#but intimate scenes where the characters have to stop and work things out

[neege]

Love love LOVE storytelling where characters have intimacy issues that bleed into sex. I love when characters can't get hard. I love when they don't like being naked during sex or when characters can't finish or when they don't like being touched certain ways. I love it all, I think using sex to tell stories about a character's deepest insecurities or fears is so special and important to see!

[endearng]

Third time's the charm

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: During one of your movie nights with Spencer, you decide to, once again, take the lead. Or, you got cockblocked so often that you almost thought it wouldn't happen. WC: 3.1k Warnings: smut (nipple play and dry humping); reader thinks spencer might be asexual but he's just a shy puppy; they are desperate for each other; "ruined" movie night; virgin!Spencer my beloved. (I guess that's it. If I forgot something, please let me know!) A/N: Aaaand here it is! I didn't think I'd write smut so soon, hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it's actually a sequel to Dearest friend, but can be read as a stand-alone. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 Masterlist

"It’s nice we finally have some time for each other," you hummed in agreement. "Thanks for coming over," Spencer said.

"You don't have to thank me," you said, sitting down on his couch after placing the drinks you chose from his fridge on the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you confessed. It got him blushing.

Spencer started one of your movies. It was your choice: you usually took turns picking out a movie to watch together whenever you had the chance, since neither of you were keen of going out that often and you didn't have much time outside of work. It was a fun opportunity to know more of each other through your personal taste, since he often chose foreign films about humanities and you, well, you made him watch Easy A, which got him talking about Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

After the movies, you would talk to each other about it, maybe mentioning a personal experience that you remembered thanks to a particular scene or a character's arch. Maybe you would kiss.

Which was a problem. Well, not a problem, but, you see, you didn't have much time together other than going to each other's houses and out on a few dates, which were your favorite: Spencer often found the most beautiful, cozy places to take you, like coffee shops, museums, bookshops and libraries, followed by a nice dinner at a local restaurant. It was during one of those dates that something gave him the nerve to touch your hand. Holding hands quickly escalated to having his hands around you at all times possible, and it got to the point where you nearly had to peel off of him when he got too comfortable and you sadly had to leave to do something. These moments of physical touch were making you go insane, thinking about making a bolder move on him, but you thought that maybe he wasn't ready. Plus the fact that you seemed to be interrupted whenever things got too heated.

If you had a nickel for everytime you and Spencer had to stop right before you got intimate (in any way, really), you'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice. It was like the universe (more like Hotch and the gore that surrounded the team) were set on a mission for you to never have sex again. Besides that, more extreme thoughts plagued your mind and told you that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. It often made you go home feeling a little bit insecure.

You knew that it was better to assume, but you were only human. After some pep talk with yourself on the way to his place, you convinced yourself that you would have to have this conversation with him, sooner or later. You thought so hard about this that you even came up with the possibility that he was asexual — you were fine with it if he was, obviously, because being with him made you feel whole. Still, you wanted, you needed to get this off your chest before you exploded with assumptions and unrequited feelings. Unrequited desire.

You decided to try to be subtle. Scratching the back of his head with your nails lovingly, you both watched the movie. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at you. You could see the goosebumps on his arm, that must have been the trigger for the question coming out of his lips. You gave him a soft smile.

"It's called affection, pretty boy," you kissed the tip of his nose. "And I don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

You kissed his left cheek when he turned to look at the TV screen.

Then, you turned his head gently to kiss the right one. He glanced between your eyes and your lips, so of fucking course you were about to kiss him, but you decided to tease him a little and pecked the tip of his nose and gently kissed his forehead instead. He breathed out a laugh. Ticklish. It made you wonder where else he would be sensitive.

Stop, you slut of a brain.

When you were about to kiss his lips, you withdrew your face from his, smooching his cheek instead. He sighed, oblivious to your real intentions, impatient and utterly, stupidly in love with you.

Oops. There goes your heart. Out the window. Taking your judgment with it.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do something?"

"Yes," he answered. "You know can do anything, baby."

"This is a very dangerous thing to say to a girl who has the feelings I have for you," you said, grinning. His expression morphed into one that almost looked like sheer panick.

You slowly moved to straddle his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to, his legs trapped between yours. You sat yourself on the top of his thighs. He watched every movement feeling like the world stopped and there were the both of you, moving in slow motion, movie long forgotten behind you. His breath hitched when he came to his senses and noticed the position you were in, now that you've done what you had. "Is this okay? It's more comfortable than kissing you like… well, that," you laughed softly.

"Yes. I-It's perfect," he breathed out, hands finding your waist.

You lips finally met his in a kiss that had both of you sighing. You found out that Spencer was a really good kisser — and you were proud to be the one with whom he practiced kissing to perfection —, your lips easily falling into a passionate rhythm. Gasping for air, you pecked him on those perfect lips that were red and puffy from all the assaulting you were doing, but he quickly pulled you in for another, this time, sloppier than ever, encouraged by your own boldness. He was french kissing you. Fairly used to it, but not with the intensity of it, you groaned in welcomed surprise, hands finding the nape of his neck and getting a grip on them, not so gently as you normally did. You pulled his hair down, breaking the kiss, lips tingling and lungs screaming for air. He smirked, feeling smug at the state he left you in.

You rose slightly from his lap, still holding his head and looking straight into his eyes. By holding yourself slightly above him, the pendant of your necklace grazed his chin, like he had imagined many times after watching you fiddle with it. God, it was finally coming true, having you in his arms and intending to let you do whatever you wanted to him and him only, the way that it should be ever since the day you met. You nearly made him go insane, pulling you closer to his body than you ever were, acting like a desperate madman. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, more feverishly than before, trying to tell him through that kiss that you were his. Biting his lower lip and earning a fucking moan, you sat yourself down on him again. You felt his bulge against your clothed core and the light contact made you feel lightheaded.

You were so caught up on him that it almost made you forget you needed to talk to him first. Unfortunately, as you tried to catch your breath and to find the right words to speak, Spencer felt his insecurities creeping up on him. Despite knowing it would be best to talk to you, he felt like voicing it out loud would push you away from him — which he didn't want. He was very comfortable with the indecent small distance between your bodies.

He was fidgety. You knew you needed to address this because your boyfriend wasn't the best at voicing his needs — you remember and giggled internally at how you had been the one to knock on Spencer's door asking him to put an end to your suffering by telling him how you felt. Heh. Kudos to you.

"I wanted to talk about this with you," you murmured, now feeling his kisses peppering the skin of your neck. You knew how much he was hiding from you because he wouldn't stop moving and it was very distracting, but if you didn't speak, it would be the end of you. "I'd ask if you were okay with me and you like this, about taking further steps, shit." You moaned when he fucking bit you and kissed you right after.

He pulled away from you, hands flying up to the back of your head. Foreheads touching, eyes locked in yours. "I want it. I want you, I mean. Been wanting you for some time now—a very long time, yes." He strongly shut his eyes closed, most likely working up the courage to say something. "But I don't want to... disappoint you," he finished, sounding insecure.

Not on your watch.

"Me too, Spence. God, I want you so bad," you answered, unable to look away from him, who now looked down, paying close attention to the rising and falling of your chest. "Hey, look at me, please," you pleaded. His eyes met yours. Oh, those maddening eyes... "Believe me when I tell you, baby, I want you. And if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. I won't push you, of course. I just wanted to have a conversation with you before, because setting boundaries is important and consent is hot—" he laughed quietly. Making jokes was your go-to way of making situations lighter and he was glad for it then. You smiled when you noticed the sound he made. "And I'm also positively certain that you wouldn't like to have our first time on your couch."

"My first time," he revealed. softly. Eyes not meeting yours.

Oh.

You didn’t falter. "It doesn't change much, baby. I still stand for what I just told you," you assured him, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Spence."

Looking back into your eyes, he declared, "And I want you."

"You can have me," you answered, "You already have."

"You'd need to guide me. You know, hands-on activity. Because I’ve never done it before…" he trailed off.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at teaching."

His grip finds your waist, lips anxiously waiting for yours — and when they touched to mold perfectly in another breathtaking kiss, he felt complete. Like nothing bad could ever happen in the world just because you were in it. His past, his insecurities, the awful things you both saw on the field, nothing mattered. Looking at you, touching you, was a nearly an out of body experience. The things you got him thinking by just kissing him. And he thought his insecurities would get the best of him. Jokes on them, you exist.

You look at him through hooded eyes. "I've never felt like this before. I feel... tingly," he confessed, lovely smile on his face, eyes blinking.

"You're feeling good, handsome," you answered, glancing at his dazed eyes.

A beat of silence. Swallowing second thoughts. "Can you make it better?"

"Is that a request or a challenge?" You asked, grinning.

"A request." He answered shyly, hiding his face on your neck, peppering kisses on your skin. You were going to explode.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," you shivered, feeling absolutely lost, "I might spoil you and give you everything you want," you sighed.

"Let me have it, then," he answered, voice muffled by your skin.

"I'm all yours, Spencer."

He had the audacity of blushing as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. You smiled at him. In this state, if he asked for you to run naked around town, you probably would. It was dangerous, to say the least. Softly, yet desperate, the words left his lips. "Can I take this off?" He sucked in a breath. "Please?"

"Yes, pretty boy, you can," you answered. "You can have anything. I thought I already said that."

"Yes—You did. You did," he breathed out between needy kisses across your skin, getting rid of your shirt in no time.

At first, he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen many naked (or semi-naked) women in front of him, but you were something out of this world. The bra you were wearing matched your skin tone and pushed your breasts together and there was the fucking necklace, almost mocking him by being constantly so close, too close to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The view was almost overwhelming by itself. You looked at him, but he couldn't possibly come up with the words that would describe you in that moment. Words had failed him, nothing else in his mind but you. The tool he used to communicate, to access the world and how it shaped reality, to comprehend the mind of another person, to get to know others... He had nothing left. Except from the pulsing of his boner against your clothed pussy, that is.

Just like that, IQ of 187 slashed to 60, Emily Prentiss said, once. Funnily enough, when you passed by wearing a sundress.

Unable to talk but, oh, so able to use his hands, they traveled up to your breasts with a featherlight touch, which didn't stop him from feeling your heartbeat. He let his hands trail over the soft and sheer fabric of the bra you were wearing. Finding your nipples, his touch got more intense. He licked his lips. His actions made you shudder and sent a spark of excitement to your sex. "Pretty," he said. "So, so pretty, my girl."

"Do you like it?" You asked, breathless from a little touching. Pathetic. "I got these thinking of you. Wanna look pretty for you, Spence."

