#devlin; mirror

[pyrokineticwarrior]

[iincantatorum]

[gameo-archive]

"My ?s for George Rexstrew were not that great, but he was still patiently trying to give each of them a proper answer. He answered my submissions OOO though. 1st vid but 2nd sub.

Mirror hop w/ the livings in bag of tricks

Crystal's passport & full name

#DeadBoyDetectives"

Is the show YA or adult?

Can you mirror hop with people by putting them in the bag of tricks?

How did Crystal international travel but was not aware of her full name/passport, or no passport and she uses her power?

"1st submission but 2nd video. (The order doesn't really matter. I just want to keep everything straight for myself.)

Charles & Crystal's goodbye kiss. Edwin's thought & feeling.

Did the out of order filming affect the scene?"

When I saw Charles and Crystal's goodbye kiss I thought, poor Edwin! How cruel of Charles to do that in front of him after the confession. It reminded me of that famous panel from the comics. I get that Charles thought it was the final goodbye but still. I want to know Edwin's thought and feeling in that moment. And also, do they change after inviting Crystal into the group?

Did the out of order filming affect the scene?

"A bit more info on the notebook.

Asked about the crossed out "Do not ring" for the Limbo's bell. (I'm still confused about his answer. Shouldn't it be NOT crossed out if it's correct to not ring?)

How DBD would deal w/ non-western cultures' monsters, myths, beliefs etc."

You said the maps of Hell have existed for a long time, so did Edwin draw them as soon as he got out?

How did they acquire the notebook and bag of tricks?

How was Edwin able to get the family emblem on it?

Why was 'do not ring' crossed out next to Limbo's bell?

How would DBD deal with non-Western cultures' monsters, mythologies, beliefs, etc.?

"(final Cameo)

Cut due to him mentioned my bday date. He was so wonderful about everything. Really appreciated this opportunity he's given us. And for a great cause as well.

Asked for fun facts/bts he hasn't shared with the press"

Can you share any fun facts or behind the scenes bloopers you haven't shared with the press?

[pyrokineticwarrior]

"These are really nice! Oh, I didn't know you'd like the cowboy hat one that much..."

📸

Send a 📸 to see 3-5 pictures that my muse has/has taken of your muse(s) @pyrokineticwarrior

[tortoisesshells]

11.

[esoterium]

@coinquinatvs || basorexia || accepting always. cause kisses!

[ Henry, for Beaver~ ] Basorexia: 15 + 2: a first kiss that comes out of nowhere.

derry's covered in a thick fog. a winter storm's bearing down on them and he's got a haul of firewood in the back of his pick up that he grabbed just for a certain doctor that he's worried might not've taken the time to get enough for himself. considering what the news is saying? they could be without power for longer than anyone's gonna care for with the temperatures dropping below zero. there's other supplies in a few bags. candles, hand warmer packs. enough to carry anyone through the worst. because one thing they got going? maine's so used to getting it's ass kicked by the cold? they'll get their shit figured out fast. just gotta deal with it til then.

the bags now at his feet inside henry's house. the firewood's safe and dry. beaver's standing at the window looking out at his truck with a mug of hot chocolate and bailey's knowing that his worry and his fucking overkill in making sure all things henry were storm ready were a sure sign that above and beyond.. meant something.

toothpick twirling against his tongue, his gaze bounces to henry's reflection in the glass. he holds the stick expertly still as he swallows a sip of his spiked drink. the wood reappearing once the mug's lowered only to be taken out and shoved in his coat pocket when he turns around and henry's right behind him. there's a closeness that visibly shakes beav. has him damn near dropping the mug before he bends to lower it to a coffee table. thanks and you're welcome. his voice is strained. his eyes get tired. god damn he's so wary of pretending he'd do this for any of his friends. a select few, yes. but henry? he's the one he rushed here to check on first.

beaver moves to excuse himself but neither one of them move. he swears he hears an offer to ride out the storm there. but his head feels like a sponge and his hearing's muted by the thundering heartbeat. henry's eyes are on his mouth. beaver's gaze reflects henry's. all eyes on the doctor's lips. who knows who makes the first move? he'll replay it later in his head. but henry's mouth tastes like home the minute his lips are sealed against it and his hands are buried into the top of henry's hair. beav's on his toes, tasting him like he's been starving. devouring the flavor like he's never swallowed a drop of heaven in his life til now. fuck me freddy. so this is a thing.

