#can change to a combination of my other muses if you prefer any of them instead. lmk !

[stalkist]

open to: females. plot: inspired by the ' house party ' prompt from here. she can be totally open and down for it, or she can feel peer pressured into going along with them. connection: the girlfriend of one of them, the sister of one of them, the best friend of their girlfriends, the ex of one / both of them, someone in their close friend group ( bonus points if she's the only girl ) trying to fit in with them, an easy f.uck who's probably been passed around a couple times, and anything else welcome. please don't like this starter.

the party might have died down compared to the chaos at its earlier height but the joviality of the close friend group certainly remains. drinks scattered around them as they herd at the couches, the music pumping out of nearby speakers, flynn's attention is stolen by the female approaching. “ there she is ! i wondered where you went. ” makes a show of welcoming her back, smile of approval warming male's features as he eyes her dress, “ look at you all dressed up. why don't you give us a spin ? ”

blues snap to the female as his buddy's greeting rings out, teeth skimming bottom lip as he openly ogles her body. though he had forgotten she was even here at the party, upon seeing her again, miles does not plan on repeating that mistake. “ why don't you take it off ? ” blond pipes up immediately after flynn's suggestion, earning the braying laughs of his peers, lifting his hands to his mouth to playfully chant, “ take. it. off. ”

[anjelicawrites]

To honor and protect

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth and all the combinations thereof, I mean there’s three of them, so…

Synopsis: filling this prompt from anon (thank you!!!!) “hiii! so, I'm absolutely LOVING the aemond x reader x osferth fics and had a request of my own that I wanted to share for the pairing. kinda angsty, maybe so smut and good ol fluff too.I was wondering if you could do an aemond x reader x osferth fic where the 3 of them have been super comfortable about their relationship with each other. however, there's always those times in public where others like to ruin their fun. that happens one night while they're out and reader gets upset the most about it. osferth is the one to comfort her first and soon brings in aemond. the two of them tell reader that it doesn't matter what others think, they'll still love each other no matter what. they end up having a love session too. please? thank u”

Warnings: 18+ only please. Body shaming, doxxing, talk of bullying. Smut, lots of it. P in v sex, oral (f receiving), talk of blowjob, rough (ish) sex, overstimulation, dom!Osferth, sub!reader, service top!Aemond.

A/N: I am not sure this is what you wanted? I’ve let the muse roam free and that’s what I got so let me know!!!

A/N 2: it’s >7000 word. I am so sorry. One day I’ll learn how to write less, I promise!

You and your boys have hectic schedules and rarely have the chance to go out together. It doesn't help that you and Aemond are a bit reclusive and would rather spend time home chilling, than being out and about. Osferth is usually the one who has to convince the two of you to go out and you both love him too much to deny him this small happiness. 

Tonight, you all meet directly after work in front of this new, fancy restaurant freshly opened and that's all on Aemond: he wouldn't want to go to one of those pubs you and Osferth love so much, because he is classy like that. For your outings he wants only the best, he wants the pride of knowing that he had managed to book in a reservation in zero time, in a place where it takes weeks to obtain one, because he is Aemond fucking Targaryen, who will do anything for his lovers. You and Osferth would be happy anywhere: the fanciest place in town or a picnic in a small park, as long as Aemond is happy you both are. If flexing his muscles is a way he prefers to express his love for you two, neither you, nor Osferth would stop him, not after all the work he has been doing on himself and his self esteem.

The place is impressive and you feel a little out of place, even with Osferth by your side as you both wait for Aemond. From the outside you see big mirrors, warm lights and a huge amount of metal, the people going in just ooze money, you can smell how rich they are and you feel uncomfortable in your vintage clothing. You have always found Edwige Fenech and Florinda Bolkan, in those ‘70s gialli movies, style icons and started copying theirs and the other amazing actresses's dresses from the moment you had a paycheck to support yourself. You are, most of the time, proud of how you look, but you have to admit the amazing clothing you see on all these stylish people, makes you feel self - conscious and painfully aware that one of the dresses you see on any of these women, is worth your annual earnings. You think you should have made a pit-stop home to change into that Valentino dress Aemond gifted you for your first birthday you celebrated together, that was probably more appropriate than the suit and blouse you are wearing now. Are your boots too old? Is your make up ok?  

Almost on cue Osferth hugs you from behind and kisses your cheek, the smoky scent of his leather jacket is comforting as is his body heat

“You look ravishing, my love - he says - I might just steal you away on my bike and have my wicked way with you”

“You look dapper yourself - and he does, he manages to rock the hot youth pastor style and the leather jacket without effort - and your suggestion is enticing, but I fear Aemond might have killed someone to get us a table here. You can steal me away any other time, though!”

“I count on that”.

You bask into one another’s presence as you people watch the fancy businessmen and models entering the premise. You have always felt a bit out of place in Aemond's world, most of the time you try to approach it with the eyes of an anthropologist, but sometimes you feel like the odd one standing out. Tonight, you feel like your anthropologist goggles are harder to wear and you are not really sure why.

Osferth, on the other hand, has a fuck it attitude. On birth alone, he should have been one of those wealthy people, but his father had never stepped up and he had rather ignored his child out of wedlock. You know it is a complicated matter between the man you have never met and his lawful wedded wife and you are not sure how much his absence had been his own will, and how much his wife’s, the result is the same, though, Osferth suffers from this and his reaction is to double down on being himself and ignore those people's judgemental stares. He had chosen to forego the life his father had decided for him, sheltered and where Alfred didn’t risk meeting him, for a more complicated one, but where Osferth can be himself, with all his contradictions. 

Your reverie is interrupted by Aemond's arrival in his posh car. He gives the keys to the valet and smiles when he sees you and Osferth. Aemond is an extremely private person, the public doesn't know his face, since he has no social media and prefers to leave all the PR to his sister Rhaenyra and her gaggle of children. This permits him to enjoy the perks of being part of Targaryen Corp., minus the harassment from the press. The downside is that he doesn't do PDAs and is always a bit aloof in public, even when in your company. 

He saunters towards you and Osferth; he looks a bit tired around the edges and you muse that he might need this night out, just to break from his routine. When he gets to you, he kisses your hand like the gentleman his mother has raised him to be and hugs Osferth briefly. 

"Shall we go in? - you ask - it's a bit early"

"Drinks on me, raqiarzy, we celebrate" beloved in High Valyrian is one of his favorite pet names for you

"No dead and no injured today?" Osferth knows Aemond has had a big meeting with the stakeholders and was afraid of Rhaenyra's side of the family messing up

"None. Daemon has been his usual unpleasant self, but I haven't canceled to bake a Kek Lapis Sarawak, so I'd say we should celebrate". 

Aemond stress bakes and his whole family stresses him a lot. Usually, according to the amount of stuff he prepares, you can easily understand who has been a problem. When it's his uncle Daemon, he goes with the Kek Lapis Sarawak, which are extremely difficult to prepare and require all of his concentration. You and Osferth both love this kind of cake, but you would rather buy it than eat Aemond's, just because it means that Daemon has been terrible with him. 

You are having drinks while waiting for your table to be ready, sitting in a nestled corner where you can talk without being overly disturbed by the people walking by; you are sitting between your lovers, just chatting about your respective days at work. You are telling your boys about one of your student's outrageous translations of Herodotus, when you feel a sensation between your shoulder blades, as if someone is staring at you with intent; you glance at the big mirror behind the bar, but there's too many people chatting so you decide to ignore the weird feeling, even though it is persistent and it bothers you, forcing you to act more natural than you truly feel. It's between Osferth's recollection of a funny story concerning Uhtred's offspring and Aemond's telling of that one time Helaena scared one aunt with her collection of crawly friends, that you notice the sheer amount of beautiful girls casually bumping into your men, it is almost like the floor around your table is all potholes and those women feel the need to use your men's shoulders to keep their balance. Or are you being paranoid in this environment? 

Aemond's work phone rings and he has to excuse himself for a moment, he has been waiting for some important news from one of the international branches and has to leave you to get this call, it won't be a moment. 

The moment he is not by your side, you start hearing chatting coming from your right side, a little behind you: a group of beautiful women is sitting around a table, staring at you openly with aggression and hate. You hear easily how they are commenting on your body and your clothes; you recognise them as the girls using your boyfriends' shoulders for balance and you try to ignore them, talking a bit louder, hoping that between the general chatting and your voice, Osferth wouldn't hear their words. 

Aemond is still on the phone somewhere when Osferth excuses himself for a moment and you are swamped by these women’s hatred: how your hair is too frizzy, your figure too full, your clothes so out of fashion you must have raided your grandma's wardrobe and why are you with such handsome men? They were surely with you here out of pity, you must have pestered them that they must have felt obliged to be here with you, no wondering why they have already left you alone, they must have already gone home, what a fool you were to be sitting at the table, nursing your drink, waiting for two men far above your station who would never come back. And who has a date with two men? Are you that desperate? Or are you a whore like all ugly women are?

You have been bullied mercilessly from elementary well into high school and you have learnt how to build an armor around yourself to let awful comments slide. Most of the time it works; those are not the first women commenting on why two beautiful men such as Aemond and Osferth are with a normal looking woman like you and you usually laugh in their faces. The ugly truth of trauma, though, is that it might come back whenever you least expect it to be; just when you start believing you have healed the young girl you once were, these jabs seem to hit you where you still have unknown open wounds and you feel tears stinging in your eyes. You want to run to the bathroom when you feel Osferth's voice behind you

“My lovely lady here might not conform to your standards of beauty, but you are the ugliest women I have ever seen in my entire life. You might look beautiful on the outside, but you are hideous on the inside”.

He walks to you, his hands are on your shoulders, big and strong, but his voice is cold. You have never heard him be like this, your Osferth is sunshine, always and now he is a hailstorm, cold and destructive.

One of the women tries to retort but is stopped by Osferth’s words

“You work for a feminist publishing house and you go around belittling another woman. I bet this would make a great publicity stunt for your bosses”.

You see the color drain from her face, you want to say something but Osferth’s hands curl tighter on the meat of your shoulders and you keep silent.

“Mmmh, it is quite stupid to go around freely giving your phone numbers to complete strangers. In this day and age it is too easy to find out every information about someone using only that”.

Aemond appears out of nowhere behind those women, who jump out of their skins. This Aemond is also a stranger to you, cold and cruel as he reads off his phone all the personal information about them: names, addresses, marital status, job position and random information about their families. 

You know he can be ruthless, but you have never seen it happen in front of your eyes; even when he didn’t know you, he was aloof but never this cold, his voice had never dripped venom the way it does now. He is scary and imposing. Even the stare he exchanges with Osferth is foreign to you.

“We should have you on your knees, groveling for our beloved’s forgiveness, but you are undeserving even of that”.

Osferth? You want to ask, but you stay still, trying to recognise the compassionate man you fell in love with, in the emotionless voice coming from behind you; it’s the voice of someone who knows he can cause damage, both physical and psychological, and would act on this knowledge, if pushed. You never knew he could be like this and you wonder if the people he sometimes have to deal with at work, get to see only this side of him. 

“Go, before we make you” Osferth says matter of factly and the group just scampers away, one of the brunettes in tears.

As soon as the women are outside the big, glass doors, the cold spell enveloping your lovers breaks and you see your Osferth and Aemond revert back to the gentle people you know them to be.

Osferth’s hands leave your shoulders to grab your left hand in a concerned manner, his voice soft as he asks you how you are feeling. Aemond surprises you with a kiss on the crown of your head, him who has issues with expressing his affection in public

“I think I might need to go to the bathroom” you say with a shaky voice

“Raqiarzy…” Aemond starts to say, but you stop him with a hand on his chest

“I need to be alone for a moment, please my love” he lets you go, but his stare is weighted by his concern for you.

In the bathroom, you check that the stalls are free and you lock yourself in one to cry in peace. Those awful women’s words and the reaction from your lovers have rattled you; you know a good cry will help you and so you let the tears run freely down your cheeks until they stop on their own accord and you feel better, even though you know your next session with your psychologist will be a valley of tears, because of tonight.

Once you stop crying, you manage to salvage your makeup with the products you have in your bag and hope for the best. 

You don’t really feel like eating anything but you don’t want the comments of those awful women to taint the rest of your evening; your lovers have different plans though.

“Let’s go home” Aemond says the moment you reach him

“But the dinner?”

“I thought this place was worthy of your presence, I was wrong - he says with contempt - a restaurant like this should vet its clientele, not let anyone book  a table. The lack of manners of half of the patrons is not excusable”.

He has lost you at that. You have always thought that only one’s earnings were considered in a place like this: if you are poor you are out, if you are rich you are in, you never thought that not being an obnoxious asshole has ever factored.

“Let’s go” Osferth takes you hand and starts heading for the door

“Really baby, I am fine” you are not, not completely at least, but you don’t want to rain on your collective parade

“We’ll go somewhere else another day”

“And you are not ruining our night” Aemond whispers in your ear 

“You promise?”

"I swear. I want only the best for you and Osferth. This place is not the best" and with that he helps you with your coat. 

The sudden coldness of the night makes you shiver and huddle yourself closer to Osferth, who happily hugs you tight as you wait for yours and Aemond's car to be bought in by the valets, Aemond stands tall and proud in front of you, almost like a protector, ignoring the cold wind whipping your bodies.

When Aemond's fancy Mercedes arrives, he opens the passenger door for you

"I'm driving you home, raqiarzy. Give Osferth your car keys"

"But I can drive, my love, I am fine"

"I know you can - he lets out a soft mmh - but I want to drive you home". 

Your old jeep is waiting behind Aemond's car and the valets stare at you funnily. You decide to bend your stiff neck and give Osferth your keys. It's when you are already in the Mercedes that you ask, your head hanging out from the window 

"What about your bike?"

"It's light enough to strap on the back of your car, love. I'll see you home" his smile is tight and you know he is still angry; from the way Aemond clutches the steering wheel, he is still fuming himself, but keeping it under wraps for your sake. 

Aemond drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh, possessively, the heating is at full blast for you, he usually runs too hot and rarely needs to turn it on. Even if angry, he drives with grace and doesn't get mad at the car cutting right in front of him; at the first red light you scoot closer to him and kiss his cheek

"Thank you. You shouldn't have done it though. They were nobodies, not worth your rage and I really don’t know why I let them hurt me so"

"Those nobodies insulted my dāria, my queen. I don't take that kindly. And you are still suffering, I can see that". 

You can hear the controlled rage in his voice, his stance rigid again; you caress his thigh to relax him

"How did you manage to know all about them?"

"Osferth's useless friends. The wonders Sihtric can do with only a handful of phone numbers and one internet connection". 

You put two and two together easily. Osferth had overheard the chitchat you had tried to drown and went looking for Aemond when he had left you alone. A chirurgical operation, so to say. 

"You shouldn't have done that. Those women could have gone to the police"

"It's their word against mine, and mine weighs far more than theirs". 

The way he says it gives you chills. You know that the Targaryens like to spread around the rumor that they have dragon blood running in their veins, but this is the first time you see that in action. He would have burned those women to a crisp, if he only could, you think, he just settled for the next best thing.

"You and Osferth showed me a life I never thought possible and it's only my duty to protect you two". 

You burrow yourself closer to him as physically possible in the moving vehicle. 

“Not at yours of Osferth’s risk”

“There’s really not much in this world that can be a risk for me. I come from very old money, that still counts in many important circles - he adds with a hint of regret in his voice - I wasn’t there for you when you were hurt, in the past. I know it’s something I can’t change but I can be here for you, now”

“You know I won't accept to be a damsel in distress. Tonight those words cut me deep but it’s not going to be always like that”

“I know. Tonight you needed to be protected, the same way I did when we first met. That’s what we do, we keep one another safe in our time of need”

“Do you really want to make me cry tonight?”

“No - he slows down to look into your eyes - I want you happy, always”.

By the time Osferth arrives home, you and Aemond are on the sofa, all the pets but Santanico are huddled around your forms. You are not completely asleep, more lulled by Aemond’s body warmth into a relaxed state, even though he is not: you can tell by how Vaghar has still not settled for the night. You can hear her enormous form move about. Every once in a while she would let out a huff and change position and the house would slightly vibrate with her. 

Osferth has used the longer drive home, an old dirt road, since he needed time to decompress. Once he locks your jeep, he sees how dirty the car is and makes a mental note to wash it during the weekend.

He opens the back door in the kitchen and walks silently, unsure of whether or not you and Aemond would still be awake

“Osferth?” Aemond’s voice in the darkness makes him jump out of his skin

“Are you two awake?”

“Yeah - you answer, reluctantly leaving your lover’s warmth - how are you feeling?”

Osferth has to dodge the dogs’s attempt at being petted and the cats unwillingness to move from their positions; once he has reached your outstretched hand, he kisses your palm and proceeds to lie on you, thus loading your collective weights on Aemond

“You ok on the bottom?” “I’ll let you know when my legs start to numb Os”

“Are you good, my love?” you ask again, concerned

“I am, ish” he adds, unbuttoning your blouse to kiss your tummy

“Osferth… - you try but your words are cut short by Aemond’s lips on the side of your neck - boys…” you try again and it goes nowhere, their lips and fingers seem able to strain any line of thoughts you have. 

“We really need you” Osferth murmurs against your belly button, before blowing a raspberry on the soft skin there, forcing a laugh out of your mouth

“You can have me, always”

“Now - Aemond says as his nimble fingers go for the zip of your skirt, his voice heavy with despair - please raqiarzy”

The pieces go together in your brain as your lovers undress you with care: they need the comfort of your embrace after tonight’s fiasco, the oblivion only your body can provide them, to know they are safe inside of you and that you feel the same in their arms.

You don’t protest when Osferth removes your boots, skirt and stockings before helping you on your feet, Aemond’s fingers unhook your bra and his hands mold around your breasts as the garment falls on the floor; only your panties remain and Osferth makes a short work of them, after he has kneeled in front of you. 

There’s nothing as erotic as standing naked between your still clothed lovers and they know how much you like this, how many goosebumps bloom on your skin where the elegant material of Aemond’s suit touches you, how much your legs tremble as Osferth kisses over your mons pubis as his fingers splay on the front of your thighs.

You don’t know where to put your hands, all of the sudden, as if this is the first time with them

“Hold on me” Aemond whispers in your ear and your hands go to the nape of his neck, fingers crossing there, leaving you gloriously exposed to your lovers.

“You have the most delectable pussy, my love” Osferth’s hot breath tickles your mound and you know this is going to be a long night, where fight as you might, you won’t have the upper hand, even with Aemond who is usual the subbest of you three

“And the best hips to grab a man could have ever asked for and the softest breasts” Aemond says, his left hand on your hip, the other making his way slowly from you neck to your bosom

“You… you planned this” you manage to say, your voice already broken with need

“Teamwork” Osferth beams, before burying his face in your pussy.

HIs tongue kitten licks your clit and your hips move forward on their own accord, giving him the chance to grab your ass to plaster your cunt against his face. He wants to eat you out slowly, with long licks up your slit, using the flat of his tongue as his nose moves against your clit with each of his moves until you sob, the stimulation not enough to bring you to orgasm and he decides to have pity on you, his tongue licking your bud with broader strokes until his lips curl around it, sucking harshly on the hardened nub without pity and you orgasm for the first time tonight. You are thankful that your lover’s hand are there to support you, because your legs quiver as Osferth doesn’t stop, his long fingers in your pussy entering and moving in and out at a slow pace, meant to prolong your orgasm as Aemond keeps kissing you neck, his fingers spreading you lower lips for Osferth to see how your hole clenches around his fingers. You keen at that, feeling exposed, seen in your desire. A long litany of please fall from your lips as Osferth finds your g-spot and focuses all movements there, wanting to make you come just by his fingers only, as you move your hips desperately, knowing he won’t stop until you finish, but you are not sure if you are capable, not after your first orgasm being so close; he seems to know and his free hand pushes against your lower belly as Aemond’s hands pinch your nipples and he is whispering in High Valyrian in your ear. It is too much, too much pressure, it is too hot to breath, your nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure directly to your clit as pleasure builds and builds and builds until you squirt violently, the pleasure makes you knees bend 

“You are so good, love” Osferth’s praises come from far away

“You did great - Aemond kisses your sweaty temple - do you think you have another one in you?”.

You shake your head while he helps you on the floor and kisses your trembling lips the moment you are both lying there, his tongue softly playing with yours as you try to focus, but you can’t, not with the way his hands roam your torso and lower belly. The moment he helps you spread your legs, you realize Osfeth’s fingers haven’t left your pussy and your hole is still contracting around his digits.

“I believe she does Aemond, she just needs a little push” he says, his fingers curling while his lips attack your clit again.

You try to move your hips but there’s nowhere to go, pinned by Osferth’s arm over your belly and Aemond’s scorching hot body behind you, his lips kissing your neck, his hands keeping your labia open for Osferth’s fingers and lips again. You can only let your head loll on his shoulder as you cry out, your hands instinctively scratching Osferth’s back until another orgasm crushes you and you scream, incapable of understanding how this one is even stronger than the other two before.

Your lovers curl around you, their caresses delicate as they help you come down from the high, their body heaths lulling you into relaxation

“Was it too much?” Aemond’s voice is laced with worry, he is still scared, after all this time, of bedding you too hard, of hurting you unintentionally

“I… I’m ok” you slur

“Do you want to be carried to the bedroom?” Osferth knows you can endure so much more, but he is going to give you nothing less of the best care, in between lovemaking sessions

“Yes, please”.

Both men help you on your feet and Osferth carries you bridal style to the bedroom, where he lies your body on the sheets 

“I haven’t kissed you yet”

“Not this set of lips, at least”

“I should rectify that immediately”.

His mouth slants over yours, his tongue already seeking entrance, which you give with a moan and he ravages you, he is still too wired up to be gentle, needing to use you to vent his frustration; if it was just the two of you, you’d already be bound and pinned like a beautiful butterfly  and he’d be listing all the depraved things he’d wanted to do to your body, with your permission.

Your hands tug at his clothes the moment he is on you, you need to feel his skin over yours and you don’t care about the ripping sounds you hear, you want him naked, you want Aemond naked as well, their bodies yours to explore, their cocks ready to be buried inside of you.

You loathe that he has to move backwards, away from you to remove his trousers; you try to follow him with your lips on his and this warrants you a laugh from him and a tiny slap on you cunt, which makes you moan and fall back on the bed, your legs splayed, your core already glistening. 

You notice Aemond at the end of the bed, naked, eye patch off and cock erected, the pupil of his lilac eye swallowed by the black of desire

“Seeing something that you like?” you ask, fingers opening your lower lips, he groans

“Everything” he answers, one hand cupping his balls, his teeth worrying his lower lip. He needs you so much

“You look like you might need a hand with that - you say, trying to go on all fours - let me suck your cock”.

Aemond lets out a strangled hmm as his fingers curl tighter around his balls; you are such an erotic vision he’s not sure for how long he is capable of resisting coming just by seeing you crawling towards him. You would have happily sucked him off but Osferth’s hands wound around your hips, forcing you backwards against his body

“Be good love” he chastises you

“But I really want to suck cock” both men groan at your words, the phantom memory of your lips around their manhoods is a threat to their composure

“Later, if you behave”.

You want to pout, but you don’t have the time to, since Osferth lies on the bed, with you stretched over him and Aemond crawls towards you until he is over you, his cock straining for your pussy

“May I?” he asks

“Yes” you moan.

Slowly he grabs his member and guides it to your slit, moving it up and down to collect your juices to lubricate himself before breaching you. He moans as if this is the first time your pussy welcomes his cock, your warmth intoxicating; in truth it’s the intimacy provided by the position you three are that makes him shiver, the fact that he can kiss the two of you at the same time, your soft moans as his hips move deep and slow inside of you give him the guidance he needs to know he is doing good. Osferth’s praises directly into his ear are heady and the way he cups your breasts to offer them to his hungry mouth, make his control crumble and his hips move faster in your heat. You are a trembling mess, sandwiched as you are between your lovers, your clit continuously stimulated by Aemond’s pubic bone, his thick cock tearing you in two as he pushes and pulls against your G-spot; God you can feel every inch of him searing inside of you, molding your pussy into the perfect sheath for his cock and you hands fly to his buttocks, forcing him to go as deep as he can, to split you in two, to ruin you for anyone else but him and Osferth. The moment his hips pick the faster pace, the only thing you can do is cant your hips and moan, his lips ghosting over yours as broken High Valyrian spills from his mouth, a string of “Kessakessatolīkessakostilus'' yesyesmoreyesplease, against your lips as the friction increases as does the brutality of his peace and the squeeze of your cunt’s muscles until you come, kick starting his own orgasm. You both scream, your body curling around his, never wanting to let him go and he loses all strength, falling inside your embrace, his breath short and Osferth is forced to turn all of you on the side, before you crush him.

You frantically kiss Aemond, your hands still on his hips to prevent him to leave your cunt, needing to feel that connection as both your orgasms subside; you don’t need to ask him if he’s all right, the joyous way he kisses you lets you know he has enjoyed himself

“Avy jorrāelan” he whispers against your lips

“I love you too, and you as well” you say, burrowing against Osferth’s front

“You were both beautiful - Osferth says with a soft smile, even though his cock hurts - perfect”

“Kirimvose issa jorrāelagon” thank you my love, spills from his lips, the pleasure forcing him to revert to High Valyrian, until his brain starts working normally.