"You are," he said, looking into your eyes, his own foggy, hands reaching to touch your neck. "You're pretty all the time, it's so unfair to me," he murmured. "I really like them on you, but… can I take ‘em off?"

"Yes. You can do anything, Spence."

Spencer wanted to burn the sight of you, in that slightly disheveled state, in the back of his mind so he could remember it forever — not that he would have a hard time trying to remember anything. Nevertheless, he did everything so slowly, almost as if trying to tattoo on the tip of his fingers the softness and temperature of your skin. He inhaled deeply, consumed by your floral-scented perfume and lifted his hands to unclasp your bra. His fingers curiously, but unhurriedly, lowered each of the straps. Like opening a gift that had been so carefully wrapped he didn't want to ruin.

But did he wanted to be ruined by you.

The sight of your bare chest was marvelous, to say the least, and he timidly grazed his fingertips against the exposed area, eliciting goosebumps and a soft whine. His mouth watered, thoughts simply reduced to the need of having you in his mouth. The striped pattern on the soft skin of your breasts around your nipples were faint, barely there, unless if you took a close look at it. It goes without saying that he was blatantly gazing at your bosom at this point.

Pupils dilated, he looked up at you, hungrily, drawing his face closer to you, curls tickling the skin of your collarbone. He inhaled your scent, mind blanking. Tortuously dragging his lips on your skin (and unintentionally smearing some of his saliva on you, he was drooling, after all) as a silent request, the necklace brushing his forehead slightly. The grind of your hips against his answered his plead to taste you.

"Oh—you're so, so good to me, princess," you moaned when he finally wrapped his lips against the nub, playing with the other.

You felt almost overwhelmed with the attention you were getting and the reaction you were having to said attention. Your underwear was sticking almost uncomfortably against your core and you felt yourself aching for some relief, aching for him. So, as Spencer worked his hot tongue on your tits, licking, softly biting, sucking, making a mess on and of you, you busied yourself by chasing the relief you both desperately wanted. The solace it provided you both with was exhilarating and made you feel dazed.

Steadily rocking yourself against him, you earned a few grunts. "You're making a mess of me, pretty boy," you murmured as he switched his attention to the other boob.

"Give it t'me—I want it, I deserve it," he breathed out, body aching with lust, cock pulsing against your covered clit. His words only fueled the fire inside you, the coil in your lower stomach threatening to snap at anytime now.

"Yeah, you do, my boy," you breathed out, pulling the hair on the nape of his neck, nearly tasting your orgasm, "gonna look so pretty when you come for me, won't you, baby?" Both hands gripping your hips, mouth never leaving your skin. You sure would be bruised by tomorrow, but this, this was definitely worth it.

"Yes—Yes, I will," He whined. He fucking whined.

"Tell, me—ah—where do you want to cum, baby?"

"Shit—" until then, you were sure that was a word you'd never hear him saying, let alone that freely. "Gonna—Shitshitshit," moaning out your name.

That's when it hit you that he had cummed his pants. It was such a fat load that it had seeped through both his underwear and his slacks — which prompted you to reach your own high with a moan of his name directly into his ear.

Both of you feeling dizzy, you slump against him, feeling his arms wrapping your frame as you rested your head on his shoulder. You both took deep breaths, the only sound in the room. Well, besides the movie you both totally ignored.

"I can't get up right now... My legs feel wobbly," you chuckled. "Are you okay, Spence?" You asked, looking at him when you didn't get an answer.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he answered, "I mean, I'll be fine as soon as I recover from you."

You laughed sincerely, "From me? What have I done to you?"

"You gave me what I wanted, you spoiled me, you broke me," he said, a silly smile adorning his pretty face. You pushed him playfully. "I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now. My brain has stopped working ever since you straddled me. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, babe."

"Wrong answer. You're so gonna keep doing that to me, so you'll definitely be trying to killing me from now on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[sharky-teeth]

top dean/bottom sam fics that perfectly exemplify why bottom sam is the best (the list got kind of super long because i'm just too passionate about this topic):

take the things you love by hathfrozen: i think everybody and their grandma knows this one but i had to include it, this is our gospel. literally changed my life.

mommy dearest by tradwifesam: if you don't like feminization, read this and see the vision.

Softly, as a morning sunrise by LaughableLament: one of my go-to authors for fun and short PWPs.

Noise Complaint by formalizing: a lesson on how to make a thousand words count!

Coast On Through by philalethia: this actually contains switching, but when i tell you it has some of the best samdean scenes ever...

Feel About the Same Most Every Day: pining that you can feel in your bones.

Like a Machine by ani_coolgirl: camboy!sam perfection.

Untouchable for Life by Sintari: another one for my camboy!sam enthusiasts.

Undertow by Molly: starts out angsty and ends with psychic sex vibes, what's not to love?

Birthday Boy by DickBaggins: sam's ass is dean's birthday present, need i say more?

Keeping it Clean by themegalosaurus: swesson filth <3

this thing, for which we break by orbiting_saturn: intense and intimate, as PWP as it comes.

Sweltering by WhoopsOK: brothers with benefits done right. slutty sam as a treat!

weecest:

With A Bit Of Spit And Luck by elsi: in my top 5 weecest of all time, which is saying something because the competition is crazy.

Bulletproof by road_rhythm: gunplay! incredible characterization, if you have a kink for guilty dean who's unable to stop himself, and pushy sammy, this is the one.

Heart of Worms by Ninni: very moody, and beautifully written.

Petulant by formalizing: another short read that hits all the right spots and leaves you wanting more.

and all is right in Dean's world by ladygizarme: loved dean's characterization here, he left me feeling unsettled.

for those like me who need some jokes with your p*rn:

The Koala Conundrum by De_Nugis: (mentions of switching) to this day, one of the most unique & refreshing stories i've read, an absolute masterpiece.

the one with aphrodisiac: this one managed to be hilarious and hot in equal measure, an amazing feat.

Incidentally, It Was Christmas by ani_coolgirl: one of my favorite fics of the year! ani's humor is impeccable! if you also believe in the sam-sexual dean truth, this is a must read.

Tongue-Tied by ADeedWithoutaName: cursed!dean unable to speak, and sam speaking for both of them, you know where this goes...

Dicks in a Box by fictionallemons: buried alive and how do sam and dean decide to spend their time? it ain't cuddling!

Versatile, Tender and Delicious by themegalosaurus: improper use of a zucchini. read and find out.

for my omega sam lovers:

Five Weeks & its sequel Three Weeks Too Late by rei_c: probably my favorite wincest a/b/o of all time! i could've read 100k of this universe, loved the details put into it.

A Blind Fool's Luck by hellhoundsprey: this is also a favorite! i remember the tension in this fic had me dizzy. this author has an incredible way with descriptions, vivid and unique writing style.

Phantom Pain by hellhoundsprey: weecest! love their dynamic here so much, great blending of a/b/o traits while keeping them in character.

Clover by hellhoundsprey: perfectly done late seasons getting together! with the right amount of schmoop. clearly this author is very dear to me lol

know the feeling by sammyatstanford: this is the longest work in this list, around 40k words, and so worth it! really enjoyed the worldbuilding.

now to my favorite flavor (bottom sam with a side of delicious angst):

Lesser Evils by Dyed_Red: [non-con] not for everyone, but definitely for me. if you love samdean at odds and suffering, this will push all the right buttons. life-changing fic.

Is It Tomorrow (Or Just the End of Time) by elsi: the angst here is so glorious. from beginning to end it's angst, angst, then more angst. there is no resolution to their issues, and i love that.

Collision Course by lovetincture: one of the most believable first time stories i've read, spot on characterization and raw descriptions. didn't shy away from the ugly side of incest.

You can run away with me any time you want by Trojie: sam leaving for stanford fic! oh this one hurts like a motherfucker. there's a line in here that's so beautiful, it lives in my brain.

his skin barely keeping him inside by hathfrozen: another banger by hathfrozen, i have a weak spot for first time in a long time stories.

No such thing as Forgiveness by hellhoundsprey: lawyer!sam getting his life sent off track when big brother comes back to the picture... the unhealthy dynamic here is to die for.

Blood sacrifice sex magic type of thing by Goshen: sam performing ritual sex to cure his demon brother... as he should.

Worship Not These False Idols by killabeez: ruby fucking sam while pretending to be dean. as amazing as it sounds.

Circles of Light by WhoopsOK: there is a "Magical Healing Ass" tag. enough said

end of list! i tried to only include works with less than 10k hits here, so someone might find something they haven't read before. i didn't include warnings, so definitely check out the tags first. all these fics are seriously amazing, i hope more people will read these gems <3

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Novel Outline

Novel outline - a document that includes important planning information about your novel’s structure, plot, characters, scenes, and more. It is the skeleton of your novel.

An outline can be anything from a one-page written document to a comprehensive visual mindmap that uses diagrams to represent the link between information and ideas.

If you have the space, you can write your sentences on index cards and post them on a wall to make it easier to view and manipulate the parts.

Each event should be a single, short sentence (e.g. Danny gets shot in the leg).

How to Create a Novel Outline

Grab your notebook (or index cards) and follow these simple steps:

1. Craft your premise

This is the underlying idea for your story.

A good way to find the premise is to ask yourself, “What would happen if…?”

For example: What would happen if a young man who survives a shipwreck spends months in a lifeboat with a large Bengal tiger? (Life of Pi, 2001) Or: What would happen if four strangers met in an Italian villa during World War II? (The English Patient, 1992).

Next, it might help to try and answer a few key questions to help expand on the premise and generate new ideas. Things like:

Who is the main protagonist?

What is the situation?

How will the protagonist change from the beginning of the novel to the end?

What is her/her objective?

What does he/she want?

How does he/she get or not get what they want?

Is there an opposing force that is stopping the protagonist from achieving this objective?

What is the central conflict of the novel?

What about the central theme—what are you trying to say?

Once you’ve worked out the answers to these questions, write a 1-paragraph summary of the novel. Think of it as an elevator pitch.

2. Determine your setting

In a novel, the setting (time, place) can be just as important as the characters. Readers need to feel a sense of where things are happening, just as much as why they’re happening.

Planning setting can depend on a number of things, depending on what kind of novel you’re writing. Get to know your setting intimately. Do as much research as you can. If your novel is set in the real world, find photos, descriptions, and other materials to inform your ideas.

Is your novel set in a boarding school? During a particular period in time?

Find as much information, both written and visual, about boarding schools in that time. Picture your settings in your mind, and write down as much detail as you can: everything from how something looks and sounds to how it might smell, taste, or feel.

3. Get to know your characters

Write character profiles. Visualize them. Pretend you’re introducing these characters to your friends. What would you say about them? What details would you include, and what details would you omit—and why? What kind of journey will each character undertake in the novel? Where will they start, and where will they end up? Who will be central to the novel’s plot, and who will just serve as color and background?

