I mean everything goes wrong. The traffic to work was more packed than usual because of the accident on the highway. Which made you late to your first meeting of the day. Which lead to one of your coworkers to make a snarky comment masked as a “light hearted joke”. On top of that it started raining right as you left the building on your way to your car which of course messed up your hair. Today was just such a bad day and all you wanted was to go home to the love of your life for some snuggles and loving.

Unfortunately when you made your made inside, there was a note on the coffee table saying that Bucky was gone for the night and not to wait up for him.

You cursed at the paper and started talking to yourself about how today of all days your man decided to go hang out with the boys. Rolling your eyes you took off your clothes and paced to the bedroom to change clothes. Hoping to take off the days stress you turn on the shower.

Another string of curse words flow out of your mouth when the water wasn’t getting hot fast enough.

“Woah there doll,” you jumped at the sudden voice, “What’s got your panties in a bunch. Clearly it’s not me, because they’re still on”

He walked over to you with that smirk he always had on when flirting with you.

“Not today Bucky” you sneered. You weren’t in the mood for his antics right now.

“But babe I just wanted to-”

“Shut it Barnes” you snapped looking him dead in the eye.

Even with your clothes off and his history, you intimidated the hell out of the metal arm user.

Bucky put his hands up in defense and took a step back.

Not caring about what he did next, you stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good on your skin. Almost as if it was melting off the horrific day you just had. As the water hit you, you recalled your day. Out of all the days for heavy traffic, it had to have been today. You had a very important meeting with a very important person. You were used to the side comments Janice made at your expense, but today’s stung a bit worse. And you had just gotten your hair done specifically for this meeting. And of course it rained, ruining it all up.

“Shitty traffic, shitty Janice, shitty weather” you mumbled “Can’t wait til I have my own company. I’ll show that bitch who really cares about her position”

A couple moments of silence pass by and you could hear was the slight splash of the water hitting your body and the tub.

“You mind telling me what happened” Bucky spoke up.

“Yeah I do”

“Come on doll” he pleaded, “I tell you about my nightmares”

You had to admit, Bucky was trying here.

Ever since going to therapy you forced him to, he learned to be a bit more open. Even though he’s one hell of a stubborn man, he listened to you. Because he loved you.

Goddamn it you loved him too, even as mad as you were.

You let out a deep breath. One you didn’t know you were holding.

“Come on Bucks,” you said inviting him into the shower, “and before you think about it, NO”

Bucky knew that meant no fooling around and strictly meant business. He knew not to piss you off anymore. Otherwise he might become the focus of your anger.

He took off his clothes and joined you in the shower.

While in the shower you narrate the day you just had, not leaving a single detail out.

Bucky stood behind you listening to you speak. He massaged your head and every so often would kiss your shoulder.

After your shower he stated he was going to take over cooking and suggested you relax on the sofa. Bucky had started the final steps of cooking whatever meal you asked for, when you walked up behind and gave him a hug. A little apology if you will.

You ate a delicious meal and he took care of the dishes while you waited for him on the sofa.

Once he was done, he gave you a much needed massage.

“I know we have our separate lives but we’re a unit,” he stated, “we suppose to be able to work together and talk to each other about our problems”

You chuckled, “is that so?”

“Yeah…at least that’s what my therapist says”

He kissed you right on your forehead

Then your cheek

Then your nose

And finally he gently kissed your lips

You kissed back, making it more passionate. Almost in a instant the atmosphere switched. Any bad feelings quickly faded with each kiss and second passing.

Next thing you knew was waking up the next day wrapped up in the former Winter Soldier’s arms.

Today was going to be a good day, you could feel it.

[aspoonofsugar]

what do you think of Cherrisnake? How do you the relationship will forward in season 2 now that sir pentious is in heaven and Cherri Bomb is still in hell?

What do you think of Huskerdust? What do you think the relationship is gonna be like coming forward season 2?

Hi!

I am answering your two asks together because I think Cherrisnake and Huskerdusk may work very well as foils!