You reach backwards into Osferth’s hair to grab the blond strands to press your lips against his; your body is tired but you need him as well, wanting him to find peace in your depths

“Osferth, please”

“Are you well enough to have me, love?” as much as he likes fucking you until you are midless with pleasure, he knows he is walking a thin, fucking line here

“I am. You need this, do whatever you want to me”

Your submission is heady now, as it had been the first time; it sucks the air from his lungs, the knowledge that you are happy to have him, even though you must feel tired and sore, that part of your pleasure derives from him using you to pleasure himself. It’s convoluted and not many people would understand that, sometimes, this is what you two need. He can’t torment you the way he would were Aemond not here, he would have you dangling from your delicate wrist, your feet barely scraping the floor as he prepares to mingle pleasure with pain, but that doesn’t really matter. His other lover's hard limits are a way for Osferth to be creative with his use of you like his personal whore.

He lets you kiss Aemond one last time and then helps you on your knees, he spreads them open and keeps you in this position using his, bearing the weight your legs cannot right now. You let your body against his, safe in the knowledge he will not let you fall, while his right hand travels to your navel, to dip in your pussy to play with it and with the combined comes dripping down your tights, tortured moans escape your mouth. His fingers breach you long enough to collect enough spunk to lube his own cock and then he enters you with a swift movement that makes you scream in pleasure and pain, your walls still reeling from the orgasm Aemond has given you. Osferth’s right hand flies to your neck and curls there, his left grab you hip to make you start to move on his shaft. Every upward movement is met by your hips going downward, each pass forcing a bit more of his cock inside of you as your hands scrabble uselessly at his arms, trying desperately to release his hold on you, but you are not allowed to go anywhere, not until his cock has breached you open completely and you sit on him, his manhood buried completely in your heat. The hand around your throat constricts you airflow and you feel dizzy, torn between moaning and breathing

“I should keep you like this for the rest of the night, warming my cock, would you like me to use you like this?” his hand uncurls to let you speak

“Yes, please, whatever you want” 

“Or shall I fuck my load inside of you, mindless of your pleasure? I made you come with my mouth, haven’t I? You had your fill for the night”

“Yes, I love you” you start feeling your mind unraveling and fight to answer his questions

“I think I shall fuck you like this, see if I can make you come again - your cunt clenches violently at his words, you know he is able to extract orgasm after orgasm from your body, even when you think you don’t have any more to give - Your cunt is far more honest than your mouth, I shall expect that from you, my beloved whore”.

His hands curl on your hips to move your body in tandem with his and your knees give up after the first pushes, the pleasure too great for your body to compute and you let yourself feel, your head lolled back on his shoulder, your lips seeking his. Each and every thrust tears you asunder and knits you back together, never quite pushing against your G-spot, keeping you dancing on the edge as your nerves scream, too overwhelmed to properly carry on the right message. It’s pleasure, it’s pain, he’s killing you and making you feel alive and you start screaming, mindless, animal-like wails as your mind takes off and the mixed signals of your body make you quiver and shake. You don’t really feel Aemond’s forehead against yours, his words don’t register in your ears, but his warmth does and you let yourself grab at him, scratching the delicate skin of his shoulders as he helps Osferth move your spent body. The moment Osferth decides to focus on your G-spot, your body starts thrashing violently, every cell screaming that you can’t come any more, but the heat builds and builds and builds the moment he fingers your abused clit and you scream and beg that you can’t, please and he just continues, his thrust focusing on that spot inside of you; he needs you to come around him for him to sink into oblivion with you. When the knot in your belly snaps violently, your brain blanks and you don’t feel Osferth coming inside of you, his groans of pleasure as his cock spurts ropes and ropes of cum inside your walls, you are just a rag doll in their combined embrace, your body too heavy for you to move and you close your eyes, not even shivering when his cock leaves the embrace of your spent cunt.

You come back to your senses in the bathroom, sitting slouched on the counter, Aemond in front of you, making sure you don’t fall over

“Hey” you croak, trying to smile

“Welcome back, raqiarzy. How are you feeling?”

“Like I have run three marathons at the same time” this elicit a quiet smile in Aemond, who kisses your nose

“Do you think you can sit without my help?”

“I should - your body feels loose, every muscle overused - Why is the water running?”

“Osferth is drawing us a bath”

“Get you a man who can do both: fuck you into unconsciousness and then bathing you.”

“You looked like a goddess - his forehead finds yours - so beautiful. I couldn't stop staring. You, being taken like that… you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life”

“You look quite dashing yourself when we manage to fuck you into unconsciousness - you smile at the way he blushes still, after all this time - I love you, I’ll love you always”

“Nyke jāhor va moriot jorrāelagon ao” I will love you forever; how are you supposed not to cry?

Osferth joins you in the bathtub after a while, you and Aemond already chilling in the hot water. When you had bought this home, the boys were not part of your life and you still compliment yourself for choosing such a big tub that three adults can fit without a problem.

Osferth stares at you two for a moment, you look so relaxed, eyes closed and hair up (God forbid Aemond gets his hair wet, his ridiculous thirteen step hair care routine would take all night to complete) and his heart swells with love for the two of you. He is not sure what he has done to deserve you both, but he is simply grateful that you are in his life.

Gently he slips into the water and you and Aemond open your eyes lazily. Slowly you lift your arms so that he can hug you and he is mesmerized, as usual, by your breasts: the delicate skin and the darker hue of your nipples make his brain short circuit

“Earth to Osferth? Do you copy?”

“Yes” he burrows his face against your neck as Aemond’s long arms embrace you both.

You stay like this for a while, Osferth needing the closeness after the gift of your submission, after your lips desperately seeking his as he fucked you brutally, as if you needed him to own you in every way. The whole experience gives him a high nothing else can compare to and requires him to be close to you afterwards, his body seeking yours as a safe haven.

“Let me wash your hair, Osferth” you say softly.

You are still so surprised of how much of a softie your Osferth can become, after dominating you. It’s not only his need for close contact, it’s his whole posture, the soft sounds he makes, how sleepy he looks and how thicker his accent becomes. It’s like there’s two men sharing his body: one cruel and domineering in the bedroom, the other delicate like a dandelion; the first one you can’t win against, when he decides to pop up, the second can fold just by the push of your full breasts against his chest.

“Yes, please, I would like that” Osferth says with a mellow voice as he turns in your embrace.

You try to reach for his shampoo but it’s actually Aemond who passes it to you with a grimace (he just hates the stuff. The ingredients list only gives him a rash and how good can a product be, when it’s shampoo, conditioner and body wash, three in one?), reminding himself that he truly needs to kidnap Osferth for a full day, in order to teach him some skin and hair care routine; but that’s for another day, at the moment he only wants to lie his head back on the rim of the tube and listen to Osferth’s moans of pleasure as your hands massage and caress his scalp. Oh boy does he moan after every single time your hands work the lather in his short hair, your fingertips pushing in the right places, relaxing him even more than he already feels and you keep going for longer than it should be needed to wash someone’s hair, just because he needs this form of closeness as he does need to dominate you and it’s a way for you to show him how much you care about him and how grateful you are for the way he protects the gift of your submission.

The only reason you decide to dry yourselves and go to bed, is the cooling water, making you all shiver, even Aemond who usually gives off ridiculous amounts of body heat. You can stand, even though your legs shake a bit and you thank God tomorrow is Saturday and you don’t have to go to school; kids are way too good at noticing things.

You dry one another with love and care, you and Aemond focusing especially on Osferth, who is still in that headspace where he is soft and needs to feel loved and cared for. 

You let Aemond take your hand to guide you back to bed, Osferth is plastered against your back, his breath hot against your cheek; he’ll need a good chunk of the night to come back from the drop of endorphins he is experiencing right now.

Your lovers still need you, thus you are positioned in the middle, so that they can sleep with their heads on your chest and belly. Their anger is gone, drowned by the depths of your body and now they need your softness to reach their balance again. You are the only person capable of quiet the storm inside of them and they are never letting anyone hurt you. You’ll ask them tomorrow to delete all information they have gathered about those women, they kept you safe when you needed to, their job is done for tonight.

[netvs]

currently looking to do a himewelt roleplay ! [CLOSED]

hello, welcome to my post !

i’ve been having brainrot about himewelt on and off for like 2 months now and i finally figured why not try doing an rp for them 💀 i also haven’t starter a new rp in a while, so i thought why not !

<3

that being said, if you’ve found yourself interested already, here’s more info on what i’m looking for !

i haven’t rped as either character before, so i’m open to attempting to muse either of them. whichever you’re more comfortable musing i’ll let you choose and take the other character

please be either literate or novel/novella ! my responses can range from a few paragraphs to a couple paragraphs depending on my current level of inspiration, and i’m mainly looking for someone who can match that

please be 18 or over ! i’m uncomfortable with any age under that. if you’re above 25, let me know and i’ll tell you if i’m comfortable or not

please be able to rp over discord !

please read over my rules (my pinned post) prior to messaging me ! all of my rp info and info about how i prefer to rp are all in there

<3

onto plot ideas !

all of the ideas are ranked in order of which i prefer most to least. any external characters can also be discussed when we plan out extra plot details !

first idea: i picture muse as welt and muse b as himeko (idea credit to @aconites)

second idea: i feel like muses are self-explanatory (idea credit to @literarybaby)

third idea: i picture himeko as the princess and welt as the bodyguard (idea credit to @blcssom)

fourth idea: i feel like muses are also self-explanatory lol (idea credit to @literarybaby)

those are all the ideas i could come up with, although i always endorse plot suggestions so don’t feel limited to these. i’m also open to reworking or combining plots and stuff !

<3

some more notes !

i love love LOVE character headcanon’s as well as outfit references and always add chats for both of these within the rp server. feel free to share anything you’d like about your headcanon’s or to send outfits whenever we change settings or day’s in the rp

<3

if you stuck through to the entirety of this post, thank you ! if you’re interested in this rp, please either shoot me a message or comment on this post so i can message you

i hope everyone has a great day/night ! <3

[notruevampire]

AI's confirmation bias

I am constantly fighting with my keyboard when it insists I'm not using the right words.

My version of Word isn't utd, so the grammar and spelling check are still human-programmed. But most people are now dealing with trash gen AI in both, trying to "correct" them to:

Words spelled close that aren't anything like what they meant

Words that are more commonly used

Words the AI incorrectly assumes are more grammatically correct

So, as I'm going back and retyping the word I wanted that my keyboard changed FOR THE FIFTH TIME, I think about people who just say, "fuck it," and let the AI win, people who don't notice (poor vision, typing quickly, simply never check their texts for whatever reason, maybe the lols), and people who don't know better.

So, the AI gets to be smug, "I new better ask along!" (Example of letting it have it's way)

AI is trained on feedback (including repetition), so the more mistakes its allowed to create, the more often it will do so.

Now, getting to my point. Bias.

You now get occasional of discourse bouncing around writing community spaces about "If I see this, I know it was written by AI" that is absolute bullshit.

They get it from AI detectors. Those things will tag unfamiliar words, words that aren't the simplest option (despite AI preference for simplicity), and disputed punctuation (I think this may be from all the discourse used to train AI models in the first place--it assumes a side "won" in these debates and some sort of standard resulted) like the serial comma.

Anyway, combine all of the above, and AI will correct people into using its preferred language, creating a circle of "I expect this" > "I get this," creating its own confirmation bias.

Now, an addendum, as technophobes will jump to the conclusion that writers are getting worse for this--no, we're not. We're continuing to tell AI to go fuck itself at every opportunity.

On an industry-level, using any generative AI is becoming an instant-reject (and black mark) offense (as it should be), but these fools are using AI detection software, which is flawed out the ass.

It can't detect AI in art (because all AI "art' is stolen). It can't detect it in writing (but humans can, because it sounds bad). It might be useful in photography, but honestly, as the programs inbreed, that gets less likely.

There isn't really a point to this. It's just musings and a hypothesis going through my head from observations I've made and a comment on a real problem my industry is facing right now.

All the while, the resource demands of this technology are burning our world faster. No, it's not equivalent to other computer uses or video game servers, etc. The carbon output and water intake are higher PER MODEL. They're beyond unsustainable.

[rmorde]

People can't see curses but they can see sorcerers.

Satoru is the only Special Grade sent to a lot of missions. He goes through so many exorcisms all the time. Combined with his stubborn streak to forgo barriers for quick missions, he's bound to get sloppy and get noticed sometimes.

And so, an urban legend about him started to spread.

"If you a see a spirit - white fire for hair, skin of snow, and eyes of sky blue or darkest night, run away and don't look back. Buy two sweets at the nearest shop. Eat one rightaway and have the other one to go in a box. Return to the location you last saw the spirit. At the exact spot you saw him, leave the box of sweets. Take seven steps back. Clap your hands once and bow in gratitude - make it as deep as you can, then hold it for at least a minute.

If the spirit delights in your offering, it will allow you to ask any question and grant you wisdom. If your offering was unaccepted, take your offering back and take it home. Before sleeping, place it outside an open window - preferably your room. Leave a note with your question on it. By morning, you will get your answer."

The urban legend started when Satoru saved a mother and her child from a cursed spirit. He forgot to set a barrier and barely protected the by-standers from his Infinity Void during the fight.

The mother was terrified but the child, innocent as he was, gave Satoru half of his crepe as thanks. The sorcerer was about to deny it but before he could say a word, the boy asked randomly.

"Can I be as strong as you and beat monsters at school?"

Satoru almost answered in his typical fashion until the mother's glare at him forced him to change. The woman was as scary as Shoko on a really bad day.

"Yeah! You can knock the monster's teeth off tomorrow with your Dragonball lunchbox!"

The child was starry eyed with his answer. The mother was thunderous. Satoru teleported rightaway. At that point, secrecy will not work anymore. Better too just disappear. It was not like anyone would believe them if they talked about him.

The next day, the kid did knock some monster's teeth off at school. It was a bully and he lost his two front teeth. The mother had to visit the school. She was disconcerted while her son was so proud about what happened. Both talked about their encounter of Satoru to make sensw of the coincidence.

The story was passed around. Each becoming more outlandish.

Then, an office lady on a rooftop was contemplating the end. Her longtime lover had been avoiding her for sometime. Their relationship went through a bit of a rough patch. She fears the worst is about to happen and refuses to face it.

"I'd rather die than be left alone."

She already had her shoes off when the sky turned dark. Suddenly, a monster appeared in front of her. She screamed and scrambled back.

The monster attempted to lunge at her but was pulled away.

"Miss, take seven steps back please."

The lady, fearful yet curious, looked for the source of the voice. It came from behind the flying monster.

What she was was a man. Is it really a man? He was floating upside down. White hair. White skin. Bluest eyes she had ever seen.

She heard of him before - from her neighbor's son! The fortune teller!

"Seven steps back."

Snapping out from her musings, the lady did as she was told while rummaging her pockets. She smiled in relief as she found her last piece of candy.

She heard a nasty squish and splatter. Looking down, just a few steps away from her, was gore and purple blood. The lady gulped and refused to raise her head up. She just placed the candy on her palms and stretched her arm out in offering to the fortuneteller? Guardian spirit?

"Oooh! Strawberry milk candy! For me?"

The lady almost stuttered. "For you. Thank you."

"Yay!"

She felt the candy be plucked away from her hand. Its crinkling wrapper filled the silence. The lady was nervous and scared but she just had to ask.

"May I... I... want to..."

"Hmm?"

"I think the love of my life is about to leave me! And I'm scared. I don't think I can live on if I lose them. I'm thinking of ending everything right here right now. And I..."

"Did they say it so?"

"What?"

"Did they say right in your face that they do not want to be with you anymore?"

"No."

"So you're just assuming."

"I-Yes. But-!"

"Describe your lucky lover please."

Confused but compliant. The lady told the floating spirit about her lover. It may have been a bit longer than she should have since it had stopped crunching on the candy she had given for quite some time already.

But after her description, the spirits just smiled then covered its blue eyes with some dark cloth - a shadow?

"You don't have to worry a thing. Just retouch your make-up and go down the ground floor. Wait in front of your company's new fancy indoor fountain. Everything will be fine."

"But-"

"Go now! Shoo!"

The lady gasped as some unknown force repelled her away from her original spot on the rooftop and pulled her towards the entrance door to it. When she looked back to the spirit, it was gone.

That night, the lady said yes to a heartfelt surprise marriage proposal. Thank goodness the spirit gave her the wisdom to not give up.

That same night, Satoru crunches on another strawberry candy to soothe his heartache. He did not get a happy ending but at least he got to ensure the fortune of the woman on the rooftop.

More and more cases like these pop up. Much to the ignorance of jujutsu society, the confusion of Satoru, and fascination of the general public.

Bold adventurers figure out that the "wisdom" spirit tend to appear on dangerous and creepy places. The more haunted, the better!

So, brave crazy non-sorcerers flock places where curse spirits cause havoc. Most of them survive thanks to the combined efforts of windows and sorcerers. However, there are (un)lucky few that ran into special grades and barely got saved by Satoru.

It is baffling for Satoru why such incidents happen occasionally but he appreciates the effort and the sweets. He is not that mean as a lot of people believe and he indulges the non-sorcerers when he has time. When he does not after a fight, he tries to check on them in the evening. Can't let free sweets go to waste!

Satoru's urban legend grew popular that a lot of teenagers cosplay as the Wise Spirit. They are dressed in baggy or flowy dark clothing. Their eyes are covered by a fancy device that can turn into dark or blue tinted shades to mimic the Wise Spirit's eyes. They painted their skins deathly pale too. The hardest work was the hair - white and "upright" yet "flowy". A white bonfire for hair as some "eyewitness" described.

On October 31st, in Shibuya, dozens of Wise Spirit cosplayers can be seen. Satoru blended in without problems. But then he floated above the crowd's head.

That got everyone's attention. And all hell broke loose.

People ran away to get sweets as offerings.

Urban legend savvy ones knew some kind of battle is about to start - all stories about the Wise Spirit always had him fighting monsters before taking an offering. They promptly started evacuating.

It was pure chaos.

Satoru is a tad bit confused. The cursed spirits are very confused. The sorcerers are absolutely confused.

"What got into these people?"

People stumbled and a certain curse user got bumped into hard and nearly got trampled. Before he could snap in irritation, a helpful Yuuji pulled him back up.

This curse user smiled in gratitude for what happened. However the smile dropped instantly when he rummaged his sleeves and realized.

"The Prison Realm is gone."

He tried to look for where he accidentally dropped it but the crowd got more and more packed in his area. A disaster is imminent.

Then cursed speech echoed throughout Shibuya.

"Do not move!"

As soon as he heard it, the curse user knew their chances of trapping Satoru Gojo had become null.

Before the cursed speech take full effect on him, he looked down and saw the Prison Realm by his feet. In front of him are two familiar school girls.

"Oh no."

Inumake Toge put a lot of power on his technique. For a full minute, the crowd was immobile. His fellow sorcerers and windows barely manage to avoid a stampede from happening.

When they identified that the source of trouble was Satoru, they asked him to move to a different location. The man refuses to comply. Instead demanded to urgently removed all people away from the station.

Alarmed by Satoru's uncharacteristically serious tone, Nanami asked all sorcerers in the area to pour efforts on evacuation only.

While the crowd thins, Satoru takes on the Special Grades.

Come by morning,

Satoru sits on top of a mountain of corpses - unfortunate transfigured people too late to be saved.

Just in front of him are a hill of sweets and a crowd of people waiting for his wisdom.

A bit away are sorcerers that gave up on shooing away the cult - because it is a cult what else can it be?! They just took this as an opportunity to get some extra cash by providing "intimate details" about the Wise Spirit.

Far away are windows getting overworked as they work with the police to keep the true Shibuya Incident under wraps.

Further away was Nanami trying to eat bread in peace but utterly confused by a pair of twins presenting him Sukuna's fingers and a blinking cursed box.

"Please help us save Master Geto!"

[bladedwoe]

honorhearted asked : 💖 for a reason TO date my muse (wasn't sure if you would answer this for Astrid over here, but I'm curious lol.)

To date or not to date. / @honorhearted -- accepting

        So far, I haven’t explored Astrid in really any romantic relationship (only the realm of FWB, complicated feelings, that sorta deal where there’s a level of toxicity). I’m open to it if the chemistry is there, but because I haven’t explored that side of her and she’s still a relatively new muse that doesn’t tell me everything about her, my answer might change over time. If the person isn’t involved in the Dark Brotherhood, Astrid will likely see them through the lens of “How can this person benefit me?” So there’s a level of toxicity and manipulation in the mix. Astrid does kind of look at the Dark Brotherhood in this own way as well, but ultimately, Astrid has more care and compassion for those in her group than outsiders. If you are outside of that, you will likely see a different side of Astrid than people in the Dark Brotherhood. With the Bastrid ship, we can see a bit of Astrid maybe developing feelings, or some sort of compassion, with our whole Bradford idea, but I think her vulnerability will be a slow progress to unravel until anything is set in stone. Outside of the DB, Astrid can be guarded about her feelings involving love and affection. 

        In general, I am interested in seeing a more compassionate side of Astrid. I don't think I toy with this side of her that often. To me, Astrid is a ball of string I’m still trying to unravel, but I really like the idea of Astrid being a mentor to someone and showing the more compassionate side of herself. She’ll still be sly, charming, and everything, but I think it’ll show some sides of herself we don’t witness often in her threads.

        Enough of my rambling. Why you should date Astrid:

        Astrid is really protective and does have a huge heart under all those layers. As I stated before, Astrid has multiple masks to where sometimes they all combine into one, or when one mask slips off (like her role as leader), the other masks of herself crack under the pressure and she loses herself. So how huge her heart is might not be seen under her passive-aggressive, manipulative, coy, and charming ways. She will kill almost anyone for the right price, but if someone has a backstory similar to hers (or feel as if they are an outsider), it’ll pull on her sympathies. For those she calls friends and family, she will defend them to the very end and may give up her life for them in the process. At any moment, Astrid is willing to put her life on the line if the Dark Brotherhood is on the chopping block, but she prefers other alternatives. So, in essence, if Astrid loves you she will defend you and protect you to the end. She will always be in your corner.

        As referenced, Astrid’s inner sensitivity isn’t always apparent, but Astrid can be a good provider and caretaker if need be. She’ll work hard to keep you comfortable. She’ll stay up all night and forsake her own sleep schedule to listen to all your problems. Astrid can actually be a really good comforting figure when it comes down to it. This might be a weird side of the “healing your inner child” concept, but basically, Astrid is more empathetic than it seems. 

        Astrid is polyamorous, but she’s loyal. If her partner isn’t comfortable with her seeing other people, she’ll respect that and keep the relationship monogamous. Just because Astrid leans towards polyamory and has a flirty personality doesn’t mean she’s unfaithful. Arnbjorn says Astrid forgets to mention him, but as we see in her canon media, when he’s off fighting Cicero, her voice dips into a concerned intonation when she asks the Listener to go off and make sure he’s alright. She asks multiple times about Arnbjorn and it really shows that he means a lot to her because until then, we never saw Astrid this concerned or emotional. 

[nightttdreamers]

Coolest Place in the World / Craig x Kenny

yay crenny one-shot! writing craig was a lot of fun, as in i gave him Problems and made him suffer a little but all for a happy sappy fluffy romantic ending!

TW for recreational drug use and suggestive content (off-screen smut)

if you like this pls feel free to leave a like as it will make my day and i will start smiling at my computer like an idiot! formattings a bit better on ao3 if you prefer to read there

AO3 Link | 4k words | One-Shot

Craig Tucker hates beer. He hates parties. He hates college. He hates the fact that he never feels like himself and he can't connect with people.

He finds Kenny McCormick who changes at least one of those things.

The party sucks.

It’s fine, because Craig didn’t expect it to be fun. As far as he’s concerned, every party sucks. College parties consist of a bunch of strangers pretending to have things in common to hide how deeply lonely and miserable their lives are. At least in South Park they didn’t have to pretend. There, he could always step away from the music and the crowd and everyone would know that it’s just Craig needing some Craig time. In college, he can’t sulk in the corner or rely on his obnoxious friends to pull him out to the dance floor. If he goes to a party, he has to take several smoke breaks just so he can be alone without looking like a loser.

He feels around in his pocket. He’s out of cigarettes.

“Craig!” Shouts a familiar voice. Clyde emerges from the crowd, triumphantly holding up two beer bottles like trophies. He’s grinning, like grabbing them drinks at a party his fraternity is throwing is some big accomplishment. 

Craig is happy he made it out of South Park. Granted, he only made it as far as Denver, but he was glad he could get into any college that wasn’t local with his grades. And even though his goal was to get as far as he could from that shithole town, having Clyde around still is nice. Though the two actually attend different schools in the city, Clyde still drags Craig to social outings like he did in their hometown.

“What took you so long?” Craig asks, accepting the bottle that Clyde holds out to him. He’s the furthest thing from a lightweight, unlike Clyde, so the beer is basically useless to him.

“Got held up with the brothers,” the brunette explains. Craig wishes they were with their old gang just so he could make fun of how lame Clyde sounds when he calls the other members of his fraternity his “brothers.” But, the brothers were kind enough to let Clyde bring Craig tonight (even though Clyde had thoroughly explained that Craig was gay and would not be stealing any girls from them), and he didn’t feel like getting kicked out for dissing the hosts. “You having fun, man?” Clyde asks.