Develop character backstories. Think of the moments in each character’s life that have led them to the point where they are introduced in the novel. What elements have shaped their personality and progression as characters? Do they have unresolved issues crucial to the plot?

One method is to conduct a Q&A with the most important characters, as a way of finding out more about them. Ask your characters a series of questions (get as personal as you want) and have him/her answer in his/her own words.

4. Construct your plot

Construct a timeline of events. Write down everything that happens in the novel, from the beginning to the end. Include details where you can, such as where the events take place, and who is involved. If you know the outcome of the events, and how they will impact the novel’s overall plot, include this as well (these can help form the foundation of additional subplots).

Beginning: The beginning of your novel has to accomplish a lot. It must introduce the hero, the villain, and the world of the story, as well as the story’s sole dramatic question, and it must do this with enough energy to grab your reader’s interest right away. A prologue can be useful for seizing the reader’s attention.

Middle: Often, tension evaporates in the middle of a novel, so it’s a good idea to figure out your ending first. It may not be perfect, and you can always change it later, but it’s useful to know the climax to which your characters are headed. Having that destination will help you stay focused during the “middle muddle.” Write as many short sentences as you need to describe the pathway your characters will take to reach the climax.

End: While it may seem daunting to figure out the ending so early, just return to your sole dramatic question, which already has your ending hidden within it. For example, if your question is: Will Ahab catch the whale? Then your story’s finale will be the moment when he does.

5. Write your scenes

Once your plot outline is in place, you’ll have a better idea of what scenes will need to be placed where. Add them to the outline. Flesh them out as much as you want—everything from where the action takes place to who is involved, even dialogue if you already know what you want your characters to say. Don’t worry about things making sense at this point, you’ll have time later to go back and highlight anything that feels out of place. Just focus on getting everything down so you can see it in front of you.

Once your outline is complete, you’ll be free to start writing your first draft with the knowledge that if you falter, you can always turn back to the outline to see the big picture. As you begin the writing process, watch out for gaps in logic. Refer back to the outline, and update storylines, plot points, and the timeline as you go along.

While it’s necessary to have a basic grasp of your characters and your world when you start writing, it’s not essential to know everything up front. In fact, even with the most meticulous outlines, you may still find that your characters do things to upset your plans. When this happens, follow your instincts. Don’t be afraid to toss your outline or significantly revise it mid-way through your novel. A good rule to remember is that outlines involve plotting what will happen to your characters, but in the end, your characters should determine your plot.

Classic Methods for Creating Novel Outlines

No two outlines are ever the same, however there are myriad methods to kickstart the novel outline process.

Synopsis outline. This involves the creation of a short document, usually one or two pages long, that gives you a rough idea of the novel’s structure but also leaves room for flexibility. Think of this as a synopsis of the book, hitting all the major beats: what happens in the beginning, middle, and end? What are the major plot points and twists? What is the climax? What is the resolution?

In-depth outline. This is a more evolved outline that usually involves writing chapter summaries and outlining the different scenes within those chapters. This is more comprehensive and can take a lot more time. However, some writers swear by this method to stay on track. Some in-depth outlines can almost be mini-novels themselves, hitting around the 10,000-word mark.

Snowflake method. This method was created by author and writing instructor Randy Ingermanson. It begins with a one-sentence summary of the story you’re trying to tell. For example, the sentence could be something like: “Two teenagers discover a secret cave that contains treasures that a group of criminals has been hunting for.” The snowflake method would then require you to build that sentence into a paragraph, and then use that paragraph to create a series of character descriptions, and from there a series of storylines that involve those characters. The process spans outward until you have a fully outlined novel.

Bookend method. This method is for writers who prefer to leave some things to chance. It involves plotting the start and end of the story, as well as each of the main characters—but nothing more. This method is usually recommended for writers who already have a strong grasp of the characters and the kind of story they want to tell.

Basic Questions Every Outline Should Answer

Besides listing characters and plot points for story structure, your outline should give you a general sense of the direction of your story as well as the primary conflicts and tensions that will make it intriguing for readers. Keep the following questions in mind while creating your outline:

What is the main contract of the story? You must resolve the promises you made to your reader by the end of the novel.

What sort of time pressure is working on your characters?

What is at stake for the protagonist of the novel? Does the pressure on the main characters grow more intense as the story progresses?

Pros & Cons of Creating an Outline

Some writers are comfortable creating a detailed outline for a novel. New writers in particular find it helpful to have a road map.

Others feel that writing an outline diminishes the pleasure of discovering the story along the way. They argue that working from an outline means you’re not creating anymore, you’re translating your ideas.

In the literary world, novelists who use outlines are referred to as “plotters.” Example: Ernest Hemingway.

Those who don���t are known as “pantsers” — a reference to flying by the seat of their pants. Famous pantsers include Margaret Atwood and Stephen King.

While every writer is different, there are some general pros and cons to consider before creating your novel outline.

The benefits of creating an outline:

Helps visualize the big picture

Keeps the story on track

Logs which scenes go where

Clearly presents character arcs

Acts as a guide to ease writer’s block when you’re stuck

Clarifies the middle, to avoid the “muddle”

The drawbacks of creating an outline:

Can create a stilted narrative

If followed too closely, can feel formulaic

May lead to more showing rather than telling in the actual writing

Characters may seem to make inauthentic choices, solely based on plot points instead of natural results from narrative action

Bestselling author Stephen King supposedly swears by putting interesting characters in difficult situations and just seeing what happens. He famously said: “Outlines are the last resource of bad fiction writers who wish to God they were writing masters’ theses.”

That aside, both plotters and pantsers agree on one thing: there is no correct way when it comes to novel writing. It simply depends on what kind of writer you are, and what works for you.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[veephoenix]

until the stars stop shining | noah sebastian

previous part to all that's left, but it can be read as a one shot.

summary: noah and his girl spend an evening by the lake | words: 1.2k | reading time: 5mins

tags & trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff. noah is an illustrator, reader loves baking cookies, mentions of noah having been reader's first, and that's it—they love each other a ton.

This is for the anon that asked for something sweet and fluffy after i posted All That's Left. I hope this does it. It's not actually a standalone work, but a sort of flashback belonging to the same story where All That's Left happens. I have a full plot developed in my head, but I can't tell if I'll ever write it and post it, so here goes this little thing where you get to know a little bit more of those characters and the story.

Thank you for all your constant love and support <3

 ͢ until the stars stop shining

Noah leaned back in the Muskoka chair, one leg lazily stretched out, balancing his sketchbook on his lap. He was shirtless, only wearing his bathing suit. For over an hour, he had been sketching, savoring the tranquil solitude offered by the lake, the warm caress of the late afternoon sun, and the rustling of leaves. Early fall was the perfect time for moments like this, when nature felt intimate and unhurried. Most of the tourists had long gone, leaving behind only the soft chorus of birds and the quiet murmur of waves licking the shore.

The breeze teased the pages of his sketchbook, carrying with it the crisp scent of pine needles and the rhythmic whisper of water against the rocks. Noah’s pencil glided in slow, thoughtful strokes as he tried to capture the scene before him, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his girl.

The door to the cottage creaked open right then, and she stepped outside. She carried a wooden tray filled with oat cinnamon cookies, their powdered sugar dusting glinting in the soft afternoon light. The sweet, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp air, making Noah smile to himself even without glancing back. 

She padded softly down the dock, her bare feet almost silent against the worn wood, and placed the tray on the armrest of his chair, her fingers grazing his shoulder in a brief, affectionate touch.

“I baked something,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. Of course she had. Baking was her favorite thing to do.  “Something sweet for my favorite artist.”

Noah grinned as he finally looked at her, his eyes catching on the spot of flour smeared across her nose. She had no idea it was there, and he decided not to tell her—she looked adorable like that.

“You need to refill your energy after working so hard for hours on end,” she pointed out as she glanced at the open sketchbook on his lap. 

Instead of reaching for a cookie, Noah broke off a small piece and gently brought it to her lips. Her smile widened as she took a bite, the sweetness melting on her tongue. A moment later, he let out a soft chuckle, reaching to brush a crumb off her lip with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before dropping back to his half-finished sketch.

“I’m not half as good at drawing as you are at baking,” he admitted.

She tilted her head, glancing at the sketch. “This one looks pretty good to me, Noah.”

He smirked, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Wait until you see the one I did last night, after you fell asleep on the couch.”

“Why do you find it so entertaining to draw me?”

His gaze softened as he looked back at her. “Because you’re my favorite subject.”

That’s when he bopped her nose, making the flour stain disappear.

Her grin was bright and effortless as she leaned over the back of his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder, close enough to feel his warmth. “And you’re my favorite person to bake for,” she whispered.

Noah’s cheeks flushed slightly at her words, a rare blush coloring his usually composed expression. She kissed the warm skin of his left cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling away with a satisfied smile. She wandered toward the edge of the dock, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden planks. She sat down, her legs hanging off the edge.

Noah watched her for a moment, admiring how the wind gently tousled her hair and the way the light danced off her skin. The contentment in her posture, the way her eyes reflected the colors of the setting sun—everything about this moment felt perfect.

“You ever gonna let me teach you how to swim?” Noah asked.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the water before she responded quietly, “I don’t know... I’m still a bit scared of it.” She dipped her feet a little deeper, letting the cool water lap around her ankles. “But... I love being here. With you.”

The memory of that first visit just the two of them was vivid in both their minds. This was Jolly’s cottage, the same place where Noah and her had meet back when she was still fourteen and he was eighteen. They had spent countless of weekends and birthdays and fourths of July in this very same place. But nothing had been as special as the weekend Noah convinced Jolly to let him stay with her, alone. It had been six years since then, and even now, the memory of taking her virginity—in Jolly’s bed—was still as clear as water.  

Noah watched as the wind played with her hair, blowing soft strands across her face. He picked up his sketchbook again, unable to resist capturing her in this moment—the peacefulness, the effortless beauty. His pencil moved in quick, steady strokes as he sketched her sitting at the edge of the dock, her feet in the water, the sun casting an orange glow over the horizon. He knew that one day, he would marry this girl. There was no question in his mind.

Once satisfied with the drawing, Noah quietly set his sketchbook aside and rose from the chair. He walked over to her with slow, deliberate steps, his heart swelling as he took in the sight of her in this perfect, secluded spot. Without warning, he bent down, pretending to lift her by the underarms as if he were about to toss her into the water.

She yelped in surprise, her heart leaping as she felt her feet lift off the dock. “Noah!” 