First of all, I like both ships, as I like all the canon/set up ships in hazbin and helluva :)

When it comes to Hazbin Hotel specifically, I think there are four major ships (so far):

Chaggie

Huskerdusk

Lucilith

Cherrisnake

Chaggie is obviously at the heart of the story, as Charlie is the protagonist, Vaggie the deuteragonist and their bond comments their respective developments. Angel is set up as the tritragonist so far, so obviously his ship is pretty important, as well. Lucifer and Lilith are not protagonists, but their love story is kind of the beginning of the whole conflict and they are meant to foil Chaggie, so they are gonna be important. Cherrisnake is then probably going to comment on Huskerdust specifically and to tie into the main theme of the story. Specifically, loves saves:

You're gonna fight without gloves And when that push comes to shove Yeah, you just might rise above, long as you're out for love

In general, I like that these ships are set up to all have different dynamics:

Chaggie are already a couple, but they have unhealthy aspects they need to work through

Huskerdusk are a slowburn, so we are gonna see them slowly develop feelings for each other

Lucilith are on a break, so I think we are gonna explore their problems and see them rekindle their relationship

Cherrisnake seem so far to parody some very common tropes, like enemies to lovers and star-crossed lovers, as now Cherry is in Hell and Pentious is in Heaven

After this intro, I am gonna focus on the two specific ships.

HUSKERDUSK

I agree with what @hamliet said in her meta. I think that their relationship started with Husk teaching Angel to accept he is a loser:

We're both losers, baby We're losers, it's okay to be a Coked-up, dick-suckin' ho? Baby, that's fine by me I'm a loser, honey A schmoozer and a dummy But at least I know I'm not alone You're a loser Just like me

But as the story goes on, Angel will teach Husk they can become winners. In other words, they can find redemption:

Did I hear you imply That they don't deserve death? Are they Winners? Are they Sinners? 'Cause it's cut and dry

So far, Angel has had more focus than Husk and is the one who has made more progress in his arc. Husk instead has acted as the good wise old man, but has made no personal progress and is behaving as if he accepts he can't get better. That is because both him and Angel are trapped in a contract with another demon:

It is probable that Angel is soon going to free himself, which might inspire Husk to try doing the same, as well. Or at least to try and stand up to Alastor more, especially if Alastor's actions are going to put Husk's new found family in danger (and they will). That said, both Angel and especially Husk are gonna screw up before they can be together :''')

Anyway, I like them. They are opposites. Angel is rather young, fully expresses his own sexuality to the point he uses sex for self-harm and he is heart. Husk is older, he is reserved when it comes to sexual stuff and he is mind.

CHERRISNAKE

I don't have strong predictions about the ship for the simple reason that the relationship has been explored less than others. In particular, Cherri has appeared very little and her arc has just been set up and still needs to happen. That said, I think they are gonna foil Huskerdusk simply because both Pentious and Cherri are foils of Angel.

Both Pentious and Angel are initially linked to the Vees and are the first two demons who join the hotel. Not only that, but they are opposites in the reason they join. Pentious says he is repentant (lol), but really wants to spy on Alastor. Angel instead wants to change deep down, but hides it and says he joins to have a home for free. Charlie also believes in their eventual redemption, but she messes up when it comes to why and when :''') Initially, she thinks Pentious is gonna redeem himself first and doesn't realize he is faking his interest in the hotel. Then, she argues in Heaven that Angel is making the most progress... except that Pentious is really the first to find redemption... Basically they are characters used to highlight how little Charlie understands redemption, despite her passion about it.

Both Cherri and Angel are instead addicted and prisoners of their self-destructive behaviors. Angel is dependent on drugs and trapped in an abusive relationship with Val. Cherri is instead probably a survivor to a relationship (maybe abusive???) that ended up pretty badly. Let's just say I don't think it is by chance that when Angel invites her at the hotel she insists she is fine... only to then immediately say she is gonna have sex with a stranger:

Angel Dust: There's room for everyone, and ya know… you could come crash with us too. Cherri: Okay, look, Angie, I'm glad this hotel shit is workin' for you, but you know me, bitch, I'm doin' just fine! In fact, I'm gonna fuck the next guy I see, okay? But if you need me, you know where to find me, yeah? Sir Pentious: *panting* Is Cherri still here? [Cherri walks into the sex room with another demon.] Dammit!

Don't get me wrong, there is nothing bad with casual sex, but the set up is about Cherri refusing to face her own demons, while having fun in superficial relationship. This is highlighted even more by Pentious instead trying to court her the whole evening only to be ignored in the end.