“Sure,” he muses, sipping his lukewarm beer. “This tastes like ass.”

“What?” Clyde shouts over the music, leaning in closer.

Fuck, he hates yelling at parties. “This tastes like ass!” He repeats, louder this time. Though it's unlikely, he follows up with “Wanna go smoke?”

Clyde pulls away, scratching the back of his neck. “I dunno, I don’t think that’s my thing tonight.”

Sometimes, at parties, Craig turns into an asshole. Like, an actual asshole. It’s something about the combination of too many strangers, crappy music, and whatever substance he’s ingesting that makes him so irritable. Right now, he hates Clyde a little bit for having such a dodgy answer. He hates himself a little bit too for asking a question he already knew the answer to. He really hates that he’s only been there for thirty minutes and already needs a break, but Clyde’s completely fine. 

But, Craig doesn’t let this show, he just shrugs and nods like he doesn’t care and he’s a normal person capable of enjoying shitty beer at a shitty party.

“I think there’s a dude in the yard selling, though,” Clyde offers with a helpful smile. “Overheard some guys in the kitchen talking about it.”

“I’ll check it out,” Craig responds, giving Clyde a small nod before he heads towards the backyard. He’s grateful for the fresh air once he heads outside, but not the realization that comes with it: Clyde probably thinks his offer was about getting high and not just getting his nicotine fix, which is why he was sent outside to find the party’s dealer. 

He feels like an idiot. The last time he tried to get high with Clyde, the brunette cried for an hour. 

Still, smoking would give him something to do with his hands right now, so he follows the scent of weed in the air to the presumed dealer. However, he stops dead in his tracks once he realizes who he’s really approaching.

There’s two girls, but he hardly notices them beside the blonde boy that they’re talking to. His nose is bent at a bad angle, like it’s been broken a few too many times. His shaggy blonde hair looks like it’s been cut with kitchen scissors, falling just above his shoulders. Most notably though, he has a cigarette poking out between rows of crooked teeth, lips curled into a cocky smile. The boy raises his brows like one of the girls told him something of interest, and then he turns and locks eyes with Craig.

Craig is a few feet away, probably looking like an absolute idiot with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. After some eye contact that’s far too direct for his liking, he mutters, “Hey.”

Kenny McCormick removes the cigarette from his mouth and stares at Craig with wide eyes, resembling his nine-year old self so much that Craig knows he can’t be wrong about this. “Craig Tucker.”

Craig glances around for some reason, like Kenny could possibly be mistaking him for someone else. “Yeah.”

Kenny nudges the girls next to him without looking away from him. “Have a good night, ladies,” he says, handing them a joint that’s been tucked behind his ear. The girls take it and head off, giving Craig strange looks.

His mouth feels dry. He hasn’t seen Kenny since middle school, no one has. The last thing he expected was to find him, let alone in Denver in the backyard of Clyde’s frat party. He also wasn’t expecting Kenny to have gotten so hot, but he doesn’t linger on that for long because Kenny’s still staring at him and saying nothing. “So you sell weed in the backyard of frat parties now?”

This question seems to bring the blonde back to reality, reminding him of where he is. He takes his eyes off Craig and looks down at the money in his hands, sliding his backpack off to tuck it away. “Yeah, amongst other things. These Denver kids pay anything. I just charged those girls thirty bucks for a J. Are you-” Kenny’s eyes darted between the contents of his backpack and Craig. “Are you looking to buy? I got everything.”

“I’m not really looking to pay thirty bucks for a joint,” Craig replied flatly.

Kenny cracks another smile, pulling a joint out from his backpack and holding it out. “Friends and family discount. This one’s on the house.” Just as Craig reaches to take it, Kenny pulls it back. “But you gotta share.”

Craig knits his brows together. “What?”

“Consider it an act of South Park solidarity,” Kenny says. Craig wants to question him, but he holds his tongue. Honestly, all he wants to do right now is talk to Kenny. 

There’s something wrong with Craig. He doesn’t really know what, but he knows that it keeps him tied to his hometown in the worst ways. Clyde seems unaffected; He can go to college and play sports and join fraternities and flirt with girls, living off beer and dining hall food. Meanwhile, Craig feels like he’s watching his life from the passenger seat, and whoever’s supposed to be steering him is making all the wrong choices.

But right now, with Kenny, he feels like he’s behind the wheel again. Despite how much he hates South Park, he could always be himself there in a way he can’t be in Denver.

Kenny’s looking at him again in that way, and Craig realizes he hasn’t been talking. “Yeah. Better than hanging out in there,” he says, glancing back at the frat house.

“So, you’re in the frat?” Kenny asks, and Craig is grateful for how skeptical the question is.

“Hell no. I don’t even go to this school. I tagged along with someone.” He doesn’t say he’s here with Clyde. He doesn’t really know why. It feels a bit selfish, but Clyde doesn’t need this like Craig does.

“And they let you in?” Kenny asks, sparking the joint. He takes a few puffs before passing it over.

“Barely,” Craig pauses, taking a hit. “Is there tobacco in this?”

Kenny grins, seeming incredibly proud of himself. “I remember you were one of the only non-goth kids that actually liked smoking. I figured you would be a spliff enjoyer.”

Craig just stares at him for a second before replying, because Kenny McCormick might be his savior right now. Something pulls at his chest, but he’ll blame it on the smoke. “Nice,” he says, which he hopes tells Kenny thank you, you’re an angel and not just because you’ve given me my nicotine fix.

“Frats never let me in at first,” Kenny says, running a hand through his hair, revealing a few hidden ear piercings. Hot. “And then I open the backpack and I’m like, hey, this party is going to be super fucking lame without me. And they go, oh you’re the weed guy.”

Craig hands back the spliff, nodding. “And that’s who you are? The weed guy?”

Kenny scoffs. “Motherfucker, I’m the everything guy. I’ve got weed, I’ve got coke, molly, poppers, shrooms, acid. I have narcan, I have condoms and lube, I’ve got fucking advil. I am literally the life and death of the party.”

Craigs brows raise, and not just because Kenny looked right at him when he mentioned poppers. “Damn,” he says, because he’s not sure how else to respond. There’s a lot going through his mind. When was the last time he actually saw Kenny? Maybe it's because they’ve been passing the spliff back and forth, but Craig feels like he still hasn’t fully taken this all in yet. He’s not sure if he’ll see most of the kids from his old class again. But the last person he ever expected to run into would be Kenny.

“You’re staring,” the blonde says, prompting Craig to open his mouth to come up with some excuse. “It’s cool, I’m kind of staring too.” Craig looks into Kenny's eyes, which are darting all over his face like he’s looking for something. “It’s crazy.”

“When was the last time I saw you? Middle school?” Craig asks, trying to justify his fixed gaze.

“Probably,” Kenny replies with a shrug. He turns away then, taking a deep drag before passing it over.

“You dropped off the face of the earth,” Craig says. He lets the joint sit between his fingers for a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for Kenny to ditch school for periods of time, which is why it’s not clear exactly when he dropped out of school entirely. Craig just remembers about a month or so going by before people started realizing that he wasn’t coming back. “Everyone thought you died.”

“I did,” Kenny says without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. 

Craig blames the strange reply on the fact that they’re both a little high. “Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“No joke. I died, and death was like ‘Okay let’s go asshole’ but then I woke up not dead the next morning, and figured that I probably had some shit to get done, so I left.” Kenny looks at Craig like he’s told the story dozens of times. 

Craig takes a hit, because he doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. That feeling he gets when he talks to strangers comes back up, he’s back in the passenger’s seat. He knows he’s about to say something incredibly stupid. “It’s like The Seventh Seal.”

Kenny quirks a brow. “What?”

Craig does not mean to keep talking, but the obnoxious film student side of him seems to be taking over. “It’s, uh, this old Swedish movie about this guy who returns from war and he meets Death and Death tries to take him but he thinks he has more to do so he challenges Death to a game of chess.” And then, he hears himself saying something possibly even stupider than an insanely outdated film reference. “I can show it to you.”

Everything is slowed down, leaving the conversation-killing comments Craig just made to hang in the air between them. He remembers now why he doesn’t get high at parties, because then he has to talk to people. Kenny’s expression is completely unreadable, and Craig is just about ready for his only lifeline at the party to ditch him.

“Like right now?” Kenny asks. 

Craig almost coughs, but plays it off as him clearing his throat. “What? I mean, I meant like-”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Kenny cuts him off, dropping the nearly finished spliff on the ground and stomping it out. He looks back up at Craig, then smiles. “Didn’t seem like either of us were really having fun anyway.”

“Yeah,” he replies unsurely, followed by a firmer “Okay.” Clyde’s not gonna be happy. Kenny begins walking out of the yard, and when he’s not looking, Craig shoots his friend a text; heading out. feeling weird. hangover breakfast tomorrow?

He feels a little bad, but then he looks up at the back of Kenny’s head, that choppy blonde hair, and the sounds from the party begin to fade out into the night as they slip through the side of the house, and he doesn’t care about anything else.

The walk back is long. Craig’s campus is on the other side of town, about a forty minute walk. Kenny doesn’t offer up his place, and Craig doesn’t question him. All the deliberation about their destination is Kenny asking if he lives in a dorm (yes), and then if he has a roommate (no). They talk about what they’ve been up to for the last five years. For Craig, it’s pretty mundane. Trying not to flunk out, lamenting his little sister’s journey into young adulthood, dealing with his obnoxious friends.

Luckily, Kenny does most of the talking. He was pretty quiet when they were younger, Craig remembers, only chiming in with a dirty joke or insult towards one of his friends. But now, he’s expressive as he explains what he did after running away from home with a stolen car. Whatever calling he felt all those years ago told him that he needed to make some kind of money. He seems a little sensitive about how he ended up dealing, leaving out some details that Craig doesn’t ask for. However, Kenny boasts that he’s able to send it back to Karen to keep the lights on back home. Though he might’ve gone missing for the rest of the town, he’s kept in touch with her.

It’s the most Craig has enjoyed someone else’s company in a good while. When Kenny speaks, Craig finds himself brushing against his arm. It’s cold, and the little bit of warmth he gets from those small moments of contact radiate through his entire body. There’s something magnetic about Kenny. When they make it to his dorm, it’s like no time at all has passed.

Craig opens the door to let Kenny in and feels more nervous than he has in a while. It just hits him in that moment that Kenny’s actually in his dorm, they didn’t even do this when they were kids. Then, the other realization that he has a guy in his single room to watch a fucking movie hits, and Craig wipes his palms on the side of his jeans.

“Congrats, Craig, this is the most generic dorm room I’ve ever seen,” Kenny says. He’s walking around the small space, arms folded over his chest.

“What?” Craig asks, closing the door behind them.

“No posters, plain blue comforter, you’ve got like one family photo and some dirty clothes on the floor as the only indicators that someone actually lives here.”

Craig tries to think of an excuse that’s not I don’t feel like I could ever make this space my own, and then realizes that, what the fuck it’s just Kenny McCormick ripping on him, same way they all used to rip on each other. “So you see the inside of a lot of dorm rooms, then?”

Kenny smirks, his face now fully visible in the room’s fluorescent light. Craig stares again. “Are you slut shaming me right now, Tucker?” He asks, though he doesn’t seem offended in the least. Craig forgets to breathe for a second. Is he flirting with me?

“Don’t we have a movie to watch?” Craig says. He wants to change the subject from the dangerous territory they almost just approached. “You can sit,” he says, gesturing to his bed before he grabs his laptop off his desk.

Kenny drops his backpack onto the ground, kicks off his shoes, then sits down on Craig’s navy comforter, leaning back against the wall. 

Craig sits beside him, keeping a respectable difference, and starts looking through his downloads folder to find the movie. He tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the screen, even though he knows that Kenny’s looking at him right now. 

“You want me to turn the lights off?” The blonde asks, pushing down on the top of Craig’s computer a little bit. Craig only responds with a small nod. He watches Kenny get up, looks at the way his torn-up jeans fit him, the flash of those ear piercings. He watches Kenny and makes a decision.

“You know, I do have one cool thing in my room,” Craig says as Kenny sits back down on the bed.

“Yeah? A shitty porno stash?” Kenny teases again, and Craig can just see his cocky smirk in the dim light of his computer.

“No, asshole,” Craig replies. He turns to his night-stand and turns on a small, black projector. The room lights up in different shades of purples and blues that dance across his ceiling in waves, accented by tiny stars of different shapes and sizes, all swirling around the two of them. Kenny just looks up, his smirk fading fast. “Um, I used to have these glow in the dark stars in my room at home, but I thought that if someone came to my dorm and saw them, they’d think I’m really fucking lame. Which, I might be a little bit. But, I don’t know, it’s cool to look at when I’m high and it, uh, kind of reminds me of being home.”

Kenny looks back to him, his face glowing in all different colors in the light of the projector. “You’ve changed.”

Craig raises his brows, not quite expecting that response. “Since I was thirteen? No shit.”

“Nevermind, still the same sarcastic asshole,” Kenny says, chuckling. “Maybe you haven’t changed, then. Maybe I just never got to see you this…” He trails off.

“This what?”

“This closely.” 

It occurs to Craig how close the two have gotten now. There’s no more respectable distance. He looks down to see that their knees are touching now and when he looks back up, Kenny’s leaning in to kiss him.

It’s short-lived. When they stop, Kenny stays close, his lips just hovering over Craig’s. He’s asking if I want to keep going. Craig reaches up and runs a hand through Kenny’s hair, pulling him back in. The two shift, with Craig leaning back and Kenny coming to straddle him. There’s an unpleasant sounding thud from below them, and Craig realizes they’ve knocked the computer off the bed.

“Shit,” Kenny mutters.

Craig just chuckles. “Forget about the fucking movie.”

He wakes up the next morning to the sight of Kenny’s bare ass across the room.

It takes him a few seconds to remember how he ended up in this situation. Right. Clyde’s party. Found Kenny in the backyard. Came back to the dorm. Had insanely good sex. No wonder he feels so sore. 

Craig basks in the view for a second, not just of Kenny’s ass as he pulls his boxers on, but of Kenny in general. He knew he felt something with Kenny last night, and attributing that to their shared history just didn’t feel right. From the moment they kissed, Craig realized that their connection actually ran much deeper than he thought. 

He admires Kenny in the morning light the way he couldn’t last night, spotting freckles he didn’t see, little scars and birthmarks. However, the realization that Kenny’s getting dressed pulls him out of his just-woken-up haze.

“Got somewhere to be?” Craig asks, voice groggy with sleep. 

Kenny jumps, looking back to him. “Shit, I was trying not to wake you up.”

He sits up now, pulling the comforter up to cover his lower body. “You were just gonna leave without saying anything?” Craig asks, hating how childish he sounds.

“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you,” Kenny replies, though Craig can tell he’s not being sincere.

The warm fuzzy feeling in his chest quickly vanishes, leaving a cold hollowness. He’s done one-night stands before, why does he care if Kenny wants to slip away without a word? Without any hint that he wants to see Craig again?

And why does the thought of Kenny leaving hurt so bad?

“What the fuck, Kenny?” He says, trying to keep his voice even.

Kenny looks around, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you want me to say here, Craig. Last night was great? I had fun?

Craig swallows. Maybe it was all just one-sided. Maybe that was just sex for him. “Sorry,” he says, looking anywhere but Kenny. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m not trying to make you stay if you don’t want to. Last night was kind of more than just fun for me.” He leans forward, putting his head in his hands. 

Kenny sits on the bed across from him. “What do you mean?”

Craig sighs, keeping his gaze fixed down on his bed. “I don’t know. I thought you would stick around.”

“Do you… want me to stay?” Kenny asks. Craig looks up at him, and Kenny’s expression is plain as day. He’s scared.

Craig’s brows knit together, and he knows he needs to be plain with how he feels right now. “Of course I want you to stay.”

Kenny looks off,, and it’s like Craig can see him sorting things out in his head. After a little while, a smile comes across his face, and Craig lets out a breath. “Shit, this doesn’t usually happen.”

His candid response prompts a laugh from Craig, which Kenny quickly returns.

“Move over, Tucker,” the blonde says, giving the other a push. Craig slides over in his twin bed, leaving just enough room for Kenny to slide under the comforter beside him. “I wasn’t trying to fuck and duck, I just didn’t think you’d want me to see me in the morning.”

Craig props himself up on his elbow, watching Kenny who still seems too nervous to recline. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”

Kenny opens his mouth like there are a million reasons on his tongue. Instead, after a moment, he just lays back down, looking up at Craig with a smile. “No clue. I’m a catch.”

Craig laughs again, rolling his eyes.

“So, what now? You wanna cuddle and all that gay shit?” Kenny asks, gently tracing a finger over Craig’s forearm. 

Craig’s not quite sure what he wants to do. He wants to get closer, wrap his arms around Kenny and drift back to sleep. He wants to kiss every freckle along his shoulders and work his way down. He wants to ask Kenny about every scar he can see in the cold morning light. He just wants to bask in this moment for a while.

“How about that movie?”

[lesyasun]

A while ago I received an interesting question about game aesthetics. The person in that ask really struggles with downloading stuff and finding their own style. They asked me how I came up with what you see on my screenshots. Have you ever thought that you can recognize whose screenshot this is by just a quick glance? Is editing important in photoshop? How to take beautiful screenshots? Today let’s talk about how different one single game could be for each of us and what really makes this mysterious “sims aesthetics”.

EDIT: Sorry, it turned out to be huge with lots of random thoughts :D I hope at least one percent of these is useful!

NOTE: English is not my native language, I apologize for possible grammar or spelling mistakes. I tried my best in writing this!

Ok, let’s imagine that you’re a person who just obtained the sims game or just want a nice fresh start and demolished your download folder. (We all need fresh starts sometimes, right?) The struggle is that you have no idea which style you like the best. There are so many sims blogs. Everyone seems to enjoy what they post but you’re a little bit lost in that jungle. Don’t worry! I’ll try to guide you and share my thoughts.

STEP 1 Choose your general style

I roughly divide all sims blogs that I see on my dashboard into a couple of so-called styles. I’ve been doing it in my mind for ages. I like following different people and seeing diferent editing. None of them are better than others. I hope you understand that it’s just a matter of liking. Ok, here we go. Let me put this sorting hat on you :D

1. Realistic 

Screenshot by @luchiatores

Perhaps, it’s the most important thing that you should decide for yourself. Wether you should use realistic textures in your game or you’d prefer to stick to more cartoonish maxis match ones. Why is it so important, to my mind? I like things that match. Just imagine game Witcher 3 where characters and surroundings are realistic. And now imagine Minecraft where things are pixelated. Both games are great, both games have certain beautiful styles. And now imagine Geralt hunting for monsters in a pixelated Minecraft swamp. A bit strange, isn’t it? :D The same applies to Sims. If you put a super realistic skintone on your sim and put a Maxis ponytail, that would probably look strange too. If you choose this style, just try to dig for a good quality content, start following simblrs in this style. Unfortunately, I’m not an expert when it comes to realistic content. So, try to drop an ask to someone whose realistic game you like. There are so many helpful people around in the sims community no matter what style they have :)

2. Trully Maxis Match

screenshot by @whattheskell

This is a complete opposite of a realistic style. I’ve always called people who use a lot of original maxis textures “trully maxis” :D If you can decorate a house without any custom content, if you like the way original hairstyles look, if you like Maxis clothes, you should go this way. From what I’ve spot after being so many years in the sims community, “trully” maxis simblr are so creative when it comes to storytelling. The stories that they write about either their sims/or maxis premades are so breathtaking. So much drama, so much fun. The only thing that I write about my screenshots is “Ok, this is my cat! Look, it can eat flowers and puke afterwardst! Yay! Cute”. If you choose this way, I can recommend you to check out @holleyberry, @didilysims or @moocha-muses. Obviously there are a lot more blogs that I follow. These people are just so sweet and helpful and they’re first who came to my mind. 

3. Bright Maxis Matchery

screenshot by @muupi

This is where I refer myself to. This style is still Maxis but what stands out is the use of bright colours and saturated photoshopped pictures. Ah, my love for overedited pictures is endless <3 This is what I’m going to talk a lot below since it’s my cup of tea. It’s all about colours and pallete addiction. If you love looking at super bright/silly/cheery screenshots and they boost up your mood, than join the squad! 

Basically, Maxis match (I’ll just shorten for MM from now on) players avoid super shiny skins or hair textures and prefer to have content with Simlish letters instead of English ones. This is a very important factor for me when I choose paintings or prints for T-shirts. I don’t know, I feel like it’s so cute that sims can’t understand our languages, talk this funny gibberish simlish language. It’s cute! There are so so many people that I can recommend. @lina-cherie @keoni-chan @kahlenas They are first who came to my mind <3

4. Grungy/cosmic

screenshot by @lilithpleasant 

I don’t know if these are suitable words :D But this is how I describe people’s game who like aliens/supernatural sims/grungy textures with or without bright colours as well. Just think would you prefer a bit of a grungy stuff or less-textured but cleaner MM? You always need to think about textures while you download stuff. I can recommend to check out @pooklet or @furbyq-sims 

5. Semi

screenshot by @whysim 

You might ask me “Why am I not allowed to put a realistic skintone on a maxis sim? What the hell?” Of course, you are! Do it please, if you want. There are no rules, no restrictions. You CAN go semi-realistic, you CAN mix patterns, you CAN mix colours. There’s only one rule: please, enjoy what you do. Don��t be afraid to share your pictures on the Internet. There will always be people who can judje your style and say: “meh, it’s too dull, meh, it’s too bright, meh, too shiny, meh, too plain meh, meh, meh”. Just don’t pay attention and enjoy your game. As for semi-realistic I can recommend such wonderful people as @marvelann @lilith-sims @falkii @knowledgeaspiration 

A bit about my style: I’ve always loved cartoonish/bright style. I’ve never ever played with shiny textures. Before Tumblr era I just played either without CC or with a bunch of maxis recolours. How I came up with the idea of cartoonishness? Pretty simple. It’s a part of my personality, I think :) I’ve always loved Disney/Pixar movies. Cartoons just make life a lot funnier! They make me happy. I’m a pre-school teacher after all :D. You can’t imagine how many cartoons I’ve watched throughout my life. I can quote Peppa Pig and will never be tired of that :D Before Tumblr I just played some funny legacies (I’ve never finished any though :D) When I found out about Tumblr, and such great content that can make my game even more Disney looking, it just blew my mind! Every time when I download stuff, I imagine that I’m watching a Disney/Pixar or whatever studio cartoon. When I create sims, I feel like I’m a cartoon designer. Pretty silly, right? :D 

Let’s take a look at my screenshots from the past. I tried to find similar ones with a lot of greenery.

2014

2021

I stil like a lot of greenery. Editing has changed, photo angles have changed. But bright colours and Maxis stuff are forever in my heart <3

Risa (2014)

Gage (2021) 

As I’m a big cartoon addict, I love recreating game/anime/cartoon characters. No matter, if they’re my favourite or requested ones. I love when my sims have different traits. I love when they’re funny looking/clumsy/absent-minded or when they’re evil/supernatural. When they are pirates/detectives/vampires or witches. This is my way of playing Sims. I love this game as it gives us possibilities to show your creativity, a chance to recreate our favourite characters. A chance to be a writer of storylines or if you’re bad at telling stories, just being “a cartoon designer” like me :)

STEP 2 Colour palettes

If you’ve chosen the path of “bright maxis matchery” than colour palettes are super important! Oh, you can’t imagine how addicted I am to certain colours. I can download GBs because of it.

Here are some of my favourite colour palettes:

1. Anna’s colours

My absolutely favourite palette. I would download absolutely anything in these pretty colours. Just looking at them makes me so cozy *0* There’s a photoshop action for those who want to recolour CC in this palette.

2. Poppet’s colours

I especially like the latest one. So pretty! @poppet-sims is the queen of lovely recolours. She has some more palettes. But “Back to Basics is my favourite”

3. Eversims colours

@eversims has got a lot of pretty colour palettes. But the most iconic one is Ever So Lovely

So, these are the basic colours that I like downloading furniture/clothes with. 

There are a couple more pretty palettes that I like:

Huning’s Pony Colours

Back in the days it was my ultimate favourite one. But these days I edit my pictures in Photoshop excessively and prefer calmer colours and add bright layers in photoshop instead.

Nyren’s Kosmic Colours

If you’re more into pastels, than try to download some stuff in this pretty palette.

You might wonder if I use all of these colours. Of course not! I have a selection of colours that I use: apple green, sky blue, yellow, red, pink, orange, purple, teal, mint. I absolutely love combining 2 or 3 of these in my interior shots. I also love choosing my sims’ favourite colours and dressing them/decorating their bedroom in this certain colour(s).

For example, my sim Mia likes apple green/purple and mint.

I think @deedee-sims can relate. While I prefer choosing a favourite colour per sim, she chooses favourite colour for the whole family!

This is a great idea, I think! :)

STEP 4 Bodyshop stuff

Ok, I hope it’s clear that I’m colour palettes addicted, now let’s move onto actual custom content and what I prefer adding to my game. I decided to divide CC by sections. Let’s start with Bodyshop.