[i-need-of-a-hobby]

current mood: thinking about how the two times death shows up on screen in dbd is in the first episode to retrieve the ww1 ghost and in the devlin house, which mirror how edwin and charles could have died if they didnt die when they did. edwin could have died in the war and charles could have died due to his unsafe household.

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell – and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.

[azsazz]

Cupid's Chokehold Bonus Smut Scene 2

Kinktober Day 20: Azriel x Reader [Rimming]

Summary: Azriel loves to watch you pray.

Warnings: Smut, rimming, oral (F receiving), fingering

Word Count: 1,610

Read Cupids Chokehold Here: (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part 7) (Bonus Smut Scene 1)

_________________________________________

Azriel lands in the red sands of the rooftop training ring at the House of Wind, silent as a mouse. His cock strains against his trousers at the sight of you, knelt down and praying to the Mother for your next assignment. He can hear you murmuring softly to yourself but the words don’t register, his gaze is zeroed in on the way your ample ass sticks high in the air, back curved in a way he knows is only to taunt him, with your long, fluffy wings splayed wide in the warm sand. You look ready for the taking. 

He shouldn’t bother you, but he had to leave before you’d awoken this morning—riff raff in the Illyrian camps had somehow become his problem instead of Devlins—and he couldn’t ignore Rhysand’s command. 

It had been quick work, making an example of those that were out of line, tangling them in a web of shadows as he made his threats clear, glaring harshly into every Illyrians skull, sending the message along to those who had the gall to meet his gaze at all. As simple as the task had been, Azriel doesn’t like leaving you, not so soon after the mating bond has formed. It chafes uncomfortably in his chest.

You gasp as he falls to his knees behind you. You knew he arrived, you could feel it in your soul, thanks to the tethering of your souls. You hadn’t quite mastered withholding your emotions from fluttering through to the other, so when you’d found your mate missing this morning, with a note saying he’d been sent on assignment but would be back before the bed got cold, you’d spent the morning teasing yourself with your fingers down your pants, mirroring those feelings down to him while he worked with a sly smile.

It seems as though you’ll be paying for that right now.

“Don’t stop,” he purrs, hands tracing the curve of your ass. You yelp as he spanks you, a harsh tap that makes the wetness between your thighs grow. Azriel traces up your body with skilled fingers, draping himself over you. His wings smother yours, chilled from the morning altitude and extending nearly four feet wider than your own. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, loving how he covers you whole. Azriel’s cock presses tightly to your ass as he buries his mouth into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, nipping at the soft skin there.

“Gods, Azriel,” you moan softly, grinding back against him. He’s a delicious weight against your back and he shudders at your broken noise, bucking into you. He sucks a deep, greedy mark into your skin that has your body trembling, his fingers snaking around your waist to rub against your clothed cunt.

“That’s right,” he hisses, stealing a kiss. You lean into him, and he loves just how desperate you are for him, whimpering as he slowly works his fingers across your cunt. The smell of your arousal coats the air thickly, and every inhale he takes is filled with it, sweet and heady on his tongue. “Keep praying to your Gods.” 

You can’t, though, because you’ve forgotten all the words. Azriel has stolen them away with his mouth, his languid tongue tracing yours, demanding them from you.

You cry out as his fingers slide between your soft feathers, calluses brushing against the sensitive skin beneath them. Your body wracks with shudders and you clench your eyes shut tightly, fisting the sand. He’s allowed you to explore his wings, spread bare and wide for your taking. Azriel feels the need now to return the favor, surprised at how silken your skin is beneath the thick plumes of feathers.

There’s a soft kiss at your cheek and then Azriel’s pulling away again, pressing up to admire your ass, still in the air from where you’re crouched. He traces the lines of your trousers, no longer the white you’ve always worn, but a black pair, one he’d had made for you. You still aren’t all that comfortable wearing anything besides white, but his heart skips in his chest. If you’re wearing black, it’s for him, because you miss him dearly, and the color reminds you of him.

“Please,” you gasp weakly. His gentle, wandering touch is too much. You want him draped over you, his weight pressing the air from your lungs as he shoves his hot cock into you with a fervor that shows you he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him. You want him pressed so tightly to you that you can’t even breathe, wings and limbs and lips tangled with each other, never apart. 