The set-up and endgame is clear... Cherri will rediscover love and a healthy bond through Pentious. However, she will first have to work on herself at the hotel to reach him. Meanwhile, Pentious will need to face himself in Heaven, without his new-found support system (which is very interesting). As a matter of fact Pentious has the potential to be a subversion/deconstruction of the redemption through death trope. Usually the redemption through death goes like this:

A character is evil, but eventually has a change of heart

They do a good deed, but die while doing so

If the story is at least decent, the sacrifice will accomplish something big and probably help the protagonist win in some way

Pentious's death is a parody of this, as he marches to risk his life and defeat Adam, but is killed without accomplishing anything and in an anti-climatic way. Except that it was his intention that mattered, so he is still redeemed. That said, here comes the thing with redemption through death... if used poorly it is a cheap way to avoid letting a character deal with the consequences of his actions. Basically they die before they can really change and be tested through their change... So, here comes the question: is Pentious redemption through death enough for him to have fully overcome the flaws that landed him into hell? Imo nope, obviously. So, he will have to keep on working on himself even in Heaven and may realize redemption is an ongoing process.

In short, if Huskerdusk is mostly about redemption as way to feel better about yourself and to find freedom again. I think that for Cherrisnake redemption might be having to work on yourself day after day until you are worthy and ready to start a happy relationship.

These are my thoughts on the two ships. Thank you for the asks!

[good-beanswrites]

Okay, kyanako said that I can ask for a director's commentary on the fic you wrote for me.

Is there anything you’d like to share about writing this fic? Any thoughts during the writing? Maybe any questions for me?

Not you too 😭😭😭 Haha, but thank you for the option to ask you questions, because I actually do have a few! My normal commentary is in pink, but I put questions in blue :) Some of them are specifics about your characters, but I also just want to hear your takes on writing Es 👀 I don't write them super often, so I'm curious how you characterize them...

Es clutched at their head. Their fingers tore through their hair. It was the middle of the night, so they resisted the urge to shout. They didn’t want to draw any attention to themself. If they remained completely silent, though, they wouldn’t need to refrain from crying.

And so they cried.

I wanted to start off right away by setting the theme of Es experiencing the typical pain of a child in their position, but refusing to be treated like the are.

You see, there is only one sensation worse than waking up from an awful dream: waking up from a very, very, good one. 

I'm kind of relying on readers understanding this feeling already, I didn't really know how to put it into words 😅 (Is this common for people?) It's happened to me several times, and it genuinely can hit harder than a nightmare.

Es had grown accustomed to the nightmares that Milgram produced. In these dreams, Es might take the place of the prisoners. Their stomach would twist with horror at the blood on their hands. Other times, they found themselves in the victim’s shoes. They’d wake in a cold sweat, feeling hands closing around their throat, or weapons swung at their temple. 

I feel like a lot of fics (rightfully) focus on all the messed up things Es experiences on a daily basis, like this. I'm usually more upset by their canon lack of interest in their past and future. Their refusal to miss/hope for anything better is really what hurts me, and it took a while to figure out what may push them to the point of finally acknowledging it. I thought a dream was a good start. When you picture them, are they wondering about their identity a lot? Would certain things be enough to jog their memory, or do only extreme situations get through to them?

But they weren’t prepared for a dream of absolute peace. They were happy. They were laughing. There were people nearby, smiling. It was all emotion and no detail – not a single face, place, or voice, was clear – but they knew for sure what the dream had consisted of.

Es was with their family. 

I debated so long on naming specifics about what they saw, whether it was glimpses of your characters or small lines of dialogue... I still hadn't decided if I wanted the dream to be a real memory or just their imagination, though, so I kept it up to interpretation. (Also, I was so afraid of getting something wrong about who they'd be close to or how they'd react in your mind 😭 "he wouldn't fucking say that" fr). In an early draft of this, Es had fallen asleep while cataloguing the prisoners' family members, and dreamed that they were a part of some of those families. It wasn't as effective as I'd hoped, so I got right to the point and made it their own family here.