4.1 Skintones

Another important thing that you need to choose for yourself. There are tones ofoptions. I’m going to recommend only MM skins as obviously I have no idea which realistic or semi-realistic ones are high quality.

screenshot by @deedee-sims

If you prefer trully maxis skintones, I recommend you to try Leh’s skintones. It’s super close to original ones in terms of shades. Also look at those button noses! These cute noses is the reason why I started using this skin back in 2014. But later I switched to Lilith’s feather as I wanted more variety and those noses there got a lovely shine.

It was my default skin for a lot of years. These days I own every possible skintone by Lilith and various blends by other people.

Lilith’s Alien Flavor

Lilith’s Android Skin Edit

Lilith’s Apple Pie Skinblend v.2

Lilith’s Apple Pie Skinblend

Lilith’s Apple Pie by Kahlena

Lilith’s Feather Skinblend

Lilith’s Feather Skins 

Lilith’s Feather by Sim-Strangers

Lilith’s Feathers Colourful by Berrynooboos

Lilith’s Honey Supernatural Custom

Lilith’s Honey with freckles

Lilith’s Honey with no freckles

Lilith’s Honey Unnatural by Berrynooboos

Pixel-danger-sims pastel skins

Here’s a very handy set-up by Vimpse with Lilith’s skins being townified.

Try to choose one set of skins or download all of them by one certain creator. I need a lot of skins because I love creating tones of sims and I want to make them various looking.

4.2 Eyes

 ♦  Polaroid ♦ - my favourite

♦ Transcendental ♦

♦ Sleeping Lion ♦

♦  Sharp Eyes ♦

♦ Shallowed in the Sea ♦

♦ Hand Outs and Punch Ups ♦

These are just some of my eyes. There are some more by Poppet, by Kahlena. And I have various addons to these sets that I grabbed over and here. I remember having struggles of choosing only one set. But than I thought: why do I have to choose if I like all of them and want my sims to look as different as possible? I just love when they are cartoonish but high-quality with nice white clean sclera. Just look at Disney Rapunzel. You’ll see what I mean ^_^

There’s one little trick that most mm players do for making sims’ eyes bigger and rounder - adding a whiteline eyeliner by jesstheex. I personaly do it for every single sim of mine.

4.3 Makeup

I use tooooons of blushes, lipsticks and eyeshadows. I have everything by Lilith and Jesstheex. And lots of bits and bobs by various creators. I love using both matte or shiny textures. I sometimes add nose shine or use special nosemasks. There are various lovely things in my collection. What I can recommend you is to download a sim that you like by another creator with the help of Sims Clean Installer and just steal makeup from the sim to add to your collection *evil laughter* I recommend to do it because sometimes there are some mouth corners or various eyebags and etc which are difficult to find. It’s easier to grab them together with sims.

For example, I grabbed the shiny nosemasks from one of Lilith’s sims.

Sometimes I like adding a bit of shine on Sims’ noses. Some sims of mine don’t have shine. It really depends on a sim. But what I definitely like is cute button noses! I like using nosemasks to achieve that. I have all the masks by Lilith and these ones by kahlena.

4.4 Hair textures

Another important decision for you is the hair textures. I recommend you to choose one certain retexture. Back in the days, I used to have Remi’s textures

screenshot by @selenaq13 

I liked Remi’s ones because they were non-shiny. They had maxis colours and a really cool yellowish blonde! 

Receintly I switched to Simgarooped as I’ve always loved that there are 6 naturals. The yellowish blonde is still there! Plus my favourite Deedee-sims keeps updating every week with the retextures of new meshes <3

There are lots of various textures blends. Just search, download, play test. Think, if you’re ready to look at such type of hair hours of simming.

Also try to decide if you’d like to have more natural looking sims or go crazy and have supernatural/aliens. I used to have really bright sims with colourful skins and hairs.

Even my toddlers had unnatural hairs. It’s a lot of fun! But right now I prefer to create more natural looking sims though I like vampires/witches/aliens anyways!

screenshot by @honeylungsims 

If you would like to have colourful supernatural sims, check out Honeylung! She has the brightest and most unusual supernatural sims <3 

You’ll need a lot of face masks/bright lips/shadows. Check out @berrynooboos​ for the cutest alien CC.

4.5 Facial hair and Brows

I don’t think they should really match as long as they look great.

For example, I use eyebrows by @suratan-zir which are super cute and high quality but use Poppet’s textures instead of Simgarooped.

As for facial hair, I use some Poppet’s as well.

by Skoogy

by Poppet #1

by Poppet #2

by Simgaroop

4.6 Clothes

As I already mentioned, I love clothes in my favourite palettes. I love Simlish prints. There are so so many creators who share wonderful clothes.

I love @deedee-sims for age conversions, shoeswaps, morphs. I love @mdpthatsme for really cool 4t2 conversions. I love @moocha-muses for colourful T-shirts <3 Don’t be shy to send me a WCIF about a certain item of clothing.

STEP 5 Buy and Build

Tooons of bright recolours, IKEA items, Maxis add-ons, 3t2 and 4t2 conversions - all these things make my heart beat :D

These days I play in a rural-type world. I download a lot of craftsman-style build things, a lot of plants and garden deco.

I love bright wallpapers and greenhouses, I love clutter and kids CC for nurseries. Patterns with polka dots and plumbobs. Sunflowers and tulips. This is what I usually drop into my download folder :)

STEP 6 Taking screenshots

No matter which recolours and textures you prefer, I think high-quality pictures are important. The first thing that you need to playtest for yourself is a camera mod. It’s upo for you, but I can’t live without Gunmod’s Camera Mod. There are some more available, just check out.

Also lighting is important since Maxis original is terrible. I use Dreadpirate’s mod. 

I recommend to take screenshots in a camera man mode. Click Tab to enter it. Use W, A,S,D,E buttons to move right/left/up/down etc. And what’s important, use X and Z for zooming in and out. I always use Z for example, when I take close ups of my cats.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with angles. Try some artistic ones.

You can move your camera down and take a screen from below.

Or vice versa from above.

Sometimes I’ll just take a screen of my sims’ hands or feet. It really depends. I love spending hours on just “walking” in a camera mod around my sims houses.

Another useful feature of this mod is to use Ctrl +4,5,6,7,8,9 buttons.

These can fix the angles for you. And after fixing them, when you click on 4,5,6,7,8,9 you camera will go back to those positions. It’s very handy when you want to screen 2 sims who are talking and there’s no need to constatntly move camera from sidde to side. Just fix it and wait for them to perform cute emotions!

As a bonus, you can fic positions in the life mode too. For example, I always choose a proper angle from above where the wgole house can be seen. And wait for something cute/funny/to happen.

Also there’s such a thing as The Rule of Thirds. It’s the rule of photography composition. I always try to follow it :)

STEP 7 Photoshop Editing

I love oversaturated colours. It can be too much for someone’s eyes, but I like the brightness :) I’ll share some good Photoshop resources. Probably, one thing that I can recommend to absolutely everyone no matter how bright you want your screens to be is sharpening! Seems that Tumblr eats our picture quality for breakfast. Sims screenshots seem so blurry to me. I love sharpening them first.

I use sharpening from Kalekaloo’s action.

After sharpening I run the base from Eversims Action and then add some colour layers from Simburgerr’s one (I like gradients and fluffy lights layers especially). It makes the reds colours a little bit too saturated but I think it’s cute!

There are a some more cute actions and PSD files out there:

OhMySims - Action 1

OhMySims - Action 2

Sterina’s Action

Photoshop PSDs by Pleyita

Snapdragoned PSD

Mandragore PSD by Kiinuu

JellyBeanery’s Action

Roguebotanist

Nnilou - 12:51

A generic PSD by Knowledgeaspiration

Colorize IT by Bonnypixels

Colour Crush by Bonnypixels

Just Like Heaven by Pixeldemographics

For more tips/palettes/cute fonts I recommend you to check out @bepixeled

That’s all that came to my mind. I hope at least something was useful!

[ura-writes]

Trampolinist - Part Two

Part summary: You encounter a few strange teenagers, discover blown-up ruins, and find out about who caused them.

Warnings: mild anxiety, thoughts of murder, blood, threats, lots of swears

A/N - I got a good few requests asking for a taglist for Trampolinist, so here it is! Just ask and you shall be added!

@lemonmochitea

@dad-ee-drea

@victoria-a567

Also, this is non-canon compliant, but only by a bit. I may change a few small details.

Hope y’all enjoy!

(Also, if you can find the movie reference I put in here, then kudos to you!)

——

A lingering curiosity sits in the back of your head for the rest of the week, not quelled by any amount of Bedwars or Skywars, which leave you exhausted in the evenings.

Even your dreams hold inquisitiveness.

How lovely.

Eventually you have to go back to your home world to check on your animals, repair your tools and the like. It’s tedious work, but nothing you can’t handle.

Boredom eventually sets in.

It’s unnerving. You never get bored of combat, of competition between your fellow players and teammates, but here you are, eyeing the list of servers on your grid.

Only two people are on the server at the moment, their names not available for whatever reason. You’d prefer to pop on when there were no people online, mostly to scope out the server, but you’ll take only having to deal with two people.

Hopefully they’re adults and not kids that recently learned to use portals.

You stick your pointer finger out, curl it like you’re dragging it down a wall; a ripple starts where your finger lands, slowly following its path downwards. It rips a hole through the fabric of woven servers, creating a direct link to the Dream SMP. You just hope that no one attempts to close the portal, as opening one in the first place takes a good deal of energy and effort.

A sight of spruce trees and misplaced dirt greets your vision through the rip in reality.

An odd spawnpoint, but whatever. You’re not one to judge.

In the corner of your eye, where chat normally sits, a message pops up.

TommyInnit: who the fcuck

TommyInnit: what

TommyInnit: NEWY PERFHSAON

Ranboo: ah yes, perfhsaon

TommyInnit: shut the fuck n up

You chuckle at the messages rapidly crowding the chat, watching them fade idly while trying to find a way out of the really weird spawnpoint, which is, for some reason, walled off by a combination of dirt, wood and stone haphazardly placed down, as if in a hurry.

Your efforts do not go unrewarded as you spot a section of the wall that sits lower than the rest, low enough to climb over if you try hard enough.

Perfect.

Feet hit the ground rapidly as you get a running start towards the wall, scrambling upward after you jump. You fall almost immediately off the other side.

“Ouch.”

“That looked like that hurt.”

You glance upward to meet heterochromic eyes, red and green contrasting with the curious face split in half by its black and white sides. A tail flicks behind the person as their crown slips a bit down their head.

“Wh—the fuck?”

The figure laughs at your reaction, offering a gloved hand out to help you off the ground. Hesitantly, you accept, being pulled up easily, and that’s when you realize that he’s a lot taller than you thought.

“Jesus, you’re tall,” you comment idly, brushing yourself off. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem. I’m Ranboo.”

You introduce yourself with your tag, which elicits a hum of recognition from him, much to your pleasant shock and surprise.

“You’re the person that Dream invited, aren’t you?”

“In the flesh.”

He laughs at your quip at him, smiling with sharp fangs exposed to the midday sunlight. No point in judging a person on their (potentially, anyway) monstrous features.

“Well, you probably need a tour—“

He’s quickly interrupted by a loud “hey!”

“Oh great,” you mutter, crossing your arms. Ranboo looks a bit sheepish at your cocked eyebrow and slightly irritated expression, scratching his bi-colored hair.

“That’s Tommy. He’s uh… well, Tommy.”

A teenager wearing a red and white shirt and jeans with battered sneakers comes sprinting out of the nearby forest, coming to a halt just in front of you.

“New person!”

“Yeah, and what are you, the gremlin that got fed after midnight?”

The kid sputters out a few protests against being called a gremlin, sprinkling a good few swears in his jumbled sentences that mostly consist of rambles.

When Tommy gets his bearings, he eyes your tag, squinting at it suspiciously before his eyes widen in recognition.

“You’re the bastard that beat the shit out of me in Bedwars! Get ove’ here—“

One of Ranboo’s arms shoots out to grab the lanky teenager with ease to stop his potential assault on you. You just brush your nails off on your shirt.

“Oi! Lemme a’em!”

“No, Tommy, remember what Tubbo said?” Ranboo lectures, tail flicking in annoyance, eyes trained on him. “Remember?”

“You’re one to talk about rememberin’.”

Ranboo cocks an eyebrow.

“No punchin’ people we don’t know unless they’ve hurt us…” Tommy grumbles. “Can ya lemme go now?”

Ranboo agrees, letting go of his shirt and summoning a journal and quill to write something down in, muttering that he’s almost out of ink.

“Anyway, how about that tour now?”

You smile at him.

Maybe you’ll like this place.

——

“...and this is L’Manburg… or what’s left of it, anyway. It’s still being rebuilt.”

“How’d it get destroyed?” you ask him. “It takes a lot of TNT, Withers and dedication to destroy a city this big.”

I should know.

Tommy eyes Ranboo.

“Hey, it’s your city. I’m not explaining it,” Ranboo defends against the wordless accusation. Tommy exhales with a groan and begins his explanation.

“Wil-Wilbur, my brother, went a bit insane a few months back, blew it all up with Technoblade’s help. Wil’s… well, he’s dead.” Tommy sounds indifferent about the death, much to your surprise.

You nod absentmindedly, setting your eyes on a slightly obscured poster that flaps in the wind. When you get close enough to pin it down it reads:

Wanted: Dead or Alive. High Treason, Inciting Violence, Unlawful Use of Explosives, Extreme Terrorism.

Reward: See Authorities

Below that is a well-painted picture of a man you somewhat recognize, wearing a red cape, a crown, full enchanted Netherite armor and carrying an axe that seems to shimmer in the light.

Technoblade. You’ve had a few run-ins with him playing Bedwars and Skywars, even teaming up with him a few times. He always seemed nice enough, and certainly a damn good sword fighter. He always knew when to run and when to stand and fight, when to attack and when to defend.

“What did he do?”

Ranboo starts to speak, but Tommy interrupts him.

“Blew the rest o’ this place up. Bastard ran after that.” Tommy all but spits the words out of his mouth, like they’re acid or venom. “Fookin’ coward.”

Well, I wouldn’t call ‘knowing when to run’ cowardice, but we’ll pretend I agree, child.

“No one knows where he is now,” Ranboo adds. “Except Phil, of course. But he’s pretty much silent about it. Won’t give up a word of information.”

Shouldn’t be that hard to find one man, you muse to yourself. Bet I could.

“Well, I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” you lie with a smile plastered on your lips. “Y’know, as a sort of gift to you as the newest member of the server.”

Hah, as if.

“We’ll hold you to that.”

You nod and say your goodbyes, walking towards the central nether portal while keeping an eye out for an ender chest so you can get some of your stuff. You know the admin will take your elytra away if it so much as comes into contact with the server’s air, so you decide not to risk it.

Spotting one, you make a small noise of triumph and dart over there, grabbing the shulker with your stuff in it, transferring it to your inventory with a practiced ease.

Armor adorns your figure, enchanted Netherite striking an imposing silhouette against the blackstone beneath your feet. You twirl your sword with a grin.

Now to find Technoblade.

——

Turns out, finding a piglin hybrid is not easy.

You scoured the Nether for any sign of him, any trace of fabric, of a broken pickaxe, hell even a piece of iron he may have held. The ability you hold as a Jumper not only allows you to jump servers, but also allows you to find people if you have something of theirs.

Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Nil. Absolutely jack shit.

How can one man be so difficult to track down?

Just as you’re about to give up, a barrage of curses at the tip of your tongue, a glint of iron catches your eye.

Odd.

Hopping over a cluster of Netherrack and scaring off a few baby Striders, you see a small circle of iron sitting in a pile of red dust, looking dented and beat up.

You huff and brush the dust off of it, titling your head to the side when it reveals itself.

A compass, pointing in one direction, working even in the Nether.

Standing up, you pocket it and head to the nearest portal, jumping through to the other side only to grab the compass out of your pocket as you walk to who-knows-where. It still points in the same direction as before, only moving when you do.

An irregularity in the metal against your hand inspires you to flip the compass over to look at the back.

What lies there makes you smirk.

Technoblade’s cabin. Phil’s compass.

This might be easier than you initially thought.

:)

[automaticneon]

Clouds

Chapter 1: Automatic Love (NSFT)

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: “When desires go unfulfilled, they turn into needs”

Clouds is the most technologically advanced dollhouse in Madripoor. It’s a void for people to escape into, or at least the lucky few that can afford to visit. 

And Zemo is very lucky.

The reader meets a strange new client, a man of mystery and poetic language and when she uncovers a secret most valuable to Helmut Zemo, their relationship goes from professional to something much more profound.

A/N: It’s essentially a Cyberpunk AU, but you don’t need to know a thing about the game! I’ve just borrowed the names of locations and the concept of Clouds. The reader is essentially a high clas s*x worker, if that isn’t your cup of tea, this probably isn’t the fic for you!

If this was high-end, there was no way to tell.

At least that’s what Zemo thinks as his car pulls up outside the mega-building. It’s an unsightly structure but not uncommon for this area of Madripoor, about fifty-storey’s tall and covered in vibrant LED screens.

For a minute he considers instructing his driver to take him back to his apartment in high-town so he can pretend this never happened. He had been averse to this idea already, but a friend from his military days had been convinced he should try coming here. “It’s cutting-edge” is what he had been told, but what exactly cutting-edge meant was a mystery to Zemo.

“Would you like me to wait for you, Sir?” the driver asks, snapping Zemo out of his thoughts.

The baron swipes his hand over his face, taking one last look at the building outside the window before responding.

“No, I’ll call when I’m done.”

He reckons his driver knows what he’s doing here. Mega-building H8 was known for only one thing, its position on the layline between high and low town meant it was frequented by all wealthy inhabitants of Madripoor. Mobsters and politicians alike congregated at this monster of architecture, hopeful of its contents and desperate to go unrecognised.

And now they can add a Baron to that list of unfortunates, Zemo thinks with resignation.

He leaves the car before the embarrassment can fester in his chest.

 The building is worse up close than at a distance.

Climbing the flight of concrete stairs Zemo is transported from the sidewalk and into the belly of the beast. The entrance to the megabuilding is a low-ceilinged sprawl of street-vendors and food stalls. It’s loud and busy, but Zemo has no problem blending into the crowd. He weaves through the stream of people, illuminated by neon signs that grow increasingly vulgar in their images the deeper into the building he moves.

Eventually, towards the back of the building, he finds the metal gates of an industrial-style elevator. He slides the grate open and steps inside to find the space is lit by multiple illuminated advertisement screens rotating through various commercials, each more obscene than the last. For a moment Zemo takes the moral high ground, musing with distaste about the sort of men these adverts are geared towards. He takes the moral high ground until he remembers what he has come here to do. Defeatedly he admits to himself he has no right to feel lofty.

The illuminated keypad flashes at him, and he reaches out to input his destination.

 Floor 12 – CLOUDS

 The elevator is slow as it climbs past the levels of cheap apartments and eventually comes to stop at level 12. As Zemo goes to open the grate again, he wonders if he’ll be greeted by some of that high-class sophistication he was promised.

He is not.

This floor is much like the entrance hall, only this time it’s a balcony that wraps around the interior of the mega-building and faces down into an open-air atrium. Zemo notices that the elevator he steps out of does not go any higher than this level, the floors above must be the luxury apartments and must have their own entrance.  He begins to follow the neon signs again.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this?” A man near him says to his friend. Zemo bristles at the strong American accent, but carefully allows himself to eavesdrop.

“I don’t know, man,” The friend responds “It just feels wrong, you know? Like I’ll be cheating on my girl with one of these dolls”

“But that’s just it! These girls are dolls, man. They’re not real. It’s like sleeping with a blow-up-doll. No difference”

“You know that’s not true; the difference is they’re real. They’re made of flesh.”

“That’s what makes them great though. They’re dolls made of flesh.”

Zemo moves on before he can hear anymore.

He follows the signs until he reaches a wide hallway into the building, and there at the end is the rather simple looking entrance to Clouds dollhouse. The low ceiling of the hallway allows for little decoration, but he supposes a place with such an infamous reputation needs little in terms of advertisement. Soft pink neon signs flash the name of the establishment, and beside the double glass doors a glitchy hologram of a woman dances away. As he approaches, a pre-recorded voice rings out from a speaker at the base of the hologram.

“Looks like you could use a little automatic love.”

He refuses to acknowledge the projection.

Inside clouds is arguably worse than outside. The hallway is lined with tattered posters and it smells of something cheap and artificial. When Zemo enters the small, empty reception the lady behind the desk looks up with a smile.

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

  -

 None of you can hear a thing from the changing room.

“Do you think he’ll fire her?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how angry the client was,”

“Shut up I’m trying to hear,”

The room falls silent as Divine presses her ear to the door.

Moments ago the dressing room had been full of the usual chatter as you and the other dolls prepared for the evening shift. There was nothing to indicate the night would be anything but normal, that was until a few minutes ago when Woodman, the caretaker of dolls, had knocked furiously at the door and demanded that Azure come to his office down the hall for an immediate meeting.

“Is it just Woodman?” you ask. Azure could be abrasive at times, but she was certainly one of you favourite colleagues and you desperately wanted her to avoid being fired by management.

“I think so. I can’t hear anyone else.” Divine says, leaning back from the door.

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” one of the other dolls assures the room “She’s been here the longest. If they haven’t fired her yet, I doubt they ever will.”

“True. We can’t let this ruin a good Friday night. Five minutes until we need to be out in the booths, girls” Divine announces, and promptly returns to her table to finish her makeup.

Moments before the timer goes off the dressing room door flies open, and Azure stalks back to her table in silence. She’s not upset, but you can see the frustration hidden behind a poor attempt at offhand indifference. You want to ask if she’s alright, but the aggressive way she’s searching through her desk drawer makes you think it’s better to leave her be. The other girls do the same, cautiously looking over at her but making no attempt at conversation.

When the timer rings out you take one final sip of water and head to the door, grabbing the key-card for booth three as you leave.

 - 

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

The pink light of the glowing reception desk illuminates her face from below. That, combined with her uncomfortably bright smile makes the receptionist look like some sort of robot from a sci-fi film. Zemo lets out an amused huff at the very ambitious welcome promise.

“With all due respect, how could you know exactly what it is I want.”

“Clouds always knows. Your deepest desire – we find it. You’ll have your needs fulfilled – and maybe much more. ‘Less’ is not a word we use around here.” The receptionist replies.

“And how is that supposed to work then,” Zemo questions with a tilt of his head.

“Our algorithm searches your social media. With your permission it will create a personal profile based on any information if can gather, including personal preferences for you partners appearance. The algorithm will then select a doll for you, and create an experience based off that information.,” She slides a form across the desk “of course we ensure this is entirely confidential, this form confirms our promise.”

“I’ll admit I’m impressed. However I do not have a social media presence I’m afraid.” Zemo responds.

He couldn’t lie, the process seemed interesting. It was obviously a successfully programmed algorithm if the establishment had such a strong reputation. He found himself for the first time tonight not entirely doubting his choice to come here. He was interested to see what they would do for his situation.

“In that case I’ll have to ask you a few general questions to select a doll for you. If you are unsatisfied with their performance, you’ll be entitled to a refund at the end of the session.”

The receptionist begins to read a series of questions from her computer screen, gender preferences, what sort of experience he’s looking for. She concludes with organising payment, and the price is eyewatering even with the slight discount she applies since they cannot use the algorithm. When all is paid and signed for, the receptionist asks for a safe word. Admittedly it throws Zemo for a minute.

“It’s company policy” she says.

“Pontiac” he says bluntly, after a moment of thought.

“Fantastic.” The receptionist enters his response to the computer “Welcome to clouds. Serenity will be waiting for you in booth three.”

Zemo passes through another set of double doors and finds himself in a labyrinth of pink lights. The walls are lined with black, opaque glass and every so often a blue neon number protrudes from the wall indicates the booth behind it.

It doesn’t take long for him to find booth three, but he pauses before pressing the button to open the door. He takes a breath, collects his thoughts and lets his head and shoulders drop. He doesn’t want to look at his reflection in the tinted glass. Five years ago the thought of coming to a place like this would never have touched his mind, even in his questionable youth he had always been opposed these places. The risk that they were run unethically was far too great for his conscience. But he was not the man he was five years ago. Since Sokovia he wondered if he had a conscience at all anymore.

He presses the button, and the glass panel slides open.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room. It’s dimly lit, faint blue and purple lights shine against the walls that are lined with the same dark, opaque glass as outside. There’s a chic, white sofa against the left wall, and against the right is a simple bed.

Sat atop it, kneeling with her thighs spread and covered by a short black night dress is the prettiest girl he’s seen in years.

 - 

He’s handsome, is the first thing you think when the glass door slides open.

It’s rare that you ever receive a client you’re inclined to call attractive, even the most conventionally attractive men that come here bring with them such a foul soul that it taints their appearance. Not this man, though.

He’s smartly dressed in dark trousers and a well-fitting grey jumper. His hair is styled nicely, it’s either brown or very dark blond (you can’t tell in the coloured lighting). He carries himself well, but after a year of working here you’ve grown accustomed to seeing through the façade’s of your clients. He’s apprehensive. Unsure if he belongs here. Hesitant.