Azriel hums, lighting up your skin. His hands snake back to your body, across your hips and dipping under the billowy softness of the shirt you’d stolen from his armoire this morning. His smell had consumed you, body and soul, but to be at such a distance from him was painful. It had been the only remedy that had eased the ache slightly, but now there is a different ache overtaking you as his hands cup your breasts, massaging and pinching and helping you kneel upwards so he can work the buckles of your pants. 

You crane your neck over your shoulder, hands in his hair guiding his face down to yours. You devour each other, rough nips as you fight for control, the lust distance has grown tenfold clawing its way up your throat.

His tentative touch is no longer soft. Azriel yanks your pants down over your ass and you yelp as he bends you forward again, his large hand planted at the small of your back, guiding you into a steep bend, your ass full on display for him.

“Azriel,” you whimper, and he shushes you, admiring the view. 

“You are the most perfect creature I have ever seen, love,” he’s breathless, and you keen. You can feel his cock twitching where it’s trapped in his leathers, resting against your seam. His free hand grabs hold of your hind firmly, the other sliding down as he spreads you wide. “I am going to completely ravage you.”

The admission has you grinding against him like a pathetic female, but Azriel doesn’t seem to mind. He adores the way your body moves for him, the slick he can see coating your cunt, though his gaze is focused completely on your pucker, fluttering with need. 

You gasp and your body bucks forward at the shock of something wet landing right atop your hole. Azriel’s grip slides to your hips and he growls as he pulls you back to him, a warning low in his throat. His fingers find your cunt, fluttering over with a touch so lightly it nearly makes you chew through your lip. You want those thick fingers inside of you now, but before you can say anything he’s skimming higher, right across the wetness where he’d spit on your opening.

“Oh,” your moan is breathy, long and languid as Azriel explores your hole. He doesn’t press in, even if you want him to, just traces you like an artist admiring his muse. “Please,” you manage to struggle out, “More.”

Your mate obeys, allowing his instinct to take over as he swoops down, holding your cheeks apart as he licks a stripe from the bottom of your cunt all the way to your hole, bringing your juices with him. Your body shudders beneath him, wings flattening into the sands in pleasure.

“My greedy love,” Azriel comments, voice reverberating off of your sensitive skin. You whimper, shoving your ass back into his face for more.

The male doesn’t hesitate, licking tantalizing patterns across your pucker, his fingers biting firmly into the soft skin of your ass so hard you know there will be fingertip shaped bruises on your skin tomorrow.

Your body is buzzing with lust and adrenaline. You hadn’t considered this would feel so good, his tongue swirling around your hole, just as skilled with this area of your body as he is with your cunt. The soft strokes are mesmerizing, as are the noises of delight he’s allowing you to hear. 

The soft strokes turn pressing as he points his tongue, kneading at your hole. You shout, trying to clench your trembling legs together as he works his tongue into your body. Relax, his voice infiltrates your mind and you do so immediately, the soft demand of his voice guiding your body soft.

More, you plead. I need more.

And more Azriel gives you, fucking his tongue in and out of your ass as he lets you grind back, taking from him what you need. His fingers hook into your soaking cunt, letting you fuck onto both his hand in your cunt and his tongue in your ass. 

You can feel the burning cresting, moaning unabashedly in the morning light. If anyone wanted to train up here, they’d be in for quite the show. You don’t have it in you to care, not as the feeling of your oncoming orgasm churns hot in your loins and your mate picks up pace, fucking his fingers into your body and curling them just slightly, hitting the spot inside of you that has your vision edging black, like his shadows are trying to consume you whole. 

You burst with a cry that shocks the city still. Clouds suspended in the sky, wildlife gone quiet as your noises echo through the mountains, down the stairs leading into the House of Wind, only blocked from waking any roommates by the manifesting shadows swallowing the sounds whole. 