So uh, I guess, what would they dream about if it were 100% accurate to their real family? I also thought about making the dream a vision sent from them to communicate a message -- is this something that a family member could/would do? And which relative is Es closest to? I've heard you talk more about their father, but I wasn't sure if that necessarily meant they were the closest. (I wanted to make a more specific parallel with one of the prisoners. I'd pair them with Amane if they were close with their father, Haruka if it was their mother, Mikoto if it was a sibling. Since I wasn't sure, I thought Haruka was a safe bet.)

They choked out another sob. 

For the longest time, they wondered if they even had a past to remember. But that was all foolishness – Milgram was in the business of judging humans, not creating them out of thin air. They’d tried asking Jackalope, once. He turned out just as cryptic as some of the prisoners in their interrogations. Another time, they had considered using the prison’s mysterious machine on themself. There was no way to operate it alone, though. And when it came down to it, they were always alone.

Yeah. So. I made myself upset realizing the isolation Es feels :((( They're at Jackalope's mercy as much as the prisoners are, but they can never truly bond with the others over it. They're different from the prisoners, but they don't even have that much power over them (only responsibility). I thought about including an actual attempt to use the machine without someone watching over them, and what a risk that would be. It ended up taking the story way off-focus, but I wonder what could actually drive them to the point of doing something dangerous in the name of getting memories back, or would they always be accepting of the situation, given their personality?

They curled themself tight, dragging the bedsheets with them. Usually when they wondered about their past, mere curiosity washed over them. Now, they were flooded with an entirely new type of longing. It filled their chest. No, that wasn't it. Rather, the feeling left a wide hole through them.

I'm glad you thought the curling up was cute ;--; I just wanted the reader to remember how young and small they are ;----; I was sad writing this and needed everyone to remember along with me 😭

If they did have a family, had Es been stolen away? Could there be someone else out there right now, crying in the middle of the night, just as hard as Es was crying for them? The thought was not comforting.

Or, like Es, had they forgotten all traces of their connection? That possibility also did more harm than good.

Es tried to reassure themself – if this family hadn’t come looking for them, maybe it meant they weren't wanted in the first place. Maybe Es had been willingly turned over to Milgram, their parents glad to be rid of them.

That thought didn't help at all.

I had a lot of fun evilly choosing the most painful possibilities for Es to consider >:3 (<- SHE'S LYING SHE MADE HERSELF CRY). The uncertainty would hurt any any reader, but as my target, I hoped to pinpoint some exact things you'd mentioned in the past. I was picturing the art of Es' father hunting Milgram down, and some of your comments about them remembering and missing Es.

Something clattered out in the corridor. That must have been what woke them. They rose from bed, ready to raise hell. How dare one of the prisoners rip them from such a dream. Es could never return. The offender would pay for this. 

It took only a moment to put on their uniform and wipe the tears from their cheeks. They swung the door open to find Haruka stumbling down the hall. 

I'm always a sucker for the uniform being a symbol of Es' obsession with their role -- putting it on is the same as them putting up an act, even if they don't quite realize it.

“Prisoner number one, what the –” they grabbed his arm. Only then did they notice the dazed look in his eyes. His body flinched, waking from what must have been sleepwalking.

“Ah! W-warden!” He blinked, his mind still stuck somewhere else. “I’m s-sorry! What, ah… I was dreaming... She was – she was right here…”

After this part I tried ending the drabble with Haruka saying, "I was dreaming," and Es replying bitterly, "me too." Haruka then says, "it was about my family," and much quieter, Es repeats "me too." As much as I loved the exchange, I wanted the gut-wrenching pain of Es rejecting their family rather than missing them at the very end 😎👍

Es took a measured breath. They steeled their expression. There would be no unleashing hell tonight. They had lost sight of their role. They had gotten distracted with childish emotions and silly dreams. They were Milgram’s warden, not some kid like Haruka who wandered around the prison late at night looking for his mama. 

Es adjusted the hat over their hair. It was good, they told themself, that they couldn't remember a thing from the dream. They didn't need any of those people. They were perfectly fine on their own. Such a distraction would not happen again.

I had to mention the uniform hat again because I'm just too obsessed with the symbolism asdfsdfs. And yeah, like you said, all of this was an attempt to convince themself. They don't really believe it, but they have to make themself believe it, or else they'll be in even more pain...

“Let’s get you back to bed.”