“You must be Helmut. It’s nice to meet you,”

You try to make your voice sound soft and gentle, cocking your head to one side to beckon him in. You get the sense he wants something authentic, or at least that’s what his profile had said when it was sent through from reception moments ago. No porn-star moans or obscene pick-up lines tonight.

He collects himself, and the harsh line his lips have been pressed into relaxes as he enters the room. The glass panel slides shut, trapping the two of you in the bubble of the booth. It’s tranquil. You think he must need that.

“And you must be ‘Serenity’” He responds, crossing the room to sit on the sofa. His eyes don’t leave you as your ‘name’ rolls of his tongue with amusement. You can hear the next question in your head before he even opens his mouth again.

“So what’s your real name?”

They always ask you that. They ask every doll that. The clients are desperate to form a connection with you. To brag to their friends that they have a special relationship with a doll at clouds. You’ve never told anyone your real name before, it’s against company policy. Clouds attracts the rich of Madripoor, and rich in Madripoor usually means dangerous. It’s for your own protection more than anything else, you really don’t need work following you home.

You picked a name the day you were hired and that’s the name every client has known you by. This man will be no different. You begin your usual response:

“A name is a name, Helmut. A title. An advertisement of who you are. I want my name to tell you exactly who I am, so that you can know everything about me. I want to bring you peace.”

He adjusts his hips and rests his arms across the back of the sofa. He regards you quietly, and you’re positive he can tell that your response was a deflection. His eyes squint slightly, and a flash of humour appears in his dark pupils.

“Well I hardly think that’s fair. You get to call me by my name, but I don’t get to know yours?” He lets out a huff of laughter “Actually, I don’t think I’ll let you use my name. We should be equals, should we not?”

You admit you’re enjoying this. The smooth accent and playful tone of his voice keeps you interested. You swing your feet around so that you’re sat facing him on the bed, reclining back on your palms to match his casual stance.

“What should I call you then?”

“You said a name is just a title. So then my title can become my name. You can call be Baron, Serenity” He says your name like it’s some sort of inside joke, taunting you to give up and tell him who you really are. You won’t be so easily swayed.

“So what’s a Baron doing in Madripoor then?” You say with genuine curiosity. If it weren’t for the NDA’s you’re forced to sign you would be buzzing to tell the other girls who you’re spending the night with. You can’t imagine that aristocracy visits this place frequently. “And do you drink?”

“I do, thank you” he says, and you hop down from the bed and walk to the low table in front of the sofa that carries a few glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking alcohol. You know he’s looking at the satin hem of the night dress as it tickles to top of your thighs, and when you bend down to pour him a glass, you make sure he gets a tasteful peak at your cleavage.

“I’m here to work, actually.”

Did aristocrats work? You thought they were just for show.

“I’m… translating some documents. It’s taking me a very long time,” He continues, watching intently as you finish preparing his drink.

“A Baron and a translator? Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate” You loop around the table, perching beside him on the sofa and handing him his drink.

“It’s more of a personal project I suppose, but a very important one” he says, accepting the drink with his free hand. The one that rests behind you on the back of the sofa comes up to rest between your shoulder blades. It’s a very gentle touch, just the tips of his fingers making contact with yours skin and moving in a tiny little circle. He’s testing the waters with you, seeing how receptive you are. It’s almost gentlemanly.

“It must mean a great deal to you. We could talk about it, if you like? We can talk about anything you want to,” You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying how he melts into the action.

“Anything but your name?” He shoots you teasing look from the corner of his eye, and you give a little strand of his hair a small playful tug in response.

“Anything but that, Baron”

“Tell me something else about you. Like why you came to Madripoor, I can tell you weren’t born here.”

Jesus you can’t tell if this man is a pest or just being polite. It’s unusual for him to be asking these questions of you, most men would usually have you on your knees by now. You hum and give him one last stroke down the back of his neck, before climbing off the sofa and walking back towards the bed.

“Very perceptive. I’m not from Madripoor, no,” you crawl onto the bed, taking your time so that the baron can take a good look at where the night dress rides up over the curve of your ass “but we’ve only just met, and only my friends get to know my life story.”

You settle yourself comfortably at the top of the bed, lying down and propped up on your elbows so you can maintain the measured look he’s giving you.

“Perhaps I should come over there and get to know you better” he says calmly, with the barest hint of a suggestive undertone.

Thank god he’s dropped the topic of your true identity. You can handle sex; you don’t need an interrogation tonight. Slipping into character you drop your voice to a low whisper and cock your eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile as he accepts your little challenge. In one fluid motion he downs the rest of his drink, places the empty glass back on the table, and rises to walk towards the bed. No, he stalks towards the bed with a natural swagger that admittedly makes your chest squeeze tight.

Within a second he’s onto you, slotting himself between your parted thighs and pressing his lips to yours. Your baron kisses well, is the only thing you’re capable of thinking as he uses his body to push you down into the cushions. One of his hands slides up your body, skimming across your neck before coming to rest below your jaw. He doesn’t squeeze, just gently holds you in place so that he can kiss you how he pleases.

After a moment he tilts your head up slightly, pausing the kiss so he can look down at you. You reckon you look a picture of arousal, pupils blown and cheeks flushes as you catch your breath. Your baron seems to agree; he’s looking at you like the cat that caught the canary, and you shiver when his grip gets just a fraction tighter on your jaw.

“So pretty,” he praises quietly as he dips down to skim his lips over your pulse.

The tender pressure makes you whine and arch up beneath him and he acknowledges you with a hum and a hand on your breast. As he continues his assault on your neck, the free hand on your chest squeezes the flesh softly, finding your nipple beneath the silky fabric and circling it with his thumb.

When it pebbles to his satisfaction he pulls away and you keen at the loss of contact. He tuts, pulling down the straps of your nightgown and peeling it down below your chest, shuffling down slightly so that his face is level with your now exposed torso.

He breathes out against your nipple before latching onto it, with one hand he squeezes your neglected breast and the other slides from its place on your jaw to the base of your neck. Again he doesn’t squeeze, just exerts a level of control that lets you know where he wants you. If you wanted to you could break free, but why would you want that? The way his thumb begins to circle your pulse point has you practically melting into the bed, the thought of telling him to stop can barely manifest in your mind.

You reach down to dig your fingers into the baron’s back, instead only making contact with his expensive-feeling jumper. You huff in disappointment and pull him from where he’s entertaining himself with your tits, meeting his hazy eyes that are riddled with confusion.

“I thought we were trying to get familiar with one another?” you ask, and his eyebrows pinch in confusion “How are we supposed to do that when you’ve got so much between us?”

The baron’s face melts in amusement, and he reluctantly pulls himself away from you to pull the jumper off and start undressing fully. You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him peel away his clothes to reveal his impressive body. He’s slender but impeccably well-toned, his torso is covered by a light dusting of hair that leads your eyes down to the impressive bulge in his underwear.

Tonight should be very entertaining.

Your sit up, reaching out to run your hand down his chest but before you can begin to pull at the waistband of his underwear, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

“I don’t know where you think you were going, but I was quite enjoying myself” he says roguishly. He gathers both of your wrists into one hand and pins you pack against the bed, with both hands restrained you have no choice but to let him bury hid face into your neck again.

This time he uses his free hand to skim along the inside of your thigh, getting high enough that you think he’ll reach the apex between your legs but instead he trails his fingers back down towards your knee again.

You whine in frustration as he continues his cycle of teasing up and down your leg, he ignores you until you tug against his grip on your wrists. He makes a low noise and quickly tightens his hold on you. The sudden movement sends a chill down your spine, and for the first time in a long while, you feel genuinely inclined to beg a man.

“Please-” you breathe out shakily “I want-”

Your voice cuts off suddenly as his hand moves boldly to cup your pussy. You can hear how embarrassingly wet you are as his fingers move through your folds, and he hums happily when he finds your clit with his thumb. Slowly he circles it, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you wriggling in his grip.

“This? Is this what you want?” he asks, and his voice has dropped at least another octave.

You shake your head furiously. Right now this is just not enough, you can feel his dick rubbing against your leg and you’re beyond desperate to have him fuck you open with it.

“No?” he says with feigned innocence “What is it that you want then?”

“More” is all you can get out “I want you in me. I’m wet enough, see?”

Your baron seems unconvinced. He circles a finger around your entrance before pushing in, rocking it gently inside you as he tries to decide if he thinks you’re really ready. He continues for a moment more before adding a second finger, now with two fingers stuffed in you and his thumb still working on your clit you’re almost ready to cum. It’s making you desperate, and it doesn’t help at all when he buries his face in your tits again.

Finally he lets your wrists go and immediately your hands grab at whatever part of him they can, eventually you settle with gripping his shoulder and hair as you try desperately to urge him to fuck you. He gets you right to the edge, literal moments away from finishing on his fingers when he pulls them away from you with an obscenely wet noise.

You let out a frustrated, desperate whine as he separates from you. He looks down at you with satisfaction as he takes in your flustered state.

“Stay still, you’ll get what you want” he says, and he reaches for his pants to retrieve a condom. It takes him a minute to pull himself free of his underwear and put the condom on. In your desperate state it feels like an eternity.

He positions himself between your legs, lifting the hem of the nightdress so he can get a good view of your pussy whilst he lines himself up. He pauses before he presses forward, looking up at you for any last-minute hesitation.

You nod your consent instantly, not trusting yourself to get any words out.

When he pushes in you think you might cum from that alone. He’s a perfect size, long enough that you feel as though you could feel him in your belly. When he finally bottoms out you can’t help but squeeze him tight, and he slumps over you, his face tucked into the side of your neck and swears in a language you don’t recognise. He nudges his hips forward as if to get deeper than he already is. The both of you gasp out at the sensation and he repeats it a few times, just the tiniest movements of his hips that causes him to rub against something deep inside you.

He pushes himself up on his forearms so that he can get a good look at you. In turn, you get to see the state of him as well – his eyes are impossibly dark and glazed over with something wildly lustful, his once pristine hair hangs dishevelled over his reddened forehead. Your baron’s lip curls wickedly as he sets a punishing pace, pushing you deeper into the sheets. It feels like he’s trying to fuck you through the bed.

His previous teasing had done a real number on you, and within minutes you’re moments away from cumming. You don’t think you could get much out of your mouth other than pathetic little whimpers right now, instead you reach up and pull the baron down for a deep kiss, one that he melts into fully.

When you do cum it’s fucking incredible. You’d never use a word that strong to describe a client before, but your baron brings with him many firsts for you. You cry out into his mouth as he picks up the pace to ride you through your high, your fingers dig into his shoulder so tightly you wonder if you’ve drawn blood. If you have, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything it spurs him on as he fucks you to the point of oversensitivity.

He finishes just as you think you can’t handle anymore. His hips stutter momentarily, and tremors run down his spine in waves. The entire time he’s rambling in a foreign tongue against your skin until his pants of exhaustion overtake his ability to speak.

Your baron collapses on top of you but you hardly have the brainpower to care that he’s crushing you. Instead you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, listening to him as he catches his breath against your chest.

You yourself are struggling to even out your breathing, it feels as though you’ve run a marathon and the man on top of you seems thoroughly amused by that.

“Come now,” he says as he smooths a hand up your side “I wasn’t that good.”

You can hardly help the genuine laugh that escapes you.

“Humility doesn’t look good on you baron.”

The man in question huffs out a laugh before peeling himself away from your sweat-slicked body.

“I suppose I should make myself scarce. I imagine you have other, much more interesting clients to see tonight” he says, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“You can stay and talk if you want, it’s entirely up to you. You paid for this, after all.” You say, secretly hoping he’ll stay for just a minute longer. You don’t intend to entertain anyone else tonight, but part of you is quite intrigued by your newest client.

“Well in that case I have one final question I’d like to ask” he says as he slowly begins to dress himself again.

“Ask away.”

Once his trousers are securely over his hips he pauses to look at you. There’s a soft expression on his face, as if he already knows he’s not going to get the answer he wants.

“What’s your real name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s asked again. Truthfully, it’s not the question itself that’s thrown you, it’s how tempted you are to answer it. His voice is so compelling at the moment that your name nearly springs from your tongue without you noticing.

“Oh baron,” you say quietly “you know I can’t tell you that.”

His lips press together in acceptance, and for a second his eyes leave yours. As he begins to get ready again, he gives his response.

“It was worth a shot.”

[monotonous-minutia]

Brief history of Les contes d’Hoffmann edits (the short short version) + Summaries!

Kudos to anyone who gets through all of this, but I recommend at least reading the first part if you plan on watching this opera next week for Operablr Pride Month. It will help you find/choose a version to watch!

For the differences in the summaries to make sense, we need a little background info.

The very very very short version of why there are so many edits:

Offenbach died before he could finish the score. Most of the prologue, Olympia, and Antonia acts were done; the Giulietta act and the Epilogue were not, which is why those are the parts that vary the most across the different edits. Additionally, much of the material that varies belongs to Nicklausse/the Muse. The reason for this is that the mezzo in this role cancelled last minute, and the replacement didn’t have time to learn the entire role before the performance, so the Muse monologues, Violin Aria, and much of Nicklausse’s dialogue were cut; the ending monologue was replaced with spoken speech. Since the premiere—which is another story for another time—several conductors, directors, and music scholars have attempted to reconstruct the opera based on Offenbach’s drafts and notes, and in some cases their personal preferences. Additional shoutout to good old Guiraud, who finished a lot of the orchestration that Offenbach didn’t get to, which is some of the only stuff to survive most edits.

Also, I should say: apparently in addition to there being no definitive edition of this opera, there’s no definitive history either. I swear every book/article I read about it says something different so this is the best I could do. So if there are any inaccuracies, apologies in advance.

Now there are a lot of people that have tinkered with this opera, but there are a few main ones that compiled what are dubbed “critical editions,” because they did a bunch of research and a lot of people end up using edits based on what they did.

In chronological order, those critical edits are:

Choudens: The shortest version, and one most people are familiar with.

Oeser (1): Longer with a lot of missing material added, also fairly well-known.

Oeser (2): Even longer with a ton of new stuff added! (My personal fave but pretty rare)

Kaye/Keck: Uses some of the material rediscovered by Oeser, but also adds a ton of other stuff, particularly in the Giulietta act, as well as re-orchestrating significant portions. Not many of these either.

and apparently there’s another one called “OG Offenbach” or something like that but as far as I can tell there haven’t been any recordings of it or much about what it looks like, but from what I gather it’s fairly similar to that last one, with some adjustments based on yet more new-old material discovered.

And, of course, every single production I’ve ever seen/heard puts its own spin on things! So while most have the general formats as seen below, literally no two are exactly alike.

A bit more detail on the versions:

Choudens

This is one of the first people to edit the material after it was butchered for the world premiere. It’s the short version of the opera with the most material missing, though to be fair he did improve upon what it had been before. His is (unfortunately) the edit most people are familiar with:

Prologue: Chorus of Spirits of wine and beer. Lindorf monologues about stealing Stella from Hoffmann. Students party in the tavern and ask Hoffmann to tell a stoy; he sings the famous "Ballad of Klein-Zach." When taunted by Lindorf about his love life, Hoffmann decides to tell everyone the tales of his Three Great Loves. Act I: Olympia. Hoffmann is in love with the “daughter” of Spalanzani, his science professor, unaware that she is a robot. Coppélius sells Hoffmann magic glasses that make him believe Olympia is a real human, despite Nicklausse's insistence that she is a mechanical doll. Olympia is presented to the guests at her coming-out party; they marvel over her. Hoffmann serenades her and dances with her, but Coppélius arrives to take her apart, and Hoffmann realizes he’s been in love with a robot the whole time. Act II: Giulietta. Choudens put the Giluietta act second instead of Antonia. At a party, Nicklausse and Giulietta sing the famous Barcarolle; Hoffmann counters with an aria about how love is futile. Nicklausse tries to warn Hoffmann to be careful of Giulietta's lover, Schlémil, but Hoffmann of course does not listen. Dapertutto arrives and makes a deal with Giulietta to trick Hoffmann. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann and steals his reflection. When Hoffmann realizes his reflection is gone, we get the famous Septet (the only thing I’m grateful to Choudens for). Afterwards, Hoffmann kills Schlémil  to get the key to Giulietta’s room, but Giulietta leaves with Pitichinaccio instead. Act III: Antonia. The singer Antonia is sick and it’s her singing that is killing her. Hoffmann, who’s been looking for her for months after Antonia and her father moved specifically so he couldn’t find them, has finally found her. They promise to run away and get married, but before they can, Dr. Miracle forces Antonia to sing until she literally dies. Epilogue: Hoffmann has finished his stories. Nicklausse makes the connection that all three ladies are actually metaphors for the real-life Stella. Hoffmann yells at him. Stella walks in on a drunk Hoffmann who mistakes her for his lovers; she leaves in a huff with Lindorf. Nicklausse reveals his identity as the Muse (in spoken dialogue) and asks for Hoffmann’s devotion. Hoffmann gets a reprise of his Giulietta act aria, but this time committing himself to the Muse and his art.

Oeser (1)

This one, which is also very common, isn’t Oeser’s *actual* edit but combines his with the Choudens one, so it has a lot more material than the previous one, but not as much as the longer Oeser version.

Prologue: Very similar to Choudens except we get the Muse’s opening monologue explaining their motivations (winning Hoffmann and saving him from Stella) before the rest of the action. Act I: Olympia. Pretty much the same but sometimes Nicklausse gets a different aria. Act II: Antonia (which here comes before Giulietta). Almost exactly the same as Choudens’, but Nicklausse gets to sing a lovely aria about love and art which is really a love song for Hoffmann. Act III: Giulietta. Pretty much the same, except it’s the third act instead of the second act. Epilogue: Starts pretty much the same, until the Hoffmann/Stella confrontation which is now put to music. Then we get a reprise of Klein-Zach followed by the drinking chorus, after which the Muse reappears. The opera ends with the Muse’s closing monologue and chorus about how Hoffmann’s suffering will make him a greater artist.

Oeser (2)

Pretty similar to the short Oeser version described above. The most dramatic changes are really just in the Giulietta act, though there’s some extra material in Olympia too (that one waltzy duet I’m always gushing about) and sometimes more sung material for the Muse in the epilogue as well. Oeser’s longer Giluietta act: Has the same basic plot points, except instead of going right from Dapertutto making the deal with Giulietta to Giulietta seducing Hoffmann, we get a gambling scene where Giulietta serenades the guests as they play cards, during which each of the characters gets a little moment. Then Giulietta leaves and Hoffmann follows her, and she sings sadly about her dismal situation which leads into her seduction of Hoffmann, and the rest of the act ends pretty much the same, except sometimes there’s no Septet.

Now, on to possibly the wildest of them all:

Kaye/Kecke

This one is rare; there’s only a few recordings that even attempt it, and very few get it to the letter of what these two scholars compiled. Once again, most of the changes are in the Giulietta act and Epilogue; the only real changes in the previous acts are in the orchestration of some parts. Kaye Giulietta Act: Starts pretty much the same, with the Barcarolle and Hoffmann’s derisive aria, and Dapertutto making the deal with Giulietta. We get a gambling scene here too, but it’s not as long or dramatic and Giulietta gets a different aria. Hoffmann kills Schlémil for the same reasons, but it happens before Giulietta steals his reflection; essentially she’s bribing him before she pretends to fall in love with him. Hoffmann gets in trouble for killing Schlémil, and in a fit of rage tries to kill Giulietta, but kills Pitichinaccio instead. Kaye Epilogue: It starts with a chorus for the students kinda trying to talk Hoffmann down from his crazy stories. We get the same Nicklausse-Hoffmann confrontation, and the one with Stella, and a reprise of Klein-Zach, but in addition to the drinking chorus repeating we get a kind of ominous reprise of the “Glou! Glou!” chorus from the prologue, after which the Muse enters and we get the same ending monologue but it’s got some extra pieces.

So the short short version ended up pretty long huh? Anyway, I hope it's helpful!

If you want more detailed summaries to follow along with when you watch the opera, see below!

More detailed summaries!

Choudens

Choudens is one of the the first critical edits of the opera and, despite the fact that it’s been discredited multiple times, is still inexplicably used a lot and is what a lot of people think of when they think of this opera.

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with his friend Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the song, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia. Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird. Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric saleman, enters and displays his various wares, including a variety of contraptions but primarily eyes. He manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalazani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for what she truly is and is

humiliated. Act II: Giulietta (Choudens is the only edit that has Giulietta second instead of third) Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) After Hoffmann and Nicklausse leave to play cards with the others, the Captain Dapertutto comes in, announcing he plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He attracts the courtesan with a diamond (and a deceptively pretty aria) and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. Hoffmann returns and Dapertutto leaves. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann, who serenades her with a fairly famous aria that gets reprised later for a different reason (keep an eye out for that). Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Giulietta tells Hoffmann that Schlémil has the key to her room, and if Hoffmann can retrieve it, she’ll meet him there later. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or "Sextet and Chorus"). Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Act III: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to find Antonia for him. When the servant leaves to do so, Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that

Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him

two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann, only to find him dead drunk. He mistakes her for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. The students all leave and Hoffmann is alone with Nicklausse, who reveals himself to be the Muse of Poetry. The Muse declares her devotion to Hoffmann and asks for his in return. Hoffmann, hearing this, repeats his song from the Giulietta act, this time declaring his love for the Muse and promising to return to his art.

Oeser (1)

The short Oeser version is the other Most Commonly Seen edit (I think it’s about a tie). It's similar to the Choudens edit in many ways, with some significant additions, which are in blue below: Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. They leave to

join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia (When Oeser made his edit, he rearranged the acts to their original order, placing Antonia before Giulietta.) Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a

party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) After Hoffmann and Nicklausse leave to play cards with the others, the Captain Dapertutto comes in, announcing he plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He attracts the courtesan with a diamond (and a deceptively pretty aria) and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. Hoffmann returns and Dapertutto leaves. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann, who serenades her with a fairly famous aria. Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Giulietta tells Hoffmann that Schlémil has the key to her room, and if Hoffmann can retrieve it, she’ll meet him there later. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or Sextet and Chorus). Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Nicklausse exits, telling Hoffmann it’s time for him to choose. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse, serenading Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but will make him an even greater artist.

Oeser (2)

The long Oeser version (my personal favorite) follows the short one fairly closely; most of the major revisions are in the Giulietta act. This one is pretty rare—I’ve only found one video (which is a terrible production unfortunately) and one audio recording (which is the greatest audio recording of this opera that currently exists). New material in green text:

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner, tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. Then we get my beloved little waltzy duet where Nicklausse invites Hoffmann back to the party and Hoffmann denounces cynics who disbelieve the power of love. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius

enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance.

Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) As if summoned, the Captain Dapertutto arrives and introduces himself, ominously revealing that he knows who Hoffmann is as well, and in general just acts creepy. Hoffmann and Nicklausse warily leave him behind and go to join the others playing cards. Once they’re gone, Dapertutto announces his plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He sings a diablical aria and attracts the courtesan with a diamond, and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. She and Dapertutto join the card players. Hoffmann is losing miserably, much to Nicklausse’s chagrin. Giulietta serenades the guests with a song about love, not-so-subtly aimed at Hoffmann. We get a pretty epic chorus as the game goes on. [Sometimes we also get and aria from Schlémil about having lost his shadow.] Giulietta leaves and Hoffmann follows her, giving Nicklausse his cards and asking him to finish the game for him. Nicklausse protests and tries to follow Hoffmann, but Dapertutto holds him back. Hoffmann joins Giulietta in her room. Giulietta despairs over her feeling of being trapped and suffering. Nicklausse comes in and tells Hoffmann to get ready to leave and that he’s coming back for him. He leaves, and Giulietta tells Hoffmann he should as well, but he refuses to leave her. Giulietta tells him to steal the key from Schlémil that he uses to lock her up at night, saying if he does so, she will devote herself to him. Hoffmann agrees to do so and sings his aria. Knowing she has him on the hook, Giulietta demands his fidelity—and his reflection. Helpless against her charms, Hoffmann agrees to both. Schlémil, Dapertutto, and Nicklausse return. Dapertutto taunts Hoffmann, who looks in a mirror to find that his reflection is gone. Nicklausse begs him to leave but Hoffmann refuses, still clinging to the hope that Giulietta actually loves him. However she only mocks him, and he despairs, starting everyone off in the famous Septet (or Sextet and Chorus) [sometimes the Septet is left out in longer Oeser edits]. Giulietta leads everyone back to the party, except Schlémil, who challenges Hoffmann to a duel. Hoffmann kills Schlémil and takes the key. He rushes to find Giulietta, only to see her riding off in a gondola with her real lover, Piticchinaccio, both of whom are laughing at his expense. Nicklausse tells Hoffmann the police are coming to look for Schlémil’s murderer, and finally drags him away. Epilogue Back at the tavern, Hoffmann finishes his tales. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down, then deliriously leads a reprise of the drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Nicklausse exits, telling Hoffmann it’s time for him to choose. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse. She declares her love and devotion for Hoffmann and asks for his in return. She calls upon the Spirits of Wine and Beer, who she says have aided her in her efforts; they repeat their chorus and disperse. The Muse serenades Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but

will make him an even greater

artist.