This…this is for Azriel’s ears only.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist:@bunnymallowo@jeannineee@icey–stars@hannzoaks@harrystylesfan2686@azriels-shadowsinger @alysena2 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @impossibelle @glitterypirateduck @reading-moongirl

[madschiavelique]

hii my love! would u mind doing a little blurb on miguel finding out the woman he has been seeing is a stripper? she just feels so embarrassed to admit that and scared It would drive him away but instead he’s pretty much more open about it and become far too protective too. thank you:))

OMG ANON YOU DON'T KNOW HOW OUR BRAINS CONNECTED because listen : i have an au in mind where my spiderpersona is a succub in a strip club, and basically when Miguel is brought there by his friends, they meet

SO YEA i'm living for stripper!reader x miguel (also this was supposed to be a blurb but i got carried away fdkzefrgd - the club scene from Closer really inspired me for this)... now i want to make a multiple chapter fic on stripper!reader x miguel hELP

summary : miguel discovers you're a stripper

content warnings : NSFW, stripper!reader, reader gives a little private show to miguel (just removes the top though, doesn't reveal the cunt), fem!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 2k song mentionned : world outside - the devlins

tag list : @fandom-ash

Up until now, you had decided to keep your professional occupation to Miguel, for one simple reason: fear.

Fear filled your stomach at the thought of telling him you were a stripper. You and Miguel had been dating for some time, and had quickly become close. The bond was shaping up to be strong, and you were worried that the information about your job would ruin everything.

He'd already asked you a few times what you were doing, but you'd always managed to deflect the subject elegantly. Yet there's no stopping Miguel's determination and curiosity, least of all when the topic of conversation turns out to be you.

So he did something he wasn't particularly proud of, but couldn't resist: while you were out working, he asked Lyla where you were.

She'd given him an address, and some information about it...

"A club?" he'd asked, looking at the street information for the address. "A strip club," Lyla had corrected. "There's no mistake? Are you sure?" he'd questioned, taking a closer look at the establishment's hours and information. "Have you ever seen me calculate a lot of errors?" sighed the artificial intelligence.

Never. Hardly ever had he seen her fail in this area. Maybe you weren't really a dancer there, maybe you were a bartender, or a waitress, who knows. Only, the idea of seeing you wearing a fine outfit and swaying on a stage was strangely appealing to him.

Without missing a beat, he made his way to the address. It wasn't far, which surprised him as much as it reassured him. The very idea that your place of work wasn't far from home appealed to him, as it ensured that if you ever needed to be picked up for any reason, he'd be there.

He arrived at the entrance, breathing in, passed the bouncers who joked that with his build he could get into the business, and entered.

Blue light from two corner spotlights illuminated red velvet-covered staircases leading downwards. He moved forward, the mirrored walls reflecting him. The room's bass could already be heard from outside, but now he could hear the music more clearly.

You light up my dreams, light up my skin. You're so far away, you're holding it in.

The place was quite crowded, and Miguel noticed a fair number of men in suits and ties. He wouldn't have cared in any other context about the consumption habits of these men here, but suddenly the very idea that there were potentially regulars coming to see you displeased him enormously.

As for the place, it smelled of violets and lemongrass. The ceiling was high, revealing a second floor from which hung three chandeliers surrounded by red cubes.

Spotlights were placed here and there, illuminating the important places: the round tables, like the one next to Miguel on which two women on their knees were swaying, undressing each other under the watchful eyes of all the men around the table; the U-shaped bar, from either end of which women were dancing in wisps of sinuous white smoke; and pole-dancing pedestals on their red-lit floor that emphasized the curves of the dancers placed on them.

And he recognized one of the dancers: it was you.

It was an evening like any other, your garter belt was already generously stuffed with bills of various colors against your thigh and you'd already put on a private show. You were on the pole bar, dancing and undulating your body against it under the round, adoring eyes of your little audience.

You'd been in the business for a while now, and you'd managed to make more friends than enemies in the club, enough so that your colleagues became your buddies.

In fact, your friend right next to you softly called your name, and you turned to her as you danced.

"Did you see the one that just came in? He's huge," she pointed out, smiling at the customers around you. "And pretty good looking too."

As you continued your endless choreography, you glanced surreptitiously at the said customer. But your heart dropped into your stomach for a moment as you met Miguel's gaze.

You hesitated between freezing on the spot and running away, but instead tried to keep your cool and your professionalism and continue your dance until he arrived near the pedestal.

"This one," you pointed out to your friend, "is for me."

She gave a little laugh as you motioned for another dancer to take your place and gracefully stepped off your pedestal, advancing towards Miguel as you would a normal customer

"So this was where you were hiding?" asked Miguel a little above the music, tilting his head to the side as he looked you up and down.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, as inquisitive as you were nervous.

"Curiosity got the better of me, and I was right to give in to temptation."