“But, my p-parents, they were–”

“They’re not here. Nobody is. Back to your cell, prisoner.”

Of course "they're not here" is reflecting Es and Haruka both missing their parents, but I hoped the last line would also continue the parallels between them -- at the end of the night, Es is a prisoner here too :(

[thetravelingmaster]

Remote Controlled Puppet - Part 2

- Kendra’s Unwitting Conversion -

Female's Point of View - Brainwashing - Conditioning - Mindless - Personalities - Robot Theme - Technology

Amy  

After weeks of exploring what he could condition my mind to do while it was held prisoner inside my own body, Patrick’s genius and scientific curiosity soon found multiple ways to brainwash me. The most obvious of which was that he could force me to watch specific brainwashing media without worrying if my eyes were actually focusing on it because he could program my collar to force me. Then again, with the massive amounts of pleasure he could inject into my body, he didn’t really need me to watch or even listen to hypnotic audios. 

He could simply have my mouth repeat whatever idea he wanted to program into me. We both discovered that the process was much more intimate for me and incredibly effective. The pleasure overload that was imposed on me made my stray thoughts focus on what I was saying instead of trying to form an independent idea. Which truly internalized the ideas because after an hour or so of constantly repeating the same few phrases while my body swam on the edge of release, I would easily forget that it was my AI talking and believed wholeheartedly that I was the one doing the repetitions. 

Patrick quickly capitalized on that, combining it with audios, recorded in my own voice, I could listen to while at work meant that my mind kept being bombarded with the idea until it sank so deep into my subconscious that it became part of my sense of self. On the rare occasions where Patrick decided to afford me a little ‘human’ time, my scientific mind couldn’t help but be fascinated by the efficiency of my own subjugation.  

He had effectively transformed me into an organic machine as he worked tirelessly on my original mind as if it was a secondary AI he needed to program and perfect. 

Which, it turns out, quickly became my new sense of self.

I was no longer a human woman named Amy that was being puppeteered to act like a pleasure drone. To me, I was a pleasure drone that had a human emulation personality. The shift between the 2 was so natural that I never truly woke up one morning believing that I wasn’t human. Granted, my life was a blur of mantras and endless service, which made it infinitely hard to keep track of my own thoughts. So instead of waking up to a new self, it was more like getting lost in a hazy fog for an uncountable amount of time before finally coming out on the other side as a pleasure drone. 

My life boiled down to executing commands and experiencing near constant pleasure. 

Nothing more and nothing less.

Copy this link in your browser to read the rest of this chapter

mc-diaries.com/diaries/remote-controlled-sex-puppet-part-2

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.192 thoughts

[RULES OF NATURE!!!] or [We Live in a Society]

(Contents: thematic analysis - rules, character analysis - Top)

Undead Unluck is now officially as long as Medaka Box! Well, 'cept it doesn't have any special chapters in Giga or anything like that, so I guess technically Medaka Box had two more chapters? Come to think of it, wasn't getting two bonus chapters kind of a big deal? Can't think of too many Jump manga that get ANY bonus chapters...

Gettin' sidetracked, focus!

We finally get to see our boy Top, and oh no! He's become a Bad Boy(TM)! Using his powers to steal when his previous self was willing to stop running so his friends could win the prize money he needed...how heartbreaking! No wonder Haruka is trying so hard to stop him, especially since she was around to stop his tragedy - she's probably already as attached to him now as she was in the previous loop, and it hurts her to see him like this

It does seem a little strange for a family to get run out of town for illness in modern society, but maybe that's just what it's like in a poor Brazilian neighborhood? That doesn't sound right, but even if it isn't, it's fiction and I'm just going to ignore it for the sake of the drama

Top's mother tells him that he shouldn't be stealing, not necessarily because stealing is inherently wrong, but because it breaks society's rules - in the traditional sense, an outlaw is someone who doesn't obey the law, and therefore is not protected by it, so from her perspective, her son living as an outlaw justifies their isolation from the rest of society. To her, living within the law should eventually result in their family being accepted back into society, as surely the law must protect those who live within its borders