Kaye/Kecke

the Kaye/Kecke version is the most recent critical edition and hailed by many as the most definitive (aside from that “OG Offenbach” one I can’t find anything about). There are actually very few “true” Kaye productions out there, but a few that attempt it. A lot of the changes are just in the orchestration and, in the spoken-dialogue version, a lot of dialogue; the vast majority of the plot and action stay the same. The big differences are in the Giulietta act. Again, I’ll use some new-color text (orange) to indicate differences between this and previous editions.

Prologue We open in Luther's Tavern. A chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer sing out. The Muse emerges from a barrel, declaring her love for Hoffmann and determination to rid him of Stella, the “siren” who has stolen his attention (and affection). She tells the audience that she will disguise herself as Nicklausse, Hoffmann’s friend, in order to try one last time to win him tonight. The Councilor Lindorf comes in and bribes Andrès, a tavern employee, into giving him a letter from Stella, an actress, that’s addressed to Hoffmann. Lindorf reads the letter, in which Stella has included the key to her room and invites Hoffmann to join her after her performance that evening. Lindorf keeps the letter and key for himself. A group of students arrive in the tavern and sing a rousing drinking chorus. After a bit they notice Hoffmann isn’t there yet and demand to know where he is. Luther, the tavern's owner tells them Hoffmann is on his way, along with Nicklausse. The pair enter and take a seat. Hoffmann is melancholy and brooding, which prompts the students to ask him for a jovial song to lighten the mood. Hoffmann then sings the famous “Ballad of Klein-Zach.” But in the middle of the song, he gets distracted by memories of Stella. The students bring him back to reality and he finishes the sing, but the talk of love brings it up as a topic of conversation. Hoffmann declares “The devil take me if I were ever to fall in love!” At this point Lindorf makes his presence known, sneering at Hoffmann. The two of them then get into a battle of words, during which Hoffmann inadvertently admits that he is, in fact, in love with someone. Curious, the students ask him for the story of his love. Hoffmann declares that he has had not one but three mistresses: an artist, a young girl, and a courtesan. He then begins to tell his tales. Act I: Olympia Hoffmann goes to visit his science professor, Spalanzani, to declare his devotion to science. Spalanzani commends him, then leaves to prepare for his “daughter” Olympia’s coming-out party. Hoffmann admits his love for Olympia and gazes at her through a window. Nicklausse arrives and gently teases him about his love, singing a song about a mechanical doll and bird (sometimes it’s changed to a more mocking song specifically referencing Olympia). (also he sometimes mockingly serenades Olympia before his other aria.) Hoffmann brushes him off. Coppélius, an eccentric salesman, enters and attempts to sell Hoffmann and Nicklausse a variety or contraptions; Hoffmann and Nicklausse bicker over whether or not to engage with the salesman. Coppélius manages to get Hoffmann interested in a pair of magical glasses, which Hoffmann then purchases and wears for the remainder of the act. Spalanzani returns and gets into an argument with Coppélius about Olympia; Coppélius wants a share since she has his eyes. Spalanzani decides to pay Coppélius with a check that he mentions in an aside he knows will bounce. Coppélius tells Spalanzani that he should get Hoffmann to marry Olympia as a joke. Spalanzani agrees, and Coppélius leaves. Cochenille, Spalanzani's assistant, announces the arrival of the guests. A chorus of people arrive, admiring Spalanzani’s skills as a host. Spalanzani introduces Olympia to the guests, who marvel over her perfection. Olympia sings a charming songs about birds and love. Hoffmann's new glasses make him see Olympia as a real person rather than the robot she actually is, and he is captivated. After Olympia’s song, the guests leave to go to dinner, but Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to stay behind with Olympia. Hoffmann professes his love for Olympia, who responds only with “Yes” when Hoffmann touches her shoulder (he doesn’t know he’s actually triggering a button that makes her say that word). When he goes to embrace her, Olympia runs off. Nicklausse returns, telling Hoffmann to be wary, because everything is not as it seems; Hoffmann brushes him off yet again. Then we get my beloved little waltzy duet where Nicklausse invites Hoffmann back to the party and Hoffmann denounces cynics who disbelieve

the power of love. They leave to join the other guests. Coppélius enters, furious with Spalanzani for giving him a faulty check. He swears revenge and runs off. The guests return for dancing. Spalanzani asks Hoffmann to dance with Olympia. During the dance, Olympia goes haywire and rushes offstage, pursued by Cochenille. In the process, Hoffmann’s glasses are broken. Cochenille rushes back onstage, crying out that Coppélius has Olympia; Spalanzani rushes to her aid, only to find Coppélius with the robot in pieces. They return holding parts of the broken doll, and Hoffmann, his magical glasses now broken, finally sees Olympia for who she truly is and is humiliated. Act II: Antonia Crespel’s house. Antonia laments the death of her mother and her separation from her lover, Hoffmann. Her father, Crespel, enters and reminds her not to sing, lest she die from it like her mother did. Antonia promises him she won’t sing anymore and leaves sadly. Crespel asks his servant Frantz to watch the door and make sure no one comes in. Frantz, who is partially deaf, only half-understands him. Crespel expresses frustration at this and leaves. Frantz remarks in a fun little number that if only he had some talents—like singing or dancing—maybe his boss would appreciate him more. Hoffmann enters with Nicklausse; they have been travelling for weeks looking for Antonia after she moved away without a word. Hoffmann asks Frantz to go find Antonia for him. While Hoffmann expresses his joy over being reunited with Antonia, Nicklausse tries to temper his excitement with a reality check, which Hoffmann brushes off (he does this a lot). Nicklausse then sings a lovely song about the power of art and love (which is really a love song for Hoffmann), but once again Hoffmann ignores him. Hoffmann begins to sing a song that he and Antonia wrote. Antonia hears him and rushes to meet him; Nicklausse exits quietly. Hoffmann and Antonia rejoice over their reunion and pledge to get married. Hoffmann expresses concern over Antonia’s insistence to sing despite her ill health. Antonia convinces him to sing their song together, which they do. Afterwards Antonia becomes tired. Before Hoffmann can react, they hear Crespel coming. Antonia flees, but Hoffmann remains, hiding so he can eavesdrop on Crespel. Frantz returns and tells Crespel that Dr. Miracle is here, having misunderstood Crespel’s command to not let anyone in. Dr. Miracle enters, asking to see Antonia. Crespel refuses and tells him to leave, saying that his faulty medicine is what killed Antonia's mother. Dr. Miracle, however, remains, and pantomimes an interaction with Antonia where he checks her pulse and orders her to sing. Offstage, Antonia responds with a scale. Dr. Miracle tells Crespel that Antonia is dangerously ill, and gives him two vials of medicine that he says will cure her. Crespel refuses them, calling the doctor a murderer and chasing him out. Hoffmann comes out of hiding, stunned by this encounter. Antonia returns and asks Hoffmann what her father said, thinking that he and Hoffmann had been talking this entire time. Hoffmann, disturbed by what he’s seen and heard, makes Antonia promise not to sing. She agrees, but when Hoffmann leaves (promising to return for her later) she laments that Hoffmann is now on her father’s side about her singing. Dr. Miracle returns as a disembodied voice, taunting Antonia. Why should she give up singing just because her father and Hoffmann tell her to? Doesn’t she want to be a great singer like her mother? When Antonia rebuffs him, Dr. Miracle calls on the spirit of Antonia’s dead mother, who leads Antonia in a frantic refrain. Antonia, exhausted by the singing, collapses. Crespel rushes in to see his daughter dying on the floor. She tells him she sees her mother, then sings a part of her and Hoffmann’s song, before dying in her father’s arms. Hoffmann rushes in just in time to see Dr. Miracle pronounce Antonia dead. Act III: Giulietta Venice. The courtesan Giulietta is having a party of sorts. She and Nicklausse sing the famous Barcarolle. Afterwards

Hoffmann mocks them with a song of his own condemning love and romance. Schlémil, who is in love with Giulietta, enters and makes it clear he is suspicious of Hoffmann when Giulietta introduces him. Giulietta then leads her guests out to play cards. Hoffmann is about to follow when Nicklausse takes him aside, warning him against Giulietta and asking him to leave. Hoffmann says there’s no way he could fall for someone like Giulietta, and if he does, may the devil take him! (He really needs to stop saying that.) As if summoned, the Captain Dapertutto arrives and introduces himself, ominously revealing that he knows who Hoffmann is as well, and in general just acts creepy. Hoffmann and Nicklausse warily leave him behind and go to join the others playing cards. Once they’re gone, Dapertutto announces his plans to thwart Hoffmann with the help of Giulietta. He sings a diabolical aria and attracts the courtesan with a diamond, and tells her she needs to steal Hoffmann’s reflection for him. Giulietta agrees to do so in exchange for the diamond. (Here’s where the plot deviates, and the Oeser parts from earlier don’t appear at all.) The guests return looking for Giulietta, who sings a song for them as they play cards. Hoffmann gets distracted by Giulietta and gives Nicklausse his cards. Giulietta seduces Hoffmann and convinces him to duel Schlémil to get the key to her bedroom. Hoffmann does and kills Schlémil. Nicklausse finds Hoffmann and, learning about the duel, begs Hoffmann to leave with him. Hoffmann refuses, wanting to see Giulietta. Nicklausse leaves to find a means of transportation. Giulietta returns and continues to seduce Hoffmann, who falls for her completely. She asks for his reflection as a keepsake; he’s helpless to resist her. Dapertutto returns; Giulietta relinquishes Hoffmann to him. Nicklausse returns as well, in time to find Hoffmann has lost his reflection. Once again he begs Hoffmann to leave, but Hoffmann refuses, still insistent that Giulietta loves him. The chorus returns, mocking Hoffmann for being duped. The police arrive to arrest Schlémil’s killer. Furious, Hoffmann attempts to stab Giulietta, but misses and kills Pitichinaccio, who is revealed to be her real lover. Giulietta despairs over his body, and Nicklausse finally manages to drag Hoffmann away. (There is no Septet in Kaye edits.) Epilogue Back at the tavern, the students sing a disbelieving chorus as Hoffmann finishes his tales, telling him to come back to reality. Offstage, cheers and applause are heard for Stella as her performance comes to an end. Nicklausse announces a revelation—all of Hoffmann’s lovers in his stories are just manifestations of his real love for a single woman, Stella. Furious, Hoffmann shouts Nicklausse down. He then encourages everyone (including himself) to get blackout drunk. The chorus of the Spirits of Wine and Beer from the prologue returns, creepily overlapping with the students’ drinking chorus. Stella enters looking for Hoffmann. Hoffmann drunkenly mistakes Stella for his three fictional loves, then rejects her. Offended, Stella leaves with Lindorf. Hoffmann begins to sing his Klein-Zach song, mockingly dedicating it to Lindorf, before falling in despair. The students exit the tavern, singing their song once again and leaving Hoffmann alone. (Sometimes Stella gets an aria here, basically telling Hoffmann “you don’t know what you’re missing by rejecting me.”) Nicklausse returns and reveals his identity as the Muse. She declares her love and devotion for Hoffmann and asks for his in return. The Muse serenades Hoffmann with a comforting refrain: love makes a man great, but tears make him greater still—his suffering is not in vain, but will make him an even greater artist. (Sometimes the final chorus is extended, with comments from the other characters announcing that the future is his.)

And there you have it!

As mentioned before, there are a ton of variations on all of these. Choudens edits and short Oeser edits are often very similar, but even they will have random chunks cut here and there, sometimes move things around, and of course it’s always a toss-up which aria Niclausse is going to get in Act I and if he’ll get the Violin Aria.

If you got to the end of this, kudos. Seriously. I could barely make it through, and I elected to write the thing.

[thedevilsmemes]

      PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS                         ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

                         Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

 “Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.” 

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

[mythicamagic]

The Colour of Love: Sesskag oneshot

This oneshot is dedicated to @chierafied​ as thanks for all her hard work and organisation in the sesskag community, particularly on tumblr for sesskag week and monthly prompts. She's also a wonderful sesskag author and always offers advice or a kind word ^^

Rated T

Summary: Shippo puts a spell on Kagome that allows her to see emotions in colour. It's fun to test out on her friends, but why is she seeing an awful lot of magenta around Sesshoumaru whenever she comes near? Sesskag oneshot

The Colour of Love

"I just need to test it on someone. You'll help, won't you?"

Kagome eyed the ominous glowing beverage in the fox's hands dubiously. She winced and picked up a basket, walking away with every intention of weaselling out of the conversation.

"Shippo, no offence, but the last time you tested something on me for class, horns sprouted out of my head and green pimples covered my face for an entire week. I'm not super keen on being your guinea pig this time, buddy."

His tail twitched and lowered, but her words did little to deter Shippo. He followed the miko as she attended to her chores; freeing swaying sheets from where they'd been hanging out to dry and folding them neatly into a basket.

"Oh pleeassee, Kagome! Sensei oversaw my casting process this time- there's no danger, honest! It's not even that cool of a spell."

Kagome arched a brow, lifting off another sheet and smoothing the cool creases. That was odd, Shippo always preferred the flashier spells. "What does it do?"

"It would let you see everyone's emotions in colour."

She tilted her head, "in colour? How would that work?"

Shippo grinned mischievously, holding up his cup and shaking it gently. "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

Giggling, she thought for a moment, biting her bottom lip. "I guess it sounds pretty harmless. And this is for a grade?"

"Yes!" he nodded rapidly, eyes widening as his tone became pleading. "Sensei already graded all the other kids! I'm the only one who hasn't passed yet, and everyone else in the village refuses to help me! I'd owe you big time, Kagome. Please?"

Giving a large, put-upon sigh and folding the last of the sheets, Kagome squatted down before him. "Alright, alright. I just have to drink it?"

Green eyes brightened, and he handed the cup over eagerly, the contents nearly spilling. "Mhm! The effects should only last for a few days~!"

The glowing blue shimmer within her cup didn't exactly fill Kagome with confidence, but she didn't want to stifle his progress. It was wonderful that Shippo could advance in his magic at a kitsune school. Secretly, she felt somewhat guilty about the subject. She hadn't been able to witness his growth for three years after being stuck in the future.

Steeling herself and deciding to support him, Kagome downed the foul-tasting concoction. Coughing and blinking away thick tears that stung her lashes, her tongue roved around in her mouth as though trying to escape the taste of sour candy mixed with spices and mint leaves. What an odd combination. Shaking herself and noticing Shippo watching her worriedly, blue eyes widened as a faint shade of grey coiled and moved around the outline of his body like a shining aura.

"I-I think I see it?" Kagome gasped, reaching out and trying to touch the thing, though it had no solid form.

"Really?" Shippo lit up, the colour immediately becoming a tentative yellow, which only shone brighter into a canary hue when she nodded.

Giving a happy cheer, Shippo asked her about any side effects, which were none as far as she could tell.

They then decided to walk around Kaede's village together, Kagome noting any people they passed by and the colour of their current emotions. Shippo hurriedly took notes.

"There's Miroku meditating-" Kagome pointed to the quiet meadow they passed where the monk sat calmly, having gained two pupils to teach. Monks in training. Inuyasha had voiced his doubts that it would last long once the monks witnessed Miroku's less than savoury habits.

"His aura thingy is lavender and seems controlled," she observed in a hushed tone.

The little kitsune made a noise of affirmation, writing that down on a trailing scroll. "I think purple must be linked with spirituality then? This is great info!"

Giggling, she nodded, noticing how faint the pupil's auras were. She wondered if her own focus on spirituality would be strong or weak.

Moving on, noticed Sango outside her hut, who seemed absorbed in rocking her infant son while he dozed. Her twins were playing with some spinning tops that Shippo had given them.

"What do ya see, Kagome?" he tugged at her pant leg.

She hummed, gaze gentling. "Sango is radiating a kind of baby pink glow. The twins are like yours earlier- yellow and excited."

"So I guess love is pink," Shippo nodded.

Noticing something, Kagome waved a hand slightly. "Hold on-"

"Hm?"

Kaede and Rin were walking towards them, engaged in conversation. The little girl chirped on about something or other, while Kaede nodded indulgently.

"Kaede and Rin have pink auras too, but it's different. It's a pale pink, more like a pearl."

Shippo tapped his small chin with a pen Kagome had lent him. "Hmm…"

"I guess it makes sense since there are different types of love, don't you think?" gently prodding him, she smiled.

"Oh! So like they're feeling something kinda similar to Sango, but different."

"Right," Kagome grinned wider, proud of him. "Familial love for Sango, and platonic, friendly love for Kaede and Rin."

The old miko and her charge stopped to greet them on the path. "What are ye both up to today?" Kaede's single eye slid down to the scroll questioningly.

Kagome waved it off. "Just some schooling."

"Yeah, but it's fun! We're testing magic!"

Rin gaped at Shippo, aura turning green. "Aww, can I help them?" she turned to Kaede with a pout, clasping both hands and making big brown eyes even wider.

"Ye have your own training to attend to, Rin. Come along," the old woman kept walking with a dusty chuckle.

Whining good-naturedly with a now agitated orange glow about her, Rin trudged after her guardian, giving a despondent farewell to Shippo.

At that moment, foul cursing filled the air. The loud, booming swear caused nesting birds to take flight from their trees near the village.

The miko and kit shared a dry look.

"Inuyasha," they sighed in unison.

Needless to say, their former travelling companion's emotions glowed a vibrant red- outshining even the robe of the fire rat. He held his sore thumb, having accidentally hammered it while fixing a neighbour's chicken coop. Kagome wisely hid her laughter, feeling a plume of affection for him, since he'd taken it upon himself to help a neighbour.

I wonder what colour surrounds me when I look at Inuyasha, she wondered, fishing out a small mirror. Unfortunately, she couldn't see the colour. Though they'd broken up after a couple of weeks of dating, that candle of first love between them wouldn't be snuffed out completely. Since she couldn't coax that flame any higher than a tiny, nostalgic flame, she wagered it to be a kind of pastel pink colour.

After a few hours, Shippo looked down at the list of emotions they'd observed. "I think I got most of em' for now. We did great today, Kagome! Thanks so much!"

She giggled and ruffled his hair. "Don't sweat it, kiddo. I need to collect some herbs now, so if I see some new ones while I'm out, I'll let you know," Kagome grinned, leaning a basket against her hip. "I'll be able to see these emotions for a few more days, so no sense in turning in your test results early."

Shippo gave her a brief hug, before racing off to go organise his notes. Beaming with pride, Kagome walked out of the village and up a hill towards Inuyasha Forest with a small skip in her step. She'd helped! And luckily there'd been no side effects or worries of any kind.

Maybe I should help him out more often, she mused, noticing a certain Daiyoukai step out from beneath the shade of trees, powder blue shifting around his aura calmly. Smiling amiably, Kagome lifted a hand in greeting as their gazes met- before freezing.

Sesshoumaru's expression didn't change from its usual combo of placid, haughty and stoic. However, the energy surrounding him immediately dyed a deep, vibrant colour.

Kagome's breath hitched, eyes widening.

It plunged into a bold magenta hue, becoming a solid outline that coiled and thrummed.

She did not understand what it meant, but that she could elicit a change in emotion from him at all felt startling.

He stared at her, unblinking. As he drew closer and closer, Kagome tried to make sense of what he could be feeling, but his guarded eyes refused to risk any secrets being revealed.

"Miko," he acknowledged in his usual crisp, silky baritone. His way of a greeting.

"Sesshoumaru," she said, muscles tensing as he passed by, the silk of his billowing sleeve brushing the hypersensitive skin of her arm. Kagome blinked rapidly, reeling.

Shifting to watch him leave surreptitiously, she watched the magenta remain long after they'd parted ways, spying him duck into Kaede's hut to pay Rin a visit.

What the heck was that about?

Maybe it wasn't anything worth noting. Surely, just like anyone else, the Daiyouki had various emotions linked to things. People elicited different feelings from him; that was perfectly normal. But his mood had changed so swiftly upon seeing her that Kagome couldn't help but feel curious. What did magenta mean? Had she offended him? Did he always feel that specific emotion around her, or was it a one-off?

Turning on her heel, Kagome dismissed her task of fetching herbs in favour of seeking Shippo out again.

---

"What does magenta mean to you?"

"To me?"

Kagome nodded seriously.

Thinking for a moment, Shippo hummed and nommed on a lollipop, leaning back on the log he'd perched upon outside. "I dunno, it's a pretty colour but not a favourite. Can't get much use outta it with my crayons."

"No, I mean like - surely there has to be some demon opinion of magenta? Is it associated with a powerful emotion or something?"

Shippo shook his head, consulting the forgotten scroll. "My guess is- since purple is spiritual stuff, Sesshoumaru feels uh...like you remind him of holy things?"

Huffing out a sigh, she flopped down beside him, placing her chin in her hands. "Doubt that. He didn't seem calm," she mumbled, remembering the vivid intensity of his unblinking stare. "Hm, maybe since red- which is anger- and darker blue- which is sadness- has to mix to make the right shade of magenta, that means Sesshoumaru is both angry and sad when he looks at me." Kagome's stomach dropped. "Oh God, do I make him smad?"

Shippo snorted and tossed his lollipop aside to shake her arm, noticing the dazed look of worry glazing her eyes. "You don't make him smad."

Kagome remained unconvinced. The kit groaned, hopping up and grabbing her hand. "You don't! I'm sure it was just a coincidence he was feeling magenta around you. Let's go see!"

The miko stumbled after the exuberant fox, not fully realising where he intended to go until it clicked they were heading toward Kaede's hut. Kagome's heels abruptly dug into the earth, dragging. "Shippo!" she hissed. "He's visiting Rin- I don't want to interrupt."

"You won't be, it looks like they're saying goodbye already."

Blue eyes widened and her attention snapped up from the fox to land on some distant figures up ahead. Even from far away, Kagome could see the pearl pink aura coiling around Sesshoumaru as he lay a gentle hand upon Rin's head of brown hair. The girl beamed, giving off her own warm shine.

Kagome bit the inside of her cheek, heedless of her own approach now. She realized then just how personal and vulnerable the emotion spell could be- how rare and revealing it was to witness Sesshoumaru experiencing such a wholesome bond, free from violence. Enemies could potentially use it on each other to find out secret information easily.

The Daiyoukai seemed to inhale- abruptly stiffening and lifting his hand away from Rin as claws twitched, curling into his palm. Kagome witnessed the moment his aura bled darker, slipping from innocent pink into the strong shade of magenta- just as he turned his head in their direction. Golden eyes pinned her in place. Sesshoumaru seemed to grow tense and watchful, showing none of his previous warmth.

Shippo paused when they weren't too far away, glancing up and noticing Kagome's pale expression. "Uh... has it happened again?"

"It's even worse than before," Kagome whispered.

"Kagome, Shippo!" Rin called over to them, waving. "Are you still playing with magic?"

This seemed to catch Sesshoumaru's attention, ripping his heavy gaze away to land on his ward. "Magic?"

"Mhm! They're doing some kitsune homework with a spell," she smiled, seeming to gain a devious expression and hurrying over to grab Kagome's freehand, pulling her the rest of the way towards her lord. "Kagome! You should take a quick break and sit with Lord Sesshoumaru. Share some tea together!"

Horror churned fierce and fast through Kagome's system. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable, and prolonged exposure to her would no doubt suck for him if magenta was an irritated colour.

"That is unnecessary, Rin," Sesshoumaru uttered, confirming Kagome's suspicions. She winced a little anyway, wondering why it stung. "This one was just passing through, I will leave now."

Making a noise of complaint, the girl's grip tightened. "Well then, she should accompany you! W-we need medicinal herbs and you didn't gather any earlier, did you Kagome?"

She willed the earth to swallow her whole. "N-no…"

"Then it's decided! She can walk you to the forest since she's heading that way." Rin poked and prodded them to get moving. In all the confusion, Shippo slipped away to make some notes, giving Kagome a thumbs up- which she returned with a death glare.

Wondering what had come over Rin but being trapped by politeness to refuse, Kagome grimly started walking alongside Sesshoumaru, picking up a basket from Kaede's hut.

I shouldn't feel guilty or weird around him, she thought, trying to ease her worry. If he's getting bent out of shape just from seeing me, that's his problem. I'm pretty confident I haven't insulted him recently.

Kagome nodded silently to herself, endeavouring not to let Sesshoumaru's secret magenta emotion matter so much-

"You appear well."

Jumping, Kagome whipped her head up to the regal demon. "Huh?" she blinked, heat touching her cheeks. "Oh! Thanks!" the magenta outline grew bolder, much to her chagrin. "You look nice too. Aha-! I mean not nice- well, you look handsome- but in a good health way! Not a 'compliment on your looks' way. That's totally what I meant. "

Open mouth, insert foot.

His aura only seemed to fluctuate more, and Sesshoumaru's lips thinned. Kagome inwardly groaned. No doubt he hated her even more now!

She decided an attempt to smooth over everything was in order. "Sesshoumaru," she said, taking a breath. "I know we might not be what you'd consider close, but I'd be totally fine with talking about anything that might be bothering you. Even allies can talk about that stuff."

Sesshoumaru blinked languidly, looking as though she'd blurted out a foreign language. He then faced forward, features becoming tightly controlled. "Nothing unsettles me, miko. It is a foolish, human sentiment that I should be 'bothered' by anything."

Kagome rolled her eyes, mouth twitching. Proud, stubborn guy. She didn't know why she found it kind of endearing.

"Why are you so certain I am troubled?"