He was watching your outfit, which emphasized your body, your curves highlighted by the glitter and rhinestones mixed with the laces. You were close to him, almost to the point where a simple movement on Miguel's part would allow your two bodies to meet.

"But I'd prefer to discuss this somewhere else...?" he says.

"I'm in the middle of working hours, but... how about a private show?" you offered, drawing even closer to him as your eyes seemed to him irresistible through your lashes.

He shuddered.

"I'd like that."

You smiled softly, taking his hand to guide him towards one of the Paradise Suites. You guided him a little further until you came to a door you knew well and opened it to let him in.

A round sofa circled a round table at its center, the latter illuminated in pink. A strip of light circled the sofa, another path laid out to encourage strippers to be creative and use the room as they saw fit. You weren't expecting to give Miguel a private show tonight, but fate had played a nice trick on you.

You guided him to the sofa, letting him settle there as you climbed up on the table, looking at him with eyes that were usually calculated to convey desire, but this time really felt it.

And he looked at you with, his were dark, pools of ink attentive to your every move.

"How long have you been doing this?" he'd ask, his attention unwavering.

"Five months," you toyed lightly with one of your shoulder straps as you let your other hand roam your body.

He was going to be able to ask you all the questions that came to mind, only if he didn't get too distracted by your beauty.

"Are you allowed to flirt?" he asked.

"Yes, I am." you replied, letting your hand slide down your chest.

"Do you have any regulars?" he leaned forward, his head tilted back to watch you dance.

"Yes, I do. Private clients as well." you turned, your back to him to loosen your corset behind your waist, undulating your body.

The idea that you had regular clients here wasn't disturbing, but the fact that you had private ones displeased him a little more, for the fact that your security was much less framed than it was here.

"I want names."

You let out a small laugh as you turned to face him again.

"You want to make me lose my job?" you knelt on the round table to get to his level.

"No, I want to replace them." he said, his eyes moving from yours to your fingers removing the first strap.

"I'm not allowed to have relationships outside of the club with clients," you countered, tracing the skin of your bare thigh sensually.

"And what do you usually do?" his chest puffed out as he inhaled, feeling a little hotter little by little.

"I dance, I talk, I laugh, I strip, and that is all." you confirmed as you removed the second strap, and with a simple movement unhooked the little clip between your breasts to reveal them.

His eyes were eager, watching your perfect breasts as he parted his lips, mouth agape.

"No touching?" he questioned, eyes still on your body.

"No touching, you can just slide the tips in the garter belt" you advised, your hand sliding against the latter where a few bills were lodged.

"What would happen if I touched you now?" he asked, moving a little closer to the edge of the sofa.

"I would like it," you said, shifting your legs over the front to stand up again on the table gently, "but the security cameras would notice, and probably get you out of here."

Miguel looked up, just above the table, on the ceiling, was a small half globe with a small point of red light.

"Pays well?

"Very well." you smiled, your hands playing dangerously with the string of your thong.

"How much will it cost me to be here with you?"

Miguel wasn't afraid of going broke here, especially for you, he was plenty rich enough for that.

"Depends on what you want." thinking that maybe Miguel didn't want to make you work right now, you got off the table and climbed onto the sofa and then its edge instead, sitting there.

"How high are the prices? I haven't seen the menu of services."

"Our VIP options can go up to 1500 dollars." you say wearily, pretending to walk your index and middle fingers in his direction on the strip of light.

"1500?" he almost exclaimed, raising his eyebrows.

"Mhm," you hummed, "two hours with two dancers and a bottle of Don Perignon."

He turned towards you, coming closer, his head level with your thigh as his eyes inevitably fell on the bills you'd been given.

"And what's the price if I only want you and nothing else with me?" he questioned as his gaze returned to yours.

"Here, from 80 dollars I can give you a 10-minute air dance." you said as you leaned towards him, your faces close but not yet touching. "Outside, nothing."

A small, proud smile appeared on his lips. However, you being far too hot and gorgeous, he was beginning to feel tight in his clothes, especially his pants.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, sitting up differently, your eyes falling on his crotch and smiling as you bit your lip.

"Five o'clock. Will you last until then?"

He sighed, his eyes falling on your lips, eager.

"I just don't know if I'll be able to keep my hands to myself."

You smiled, then straightened up, reaching for your top. But Miguel took his wallet out of his pocket and slipped a bill under your garter belt. To be deprived of a view like this? Never. You smile a little more, and sit back down on the table, kneeling upright to let him get a good look at you.