This is a fallacy, though: the law punishes those who live outside of it, but it is not obligated to protect anyone at all. The Rules of the UU world make Tozuka's stance on this topic abundantly clear, as their very existence is explicitly meant to cause suffering, and the only way to end that suffering is to either find loopholes within the rules or to negate the rules themselves. You can either cheat the system or break it, but staying perfectly in line is only going to give the advantage to those who seek to abuse the rules for their own benefit and the detriment of everyone else. The poor stay poor while the rich get richer

Top's way of doing things isn't necessarily right, either, though. While the law won't do anything to help, stealing from the community is a surefire way to lose sympathy from the people who may be willing to help. It's one thing to be an enemy of the law, but making an enemy of the community will only make one more isolated. UU is all about banding together to make things better, but Top is turning his back on everyone else to shoulder everything himself. If he makes a name for himself as a criminal, making the wrong members of the community his enemy, there's a good chance that no amount of money will let his mother get whatever treatment he needs. This is the kind of town where they can kick you out for being sick, there's a very good chance they'd refuse service to the kid who stole X amount of money from them. Money is a construct of society - becoming society's enemy is a surefire way to make your money lose its value

The Rules of UU work similarly - by working with the Rules, new possibilities are created, like Lucy and Andy materializing their souls after the introduction of Ghost, Nico mastering electricity to turn Ichico's eyebags into eyeshadow, the Union warping with Move, etc. The Rules are not inherently bad, they just aren't designed with protection in mind - they're made to restrict or enable specific behaviors, which can be used to either guide or manipulate those they apply to. How this theme will develop for this arc remains to be seen, but it's very clear that Top's situation is meant to be a more realistic or practical parallel to the fantastical setting of this world as a whole

Reading this chapter also prompted me to reread Top's backstory chapter, and I noticed a fun little parallel: at the beginning of this week's chapter, Fuuko says that because of her Unluck, she killed her parents, just like Top says that because of his Unstoppable, he killed his friends, and in both cases, Juiz/Julia insisted that both of them were blameless, and instead God was responsible for those deaths. Of course, both Fuuko and Top still insist on shouldering the responsibility to make things right by defeating God

I wonder if perhaps Top not killing anyone is part of the reason he went down this path: before, he wasn't responsible but couldn't help feeling like he was, but this time he really is just a victim of circumstance, so blaming everyone else and lashing out is a natural reaction. I'm not saying he was better off with his friends' blood on his hands (shoes?), but it's interesting that the worse circumstance forged a stronger and kinder heart

I imagine that's going to lead into the deeper explanation that Fuuko started at the beginning of the chapter: why the Negators are chosen. It's a question that we've been asking for a long time, and I always assumed that God just liked to pick on whoever would be the most ironic in the moment, so I'm excited to see what kind of answer Tozuka is gearing up to give us. I imagine it'll sound esoteric and weird at first, but it'll undoubtedly give me a lot to talk about, so I'm greatly looking forward to it

Until next time, let's enjoy life

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

so if you’re familiar with my writing style you’ll know i tend to use words as visual tools. like if someone

is

going

down

the

stairs

then they definitely look like they’re going down, kind of thing. but there’s other fun things and hidden messages i get to play around with while i’m creating these little visuals and i thought i’d share some examples from my fics over the years

not so random capitalisation

i use capitalisation a LOT in my writing (haha) and it is definitely for emphasis but i also like to focus on specific things with the words to help portray the emotions in the scene.

#1

in this one, i’ve capitalised some letters in “simultaneously”. But the letters i’ve chosen to capitalise if rearranged a little spell out INSANE.

#2

gay sex happening here and i thought i was hilarious for capitalising “anal” in the word ‘finally’. sometimes it’s not about symbolism. sometimes i just like to entertain myself.

#3

the word “roles” is capitalised in ‘troublemakers’ because that’s their roles. lol obvious, but fun

#4

ah okay this one you’ll see i’ve capitalised the two T’s in ‘torture’ because to me it looked like torture bars. you know those things where they handcuff your hands with a bar in the middle? yea doesn’t it look like a ‘T’?