Her steps faltered before she strode on, biting her bottom lip. "I have a knack for feeling out these things. A woman's intuition," she grinned, noticing his stare rove lower, south from her eyes.

"Hn," golden eyes lingered. Kagome wondered if she'd gotten something stuck in her teeth. "Your intuition is certainly lacking if you are only just noticing something amiss."

A victorious noise escaped her and she immediately swooped in on the slip-up. Sesshoumaru seemed to wince. "Aha! So something IS wrong!"

"Miko-"

"It's just that you've been dealing with it for such a long time that it's become almost normal to you. That about right?" she grinned.

Kagome took his moody silence as a 'yes.'

"I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it earlier. Shippo's um...spell...has made me extra sensitive to how others are feeling," she revealed a half-truth. "I just can't work out how you're feeling. Heh, you're mysterious even when I've got magic to help me understand you."

"You wish to understand me?"

"Well, yes? You're our ally. As established; I'd like to be your friend too."

"I see."

"Sooo...?" Kagome hedged as they arrived at the border of the trees. The Daiyoukai stopped and turned to her once they were beneath the branches, having stepped under cool shade. Kagome quieted, wondering at the assessing, guarded look he pinned her with. Why should the mighty Lord Sesshoumaru guard himself against her of all people?

Pale lips quirked, and he hummed, giving a haughty, arrogant smirk. "Figure it out yourself."

Her mouth fell open. Ire immediately simmered real and hot beneath her skin. "That's not helpful, Sesshoumaru! The whole point of having friends is to share stuff! You can't expect people to know how you're feeling without you telling them, I'm not a mind reader."

He moved in slightly closer then, leaning down. Kagome swallowed but tensed her legs to keep from bending back, holding her ground and straightening her spine. It proved difficult. Sesshoumaru's cold features had a way of unnerving even the most hardened warriors. It was the lack of empathy or emotion in his animalistic gaze; the terrifying sense that something was missing; humanity.

But...

Kagome's eyes strayed to the magenta aura that only blazed thicker and larger, practically drowning her. The spell revealed, albeit without his consent; that Sesshoumaru was a man of feeling. In fact, whatever emotion plagued him, it roared stronger than any other persons she'd seen that day. Besides all that, she'd witnessed his care of others before. Been on the receiving end of it when he'd saved her a few times.

In the shade's hush, he tipped his head slightly, silver hair falling free from behind a pointed ear. "I am not a being that 'tells' other's information freely. Demons can glean enough from my body language, scent and actions enough to understand my feelings."

"And I appreciate that," Kagome said in a softer tone. "But I'm not a demon."

"Rin-"

"Is a child who has spent a lot of one-on-one time with you. I'd also wager that while she understands a lot of your intentions...she doesn't always understand you either."

Sesshoumaru begrudged her point, though seemed ever unwilling to let his mask slip to reveal anything.

Searching his gaze, she wet her dry lips. "What does the colour magenta mean to you?"

His aura flared, and Sesshoumaru surprised her by leaning back and stepping away. His features became a mix of things, the colours changing for the first time around him- grey, yellow, black, fluctuating on magenta and orange before settling on a particular shade of red that made her squeak.

No way- is he embarrassed?

"Why ask that?" he asked in a removed, steady tone. If she focused though, Kagome could pick up on the faint slip in his voice.

Kagome for once couldn't answer, heart hammering in her ribcage. She wasn't sure what to interpret from his reaction, but the colour obviously meant something to him. Shaking her head, Kagome waved it off.

"Never mind. I'll take your advice and work it out for myself."

He blinked and arched a brow, seeming to recover from his surprise. "Oh?"

Kagome made a noise of affirmation, turning on her heel and taking a few steps away. Pausing, she flashed him a smile over her shoulder. "And if I guess correctly, you agree to start telling me the important stuff. Deal?"

Sesshoumaru's face flashed with intrigue. Slowly, thin lips curved. His expression transformed into something quietly eager, the colour aura deepening into blazing magenta once more.

"Hn."

---

After asking near everyone she could think of for their input or ideas, Kagome ran into a brick wall, utterly stumped. That was- until she heard a certain irritatingly high, grating voice.

"But WHERE did Lord Sesshoumaru go?"

"I don't know, he said he was just passing through."

Jaken.

If anyone had insight into Sesshoumaru, it would be the little green imp. Kagome hurried in the direction of the helium sounding voice.

Finding Rin and Jaken by the village well, and struggling to pull a bucketful up together- Kagome quickly lent a hand, hefting the bucket up onto the side. The little girl grinned and thanked her, while Kagome crouched before Jaken, causing him to squeak.

"W-what is it? What do you want?!"

"I need to talk to you," Kagome said seriously. Resting her hands over her knees and leaning forward intently. "Magenta. Tell me your thoughts on that colour."

Bulbous yellow eyes widened. "Hah? Have you lost your senses, strange girl?"

Rin pouted and lifted the heavy bucket down, spilling some water. "Just do it, Master Jaken. If Kagome is asking, it must be important."

Kagome smiled a little, before schooling her features back into complete seriousness.

The imp sighed and squinted, before thinking for a moment. "Hmm, well. I would of course associate it with the most illustrious Lord Sesshoumaru!"

"H-huh? Why?"

"His cheek and wrist stripes are that exact shade! Don't you pay attention to anything?"

Kagome realised he was entirely correct. They matched up perfectly. Excitement built in her chest, feeling like she was FINALLY getting somewhere with the big mystery. "So it's linked with him… I see. What do you think the colour represents?"

"Haven't the faintest idea," he tilted his head back with a haughty sniff. "But since they adorn Lord Sesshoumaru, I can only conclude that it must be a royal, prideful colour."

Her elation fizzled out. Kagome wilted, sighing and standing once more. That didn't fit at all. No way would Sesshoumaru feel pride while looking at her.

Stepping away with the dismal thought that she was back at square one, she paused upon noticing a tugging on her sleeve. Rin clutched the trailing end of it, looking up at her in quiet earnest. She bit her lip and seemed to struggle with something. "I-I'm sure the answer is there if you just try asking more questions, Kagome."

The miko softened and petted her wild hair, smoothing the locks back from her face. "You really think so, kiddo? Because I'm kind of stumped right now."

"Mhm! I don't know what homework you're helping Shippo with, but if its causing you to take an interest in Lord Sesshoumaru, I encourage you to dig deeper!"

Kagome wasn't sure why she felt so strongly about the subject, her smile becoming a little confused. Nonetheless, she decided to take the advice and try again.

The right question…

Grabbing the back of Jaken's robes and tugging him back before he could walk off, Kagome knelt down. She decided to shift her focus. "Those markings on Sesshoumaru's face and wrists- I was wondering if they mean anything."

"Bah! Such things have a multitude of uses! Ahem!" he lifted up a tiny green claw. "Firstly, they are to show that he is poisonous."

Kagome stifled a giggle behind her hand, smiling with her eyes at Rin. "So he's like a flower."

"No! Nothing like a flower! He is deadly!"

"Poisonous flowers exist- but never mind that," she waved off. "What else?"

"Second, the positioning of the markings represents various things. The ones on mi lord's cheeks represent superior jaws, the wrists and ankles represent superior strength in his arms and legs, while the hips represent that he will produce superior offspring."

Kagome turned steadily red, wondering how low those stripes hooked down his hips. She hadn't even known he possessed hip stripes and was now picturing him half-naked. Kagome quickly shook the fantasy away. Rin didn't seem to understand that last part but thankfully remained quiet.

Jaken continued on, bolstered by such a captive audience and happy to talk about his favourite subject. "Lastly, they are to catch the interest of a mate."

"They... are?"

The imp nodded with vigour. "If you were the slightest bit observant, you'd notice that the vibrancy of his markings has emboldened recently. This means he is displaying for a female."

She had noticed that, actually, but Kagome hadn't thought anything of it. She felt close to a conclusion then, so achingly near to the truth. Swallowing to moisten her suddenly dry mouth, Kagome soldiered on.

"I saw that the ones on his cheeks had become bolder. What about his crescent moon?"

Jaken waved a tiny hand, "the moon is just to show which clan he belongs to. In relation to your original question, it is the magenta markings that are paramount. They are intrinsically linked with all that I noted; intimidation signals and mating."

Kagome nodded, inwardly reeling. She mulled this over and thanked him for the valuable insight. Magenta obviously meant more to Sesshoumaru than she'd ever thought.

In light of Jaken's words, Kagome found herself having to observe a certain set of emotions. Since mating was on the list, she reluctantly wandered in search of a known pervert.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she took Miroku to one side. After explaining the situation in a succinct manner, she took a breath.

"I need you to get horny for your wife."

Miroku stared. He then pushed back his sleeves, clearing his throat and righting his collar. "My time has come."

Kagome's eyes widened and she held up her hands, "wait- I'm not asking to be weird or anything. M-maybe I should explain more."

He lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, patting. "No further explanation necessary, Lady Kagome. If this is in service of deeper understanding between allies, I am more than happy to help. Observe."

Miroku breezily walked away, gravitating towards Sango who had set down their son, attention on the crawling toddler. Kagome groaned and buried her face in her hands- shifting some fingers aside to witness the moment Miroku's calm blue aura darkened.

For a moment, panic leapt down her windpipe as it deepened into purple, hovering over magenta- before the aura settled on a lush hot pink.

The sound of a slap sounded out, Sango moving away from Miroku's groping hand. "I've told you before; not in front of the children!" she hissed.

Her husband laughed airly, stroking his cheek and giving her a fond smile. Kagome's heart warmed slightly, witnessing the hot pink glow into a warm pinkish red.

I think that must be the colour of love.

This, unfortunately, didn't answer any of her questions.

The possible things Sesshoumaru could be feeling toward her made the miko's stomach twist into knots. She went over what to say in her head a dozen or so times- and then a dozen more. It was no easy feat to wait on pins and needles for the demons' return. Inevitably though, word of his return reached her a few days later.

---

Sesshoumaru had been spotted by the trees bordering Inuyasha Forest so she'd set off alone immediately.

Since the sun beat down mercilessly, Kagome was unsurprised to find him by water. Elevated temperatures were likely brutal on those who regularly wore armour- evidenced by the fact that she walked in on him very much without it. Sesshoumaru knelt by a river, eyes closed and hankimono parted- exposing a thin sliver of firm, pale muscle. His head slightly dipped forward, hair held over one shoulder as one hand cupped cool water and splashed it over the back of his neck. Droplets ran down the length of his throat to dip around his collarbone- some sliding down his back. Sesshoumaru massaged the base of his skull, before cupping more water and repeating the process, long fingers running over the back of his glistening neck.

Kagome stared. She'd suddenly never been so thirsty in her life.

His lashes fluttered open to glance at her. His continued silence prompted her to clear her throat and murmur; "I'm not sure if I've got it right."

"Explain."

Kagome felt a blush rise to her cheeks and panic erupted in her chest. She suddenly wasn't ready. She wasn't nearly as ready for this as she needed to be. Approaching the Daiyoukai dressed in a white tank top and dungarees had not been the plan but she'd impulsively sought him out without thinking about it.

His voice turned softer, almost coaxing. "What conclusion did you reach?"

Kagome bit her lip and felt the need to explain her process of elimination. "First off; I feel like I should be honest with you. I can see the colours of people's emotions around them due to a spell Shippo used on me. That's why I was asking about magenta. It's...it's the emotion you keep feeling whenever you see me- I just had no idea what it meant."

Golden eyes cracked a fraction wider, exposing the liquid honey swimming inside, glinting in the afternoon sunlight with interest.

"I asked Jaken about the colour since he has an insight into you more sound than other people. He told me that magenta was linked to your markings- which can represent intimidation signals and m-mating interest."

He arched a brow, something unnamed flickering over his expression. Kagome began pacing back and forth before him. "So! The first thing I did was follow Inuyasha into a fight. There was a weasel youkai bothering a farmer. I noticed Inuyasha's aura turned a brownish, orangey-red during the fight and concluded that was likely aggression! So I figured you weren't feeling defensive around me," she gave a nervous giggle. Why was the sun so damn bright? The humidity only elevated the spike of nerves pricking the back of her neck.

"Next came the... other thing," her voice dimmed and Kagome evaded eye contact. "I noticed Miroku feeling uh...frisky around his wife. His aura turned hot pink- so it wasn't magenta- not that I thought you could ever feel that way about...me," she babbled. "Hell, I've consulted Shippo's scroll a thousand times. I've run through all the emotions we could find and- gah! I couldn't find anything that explained magenta. I guess I failed in figuring out what's bothering you," her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"You went to all that trouble?"

Kagome lifted her gaze to his, loosely holding her arms. "Well, yeah. I kind of realised that I wasn't being fair to you the other day. You shouldn't be expected to verbalise your problems if you're not comfortable doing so. It's a different method than what I'm used to in order to communicate- but if you're happy doing that I won't push you to open up to me."

Since she'd failed to work out his problems, however, Kagome grimly figured there was no hope of them being friends. The thought somewhat bothered her. Sesshoumaru was a solid, assuring presence to have around. It would've been nice to have a deeper insight into the inner mechanisms of his cerebral mind.

Maybe priestesses and demons just can't understand each other.

A shadow fell over her, bathing Kagome in shade. She looked up, finding his curious, burning gaze bearing down on her.

As usual, magenta coiled and expanded around him. So large and encompassing.

Sesshoumaru tilted his head slightly. "Some actions do not require words in order to understand them."

Kagome could only blink, face heating as he hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted it up- before her heart burst into overdrive in time with lips pressing against hers.

Her squeak came out muffled, hands scrambling uselessly and finding his shoulders, quickly lurching away from the firm muscle to hover uselessly in the air. Sesshoumaru grabbed one of her hands and forced it to his broad shoulder, holding it there as he explored her open mouth.

The miko reeled, dazed eyes picking up the shining magenta aura before her lashes slid shut. Kagome let out a breathy noise as his tongue slid over hers, reciprocating for a moment before her mind caught up with the situation and- WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE DOING?

Kagome's palm pushed against his broad shoulder, ripping her mouth away from his and panting. Sesshoumaru remained close, breath shuddering slightly, gaze hooded.

"That-" she started, having to lick her lips. "That requires MANY words, buster. So many words are needed to explain what the hell just happened."

The Daiyoukai managed to look put out, eyes turning flat. "It seems your ignorance requires a lack of subtlety, but I do not mind. If it is necessary to have you- I will adapt and explain myself."

"To... have me?" Kagome's breath hitched. Somehow magenta was all she could see- his cheek markings so bold and bright.

Sesshoumaru's jaw ticked, eyes squinting and attention shifting away as he seemed to gather his thoughts and construct them onto his tongue.

"Magenta is the colour of love to inuyoukai."

He said it so easily. After all that confusion and so much second-guessing, Kagome was almost angry with him. Almost. The rest of her brain was too focused on processing the unthinkable thing he'd just said and the implications behind it.

"But...your markings…" she croaked.

"Have little to do with it- though Jaken's explanation was not incorrect."

Kagome shook her head, searching his face. "I just...I'm struggling to understand h-how? I mean, you can't feel that way about me."

"Why not?"

"B-because!" she squeaked, cheeks blazing red. "Isn't love a bit of a leap? You barely know me."

Sesshoumaru huffed, placid features shifting to become slightly guarded. He didn't know when it had started happening for he was in the middle before he even knew he had begun, but more and more, he sought her opinions and company. She spoke well and intelligently after all- had destroyed Naraku and the jewel with such power and finesse that had made his instincts stir. "I know enough. This is not something recent. I have watched... and wondered for some time."

"Wondered... what?"

"If it was possible to bridge the gap between us. Perhaps it was foolish to think we could be compatible."

He had a point. Even a spell hadn't helped her understand him any easier. But when Sesshoumaru slowly stepped back, quiet disappointment simmering behind his blank mask yet clear in his eyes- something like panic possessed her. Kagome grabbed his sleeve, blushing harder.

She wasn't sure why alarm had shot through her- but the idea of losing their soft, hopeful flickering flame before they'd even coaxed it brighter to see what heights it could reach felt like something she'd regret forever if she let him go.

Kagome stepped closer. "Not foolish. This is just really unexpected for me."

Golden eyes roved over her face questioningly.

"The colour of love is different for humans, so it never even crossed my mind that THAT was what you've been struggling with. Jaken mentioned you were displaying for a female but- wow," she murmured, gentling. "Thank you... for telling me. No one's ever said that to me before."

Sesshoumaru's expression warmed, just a touch. He inclined his head slightly and Kagome felt an odd flutter in her belly.

"I'm not in the same place as you emotionally but- if- if you'd want to try this human thing called 'dating' we could give it a shot and get to know each other better."

"Hn," Sesshoumaru gave her a considering look, and she almost thought he might decline before the ghost of a smile tilted up his lips. "What is 'dating?'"

Kagome's face burst into a grin, and she took his clawed hand. "You're gonna love it. It involves a lot of talking."

He gave a mock groan, aura glowing brighter.

Naturally, Shippo passed his test with flying colours. His sensei was particularly impressed by his observation of both human and inuyoukai emotions in particular.

He decided to use the spell on himself several months later, laughing and chasing Rin around the village, happy to see the yellow aura dancing around her. Something of note he noticed when rushing by was a certain miko and demon lord practising archery together in a field. As Kagome corrected his large stance, hand guiding his elbow down slightly as he aimed, the warm colours of pinkish red and magenta entwined, lacing like long, seeking fingers gently interlocking.

End

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 12 - “He was supposed to be”

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 3241

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: Red Son is brooding, Mei finds out that Red Son is Sandy’s house guest, and Sandy is trying his best to deal with two rowdy teens.

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

All in all, Red Son had received a lot of injuries from his conflict with his father.  Broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, burns, hypothermia (including a lingering cold sensation all over his body that refused to go away), a sprained ankle...

And no powers.

That last one gave him pause. Injuries could be healed with time, and as a demon, he was a fast healer. But he did not know what happened to his powers. Were they really all absorbed by his father’s armor? Were they then extinguished by whatever that Noodle Boy did? He didn’t even know that it could be extinguished. It had to have been though, because based on what little he could get out of Sandy, the Monkey King had survived the conflict. Red Son isn’t sure how he feels about that. Sure, he had attacked him and intended to have him defeated by his father. But that’s not how things turned out. That’s not what his father wanted. And despite him giving the Samadhi Fire to his father, which is what he thought he wanted, that turned out to be disastrous as well. Were his parents even alive? And if they were, what would they want with someone who had nearly gotten them killed? What would they want with a son who didn’t even have any powers? In this state he was useless. Relying on the enemy, no less. How shameful.

Red Son had tried a few times to activate his powers. Each time he was met with not even a puff of smoke. If his parents thought he was a disappointment before, what would they think of him now?

At the very least he was making progress physically, and could hobble around the houseboat a little bit on his own. The Blue One said he could leave when he was better. But where could he go? He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to just be able to do something about it. But he could no longer simply throw fire at his problems. And no matter what anger and vitriol he sent Sandy’s way, the blue giant simply refused to be upset at him. Why didn’t he just kick him out? He certainly deserved it! His own parents likely wouldn’t want him around, why would an enemy?

So when he wasn’t yelling at Sandy, or his numerous cats, he just withdrew into himself. Fuming with no fire. Brooding over his current situation. What was the point anyway? A small part of him wanted to know if his parents were okay. As much as he was sure they would hate him, they were his parents, after all. But the thought of trying to find them terrified him in a way. On one hand, if they were alive, he was useless to them like this. If they weren’t… well, he didn’t want to think about how that would mean that it was his fault if they were dea--

Red Son angrily throws the closest thing near him across the room, which happened to be a mug of tea that he was holding. It flies across the room just missing a few cats who leap out of the way with an indignant hiss. The cup breaks apart and spills its contents all over the floor. He takes some seething breaths, before a voice speaks up next to him.

“Well that’s a much stronger throw than before. At least you’re healing!” Red Son had forgotten that the Blue One was there. He had given him the tea in the first place after all. Red Son had just gotten lost in his musings and forgot about the ever-present, overly pleasant companion. The big man goes over and gets a broom. “However, maybe we could find other, more constructive, ways for you to release your anger?”

“Ugh! Don’t try to give me life lessons! What are you, some sort of life advice guru?”

The Blue One laughs heartily, while picking out some of the larger shards. “No, I’ve just learned how to control my anger via anger management therapy. And I’m always open to listening if you want a friendly ear,” he says brightly.

Red Son can’t imagine this guy ever being angry, and the idea of talking about his feelings makes his stomach bubble in disgust. “What? So I can give away all my family’s secrets? Why would you care anyway?”

The Blue One shrugs. “I just do!” He pauses and thinks. “And also, maybe I could ask you to maybe not throw my cups and scare my cats…?” He ends the last part in a hopeful lilt.

“No promises,” Red Son grumbles.

“What do you normally do to de-stress?”

“Destroy my enemies.” Red Son looks pointedly at Sandy.

“Ah… um… would throwing fire around (preferably in a contained area) help?” Sandy asks hesitantly.

Red Son scowls. “No.”

“Would you like to try contacting your parents…?”

An uncomfortable flutter pangs in his heart. “No.”

“What about, er, a hobby or…?

Red Son is getting fed up. “WOULD YOU JUST STOP!” he shouts. “We are not friends! We are enemies! You are the good guys! I’m the bad guy! The villain. Stop trying to be all buddy-buddy with me! If you’re trying to change me or get me to open up, it’s not going to work!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to figure out what would make you feel better… Maybe healing up at your place would make you feel safer…?” Sandy looks truly apologetic, but Red Son is already too worked up to care. Furthermore, bringing up the possibility of going to see his parents causes that fluttering feeling to worsen.

“No! I can’t go back! I--”

Sandy raises his eyebrows. And Red Son shuts his mouth suddenly realizing what he almost revealed. The Blue One nearly had done it! How dare he. He hates him for that. For his stupid honest niceness. He hates that he is here. That he let down his father, again. That he has to rely on a big-hearted idiot of an enemy. He needs to leave. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. But he needs to leave.

He clumsily slips out of bed and does an awkward combination of stomping and limping past the Blue One and towards the door, ignoring the giant’s protests.

He swings open the door and he sucks in a surprised yelp as standing on the other side of it is a girl with green highlights in her hair, and pigtails sticking up from behind, with her fist to the door poised to knock on it. It’s the Dragon Girl. The two stare at each other. They exchange blinks of confusion.

The Dragon Girl is the first to react. Her surprised features shift into a look of pure rage. “YOU!” she shouts.

She flings herself at Red Son, elbowing him in the middle and throwing him across the room. Pain explodes from his various injuries, especially from his ribs and chest area. He crumples to the ground and barely has time to react as she is pulling a sword on him. He rolls out of the way, under a table and pulls himself up using an adjacent book case. He slips a little bit, and is forced to put weight on his injured ankle, which burns horribly, but he needs to get away from this crazy and enraged attacker.

He leans on the far end of the bookcase and holds up a hand. “W-wait!” he wheezes out before he devolves into coughs and choking gasps. He stumbles as he backpedals away from another swing and falls again to the floor. He grabs desperately at anything in his surroundings that can help pull him up, but the pain drags him back down again.

The tip of the sword is pointed at his center and he flinches back. He can’t do much but cough some more. When no attack comes, he chances a look up at his attacker. She’s looking at him with a paranoid gaze, which flickers up and down in confusion, but she does not lower her weapon.

“What are you doing here, Red Son?!” she yells.

Red Son does his best to regain his breath. When he does he shouts back, though not as loud or as strong as he wants it to be. “I was brought here, Dragon Girl! By your blue friend, no less! So- so back off or I’ll burn you to a crisp!”

The threat is empty. He knows it is. And even if she doesn’t, she knows she has the upper hand. He can’t hide his injuries or look powerful, half curled up on the floor and locked down by her sword. But he won’t appear weak. Not to her.

“Mei!” calls the Blue One, as he stands up from the floor, stepping carefully over the glass on the floor and rushing into the adjacent area to move between the girl and the demon.

“Sandy! Are you okay? What is Red Son doing here? Is he hurting you? Is he--”

“He’s injured!” Sandy says with some amount of exasperation quickly shuffling over and kneeling down by Red Son’s side. He puts a hand on the demon’s back and offers another for him to take to support him. Red Son stays silent and looks down, as Sandy helps him up.

“What?!” Pure incredulity drips from the Dragon Girl’s voice. “Are- are you helping him?!”

When he’s able to set Red Son upright, and leans him against a nearby cabinet, he looks to the girl and rubs the back of his head absently. “Er, yes, I am.”

She continues to give him a questioning look.

“He was hurt!” Sandy says simply. “I had to, Mei.”

The girl looks between the two of them, before sighing and lowering her sword. “I was wondering why we hadn’t heard from you much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys. I was hoping to tell you first instead of you finding out this way. Are you… mad?” The big man looks small, like a child revealing that they had snuck a cookie out of a cookie jar.

“It’s not you I’m upset at, it’s him. I don’t trust him. You could get into trouble. What if the Demon Bull family comes and attacks you? What if he burns down the houseboat?!” Red Son gets dizzy at the range of emotions that cross the girl’s features and body language as she talks, from a distrusting glance to panicky waving arms to exaggerated sweeps of her entire body. He remembers why he finds this group so annoying. And even moreso, he is annoyed at being left out of the conversation.