Before she could fully react, Noah pulled her back into his arms, turning her around to face him. She clung to him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms tightening around his neck, her pulse racing from the surprise.

“Don’t you dare!” she gasped, breathless from both fear and thrill, burying her face against his neck.

Noah laughed with her, holding her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin. “I wouldn’t let you go that easily,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Still holding her, Noah carried her over to the blanket they had left spread out on the dock earlier. He gently laid her down, her body sinking into the soft fabric, and then settled beside her. 

“Don’t you ever,” she started to say, “ever, let me drown, Noah Sebastian.”

“Never ever,” he promised, showing her his pinky finger. 

She laced it with hers and finally, she let out a heavy sigh and cuddled closer to him, nuzzing her cheek against his bare shoulder. 

They lay close, facing each other, their fingers lazily tracing along each other’s arms and faces. Neither spoke for a long while. Her fingers trailed down his chest while his hand rested lightly on her hip. Above them, the stars began to appear, one by one, until the sky was a dark, glittering canvas. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water.

“How long will you love me?” Noah asked, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

She gazed at him, eyes warm and steady. She placed the most tender of kisses on his lips.

“Until the stars stop shining.”

[furinana]

The undertones behind Walter and Jonathan's relationship that you might not know about

I'll be calling attention to traits present in their dynamic that are unknown to most players in the West due to incomplete localization.

Now... where do we begin? Oh, right. In the part after you're done with Naraku and get to spend the holiday with the other two.

This scene is presented in almost the same way in both languages but Jonathan's reaction seems emphasized on a specific word in the Japanese script.

"T...t-t... that's crude, Walter. I would never... such a thing like that to women..."

In either case, if this ended at Jonathan's response, it would be mostly nothing worth commenting on. Jonathan is the Law representative raised by a family that worked in the Monastery so naturally he's gonna behave in a more chaste way, correct?

But then you have Walter's posture becoming uncomfortable followed by immediately changing subjects as if he's already in the know of what Jonathan was anxious about compared to the player (thus Flynn) being rather out of loop about what was going on.

The thing is... the meaning was actually already available for the players, even prior to SMTIV's release! That is, if you accessed the official website and clicked on the interviews with the Japanese voice actors (which included in-character voice clips). All of the translations presented in this post were done by takujilvr

"I'll only tell you this because it's you, all right? Only because it's you! I'm afraid I can't bring myself to like women very much. Being raised in a household with two elder sisters and one younger made me lose any illusions about them I might've had. You're a man, so I feel much more at ease with you."

Certainly, he doesn't seem to specifically refer to anyone in this clip. It could be Flynn or probably anyone else as long as they're a male.

But there are other voice clips aside this one that point towards a more definitive interpretation.

"Enough of that "Ooh, you'll catch cold!" drivel, Jonathan, you sound like a naggy old wife. I can't abide being constricted, this chest must stay bared!"

"S-Stop pulling my hair, Walter! It won't straighten out, I got it from my mother!"

They don't have voice clips directly acknowledging anyone else, leading to the impression that Walter and Jonathan were being more marketed as a duo over their dynamic with the main character.

But the shocking reveal comes with this one:

"I'll only say this if you promise not to tell anyone! Cats, I just love 'em. When I see one outside, I can't help but crouch down and give it some pets! Wait, no. I mean, listen, I can't stand fish. And they can take it off my hands, can't they? That's why I love cats. Right."

A player that reached the part where the party gets hit by Yaso Magatsuhi's scent in Roppongi will thus connect the dots:

How one interprets the twist of this scene might change entirely with the voice clip in mind. It opens the possibility that, differently from many players' assumptions, Jonathan was acting like a feline not because he's secretly a cat lover. But, most likely, due to WALTER liking them. And he would have no way of knowing that unless Walter told him off-screen.

To summarize...

Jonathan is unable to feel attraction for girls and feels more comfortable with guys which would be inevitably an obstacle for his future considering his conservative background

Walter has phobia of fish despite what his family does for trade and has a soft spot for cats specifically because they eat them for him which would be defined as a 'weakness' to his self-reliant image

1 and 2 are each most's intimate secret and they revealed them for each other

"But how much does this add to the main plot?" Even when pushing aside subtleties from this extra material, attentive Megaten veterans would notice that the Law & Chaos representatives from SMTIV have an explicitly close bond compared to most characters of opposing sides in other titles of the mainline series.

[Jonathan was the most visibly affected by their breakup]

This extra material essentially adds more to the range of interpretation regarding their intimacy while also making them more relatable beyond their surface of Law & Chaos pieces.

On this note, moments where they "crack" their own alignments also happen briefly in-game.

They were two boys of the same age that became instant close friends however became unable to conciliate the differences emphasized by their caste system and reach the understanding of what would be the best for everyone.

All of this leads to the player's realization that Jonathan and Walter ultimately didn't perfectly antagonize each other as humans but were "pushed" towards their extreme roles by ulterior forces that would subsequently be further exposed in the sequel.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Hi! Cause you forced me to acknowledge how many damn WIPs I have (rude) I shall now send you an ask about yours 😌 So I'm gonna be super shameless and predictable and ask about that one Spite Lucanis x Rook fic I spy in there 👀👀👀

from this tumblr game thank you!! :)

ahahahaha well. this was indeed a character exploration about Spite's involvement in Rook/Lucanis' relationship but uhhhhhhh taken to the logical and less favorable conclusion than i have seen in fanfic so far, hence the word "interruption" in the title 😂 posting a longer snippet because... really i've just been writing random scenes for their relationship and am not sure if/when/how i will structure it into fanfic yet (handful of one shots? a longer thing? i am so low on free time though 😭 idk)

timing is after the romance lock-in but before the act 3 romance scene, so Rook & Lucanis are together as a couple but haven't slept together yet... though they may have been heading that way before Spite decided to get involved. under a readmore for length!

STOP, Spite suddenly roars, surging forward from the back of Lucanis’ awareness. The demon’s wings burst forth, their first downward stroke hard enough that it sends him reeling backwards, away from Rook. “What?” he cries, and “—what?” Rook echoes in sudden alarm, as their bodies tumble apart, Lucanis barely managing to throw out an arm to brace his fall as he crashes to the stone floor of the pantry. His feet tangle in his discarded waistcoat and trousers as he leaps back to his feet, nearly sending him to the floor for a second time.

He looks around wildly, for the attackers or whoever else is responsible for Spite’s sudden disquiet. But there is no one. No demons, no Antaam pulled into the Fade, not even one of their companions wandering too close on accident. He fumbles at the table for one of his knives anyway, trying to listen, to figure out where the danger is coming from. “What’s going on? Spite, what happened?!”  There, Spite says, all calm satisfaction now. If you kept going. She would have come. Now she wants more. “She—excuse me? Spite, what are you talking about?” Lucanis demands. She will think about you all night now, the demon replies happily. If you kept going. It would have been over. “I—why would you do that?! That’s not how it works!” “What’s he saying? What’s going on?” Rook stands in front of the bed, frantically staring around too, searching for enemies that clearly never existed. Her hair is still rumpled from where his hands had tangled in it, her breaths still coming fast and heavy.  He cannot believe he has to not only sit here, disgraced and ashamed, but he is left alone in actually explaining what’s happened. “Mierda. He did it on purpose. He thinks it’s—fun. To stop us.” He presses a hand over his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Spite—ohhh. Oh.” “I’m going to kill him,” Lucanis says flatly. “I’m going to take myself out back and—” I’m RIGHT, Spite howls in defiance, baring his teeth inches from Lucanis’ face. Despite himself, he flinches back. You wanted. Her to think about you. MORE! “No, stop that, it’s fine,” Rook tries to soothe him, her hands scrabbling to re-fasten her tunic around her waist. As though this catastrophe is something she can just brush off. “I guess we should figure out, uh, how Spite—how you and he—” “I can’t talk about this,” he mutters into his palm as he drags his hand down his face, dropping to sit back down on the cot again.. “This is not happening.” He knew Spite was a part of him. He was resigned to his presence, was growing used to the new precautions his life involved. He even, though he hated to admit it to himself, enjoyed the extra momentum and power the demon brought when they fought against enemies. What he hadn’t considered was the demon barging into the personal, intimate—   You did it BEFORE, the demon sulks. And it WORKED. She wanted to kiss you more because you stopped. “That was different,” he snaps in response. He ignores Rook’s baffled expression at his half of the conversation.  “I mean—he is Spite,” I guess, Rook acknowledges. “Uh, maybe I should leave you two to talk about this together?”

Panic surges in his chest, as he bites back his urge to shout No! at the suggestion. But she doesn’t deserve to half-witness the mess of the argument he’s already having. He was an idiot. He should never have assumed something might be going right in his life for once. “I don’t even know what to say to him,” he can’t help saying in exasperation. “He doesn’t listen, just does—whatever he wants.” What YOU wanted! You SAID it! I was only HELPING. “Well. You said you didn’t have much experience with, um, relationships—” “I don’t think this counts as the kind of experience anyone has, Rook,” Lucanis responds, dropping his head into his hands again, elbows resting on his knees. “I can’t exactly stop him from—he sees what I see. What I… feel.” Admitting it fills him with shame. He should have told her before this. Whether or not she’s guessed, there’s no avoiding it now, or pretending anything in his life could ever again be normal. Simple.  “No, I just meant—maybe try to explain it to him, is all.” Rook sighs, and he can hear the shift of fabric over skin as she tugs her clothing back into place. He wonders if she can see the bright flush of shame to his skin behind his hands. “He’s only got your memories for how to interpret the world,” she continues. “Maybe he… misunderstood something.” He doesn’t want to tell her that Spite probably understood more than he did himself. Lucanis certainly hadn’t realized just how close she’d been to—he shakes his head to clear away the thought.  “You two will figure this out,” Rook says, with a firm conviction he does not mirror. She leans forward and kisses the top of his head, but he can’t bring himself to raise his face to meet her gaze. “I’ll see you at dinner later.” He hears her soft footsteps pad to the door, and slip away, out of the kitchen and back to the other parts of the Lighthouse. Maybe if he never leaves the pantry, he won’t ever have to think about this again. Maybe she’ll forget the whole thing ever happened.  Won’t forget, Spite cackles gleefully. Definitely. Won’t forget.

[grxmreaperx]

I rewatched Saw IV and I can't stop thinking about Peter Strahm as a soft Dom! 😩💦

Peter is absolutely a soft dom! I started out with some head cannons for this idea, but am absolutely willing to make a full on fic for this idea if y’all like this!!

Pairing: Peter Strahm x (gn!) reader

Word Count: ~500

Warnings: 18+!! Lots of smut, mostly fluffy smut

Summary: Headcannons about Peter being a soft dom! Aftercare included!!