#5

mind you there are ways happy accidents (as bob ross says). here my aim was to show the suspension by capitalising the first and last syllables. but that meant the middle syllable ‘pen’ was left lowercase, which is a little ode to percy jackson, who we know carriers a pen as his sword. that was a fun discovery.

hidden messages

#1

so in this one visually you can probably tell i’m showing the “sinking” happening. but another fun thing is the way i’ve decided to separate the letters. “s i n” are sort of evenly spaced apart and spell out sin (adding to the pleasure they’re about to indulge in) and “ks” sounds (and maybe looks) like kiss.

so in this little visual i managed to show the action (sinking), the theme (sin) and the result (kiss) just from breaking up “sinks”.

#2

okay so they’re on a motorbike with one sitting behind the other pressed into him and yes i am visually showing their movement by writing gone in this broken way. but also because of the way i split ‘gone’ you can read it as “They’re one.”, cause love and closeness and obsession yadda yadda

#3

this is a dual one

so here there’s two scenes from the same fanfic, with the first happening at the beginning and the second at the very end. As you can see i isolated the word “nothing” to visualise the nothingness and then also split it apart into “no” and “thing” as well as changed it to read “no king”. (emphasis on percy not needing to be a king while in the arms of his lovers).

and then in the last scene i give him the dialogue “No” and assign it to his title so it again reads “no king”.

in conclusion i love to play around with words, it’s so much fun for me! and while it won’t happen every time (sometimes the capitalisations really are random) (sometimes the visualisations are just visualisations), and sometimes it will be pure accident, i thought it would be nice to show some of my more hidden thought processes behind my (slightly wild) writing.

[lurkingshan]

Shan! One of the things that I’ve loved learning during my Old GMMTV Challenge project is discovering filmmakers and watching through their project lists. Do you follow specific directors or screenwriters for Asian dramas? If so, who are they, and why? And which dramas of their do you recommend?

A fun one, and an area where I know we actually differ in our approach. In short, my answer to your first question is yes, but also no. :)

By which I mean, I generally do pay attention to who creates the shows I watch, because when I am impressed or infuriated by a drama I like to know who is behind it so I can look into their other work, either to pursue or avoid it. Sometimes I have to go looking for that information, but there are some creators who have such an obvious style that it sets them apart and makes it near impossible to miss the connections between their shows (Kim Eun Sook in kdrama, Aof Noppharnach and Jojo Tichakorn in tbl, Hwang Da Seul in kbl, Lin Pei Yu in twbl, etc). With those I might start something unknowingly and then be like wait a minute is this X’s work? I do maintain awareness and keep creators’ other works in mind when I watch something new because it's fun to look for themes across a body of work, and frankly, to know where the pitfalls are likely to come in.

That said, I do not feel any need to be a completist about any one auteur's resume, I don’t intentionally sit down to watch a creator's work in an organized way, and I actually prefer not to know that much about their personal lives, because I like to focus on the fictional stories without too much real world gunk getting in the way and clouding my reads. I am a "let the art speak for itself" girlie; I'm less interested in authorial intent than in allowing stories breathing room to be interpreted by the audience. I do believe in the Death of the Author school of thought and I don't think it's great when creators try to do too much to control how their work is perceived. One of my current beefs with the Only Friends watch experience is that there is so much real world gunk (branded pairs, shipping and actor stanning, creators posting on social media with context that is not included in the actual canon) getting in the way and messing with interpretations of the show.

Once you get into a fandom at all you will inevitably be exposed to a ton of this kind of thing whether you like it or not. And it comes up a lot in bl because so many shows are adapted from pre-existing source material and rely on known actor pairs, which inevitably affects discourse because people come to these shows with a lot of baggage even before they begin. But I am always interested in story first. I dove into I Feel You Linger in the Air and Absolute Zero with zero hesitation because timey wimey soulmate shit is my jam, not because these shows were made by Tee Bundit and New Siwaj (in fact that would be more of a deterrent than anything if I let it dictate my viewing choices).

So while I am interested in the undercurrent of melancholy across Aof's works, and Jojo's devotion to messy ensemble pieces where everyone is a little bit of an asshole, and Kim Eun Sook's uncanny ability to tap into the zeitgeist and create banger after banger across a range of genres, I don't need to know too much about why their areas of focus are important to them or how it relates to their personal experiences. I prefer not to use fiction as a means to psychoanalyze the real people who create it; instead I just try to engage with and appreciate their art as art and afford them respect as creative geniuses without making assumptions about how each work is meant to reflect their real experiences. Understanding some basic demographics about creators (as in, do they have the appropriate lived experiences to be telling the stories they choose) is about as far as my curiosity goes.