He leaned towards you again, intertwining his fingers as his gaze softened slightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You sighed, biting your cheek as you looked down at your hands carefully placed in your lap.

"I was scared," you admitted with a sigh. "Scared that this would end what we have."

You knew that not all men or simply partners were comfortable with their halves being strippers, and the idea that Miguel shared that opinion terrified you.

"Nena," he called your nickname.

Your head was still down, and you felt the soft sensation of money paper under your chin. Miguel straightened your jaw with a bill, bringing his eyes to yours.

"This isn't a problem to me." he smiled, lowering his hand to place the bill under the elastic of your belt. "This is actually really good."

Confusion seized you along with relief, causing you to frown while sporting a grin.

"Why?"

He tilted his head to one side, smiling proudly.

"I get the satisfaction for everyone to see how gorgeous you are, while being the only one who has the right to touch you."

You let out a small burst of voice somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, the relief of his answer washing over you like a wave of comfort.

After that, he'd deserved more than just a show.

[pyrokineticwarrior]

[iincantatorum]

[floristjimin]

charles and edwin's enneagram types

ok so I’ve been seeing a lot of really good analysis on charles and edwin’s internal motivations and how they tend to react to difficult situations. I’ve also had a deep interest in the enneagram for several years, and I just started reading a book about it, and my brain immediately connected it to DBD. so here are my thoughts on what charles and edwin’s enneagram types might be, how this influences many different aspects of their personalities, how their types complement each other really well, and how they’ve supported each other to be the best versions of their true selves.

What is the Enneagram?

More than just a personality type, the nine types of the Enneagram describe the “basic archetypes of humanity’s tragic flaws, primary fears, and unconscious needs.” Most Enneagram authors agree that we are born with a dominant type, and that this type “determines the ways we learn to adapt to our early childhood environment.”

The types are not static — there are different “levels of development” that describe how each type behaves when they are psychologically healthy or unhealthy. There is also something called the direction of integration/disintegration — each type behaves like another type when they are under stress or in growth (e.g. type Nines behave like Sixes when they are stressed, and Threes when they are in growth). So two people with the same type may not behave the same way as each other, and a person throughout their own life may grow and change, but they will still align with that dominant type.

All this to say, the Enneagram is a really useful tool for self-understanding and for having empathy for yourself and others, because it gives a lot of insight into a person’s core fears and underlying motivations.

charles - type nine

A big part of Charles’s character arc in season one was the repression and denial of his own anger. This was the biggest clue for me that he might be a type Nine.

There are so many examples of this, especially in episode 4:

the scene with Charles and Crystal on the lighthouse where they talk about the events of the devlin house (Crystal: Charles, could we just for one second talk about what happened? Charles: Crystal, I don’t have anything else to say. yes, that guy was horrible. yes, my dad was horrible. yes, I got angry. now I’m fine. Crystal: you don’t have to keep things bottled up)

the scene (1) when Charles is upset that Edwin hid the fact that he saw the cat king again, Edwin directly asks “why are you getting so angry?” and Charles immediately falls quiet

the scene where Charles attacks night nurse — he can no longer hold back his anger, and his friends are shocked (2). It is unusual for him to express his anger like this.

Ok, so why do Nines tend to be out of touch with their anger? Type Nines are “the peacemaker”, described as easygoing, reassuring, and agreeable. The basic fear of the type Nine is of loss and separation (3), and their basic desire is to have inner stability, peace of mind. “They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting.” Nines want to avoid conflict; they have seen from past experiences that anger can be a huge source of conflict, so they learn to repress their anger.

This could also be part of the reason why Charles decides to stay (4) with Edwin when they first meet. Going with Death would mean having to fully accept the fact that he is dead, and that’s upsetting to him. Nines are also known as “chameleons” and tend to mirror/blend with those they are around (a way of avoiding conflict) — “being a separate self, an individual who must assert themselves against others, is terrifying to Nines. They would rather melt into someone else or quietly follow their idyllic daydreams.” So it makes sense that staying with Edwin feels like the safest option to Charles.