Peter Strahm as a soft dom would include…

• Your first couple times together, he would hold himself back (especially if he was your first)

• He would be very careful to make sure you are enjoying yourself and that he’s not being too rough

• Always very romantic, intimacy with his partner is very important to him

• He wouldn’t get rougher or more dominant unless you suggested it, or would maybe bring it up later into your relationship, after you’ve been intimate for a while

• One day, you suggest to him that he take a bit more control; it was something you had thought about for a while

• You loved how gentle and romantic he was, but you also wanted the chance to spice it up a bit

• Something changed in him as soon as you suggested it, and this man became absolutely insatiable

• Loves calling you pretty names: sweet baby, darling, baby, pretty thing, just to name a few

• Now, I’m convinced that Strahm would be the biggest softie for his partner, so I don’t think he would be able to degrade you unless you really wanted him to

• And even then, he would be so sweet afterwards, comforting you and telling you how much he loves you

• Loves picking you up and pressing you against the wall when you least expect it

• Just loves picking you up in general, just to remind you he can and who’s in charge

• “Good job baby, you’re doing so good for me”

• Will have you literally anywhere around your home

• In bed, against the wall, on the counter/table, in the shower

• “You gonna be good for me, darling? You know how much I love seeing you on your knees.”

• Loves overstimulating you and seeing how much you can handle

• “Cmon, love, one more for me hmm? I love hearing the noises you make, can’t get enough of it”

• I just imagine how he acts with Perez and how he talks to her/acts with her (picture the scene where she is hit with shrapnel from Billy). If he’s caring with his partner at work, he is going to be an absolute angel with his lover

o Side note: Perez is absolutely into women, and no one is changing my mind, but that’s a subject for another day

• If he’s had a long day at work and needs to let out some pent-up stress, he would probably be a bit rougher, like bending you over and pinning your arms behind your back

• “You look so good full of my cock, love.”

• Always has to hold you afterwards, lots of kisses and sweet talking, telling you how well you did

• Cleans you up, makes sure you have water, jumps in the shower with you when you’ve had a particularly hot and steamy session and you’re both sweaty

I know a lot of you have been looking forward to soft dom Strahm, so I am here to provide! This is kinda short compared to my other works but was trying to get into the swing of writing Peter and getting used to him as a character. Let me know how I did and if y’all want a longer piece of him being a soft dom with his partner!! (There is also a Peter Strahm NSFW alphabet in your futures, your girl knows what the people want👀)

[kyouka-supremacy]

I was asked why I like Beast and why I prefer it over the main universe, so obviously I ended up with a 2k+ words essay on why Beast is great. Now I feel like it diverges too much from what the original ask was actually asking for, so I'm leaving it to its own post. Enjoy.

Why do you like Beast? So, first of all you MUST know that this is a question that could keep me talking for days to no end. I'm not kidding. Here there will be some disorganized rambles but trust me, if I had time to actually do so I'd keep going on forever.

Alternative universes are cool I love Beast. I think it starts off at a point when the bsd author was more experienced from having already worked with the main series for many years, and ultimately ended up making an alternative version of the work that is more mature and refined, while still maintaining bsd's core themes (and conservative worldviews at that lmao). Starting off, the “what if” concept is endlessly fascinating, pretty much the entire fandom culture is based on it. It IS unfailingly cool to see what could have happened if Akutagawa sided with the ada and Atsushi with the pm, it is extremely interesting to see what changes out of their personalities and on the other hand what stays the same, what is intrinsically them. About sskk, I find it really compelling how Beast tackles intimate aspects of their lives, pasts and traumas. The café scene is genuinely brilliant in the way it shows, completely unexpectedly and to the reader's full disbelief, them getting along in normal circumstances. Who could have predicted that! Of all things, Akutagawa and Atsushi getting along. But it happened, and nothing before had ever shown to that extent how similar they are, how much on the same page they are, how much they're meant to be– like yeah obviously I mean romantically, but even if you're not particularly into that, it displayed just how deeply connected they are. I'm forever grateful for that scene.

Beast Akutagawa is great But I think… More in general, I just really like Beast Akutagawa and Beast Atsushi, even better than their canon counterparts 😅 Again I do think at the point when they wrote Beast the author had already gathered a lot of experience from serializing bsd for at least five years, and ended up making characters that are more solid and compelling (although please don't get me wrong, I LOVE canon sskk and I believe canon Akutagawa's character arc in particular is amazing. It's just that at least to me Beast sskk is everything I could ever ask for.). I love Beast Akutagawa! It was so so capturing to see him grow outside of the pm. And especially it was infinitely interesting to see Akutagawa grow outside of Dazai. And don't get me wrong, I love the influence Dazai has on canon Akutagawa, I wouldn't have it any other way: it made Akutagawa who he is, and I love reading about his character. But I also found it wonderful and pleasantly refreshing to see how he would be if he had never undergone Dazai's training; I like this Akutagawa who's possibly even more immature and impulsive, wild and untamed than his canon counterpart. Beast is also the universe where Akutagawa gets his chance at being a good person - which is something he desperately strived for but never got to have in the main universe -, and in the end I am a little attached to Akutagawa, so I'm happy for him! His relationship with Oda and the whole ada are wonderful, I like getting to experience a universe where Akutagawa is loved and supported, unapologetically, for who he is.

Beast Atsushi is great Beast Atsushi is AMAZING. Like. Character molded appositely to my liking ahah. He's so cool! He's so tormented! He's sweet and cruel and utterly unstable! I love him so much. He truly is Atsushi at his full potential. I love this Atsushi who's biggest fear isn't the world, but rather himself. He's beautiful and horrible and deathly and kind. He killed his abuser to stop him from haunting his nightmares, but ended up turning those nightmares into his life. He takes his coffee with three sugars. He loves his little sister and would risk the safety of his organization and the boss he's endlessly loyal to for her. The only person who ever understood him is his most loathed enemy. He's one with death and indistinguishable from darkness. His laughter stops rain. He lives in perpetual physical pain due to a choker constantly piercing around his neck and yet even that is nothing compared to the damage of his psyche. He's so, so fucked up. He deserves the world. I LOVE HIM.

Beast Dazai is great Also, I really like Beast Dazai!!! He's always Dazai, but I think his character works out a lot better in Beast for the role he covers. In canon Dazai is this omniscient, all knowing figure, but he's also a protagonist, and him being so perfectly flawless doesn't go well in the long run. You've seen it in the last season 5 episode, it just gets boring after a while– it would be nice to see him face actual challenges and high stakes for once, but he's so overpowered, that never happens. In Beast, it's pretty much the same deal (author really loves Dazai lmao), but the fact that he isn't the protagonist and instead the main villain? I feel like from a storytelling standpoint, it works so much better!! I mean, his being omniscient works a lot better– he's not the one who the reader expects facing challenges and high stakes, the protagonist is. In addition, in Beast Dazai has almost universal knowledge due to his link to the Book, so that makes his being omniscient and even god-like a lot more feasible and easy to contemplate! I think that plot-wise it just works a lot better, there's an actual reason he's so overpowered, and that reason is explained, it's in the text. Oh and I LOVE his utter devotion to Oda. I know it's the same in canon, but still… There in Beast you can see it concretely, you can see it everywhere. That very universe exists how it is because of Dazai's love for Oda, because there's nothing he wouldn't do for him, because in the whole universe, in the whole multiverse, Oda's happiness is the only thing that matters to him. I think such strong feelings of love being put so explicitly is something simply wonderful to read, and makes Dazai infinitely more sympathetic than what he may be in canon. “But I do have one regret, Odasaku— I won't be able to read the novel you'll complete one day.” LIKE YEAH, SURE, ALRIGHT, JUST SHOOT ME TO THE HEAD ALREADY. That line alone is worth the whole novel, honestly. Oh and the thing about Oda harshly repudiating Dazai, the man who literally did everything for him, who dedicated his whole life for him… Man!!! That REALLY made me sympathize with Dazai in a way canon will never be able to. All those factors only contribute making Dazai's suicide in the end all the more emotional– which I believe works really well in the story, he is an enemy and he is a god and he had to die, but still makes for an extremely emotionally charged scene and a wonderful story climax. Imo Beast Dazai had to die so that canon Dazai could live (and, hopefully, find a reason to live!), and it's as bitter as it is beautiful.

The Beast ada dynamics are great And I love the ada in Beast!!! They feel infinitely more of a family than they do in canon. Kenji, Kunikida, Tanizaki, they all seem to love Akutagawa in a way that's hard to be found towards Atsushi in canon? The way they didn't falter to rescue Akutagawa even as he went, against all their advices and pleas, to a suicidal rampage was wonderful and heartwarming. They make it sound unbelievable that when Atsushi was (mind you, unwillingly) kidnapped their first response would be that it was an hassle and that he should have dealt with it on his own (this time I truly believe it was the author learning from their own mistakes, because seriously, who does that. It makes everyone instantly feel a thousand times less sympathetic). As people have said, the ada alone makes Beast feel like the “right” universe on the basis that in it they actually care about their members. All things considered, the ada treats Akutagawa as this kind of rabid murderous gremlin they just adopted who's going to bite everyone but that they still love no matter what, and it's super cute. Beast ada really is the bsd found family if there ever was one.

A cool plot The Beast storyline is just very compelling in general? The introduction chapter is amazing, I mean, The Heartless Cur is amazing. Again, Beast Akutagawa is such a great character, and the description of his struggle to find his own humanity, although in my opinion does fall weak in some points and has flaws, still treats a concept that's very interesting to ponder over nonetheless. I like how there's a series of more light-hearted chapters in the first half, it helps solidify the characters, and those chapters are really nice to read; not to mention having lighter chapters alternated with the strikingly more gloomy and violent pm Atsushi scenes makes the latter feel all the more frightening and disturbing, it's a great narrative choice. And the big crescendo of Akutagawa storming in the pm headquarters! His fight of physics and morals against Atsushi! Them telling each other they're nothing like the other when the reader knows the exact opposite is true! It's all very good, and again, Dazai's suicide makes for a perfect climax to the story.

Sometimes being a seinen can be good I like how Beast is a seinen way more than the main story is? Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with shounen manga - which bsd seems to lean towards more often than not, with only occasionally tackling more adult concepts -, but at this specific time in my life those darker themes are just something I find more entertaining to read about. I feel like the gritty and often gruesome depictions, although maybe a little overused in the manga, really help emphasize the dark atmosphere of the manga and overall effectively convey the whole “beast” imaginary as wild / violent / unpleasant / animalistic.