“Excuse me, I am standing right here!” he says with as much afront as he can muster.

“That’s the problem, Red Boy!”

“It’s Red Son to you, Dragon Girl!”

“Oh and now who is getting the names wrong?”

“I don’t stoop to uttering the names of peasants!”

“Shut up! You shouldn’t even be here! Do you know how much pain you caused! Sandy is here helping you, and you don’t deserve any of it!”

“Now now--” Sandy tries interjecting, but is caught in the middle of a now shouting match.

“That’s because you’re all so styoooopidly sappy! I’m GLAD I attacked you! You weaklings are too noble for your own good!” A smile spreads on his face seeing he’s getting under the girl's skin. It made him feel stronger. Shouting let out his pent up frustration from earlier. And banter with the Noodle Boy’s friends made things feel normal for once.

Mei shouts back at Red Son, contempt and hatred dripping from her words. "You hurt my friend! You nearly destroyed the Monkey King!!! You and your dumb dad! I bet DBK is proud of you!"

Red Son’s smile drops immediately and something in him snaps at the mention of his father, and before he can stop himself, the words come out. "HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE!"

There is a beat of silence and Red Son had a moment to realize what he said. He hadn't meant to bring up his father in such a way. How weak is he that he keeps revealing his inner thoughts to his enemies? His heart hammers against his ribs in shame and embarrassment, and he’s about to babble out some excuse, when the Dragon Girl speaks instead.

"He was supposed to be what? Destroyed?"

 What?

"Well, you know what? You failed to destroy the Monkey King. And it was the Monkey Kid who beat both of you!"

A spark of relief lights in Red Son's chest. The girl thinks he was talking about the Monkey King. Not his father. She had misunderstood his shout. He pushes down his shock and embarrassment, and forces a well-practiced sneer onto his lips. "Y-yes! The Monkey King was supposed to be destroyed! You just got lucky, that's all!"

The girl gives him a hate-filled look. Just the way it should be.

But when he looks over at Sandy, he sees confusion. And… sadness? Perhaps a bit of worry. Well, they should be worried and sad and angry at him!  They should both be afraid. And weakened or not, Red Son isn't going to let them forget that he is still a force to be reckoned with!

He fixes the Dragon Girl with what he hopes looks like a dangerous scowl. "Next time I'll be more thorough in my destruction!"

The girl doesn't look quite as frightened as Red Son would've hoped, but at the very least she clamps her loud mouth shut. She then sighs and turns to Sandy. "I don't know why you helped him. I don't think this is the kind of guy who can be saved."

Red Son's chest burns uncomfortably. It must be because of that shove she gave him earlier, exacerbating his wounds, and not the hopelessness of her statement.

Sandy shrugs and replies simply, “I've got to try, don't I?"

The girl's lips spread in a small smile of understanding and pats the large man's arm. "Yeah, and that's what's cool about you, my friend."

Sandy beams widely. But his expression switches to nervousness. "You won't tell the others, will you, Mei?"

She quirks an eyebrow up and gives him a look. "Sandy, MK is my best friend. I tell him practically everything," she deadpans.

Sandy wilts a bit, but the girl gives him another reassuring pat and says, "But I'll ask them to leave him alone…,” she shoots Red Son a dark look as she finishes her statement, “...for now.” Switching back to something more friendly, she returns her attention to Sandy. "So you better come clean yourself, soon, and give us a better explanation."

"Of course!" Sandy brightens.

With that the girl exits the houseboat, leaving Red Son and Sandy alone.

There is silence between them. Sandy looks at Red Son, and the demon does his best to not notice.

“Did she hurt you much?” Sandy sounds both worried and a bit embarrassed.

“I’m fine.” Red Son says too quickly.

Sandy comes closer and reaches a hand towards him. Red Son flinches back and the motion causes his whole body to wobble. Before he can fall back down, Sandy catches him. Red Son goes stiff and Sandy makes sure to give him some room once he regains his footing.

“Sorry.” Sandy shifts where he stands. “I noticed that one of your bandages is loose.” He gestures to a bandage on his wrist. “I may have to check you over again and re-do your bandages… If that’s okay…?”

Red Son’s chest burns again. He hates this. But he nods anyway. “Okay.”

Slowly, Sandy goes about washing and re-bandaging Red Son’s wounds. Luckily nothing was hurt too badly, but some bandages did come loose during the scuffle, and a few deeper burns had to be cared for.

They stayed mostly silent throughout much of it. Until Sandy finally spoke up. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About how ‘he was supposed to be.’” He was sitting behind Red Son working on some of the bandages on his back, and Red Son was glad for this so he didn’t see his eyes widen in alarm.

“Of- of course! I definitely meant to destroy the Monkey King and bring him to my father as a prize.” Red Son tries to keep his voice steady.

Sandy is silent for a moment as if trying to find his words. “Were you really talking about the Monkey King then? Not… someone else?”

“I-- don’t know what you mean…” The words come out stiff and stilted.

“I thought…” he began, before giving a sigh. “I guess I misinterpreted what you were saying.”

“Yes, I suppose you did.” Red Son answers curtly.

After a bit more silence Sandy continues. “Have you made any progress with your powers…?”

Red Son twists around suddenly giving Sandy a wide-eyed stare. “How did you know about my powers!?” The movement hurts, but the ache of sudden vulnerability is worse.

“I noticed you trying to throw some fireballs and stuff over the past few days… And also you didn’t attack Mei. Or me, for that matter. So I just… guessed”

Red Son feels small. Like the world is pressing in around him. The Blue One’s large form, not helping. And the pain radiating from his wounds makes the sensation worse. He pushes himself away from the blue giant as he starts shivering again, the cold suddenly feeling more apparent. Everything is suddenly fuzzy, like when he first noticed that his powers were gone. But now Sandy knew, and his friends might find out. And if they found out, then maybe his parents would know. They’d know just how weak he was. His chest is pulsing with pain and he isn’t sure why. It feels like the Dragon Girl hitting him over and over again.

Warmth is suddenly draped around him. The downy sensation of a comforter holds his form. He notices that his breaths are rapid and that’s what was hurting his chest. “Breathe,” a voice calls. So he obeys. Slowly, his breaths return to normal. The blankets surrounding him give the feeling of being cradled, but not trapped, and the warmth brings his trembling to a minimum.

“Red Son,” the voice he now recognizes as Sandy calls. “Do you hear what I am saying?”

The demon looks up, meeting the Blue One’s eyes, and gives a short nod.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. I don’t think you are weak. You are just injured and healing, and that’s okay. I won’t tell anyone,” Sandy’s calm voice is reassuring. But Red Son worries about how much he might’ve just babbled.

Sandy gives him a few more moments to calm down before talking to him again. “I finished working on your bandages. I can get you some tea if you want.” Then he gives a small knowing smile at him. “If you promise not to throw the mug…”

Red Son looks the gentle giant up and down. He slowly shifts into a more comfortable and relaxed position on the bed, and huddles down into the blankets more. He doesn’t smile, but he sounds and feels more like himself in his response. “No promises.”

Sandy’s smile reaches his eyes and he goes off to make more tea.

Red Son manages to not throw the mug this time.

start || <– previous // next –>

[rpbetter]

How do I stop being frustrated that someone says they can't reply to my "longer" thread with them (our only thread) because it's hard for them to write "long" replies atm but they write long replies with their other closer partners? Even combined other those replies add up to a lot of writing, way more than my thread with them.

Hey, Anon!

I am so sorry that this answer is likely to be awful, but it's at least honest and I really mean that I'm sorry about both the situation and that there isn't a whole lot to be done for it. Sometimes, just hearing someone else understand what you're going through and echo your own thoughts is helpful, though. It can really help solidify options we know exist, but maybe, we just weren't ready to acknowledge them.

This is one of those situations where you're the only person involved you can change in any way, so it's good that you're wanting to mitigate your frustration instead of changing the other mun. Good on you for that!

It's certainly frustrating! I try to take on at least one or two blogs at a time who have come to me expressing a desire to write more, they want to become lengthy multipara to novella RPers, and this is quite often the situation I end up in. The mun can manage to churn out lengthier replies to a handful of other muns, but not me. Ultimately, it tends to be a combination of them not being super invested in our plots/the action in the thread right off and my writing style. I can be a difficult person to reply to unless the other mun is also deeply, and I mean, like, Marianas Trench deeply, thrilled by writing in and of itself...and I also do not quick-ship or quick-smut as well as writing muses who can preclude those common interests anyway.

I say that because there might be some similarity going on here, and understanding the why of it can make things a bit less frustrating and personal feeling.

You might also write in a style that is harder for this person to jump right into and roll with - especially if these other blogs getting the lengthier replies are a little below the other mun's writing skill level. People often feel like they're up to and excited by a challenge until they really get into the thick of it, then, it's stressful and they can feel like they'll be judged if they do not write as well as they perceive their writing partner is.

You might have muses and preferences that are not aligning with what they most want and are, as such, most inspired by to write more. Again, that can seem interesting as a challenge, something like a slowburn or platonic interaction, or even a muse that is more difficult to interact with, but once someone who isn't usually into those situations gets into one...it just feels like delay and boredom to them.

I'm not saying that your threads, writing, muses, or you, yourself, are frustrating or boring! Simply that this has been an issue in the past with these situations not just for me but also for other muns I've known, so, it might hold some significance here.

There isn't any good way to do this, I'll be honest, but if you're so frustrated that you're willing to risk losing them as a mutual to feel better about this situation, I'd suggest talking to them about it. Handling it with a lot of care, of course. By that, I mean keeping this all phrased as a you problem not a them problem, regardless of how accurate or upsetting that might be. Don't directly state that it's a little hurtful and frustrating that they can magically expend the effort to write more with everyone other than you!

If you go this route, try something like:

"I hope this doesn't come off the wrong way, but I wanted to talk to you about something. Is there something I'm doing that is making it harder for you to reply more to me? I notice that your other interactions are longer and seem to be easier for you to do. I know you said that you have difficulty writing longer replies, but if there's something I'm doing that is making it harder, I'd rather know so we can have a better time."

Like I said, still likely to be received poorly. No matter how you phrase it, it's probably going to come off as accusatory or like you're being jealous. I'm only advising it as something for you to consider because, either way, it could lessen the frustration you feel to more actively discuss it with them.

I am pretty sure you don't want to go the route of calling it quits, either. However, I'd definitely be dishonest if I did not advise that as a possibility.

If their actions are making you so frustrated that it's distracting you from better partnerships, making you outright angry a good deal of the time, or otherwise ruining your time here more than it isn't...they really shouldn't be someone you keep writing with. Your frustration is totally valid, you are expending more effort than they are, and watching someone put that effort into everyone else's threads but yours is not a good time. And it isn't something you can expect to change, rather, this situation usually resolves by one mun or the other simply ceasing to reply to the thread quietly.

That isn't ideal for anyone, even though I very much understand the inclination, and you know what? On some rare occasions, that can be the nicest and most peaceable thing one can do. You really do have to know the other mun to decide that. If they're someone who is going to be very hurt, suffers from RSD, or has ever expressed, be that privately, on the dash, or in their rules, that they want people to tell them when a thread is dropped, please, tell them you're dropping. If they're someone who is going to be incredibly hostile about it, who has a ton of threads they struggle to keep up with, might not even notice or be relieved, it might be better. I still will advise 99% of the time to tell someone when you're dropping a thread.

If you don't want to unfollow because you enjoy this mun OOC, they are, or have become, a friend or just someone you enjoy on your dash, a lot of muns are perfectly fine remaining friends and mutuals without continuing to write together. So long as you're not being caustic about how you end writing together, of course! Just telling them that you don't think you mesh as well in writing as you do OOC is a good way to inoffensively end a thread - and it isn't untrue! Again, takes some awareness of the mun as a person, but if they won't take it the wrong way (projecting the meaning of "you're boring, you suck at this, I don't like you" onto what you've said), you can even tell them that you have lost interest in the thread.

Anyway, as I said, I'm very sure that's not an option you are looking for at this time either, but...it is an option. You will be less frustrated if you remove the source of that frustration.

An option you might like a little bit better is trying to allow yourself to...sort of reposition the importance of these threads.

Think of it like this - if you have ten threads and you're not dealing with frustrating partners in eight of them, you can make the two that are a problem low-priority interactions.

I know it's even more frustrating if you're doing something in the threads with this mun that you were very excited about. For some reason, for the longest damn time, every time I had someone who was up for a plot, muse, or verse I had been dying to do, they were not exactly great writing partners. It's so disappointing when you're excited, getting to do something you've wanted to finally, but you're forced to accept that you're kind of still not getting that thread. It's the truth, however. You aren't actually getting what you wanted here, even if all the pieces are in position on your end because they are not, and will not be, on the crucial other end of things.

If that's the case, seek out people who might be interested in something similar from within the group of mutuals you are happy interacting with. It's actually pretty rare that, once you have more than just two to three active mutuals anyway, you don't already write with someone who wants to write even more with you. Maybe they don't know you have a burning need for that plot or to use that verse, maybe they just aren't sure about asking you about it, there are a lot of reasons why! Usually, we're all simply busy with what we're doing and don't notice until someone directly asks/mentions it. So, when you've identified which mutual is most likely to be interested, don't just post on the dash that you want x and hope they pick up on it - directly talk to them about it.

You can also include elements of what you were excited about in already existing threads. Use those things as inspiration for those plots, the developing characterization going on in them, and so. Try to remember that everything doesn't have to happen all at once, nor should it, actually. It's alright to only sort of know how you'd like to include that bit of inspiration in an already rolling thread! Once you're aware of wanting to, that you are totally allowed to do this, and somewhat how, you're prepared to see the moment when it happens and jump on it.

Even if this isn't the case, placing higher importance on the threads written with muns who are returning your energy is a great way to feel less frustrated by the one you feel is devaluing you. There is absolutely nothing inherently wrong about having threads, muses, plots, and muns of different personal priority levels. So long as you're not being shitty to anyone involved or trying to hide it, it's fine. Creativity is not something linear and equal at all times, just as this other mun is obviously more invested in other people, you can be as well. Just be more honest and self-aware than this mun is being with you.

If you think you can't do that because it's your Process to reply in order and/or to queue replies when they're all done, neither is a hindrance. No one is actually watching the order you do your replies in. You can do the ones you feel most inspired by first, don't queue them yet, then, do the replies you know you're not going to get much other than frustration out of last. This way, you won't be wasting the creative effort on those threads either, you'll be concentrating it on the mutuals who appreciate it more. It's absolutely possible to do things with the organization you might require while still making it a better experience for yourself.

Furthermore, sometimes muns do get annoyed when their shorter replies are not the ones replied to quickly. Particularly when they outright state that short replies are their preference, this is usually a part of their process and they feel like it's easier and faster for everyone else because it is for them. If it is harder, and as such, slower, for you to deal with these shorter replies? Be sure you pop that in your rules as a warning, and make it clear when speaking to mutuals that this is the case for you and they shouldn't expect extremely quick turnaround because something is short.

While it's valid and human to not understand why something that is totally fun, easy, and rewarding for us is the opposite for others, upon it being made clear, that's a boundary you're saying needs to be respected.

Expecting replies to be fast because they're short is also something that can induce stress and be incredibly unfair.

When someone expects that their reply should be responded to expediently because it is shorter, that can be stressful to the other mun, it can feel very pressuring. To the mutuals interacting who are writing longer replies, it's unfair when it takes a week for their replies they have put a lot of effort into but someone who won't match length at all is getting numerous replies from you.

And if you like to post replies as soon as you get them done, but doing this is upsetting to the frustrating mun when it isn't theirs? Honestly, Anon, I know it sounds mean, but that's a point to have an unpleasant conversation with them about what they're doing. If they don't like it, the difference is right there for you to point out to them - these threads don't leave me feeling like I'm wasting my energy.

A lot of the time, when we are upset about perceived unfairness, the difference between what we're doing and the other muns are doing is right there for us to see. It probably is unfair to some degree, but if we want to get to the bottom of it, it's a good place to start - asking what these other muns are doing that we're not. Then, the all-important question of whether it's something we want to change, or even can, and acting according to what is going to be most rewarding and possible in the situation.

Like with delineating above what might be some reasons why this mun is responding to others differently than you, actually! Perhaps, those are things you'd like to do differently, but then again, perhaps, that would mean lessening your writing quality and enjoyment. The frustrating replier can see that the muns you reply to give back more of what they've been given, and if they feel like it's both worth it and possible, they'll do the same...or not. Either way, the awareness and tools are right there.

We all don't work out, or work out smoothly and immediately, and nothing about that is inherently mean.

Speaking of not working out, in addition to mentioning in your rules that you don't reply faster to shorter threads, it might lessen some of your frustration to work on a bit of a side project to prevent some of it from happening again in the future by going over your rules. I know much of the RPC is allergic to lengthy rules and any whiff of expectations, but clearly stating what you want and how you operate is the only way to insulate yourself and others from disappointment and frustration.

You might want to consider including some of the following:

you only write multipara - give a rough estimate of what that means to you, as mutlipara can be anything from two to twenty paragraphs, technically! Letting people know what you, specifically, tend to view as multipara, while making it clear it's not a fixed number or anything, can even help alleviate the new mutual anxiety of too much guesswork

or you only write novella - same thing, what does that look like for you? Is it 2-5k words on average, or is it 10k+? Give a rough idea to remove the guesswork, but be clear that you aren't always going to write exactly that amount or expect it

if you do have a minimum you'd like to receive, tell people - it's not demanding, it's honest. If receiving one line back after writing two paragraphs is going to upset you, say you need at least a para in return, for example

if you have a hard time writing short replies, tell people that - again, you should be a little more specific about what "short" means to you. If you find it impossible to write anything under four para, say so

should you prioritize threads based on inspiration, or even well-known partnerships, be open about that as well - it's absolutely going to make some folks pissy, but if they can't appreciate your honesty and are already annoyed before they interact with you, do you actually want to interact with them?

say that you need to know upfront if there is a consistent problem replying to you - you won't be upset or anything, but you can't address a problem you don't know exists, so, if someone is struggling with replying to you, they should feel like it's safe to talk to you about it

Obviously, these are suggestions and need to be things that are true to you! The whole point is taking the frustration you feel and doing something proactive and good with it. It isn't changing this particular situation, but making certain that you are providing new mutuals with clear information as to your boundaries, expectations, and what you'll be giving them could help prevent some similar problems. While, unfortunately, not everyone reads or respects rules, having rules that outline such things let muns know what they're getting into, allows them to make better choices of who to interact with, and is respectful to both them and yourself.

In the future, if you have another mutual like this and have made such things apparent in your rules, you can address it with a bit less awkwardness and even anxiety. It's a different feeling coming to someone with a problem when you already have a base of discussion! That doesn't mean it's a way to be forceful or shitty or anything, just that you can casually remind them at a point in this conversation that "like I said in my rules, it's not fun for me to reply to shorter things." Kind of helps to remind that, hey, you did come into this knowing that was a problem for me, you're the one being kind of lame in this situation, without literally saying that.

Any time you start to feel really frustrated and you want to settle down, consider working on something you can use that energy on. Not talking about going outside and hacking up a tree or anything ridiculous, totally talking about projects that could use a touch of frustration that you might already have sitting in your drafts or have otherwise been meaning to get to.

Take the frustration and work on a thread or meme reply in which your muse is frustrated. Take it and go work on the graphics overhaul you've been meaning to do, as annoyance can be a great way of giving us extreme focus on a task. It doesn't have to be your rules is my point! A lot of things could channel the upset into something enjoyable and productive.

And, I mean, I guess, if you really want to murder a tree...so long as it is your tree and you're prepared to accept the physical consequences of this intense amount of exertion, you could do that.

I'd still suggest replying to the muns who are more appreciative of what you're doing, though. While keeping in mind that, eventually, it really might be in your best interest to not keep writing with this person. They're not doing this maliciously or anything, but the outcome is still that you're not enjoying yourself.

Even in a hobby, you're not going to effortlessly enjoy yourself constantly, but if something is markedly frustrating you on a consistent basis, it doesn't have a long-term place in your downtime. Things do not have to be intentionally shitty for them to be negatively impacting you enough that they've got to go. You might want to work on letting this mutual go by having some more enjoyable, prioritized interactions with others. Not only will it keep you less frustrated to concentrate on positive, more fulfilling experiences, but it'll also make those threads much easier to let go of, even if there are things in them you'd have loved to have written. You'll get the opportunity to with the right people!

Again, I'm sorry if this wasn't incredibly helpful. It's not a great situation, and it isn't one that has a single possible solution, but rather, several that totally depend on how you feel about things and at what point in your frustration you're at.

For me, this would be a we've got to talk, this isn't working out point, but I don't think you sound like you're there...and that's fine! So long as your frustration isn't hurting anyone else, it's perfectly alright to need to get to your own, unique point of being done with a situation. Only you know where that's at, and I don't feel like it's a kind or viable answer to tell people they've got to drastically and immediately make choices like blocking someone over something like that. In addition to being a juvenile way of handling an interaction that isn't glowingly positive, it reeks of serious removal of agency to me. Like, no one other than the mun doing the advising is capable of adult cognition lol that's not cool! We don't do that on this blog. Same thing with not giving you some insulting, and potentially even ableist, "advice" that you should remember it's "just stupid tumblr rp" and not to be frustrated at all.

You're interacting with other human beings in this hobby as is required, other human beings do things that are frustrating, the venue is irrelevant, right? It's also every bit as Not That Deep that it's great to be invested in your hobby, period. (Unless your hobby is something like creating a fascist dictatorship lmao, then, maybe please kind of really get a different one.) So, if, in voicing your frustration with mutuals and friends, anyone has made it feel like you're being ridiculous? You're not, it's 100% valid to be annoyed when someone is telling you one thing and doing another right in front of you. I'd also be frustrated, Anon, and have been with this kind of thing!

I hope whatever you end up trying works out well for you, Anon! If nothing else, maybe you'll find a new mutual or existing one you can write even better things with. Just try to be patient, with this other mun and yourself. Resist the urge to snap at them or be hateful about it, and I'm sure the impulse has come up because these situations feel a lot like being simultaneously othered and lied to. It's just not worth it, it won't change anything, and you'll be the one who looks like a dick. You deserve better than that!

[writermuses]

3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30, 33, 36, 39, 42, 45, 48.

3. Which of your muses either have been married or are currently married?

Answered Here

6. Which muses can speak languages other than English?

All of my characters are at least bilingual and that’s largely because I’m a polyglot and I don’t want to write monolingual Americans. I definitely have characters that are pretty trash at speaking their non-English languages (Drew versus Spanish, Luca versus Romanian and Russian 😂)

9. Which of your muses is most likely to get thrown in jail for disorderly conduct?

Taney, hands down.

12. Which two of your muses would make the best couple?

They all crinkled their noses in disgust. The ones I’ve been writing longest are friends. I’d say Solena would be the easiest for anyone to be happy with, so perhaps Solena and Micah? They’re already just not about it 🤣 

15. Which of your muses would make the best social media influencer?

Pem, she’s lovable and loves teaching people about her life and overcoming barriers. Her pottery business has a social media presence, but it’s run by her one employee (her assistant) and she’s not interested in being known.

18. Have any of your muses run into trouble with the law?

Answered Here

21. Which muse is the most gullible?

Kailani and it does get her in proper trouble.

24. Which muse is the most proficient chef?

Charlotte runs a catering business, but Nate does this thing when he’s traveling for work, where he’ll ask chefs to let him watch them work. He’s an insomniac and finds it relaxing. He’s learned dishes from some of the best around the world and so what he can cook is amazing. 

27. Which muse utilizes your favorite faceclaim?

Nate, obviously. Anyone that talks to me OOCly knows I prefer my boys. I’m not writing my favorite female FC.

30. Are any of your muses musicians?

Yeah, several. Solena and Nate play piano as a hobby, though Sol write simple piano pieces from time to time. Lachlan is an award winning composer and musician. Luca DJs under a mask but is very popular and he wants to compose for films. Petrina is a violin prodigy and composes. Emir plays Spanish guitar and Taney plays bass. I’m sure I’m forgetting someone. Lachlan, Luca, and Trina are the only ones that would call themselves “musicians”.

33. Which muses would be good parents?

I have several that already are and that’s verse-dependent for everyone except Drew and Matt. Out of those that aren’t, I think that Henri would be the best of them.

36. Do you have an old/retired muse you don’t use anymore but love? Tell us about them.

Most of my characters never go away, they just get supplanted by new muses and then resurrected 😂 I guess at the minute the character I miss the most is my tech twin, Mason Dickens. @marimelwrites wrote his twin and they were darling polar opposites and it was great. I mean, what’s not to love about this freckled face?

39. Which muse is the most manipulative?

Quin/Teague. He didn’t get where he is without being the asshole non grata.

42. Which muse has the most money?

Nate. Delmore Inc. is based of of the real world’s Cargill which has a value of 115 billion dollars. Even splitting that in half with his sister he’s still more wealthy than all my other characters, even combined. That’s saying something when you know all of my beans.

45. Which muse is the biggest flirt?

Taney or Tomlin, the pair of them are such good trouble.

48. Which muse is your ‘main muse’ or the one you find yourself writing the most often lately?

This is always changing, but at the moment it’s Nate.