Some other scenes that make more sense through the lens of Charles being a type Nine:

Any time Edwin tries to initiate a serious conversation, Charles’s immediate reaction is to downplay things, and give a lighthearted response in an attempt to minimize tension (ep 6 (5), ep 7 (6)). There’s also that flicker of emotion on his face before he promptly represses it and tries to present a more reassuring reaction (ep 6 (7))

“Every (8) day, I’m fuckin’ smiling. ‘Cause who else is gonna be the one holding it together and keeping spirits up? … What good am I even doing? I couldn’t stop Devlin from murdering his family over and over, I can’t stop Crystal from hurting, I can’t stop whatever it is that’s going on with you, I can’t stop anything! I sure as hell couldn’t stop my dad from beating the shit out of me. No matter how good I was.” — This directly points to his desire to create harmony in his environment (and taking on way too much personal responsibility (9) for it)

The scene in ep 5 where Charles admits he is afraid (10) that he’s like his dad, and Edwin’s response (11) — this is a really important moment where Charles finally allows himself to acknowledge his feelings, and Edwin learns to respond with patience and mirrors the reassurance that Charles himself so freely gives.

edwin - type one

One of the things we learn about Edwin in the very first episode of season one is that he deeply cares about solving cases and helping others.

“Our (12) deaths didn’t matter. No one ever solved them. Now you are sharp and fun, but this is not a game. We are solving cases that would never be solved. Police don’t know what to do with a fucking witch! We didn’t matter. He and I. So these cases matter. They have to matter!”

Type One is “The Reformer”; they are described as principled, purposeful, and self-controlled. The basic fear of the type One is that they are corrupt, evil, and defective (which makes it even more devastating that he spent 70 years in hell), and their basic desire is to be good, have integrity, and be balanced.

This description above reminds me a LOT of the conversation he has with the cat king in episode 4:

Cat King: Why do these cases of complete strangers matter to you so much? Edwin: Not that you would understand, but I help ghosts whose cases would go unsolved. I right wrongs. [after Cat King forces him to tell the “truth”] Edwin: I’m also doing as much good as I can, so that eventually if I have to go back to hell, I can make my case for leniency … I’m ashamed. It’s selfish.”

A lot of Edwin’s repression definitely has to do with the time period he’s from, but I think it also points to that type One desire to be “good”.

Does this not perfectly describe Edwin’s entire journey (13) of self-discovery in season one? See also, his remarks about emotions (14) and human connection (15).

Lastly, I’ll link to this post (16), as well as the fact that it took me a lot of thinking to figure out that Edwin was a One — he does not fit the usual stereotype of a One. He’s not overly perfectionistic or highly critical, he’s not afraid of making mistakes. Instead, we see a One at a healthy level — principled, a person of integrity, who is able to see that imperfections are part of perfection, who is able to work on undoing those patterns of repression. Additionally, type Ones tend to look like Sevens when they are in a direction of growth — Sevens are described as spontaneous and playful, constantly seeking new and exciting experiences. We definitely start to see this side of Edwin, and I think part of why he is able to grow in this direction is because his friendship with Charles has given him an environment where he feels safe and comfortable.

charles & edwin - the relationship between Ones and Nines

Even more interesting, there is a section on the Enneagram site that discusses relationship dynamics between different Enneagram types. This part highlights how the One and the Nine have different ways of reacting to stress and how they express (or don't express) anger:

For Edwin, this perfectly captures his prickliness and snippiness in the first few episodes towards Crystal.

And for Charles, this lines up with his emotions (17)/reactions starting from episode 3 in the devlin house and how he tries to ignore his emotions and repress his anger

Lastly, on a more positive note, this part really describes their partnership and synergy perfectly:

I also think this ties in to Charles’s direction of growth — as a type Nine, Charles would look like a type Three in his direction of growth. Threes are described as adaptable, driven, and energetic (as well as attractive and charming). I think he exhibits all of these traits -- being friends with Edwin for the past 30 years has definitely supported Charles in this direction of growth.

Overall, I think all of this really speaks to how realistic and complex these characters are. If you read this whole thing, THANK YOU. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this, if you agree with these types, if you have any more examples you can think of in the show, if you think they fit better with a different type, etc.!! And if you’re interested in learning more about the Enneagram I’ll leave some sources below.

The Enneagram Institute website

The Sacred Enneagram by Christopher L. Heuertz

Sleeping at Last podcast feat. Chris Heuertz, about type One and Nine

One by Sleeping at Last

Nine by Sleeping at Last

references: 1 - @that-ineffable-devil 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15 - @mellxncollie 3, 7 - @homoquartz 4, 13 - @nikossasaki 9 - @asidian 16 - @abeautifulblog 17 - @melefim

[ejoym]

OC Smash or Pass

Tagged by @tadpole-apocalypse !