It's got sskk in it And in general it's just… Compared to canon, Beast is very very sskk centered. It's significantly shorter than the canon manga, and in a way that helped focus on sskk specifically, because it only had space to narrate one story, which is sskk's. And I don't know what to tell you, I'm here for the sskk. Of course I like Beast best.

Beast Atsushi is great (cont.) Back to Beast Atsushi because he's everything, really. I love how when I went into Beast I was like “I mean, whatever Dazai is making of Atsushi under the pm, if can't possibly be any worse than the constant abuse Akutagawa had to experience 😊” AND I WAS PROVED WRONG. I mean, I think the fact alone that the author could come up with something worse is remarkable. Dazai's emotional manipulation and psychological torment is, I believe, the darkest facet of Dazai we ever witnessed, and it's extremely well executed. Beast Atsushi is so so unstable, so on the brim of mental breakdown and psychosis at every second. Him being made unable to let go of the past makes him live in a perpetual nightmare. And I feel like the way his character story is unwrapped is truly masterful, storytelling wise!!!! On the reader's first encounter with him, it's evident how deeply scarred and disturbed he is, but the reader can't tell why. That adds to the mystery and feeling of unsettling surrounding the character: his story is wrapped up by darkness and it's impossible to predict, just like he is– and it's deliciously unsettling, scary, to be unable to tell anything about what made him like he is except from guessing that it must have been something really bad. And yet even then /nothing/ could have prepared the reader to what his backstory really is? And when the traumatic event is finally unveiled, it's worse then any guess the reader could have made. Atsushi's back to the orphanage flashback passage is terrifying! He didn't undergo any harm, like it would have been easy to guess; on the contrary, his torment stems from having killed his abuser. But he did so at a point when he didn't represent a threat for him anymore, when he was proud of him, when he got close to resemble a father to his eyes; and all of this he realized too late; and now he lives in constant regret, constant terror of himself. It's great, really! And even then, Atsushi carries on with being. super cool lmao. Like yeah he's unstable and everything, he's wild and violent, but he's also still very kind. He's timid and blushes easily. He also feels a lot more mature than he does in canon, and it's nice to see. He's more confident and serious, and that's nice too. He REALLY is my favorite character.

Some pretty cool scenes are in it Moving on, Beast has some truly amazing scenes. The Heartless Cur is amazing and builds up such an awesome character, Atsushi's introduction is petrifying, the Kenji / Akutagawa conversation is as deeply moving as it is cathartic. I won't be talking about the sskk café scene. Akutagawa's whole assault to the pm headquarters is rich of emotional scenes. I already talked about Atsushi's flashback and Dazai's suicide being wonderful passages both from technical and emotional standpoints. And the manga ending is just so good!!!!!!! Like it truly is the perfect ending– the way it ties up with the main story! How it feels like ada Akutagawa's story has just begun, a conclusion but also hope for what's to come. The “out behind our company's building there are some people of low character hanging about”– I can't stress enough how emotional this line, a final and definite tie to the main story, makes me, how meaningful it is in its quality of being both an ending, and a beginning. The last page showing Akutagawa at the center of the ada, it just moves me so deeply to see him being the protagonist, surrounded by a crowd of people who love and support him, getting his own chance at a life in the light 😭😭😭 “I'm going to live as an agency member. I'll solve cases, rescue the weak, and prove that I'm not evil.” Crying my eyes out 😭😭😭😭😭😭 And don't get me started on when Akutagawa and Atsushi's voices mix up to speak as one; I could never hope to be able to express what that makes me feel.

Siblings dynamics are my jam I also love Beast because one of the main aspects that drives the plot is Ryuunosuke and Gin's relationship, and I /love/ siblings relationships, and I //love// Ryuunosuke and Gin's relationship. I don't think Gin's character was written well at all (because the author literally can't write female characters for the life of theirs), but eh, at least it reinforced the concept that Ryuunosuke loves Gin terribly and would be able to do anything for her. Atsushi and Kyouka's relationship, too, is to die for.

The designs and manga art style slay Besides, the character designs are beautiful???? Akutagawa's Beast outfit is my second favorite out of the whole franchise, it's just such a look™. I love in general how rabid and messy Akutagawa looks in Beast, he feels so much more free? And like, good for him. In my head Beast Atsushi is the most handsome man in the entire franchise and I don't think I can take criticism on this. I find cutting off his longer bang such a witty way to represent not only how this Atsushi is different from the one we know (after all, that's the most remarkable and eye-catching feature of his appearance!), but also to symbolize how the cut with his past at the orphanage was harsh and violent. Characters designs aside, Hoshikawa's art style is GORGEUS. It's hard and rough and messy, it's dark and unpolished and violent and beautiful and exactly everything Beast is. It's PERFECT for the story, it's like it was made to portray it.

Sskk is always great And that's just talking about the canon content but like. Beast means a Beast sskk. Which is basically new and improved sskk. And I like sskk. And I like every version of sskk but especially this version where they're even more violent and fucked up and madly in love with each other and evidently meant to be. So yeah.

And this is like, just the very tip of the iceberg of what I love about Beast. Humbling offering you this Beast love letter in hope we can all give this novel the appreciation it deserves (๑˃‌ᴗ˂‌)۶

[franciswasteland]

TECH!LEO VALDEZ X THEATER KID!READER

MASTERLIST

Summary: You land the role of Veronica Sawyer in a musical your high school is putting on, and your tech boyfriend tries to be supportive and reassure you when you need it.

Warnings: Highschool!au, Mortal!au,already dating fic, Beware spelling errors, im lowkey dyslexic. I DONT KNOW HOW TO END FICS….

Authors Notes: HIII GUYS IM ACTUALLY REALLY EXCITED TO WRITE THIS I LOVE LEO SO MUCH. ALSO THIS IS PARTLY FOR SOME DISCORD FRIENDS !! Possibly not canon written Leo 😭🙏

You were in the drama/theater club at your high school, often appearing as the leading or supporting roles in musicals your school would put on in the auditorium. It was amazing, both fun and something you were good at! But what made it even better was one of the tech kids, Leo Valdez—Who was your boyfriend!

A few weeks ago, you scored one of the lead roles—Veronica Sawyer—in a musical your school was putting on called ‘Heathers’. But, there was a rather… intimate scene with another character, Veronica’s love interest, in the show during the song ‘Dead Girl Walking’, and Leo tried to tolerate it and support you the best he could, but it was getting a little unbearable for him.

“Baby…” Leo whined as you ranted to him about your role in the musical, even though you should have been practicing your lines. “Shouldn’t you be, uh, practicing or something?” He didn't want to send you away like that, but he could go on hearing you talk about that scene.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I’ll go practice my lines. Thanks for the reminder. Love you, bye!” You say apologetically, kissing his cheek quickly (If any teacher or adult at the school saw you do that you’d probably get detention.) and running out from backstage where you were talking to Leo as he worked on… Whatever he does.

It was a few hours from the first showing of the show as your high school was doing a morning and afternoon show. You were backstage getting ready, changing into costume, and makeup, making sure you had your lines completely memorized and you could hit each note in the songs—Which you could. Expect you couldn’t help but be a bit worried about this. Sure, you had played so many roles before throughout the years you’ve been in high school, but you were worried about little things, a lot of little things which slowly added up to become one big thing for you to worry about—Making sure you’d sing the school appropriate version of the lyrics, making sure you wouldn’t blank on stage (How embarrassing would that be?!), making sure you were perfect.

Then you got an idea.

There was one person that you knew for sure thought you were perfect. Your boyfriend, Leo! Of course, you’d be able to get reassurance from him! So naturally you ran—Not too fast though, you couldn’t ruin your costume—off from where you were sat to find him.

It didn’t take you long to find Leo, he was exactly where you had expected him to be after all. “Leo!” You called out as you walked up to him, placing one of your hands on his arm so he would turn around to face you. And he in fact did turn around and face you like you had suspected he would.

“What is it?” He asked, sounding confused. He thought you would be getting ready for the musical, not running up to him for a chat. “Did ya miss me that bad you had to stop getting ready to come find me?” He added with a short chuckle, gaining a smile.

“Nono,—Well yes, but that’s not why I came to find you.” You replied, worry practically seeping through your words the more you spoke. Leo noticed almost immediately.

Your hand was still on his arm, Leo put his hand on top of yours. “Wow, I’m hurt.” He teased. “Well then, what is it? Whatcha need?” That was one of the things you loved about Leo; he always seemed to know when you were worried or upset about something, even if he didn’t know how to comfort you.

“I dunno, I guess I’m just nervous about this. I’m scared of messing up on stage.” You admit to him, and Leo seems to immediately understand what you mean. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll do great, trust me.”

Then, when you were finally getting that reassurance from your boyfriend, it was about roughly 15-to-20 minutes until curtain—Until you would be on stage. Oh, brother.

You were feeling a little more better as you rushed back to the backstage area of the auditorium, Leo’s words ringing in your ears. The backstage was suddenly not as easy to navigate as it was before you ran off to find your boyfriend. People—Either in the show themselves or apart of tech like Leo—Were running around, trying to make sure the preparations were all set and everything was ready for the first showing of the musical.

Then you got told by one of the tech team members to get in your place on stage.

After about 2 and a half hours, the morning show of your high schools performance of ‘Heathers The Musical’ was over. You bowed before the audience, sweating, your throat sore and hurting from singing for almost 2 hours straight. At this point, all you could think of was the bottle of water that was waiting for you by your bag backstage.

As soon as the curtain closed, you ran off stage to where you had set your bag in desire of the bottle of water you had gotten before hand. And there it was waiting for you, along with Leo, your boyfriend.

“See? What did I tell you? You did amazing, just like I said you would.” Leo said, wrapping one of his arms around you, seemingly not minding the fact that you were practically covered in sweat.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” You groan in reply. “Just lemme grab my water before you start praising me.” You let out a dry laugh, —Dry to the fact that your throat was now killing you. You reached out your hand for your bottle of water, but Leo grabbed it before you could. You thought he would hold on to it tightly and reach his hand up high, making you reach even farther for it, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened it for you and handed it to you, seemingly recognizing how tired you were after performances.

“You look tired,” Leo mused, knowing exactly where this was going to go. After most shows and performances, you would be tired and feel miserable. So miserable and tired that you would just crash in his arms. “Come here..” He said, opening his arms for you to fall into. You quickly leaned your whole body against him, leaning into his arms.