Question 1 TL;DR: I do like to pay attention to who creates the shows I watch so that I can follow the themes in their work, but I am not interested in following the creators themselves closely.

Question 2: who are the creators I recommend following? I have mentioned a lot of them above, and my overall recommendation is that if you are invested in a show, you should look to see who writes and directs it, not just who stars in it. Actors are of course important but usually it's the creative team behind them that really makes or breaks a drama, because they are the ones ultimately in control of the story. Having that grounding can be really helpful for setting expectations and in interpreting and processing what you watch, and also just for helping you find more of the kind of thing you will probably like. I’m extremely glad, for instance, that I watched Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends, because it gave me a framework for understanding the themes they were likely to dig into. I also just finished watching Rainless Love in a Godless Land, which I was interested in due in large part to it sharing the same screenwriter as my all time favorite Taiwanese drama, Someday or One Day, and being able to pull out the similar themes and ideas across the two projects made it all the more interesting for me.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

A Reflection on Quality vs. Quantity in Writing (as per some witnessed Tiktok and other posts)

I’m back again with a long post about quality vs word count quantity.

I think I’ve touched on this before and only recently realized what that may have come across as.

I think I’d like to clarify—just to make sure I was understood and not misinterpreted the first time around.

I’ve had the chance through Tiktok and Tumblr to meet a lot of fanfiction writers or aspiring writers. A version of what I’ve heard of, too many times, is some version of I will never be able to write a story, because I can’t write long ones. This fear of not being able to meet a certain word count often prevents the story from being written at all.

I don’t think word count should be a barrier to starting a story.

I don’t think anyone who’s ever started a long fic has ever thought to themselves, I’m going to write however many thousand words. No one who embarks on a story typically sets out with a specific word count in mind.

It happens, because it’s how the story’s meant to happen, and because that’s what the brain wants, what the characters need for their development.

A compelling story doesn't need to be long. Nor does it have to be short. It simply needs to resonate with its audience, and this can happen regardless of length, because we’re all looking for different things in fandom.

What I am trying to say really is for the writers who aren’t able to, or feel like they will never be able to either finish their stories or write anything bigger than a oneshot, or a small novel-length story: You don’t have to.

What I am trying to say is, people who write long fanfictions are able to take the same characters and explore dozens of emotions, adventures, issues, relationships within one story. Conversely, others can produce multiple shorter works, each focusing on a specific theme.

In the end, we are all doing the same thing, just going about it differently.

The way we think, the way we each explore our own inner turmoil also presents itself differently based on our past, our ability to focus, and what we want from the story we’re writing.

Amélie Nothomb has written 32+ short stories/small novels. Each one is dedicated to a specific genre, a specific topic. That’s where she thrives. And people read her stories. George R. R. Martin, renowned for a single series that interweaves countless topics across the characters' journeys. And people read his stories.

I could go into details about each author but just step into a library or a bookstore and you’ll have every single possible word count for a novel/anthology/series/whatever. They all found their little space on the bookshelves, and they all deserve to be there, and there is not one work that deserves it more than another.

AO3 is a bookshelf.

We are all human, we can’t all work the same way, and long works shouldn’t intimidate you out of writing at all.

This is what I want to say.

If you have something to say, you should write it. Doesn’t matter if it fits in 1K or less. Doesn’t matter if it fits in 900K or more. It’s going to resonate with someone.

No one sets off to resonate with thousands. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't, but you can’t work through your turmoil hoping to resonate with people; you must do it because you want to solve it within yourself first. The resonance is a by-product. It cannot be the end goal, only the happy happenstance.

I hope this helps.

If you want to write, write.

If you start something and stop because half-way through, you’ve decided that actually, you’ve worked through it, then isn’t it enough?

You don't owe anyone your writing, just as no one owes you their readership, praise, or positive feedback. These are all wonderful by-products of your work resonating with others, if you're ever so lucky, but it cannot be what you write for.

AO3 is a bookshelf like Mary Poppins’ bag. Ever-extending. There is space for every length, every type, every genre, every fandom, everythingeverythingeverything.

The only thing it doesn’t have space for, is hate.