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Devlin

Quick Facts:

Height: 5'4"

Age: 45~ish

Gender: female

Pronouns: she / her

Sexuality: pansexual

Pros:

Fun sense of humor, will go out of her way to make others laugh

Hot goth elf

Cons:

Likes clowns

Daddy Durge issues

Public record of indecent exposure

Has a rotting frankenfoot

Occasionally bathes in gore

Recovering from a habit of killing people she sleeps with…

Recovering from a habit of sleeping with corpses…

Recovering from a habit of the two previous conditions being concurrently true.

Sharp teeth

“Snot makes great lubricant”

Gets off to cosmic horror 

Each morning she looks into a fractured mirror...the smiling countenance of her Pierrot mask obscuring the uncanny reflection that gazes back.

Uses her breasts like barbie dolls to roleplay sexual fantasies

I'mma tag @goromimii ! And would also love to see anyone else who wants to join. 😄

[diangelodork]

very quick DBDA nightly analysis #9 for tonight bc i don’t have much free time lol

i want to discuss when, in E5, charles defends brad and hunter despite having just had the convo w shelby about what they did to her and what inevitably led her to take her own life.

charles is acting very emotionally here, of course, as i’ve discussed in a previous analysis. this is because he’s projecting onto brad and hunter.

something i failed to mention before, charles is getting beat tf on in this episode + the last two.

these three episodes are just repeatedly beating charles down. first, we have the devlin house where he is forced to relive some of his worst trauma through relating it to the situation, then the lighthouse leapers where he is quite literally made to relive that trauma in the literal sense, and then we have this episode where he’s projecting his deepest hopes and desires onto these people who turn out to be pieces of shit which forces him to fear that he may be one too.

in this episode, crystal points out his false niceties when he’s dealing with so much shit and how the last two episodes have caused her and edwin to feel something akin to fear. she specifically says “edwin and i are walking on eggshells around you instead of just saying ‘what the actual fuck??’”

this specific line is really interesting to me, because we have heard this line before in this show. in episode three, the devlin house.

the passage that charles reads from hope’s journal says “im on eggshells trying not to break one of his crazy rules,” in relation to her abusive father.

it’s certainly not intentional on crystal’s part, but i think this writing choice may serve as a good indicator of what charles is feeling at this moment. he tells edwin later in this exact episode about that overwhelming fear of being like them (brad, hunter, and his dad are the specific people he references).

i think this writing choice used the same phrase to mirror those two moments. he’s terrified he’s like his own father (who he sees in the devlin father) and one of the people he cares about most is telling him that his two best friends feel the same way hope felt about her dad. the same way he felt about his.

[esoterium]

@coinquinatvs || your affection || accepting!

[ Henry, for Beaver~ ] 💓 – to  listen  to  my  muse's  heartbeat.

they're relaxed back against a bunch of pillows piled on the floor in front of the television. large screen playing one of henry's favorite movies. something beaver hasn't seen that he doesn't remember the title of. but it's good and it's sucked him in. not as much as the head on his chest though.

beaver's long fingers push through the hair on top of henry's head as the other hums against his chest. legs tangle with the others and a soft sigh parts his laps. glasses long forgotten, he doesn't need them to see this close anyway. the tv screen's big enough. this is moment's perfect. they got a fire going. the light bounces off the ceiling, the walls. murmuring down into the softness of henry's hair--beav murmurs, "ever think we'd end up like this? cause i'm starting to wonder if this is a dream i'm going to wake up from sooner or later. too damn good to be true."

in all these years? he didn't think he could find such a perfect thing. and it's been under his nose the whole fucking time. from relationship to relationship. one failed married and a handful of other attempts before that. all fell to pieces. he's too much to deal with. too much to take. there's too much in his head that he doesn't let out and too much baggage for someone else. he doesn't blame them. not a single bit. to get the hell out of dodge and not look back.

henry knows all that shit and more. knows everything about him. the most anyone ever has. then some. it's how they're all wired together. "took so much bullshit for us to see. too many damn years. figurs though. that'd be us..walk a mile to gain an inch." lips press against the top of henry's head.