“Thank you,”

[enden-k]

NEW CONTENT TO ANALYZE 🛐

For now have a very eepy fixation on the scene where Saran is wrapped around Vika. He's not even close to being physically similar to Vika. Does that stop him at all from being his own weighted blanket/being able to wrap himself around him? Not at all. The reason he has tentacles is to better wrap around Vika

(Something about how Saran seemed to be absentmindedly petting the scars, I wonder if it was due to the texture? Or just something he likes doing. Idk something about it is very intimate, for some reason, usually you'd see a character kissing the area so i guess it's because it's something i haven't seen before that IS a display of intimacy. Rolling it over in my brain. Like a rotisserie chicken. Good concept)

Also 'VIKA CONTROL YOUR TOOL' lmao. It's giving 'GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH' "It don't bite" 'YES IT DO-'. Protective Saran. Also a tasty concept. Good brain food too. Good stuff

(Also, the person who was saying that they liked Saran despite having some issues with eyes is so real. I have a horrible eye phobia. Eyes in general (specially eye contact) really creeps me out and every now and then there will be an illustration where i go 'ah yes this is the eye character. How the fuck did I forget that when IT'S HIS WHOLE THING' because genuinely you HAVE to be putting something in him! He doesn't creep me out! Genuinely i dont have any idea how Saran isn't just one walking trigger for me or why i enjoy him as much even when he does occasionally spook me

It's so weird! Fascinating! Genuinely feel like consuming Saran content (well. Your content in general but specially Saran related) has desensitized me somewhat to eyes. I even find myself particularly enjoying the way eyes have been drawn that day! Good characters good lore and now I can go a step above in my character analysis (in other fandoms) by watching their eyes without getting freaked out about it! Never have been so happy to have stumbled across someone's work)

-eepy 🦜. Still rotating the way they cuddle in my head. Saran is so attentive. So lovely....

imo, wrists are super intimate to touch (probably bc im very sensitive there and dont like them being touched unless its someone im comfortable w and trust); not to mention scars (esp if its SH)

saran stroking and tracing them gently is like him acknowledging them but not judging or pitying etc vika; not paying extreme attention/hyperfocus to them but also not ignoring them to the point of it becoming obvious. they are just a part of the person he loves. they are just there

also, saran just really likes to touch (so does vika) but very soft and gentle; hes the kind of person who will always gently run his knuckles down your face, hold your wrist and trace your veins or scars, stroke the back of your hand or palms, push stray locks of your hair behind your ear. its little but very intimate touches that say more than words could in this moment, more powerful than a bold touch imo

LMAO ITS FUNNY BC while im not scared of eyes at all or anything, im also just very uncomfortable and bad with being looked at/eye contact (i can manage when its a few seconds tho but i really do hate being perceived) but drawing saran so much and his many-eyes when theyre all staring straight at the viewer never fazed me lololol (prolly bc i stare at my own drawings longer than any of you, since i work on them n all)

i love how the eye-guy somehow managed to break through yalls fear of eyes tho!! saran was on his way to become a doctor before he died, does it count if i say bby still managed to "help" at least one a little bit even tho hes dead now? 🥹

[drconstellation]

A Tale of Two Peacocks

The Relationship Between Gabriel and Michael

Some weeks ago I said I would take on the challenge of looking at the relationship between Gabriel and Michael, then I got sidetracked writing something else* - which is not always a bad thing. But I want to return to this because its too good not to do a post on it, and before I get too deeply involved in the other writing.

This is definitely going to involve some NSWF language - hey, I can't help this, its in the script - so the bulk of this is going to be below the cut. But the short of it is, they have a fairly low opinion of each other.

We need to go back to S1, where there is an interesting set of parallel scenes we should start our discussion with that spells it out for us. The first one is in S1xE2, and the other is actually in one of the deleted scenes from the cold opening of S1xE3, and they both use parallel characters to inform us of what Gabriel and Michael think of each other.

It turns out I've already talked about the first one, in this meta here, where I discuss how Newt is a parallel for Crowley.

Then [Frobisher] power-walks past. Newt is not even worth her time stopping for. "Need a hand, Dick?" *Snort* - and ouch. That's a below-the belt joke. She's just called him a wanker. In the US you might use the term jerk instead. Someone who's a bit egotistical and more in it for themselves than others. (and I never thought I'd be fact-checking the meaning of this word ever, but there's always a first time...) She's basically just equated him Gabriel, in my book (and in more ways than one.)

And I wrote all that months before I started writing my Crowley-Gabriel parallel/foil series, too.

The other thing about this first parallel scene is the character of Frobisher, who is dressed very much like a demon, but is actually the parallel character to Michael, as we see later on in the paintball fight at Tadfield Manor.

(Er, I know this is all a bit 2nd/3rd hand evidence, but the second scene is a bit more direct, so bear with me.)

The second one, in S2xE3, is the deleted bookshop opening scene.

Source: Script for the unaired scene of Aziraphale opening his bookshop in 1800

Oh, look at that. Somebody is being called a wanker. Again. This time it's Crowley calling Michael a wanker, however, and its only one step to the side with Crowley being a parallel character to Gabriel (and I challenge you to watch s1 again in this light after finishing this post, and see how many similarities you can see between Crowley and Gabriel showing through even back then.)

OK. So we've established that Gabriel and Michael both think each other are wankers at this point, but what else can we find out about them?

Peacock Fighting

I've written a couple of posts about peacock symbolism. Firstly, Michael is strongly associated with having many eyes - their Ophanim ring, their costume has eye motifs, and they are essentially head of surveillance for Heaven. So this made me think they might be the peacock referred to in the Job minisode.

But later, after more research, it became apparent the lines paraphrased in Job were definitely referring to Gabriel. (See also Judgement Day.) There are associations with both royalty and vanity there.

They are both peacocks, but for different reasons.

And they are also both in competition with one another.

Gabriel Doesn't Have A Desk

Desks are a symbol of power in western society.

The bigger, and more solid the desk in a corporate office, the higher up the person is.

The teacher at the front of the room, the authority in the room, has a bigger desk than the students.

Those desks offer protection to the person in authority sitting behind them. They mark a separation between that said authority and the masses they command on the other side. Only the most trusted get to come around to the same side that they are sitting on to be more intimate with them.

At work, your desk is connected to your identity there. Its your place in the organization. You may even individualize it with decorations.

Just take a look at what Newt was bringing on his first day to work in S1xE2:

Pens, a pen holder, notepads, a ball of rubber bands, a plant (a bromeliad, a plant that does well in fully shaded damp environments, just like Hell) and some rations. Er, I mean lunch. Given to him by God Frances his mother.

The travesty of the modern trend of "hot desking" is de-personalizing the employee. They are no longer a valued employee with a valued place, they're just another faceless cog in the grind.

We see Michael behind a desk as Duty Officer in S2. It's starkly clean and sharp and made of glass, as we would expect to find in Heaven. It's used a shield and badge of office when we see them fulfilling that role.

Michael doubts Gabriel has a desk, although Gabriel insists he does, even though we have never seen it. Yet he still requires the proverbial archive box for moving locations?

I'm just going to leave the parallel between Newt and Gabriel there for further discussion. Please do remember the bottom falls out of Newt's box in the car park, leaving him with an empty box, too.

(Muriel has a glass desk, too, but interestingly they don't have a chair. You might like to compare their encounter with Aziraphale in the Job minisode to the escapade with Crowley in the present day. There is volumes said without words.)

Just while we are on the subject of desks, thought you might like to compare Crowley's and Aziraphale's desks as well. They are always on about how much paperwork they have to do!

Sovereign versus Disciplinary Power

This is eventually going to turn into a discussion about fate versus free will at some point, but I do need to talk about the different types of power first, because I haven't done my long promised Power and Authority meta yet. The two concepts are closely related, and Gabriel and Michael are each acting as foils for a side of the concepts.

Gabriel represents sovereign power, the supreme legitimate power of the state. Power and action trickles down from the top, and punishment is almost a show of entertainment, but one designed to educate. "Oh, those angels Fell - if I do something bad, I might Fall, too!" And so Gabriel expects to Fall when he is given his trial, and Aziraphale when he lies to save Job's children.

Michael is representing disciplinary power, something that lies at the heart of society today. This is where power is spread among individuals, and individuals are more likely to do their own discipline merely because of an overhanging threat of a possibility they may get caught if they do.** Are they being watched? Who might see and report their transgression? Michael has eyes (and ducks) everywhere... So does Orwell's book 1984.

This is a very simplistic view, of course - reality is more complex than that, and is usually a combination of the two, but we have to start somewhere.

Now lets throw the fate vs free will components into the mix. Let us revisit the story of King Cnut and the tide.

The story, if you are not familiar with it, is that Cnut had his throne set on the beach and commanded the incoming tide to halt where it was, and not to wet his robes or feet. Of course, the tide kept rising and splashed the king, where he leapt up and declared his might and power as a king worthless compared to that of God. The story is meant to demonstrate his piety before Heaven, and that he was not the ultimate controller of all things - his sovereign power was limited.

They say time and tide*** wait for no man - we are at the mercy of what ever fate they bring us, and we can't manipulate that. That's decided by the supreme power, the ultimate sovereign power, so to speak.

Gabriel tends to take this line - he does not have control over the summoning of the Four Horsepeople, they are just happening as they supposed to, and that's not his department. Plausible deniability, baby! Back channels? What back channels, Michael?

So if you did want to have some power over it, some free will to control outcomes? But hang on - every one else has free will as well. Sounds a bit chaotic. Who's in charge? Nobody. Everybody. Welcome to Michael's world. They want the power, they're prepared to fight for it, for what they think is right - but so is everyone else.

But what if you were the creator of free will itself? Would you be The One to have control over time and the tides?

Tadfield Manor, Again

Michael is the archangel who throws Lucifer down from Heaven, and we see this play out at Tadfield Manor during the paintball fight, when we are shown that it is actually Frobisher/Michael who shoots the shot that hits Norman/Lucifer in the heart - although we are initially made to think its Nigel/Gabriel who did it. (One day I will teach my self how to make GIFs and make a GIF of this.)

Frobisher is the more competitive one at all times - she is the only other employee besides the naive Newt to put their hand up when Nigel asks who is looking forward to the Training Initiative and she asks Crowley and Aziraphale "Who's winning?" as she runs past them inside - to which Crowley presciently declares "You're all going to lose."

If you look at the extended scene in light of the above, you can see sovereign authority of senior manager Nigel/Gabriel is still floating around as a rather toothless tiger to the whims of fate, while everyone else is exercising their free will and disciplinary powers to try and control one another. And, as Crowley says, nobody wins. It's a lose-lose situation.

Michael is competing for an empty dream.

Gabriel is trying his best to survive something that is not what it seems.

And...I think I'll leave it there. Thanks for reading.

*I've started writing a multi-chapter human AU fanfic. But I'm a slow writer, and I'm not writing it in a linear fashion - because it has to be stuffed full of meta, of course - so I decided I better pull myself out of it before I got pulled in too far and finish a couple of things off so you didn't think I'd disappeared completely. I wasn't planning on doing one, but you know how these things go - one day an idea just pops into your head, the next thing the characters are talking to you and taking on their own life and a couple of thousand words later...

**There was a post about the oculus, (found it! thanks to gallup24) the round skylight window in the roof of the bookshop and the Panopticon, an infamous prison design where the prisoners can all see each other but can't see if the guard is watching them, but of course I've lost track of it, haven't I.

***The tides are controlled by the Moon and Sun, and ostensibly for this argument, by Heaven as well. They are fated to continue in their set orbit and/or path through the sky - or the Earth on it's orbit around the Sun, is probably the better way of looking at it.

[lukolabrainrot]

Welcome to the ship! I will start off by asking you a few questions if you don’t mind?

What type of feelings do you think there are between them?

Is it mutual?

When did those feelings become clear to you?

I don’t personally think anything has been acted upon which is why there is so much tension between them.

Hellooo, thanks for welcoming me aboard! 😂 To answer your first two questions, I am 100% confident that there is legitimate mutual love and attraction between them. My conclusion for this comes from the body language and type of eye contact I observed between them on the PR tour. Most studies have found that ~70-90% of communication is actually nonverbal. The nonverbal cues between them spoke VOLUMES. The heart eyes, the comfort with touching each other, the way they were generally very in tune with each other, their body language in photoshoots, the blushing, the mirroring (I'm going to put a link about mirroring below), the trust they had in each other and presented to the public, the butt pinching/caressing (which I firmly believe was happening; and in a public setting which is WILD to me considering how private N is, but she [on the surface at least] appeared fine with it 🤔), L admiring N's "assets" (and N being pretty aware of it I believe), the way they laughed at each other's jokes (particularly L), their facial expressions, the way they would sometimes get lost in a moment with each other and forget there were other people in the room with them and that they were being interviewed (my two favs being the hair caress, and the interview in Toronto where she made that joke about his dad and they just started LAUGHING), etc. I could go on and on about their nonverbal cues on the tour, because for me this is how I realized there was something a littleee more than just "work besties" between them. These types of nonverbal cues signal real deep intimacy, trust, empathy, safety, connection, etc. Humans can't really "fake" these nonverbal cues, it takes time for them to develop and are often done unconsciously without people even realizing it. Yes, some of the things in relation to their responses to interview questions and behavior during photoshoots/events was definitely played up to sell the story (so PR). However, these nonverbal cues serve as a partial window into what their relationship is like in private, and it is quite palpable and obvious if you really observe them (which is why so many people, including many of the interviewers, couldn't help but pick up on it). I have some more theories/thoughts on why they (specifically N) started to let the masks come off and be more obvious to the public about how they feel about each other, if people are interested... To answer your last question, I don't really think there was a particular moment it became clear to me. I think it was an accumulation of everything I observed during the tour. I think it was just always more apparent with L because 1) He just ADORES her (I mean who doesn't, she's AMAZING!!) 2) N is a lot more gaurded/private about her public narrative (which is why I found it PARTICULARLY interesting that N started to let some of her masks come off as the tour progressed 🤔). I also feel very strongly, based a lot on their intimacy scenes in the show, that there was an attraction/connection that had been brewing for a while with these two. I think they therefore used their characters in season 3 as an excuse to blur lines and engage/act on feelings they had been feeling for each other for a while (shout out to the PR tour quote that they just “stopped repressing it” lol). Now obviously, they weren’t ACTUALLY having sex in those moments during their intimacy scenes, but there was a release of SOMETHING in those moments, which is why a lot of people commented that those moments felt so “real”. They felt really intimate because these two have actual feelings/attraction for each other, so that is what we were seeing. Now, if they have ever actually physically acted on these feelings off camera, I have thoughts on that too if people are interested lol...

[yumeka-sxf]

Spy x Family CODE: White movie - FINAL PREDICTIONS

Now that we're just a few days away from the movie's release, I wanted to make one final revision of my predictions for what I think the plot chorology will be. I've made several posts about my movie predictions over the past month or so (you can check the "#sxf movie" tag if you want to see them all) but I wanted to make one last post putting it all together and correcting things I changed my mind about based on new information.

Again, these are just my predictions based on the official synopsis and movie trailers released so far. Please don't take any of this as fact, at least not yet!

1. Introduction to the family

The movie starts with scenes showing Twilight and Yor doing their spy/assassin work as part of an introduction to the series' plot and characters.

2. Twilight informed about Operation Strix replacement

Twilight meets with Sylvia, she informs him that this other man (and child) will be replacing him (and Anya?) for Operation Strix.

3. Anya finds out about the cooking contest at Eden

Anya and the other Eden kids are informed about the cooking contest from Henderson.

4. Yor sees Loid (supposedly) kiss another woman

Either on her lunchbreak or heading home from work, Yor sees Loid seemingly being intimate with another woman, who's actually Fiona (it's unclear if they really kiss or she just imagines that they did).

5. Forgers decide to go on a family trip

After learning about the cooking contest and how the head judge adores the melemele pastry, Loid decides that the Forgers will go on a family trip to the Frejis region, where the pastry hails from.

6. Anya finds a trunk key on the train; accidently eats the chocolate inside

While the family is on the train to Frejis, Anya and Bond sneak away. Anya finds a key and the trunk that it opens in the luggage compartment. A chocolate is inside, which she ends up accidently eating.

7. Bad guys threaten Anya but Yor gets rid of them

When Dmitri and Luca find out that Anya ate the chocolate, they attempt to capture/kill her, but Yor drives them away.

8. Forgers arrive at Frejis, spend some time together, Yor gets drunk

Upon arriving at Frejis, they spend time at the shops/booths in the market place plaza area. Loid buys Yor lipstick from one of the shops, as well as some of the ingredients for the pastry. However, perhaps because she's still upset about seeing Loid with "the mysterious woman," Yor (somehow) gets drunk. She ends up going off on her own for a bit.

9. Loid takes Anya around the plaza booths, reunites with Yor

Loid takes Anya around some of the fun/game booths at the plaza. He also buys her a toy gun. At some point, Loid goes looking for Yor only for her to inadvertently tackle him to the ground in her drunken state. Eventually they make amends and the family heads to their lodging place.

10. Forgers enjoy Frejis cuisine at the lodge/hotel

Upon arriving at the lodge/hotel they're staying at, the Forgers spend some family time together and also try Frejis cuisine.

11. Anya is kidnapped by the military, Twilight and Yor separate (at some point) to save her

The next morning/day, the military arrives and kidnap Anya. Not sure if Twilight and Yor are absent at the time or are unable to stop them for some reason, but they end up each looking for her on their own. Bond was able to chew off the military patch from one of their uniforms.

12. Sylvia informs the WISE agents about the microfilm supposedly in the chocolate

After hearing about the incident with the military and the microfilm within the chocolate, Sylvia informs the WISE agents that they have to get the microfilm.

13. Fiona arrives in Frejis to help

Fiona, in disguise, arrives in Frejis to inform Twilight about the microfilm and offer help. They each get military disguises with the intention of sneaking aboard the military's giant airship.

14. Twilight and Yor both make their way to the military's airship

Twilight flies a plane to reach the ship. Not sure how Yor reaches the ship, but she does somehow.

15. Yor fights Type-F, Twilight fights Snyder

Once all the Forgers are on the ship, fighting ensues - Loid ends up having a showdown with Snyder (the military leader) while Yor fights Type-F, their robot/cyborg secret weapon. Meanwhile Anya is tied up and gagged somewhere in the ship.

Additional notes

I've been going back and forth about whether the chocolate heist occurs before or after they arrive in Frejis. Obviously it makes the most sense that it would occur before, during their train ride to Frejis. But it looked like Yor was wearing lipstick during these scenes, which made me think it occurred after Loid buys her lipstick at one of the Frejis shops. But after reviewing the scenes a few more times, it looks like she could be wearing a different lipstick both before and after they arrive at Frejis, not necessarily the one that Loid supposedly buys. So I'm just gonna go with that and say that the chocolate incident occurs on the train ride to Frejis.

My big guess about the conclusion of the movie is that the microfilm ends up not even being in the chocolate at all and they went through all that for nothing! I could be wrong, but I'm just throwing it out there 😅

Anya won't end up getting a stella no matter how well she does in the cooking contest, since an anime-original story can't alter canon like that!

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And that's about it! Obviously the movie's conclusion is the most unclear since that won't be spoiled in trailers and such.

I know most of the other side characters like Franky, Yuri, and Becky do appear in the movie, but I don't believe their roles will be very important, which is why I didn't mention them. Most likely just quick cameos at the beginning and/or end of the movie.

Stay tuned for even more CODE: White info once the movie releases on Thursday~ I'm looking forward to seeing how many things I got wrong 😂

[novashelby]

Someone Like You-John ShelbyxOFC

Pairing: John Shelby x Original Female Character(Lainey-Lottie)

Warning: Emotional affair, marriage affair, typical time period attitudes, language, dated language, sexism, misogyny, mental health issues, OFC starts underage(no underage sex), drugs, abuse(physical-not by John), eventual sex. SLOW BURN-never ending roller coaster of emotions. There will be sex, but I want to practice writing intimacy beyond the confines of raunchy smut. The eventual sex scenes will be more so...intimate and focus on the emotional side. This fic will delve deeper into John's emotional struggles and turmoil. It's meant to make you question him and your own feelings towards him.

Summary: She sold flowers on the street side, just where the city broke. Lainey. But to John, he named her Lottie. He couldn't remember why or how, but all he knew was that name was forever imprinted in his heart.

Please comment below if you want to be tagged. I'd also really appreciate it if you reblog this. John fics hardly get any notice. So, let's share the love for him.

Short excerpt below the cut.

"Sorry," he said, realizing his mouth wouldn't stop. It was a river of emotions. A never ending flow of words laced with his troubles and misfortunes. Something of a pity fest that he laid up on the unexpecting girl.

Her expression broke into a small smile. "Why?"

Itching the back of his neck, wincing. "Well, I shouldn't just spew my shite out like that-"

Men, she thought amused. "We all need someone to listen to us sometimes." Easing, his shoulders dropped and he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the flowers. "Besides." Her fingers felt around the flowers before stopping at a wild daffodil. Plucking it from its bed, she handed it to him. "Vulnerability is a beautiful thing. Should I put it in your hair?" John felt his face warm in a way it hadn't in a long time.

His hand felt over his short hair. "I don't think I have enough."

"I'll make it work."