#focusing more on the horror of his position and his own feelings contrasting with the control reader wields over him and the narrative

[lovesickeros]

i love the way you write so much the allusions and similes strike such vivid imagery i love it smsmsm

unironically extremely fun to do even as a writing exercise. something so good about creating such a vivid yet vague description that implies something horrifying if you look deep enough kind of vibes. eldritch horror shoved into a paragraph.

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Now, back to Volume 1 Chapter 9!

Insurance Ladies know they are going above and beyond what is normal here. But, they still continue as consummate professionals.

THIS IS SO ADORABLE!!! SO CUTE SO CUTE SO CUUUTEE!

I like the tiny little details that hints something about the characters too.

The most obvious things are Milly's childish expression (playful) and Vash's one leg raised on the seat position (gremlin). However, "no nonsense" Meryl's feet are placed inside the table's rings! You'd expect her to put them by the side of the table but nooooo!!! They need to be IN the ring (she's not above them all!). LMAO.

Tbh... I think the Kaite & Vash relationship feels more fleshed out here in the manga than the anime. I guess it's because of the Rem conversation. It added more weight to their interactions.

Also, they're adorable! Kaite is one sharp kid calling out Vash's bullshit. Vash, like a dog with a bone, keeps deflecting.

Oh wow. This is a huge difference from '98. Kaite was totally alone when he approached the crew.

And this is just as painful and hard to see because, you can absolutely understand the crew's reaction and feelings. What Kaite did was wrong. At the same time tho, he is just a kid who didn't know better. Taking out their grief and fury on him is not right.

Gosh... It makes me think of Little Vash and The Great Fall.

I wonder what exactly went through Vash's head here. In my perspective, Kaite is reflecting Vash unknowingly in this scene. But it's so painful because he's just a kid. He should never have been put in this position. He is too young to be on this path for atonement and redemption! It's just wrong.

Hmmm. Another big difference. Interesting. The Plant was never mentioned in '98 at all.

So, Tristamp followed this manga arc more closely. Some elements are remixed such as Wolfwood replacing Kaite, the Gung-ho Guns substituting BDN as a threat, and the race is avoiding destroying a town instead of avoiding falling off a cliff. All beats are the same tho.

HOWEVER!

I think '98 has a more logical timeline personally because they are in a hurry to stop the ship right? It's a critical moment. If you think about it, there should not have been enough time for Vash to regroup with Kaite after the duel. So, '98 having these two events happen simultaneously is actually good.

Another benefit is Kaite's offer to help feels much more genuine when he was alone and away from Vash in '98. It really sells the idea that this is entirely his own decision despite the risks of retribution.

Of course, Vash didn't influence him in the manga too but by visually having him there with Kaite, it kinda undersells it imo.

Oi. Vash. That's no way to talk about your sister!

While I do appreciate the changes on the Plant design in Tristamp, I really like the '98/Manga more. They're both excellent designs for Sci-Fi but I just really like the 90's flavor of magical Angel Power Plant... which appeases my thing for magitek.

Tristamp tho is a modern flavor of alien Faerie Power Plant - not bad but not my cup of tea. However, the glowing lines feature is wonderful! It reinforces the idea of them being power plants because they have "circuits" in the body. Restraining myself from saying Magic Circuits!

Oh... This is a really fascinating set of panels that I think both '98 and Tristamp haven't adapted well.

'98 kinda skipped this. However in Tristamp, the emphasis on Plants is very clinical. Not sure if that is the best way to describe it, but, in the plants feels so much more objectified in Tristamp. I guess the horror element about the human-plant relationship is further emphasized there.

It's contrasting the manga which seems to be more focused on the awe-inspiring side of it like in the scene above. The scientist waxes poetic and is practically making a religion out of the whole thing.

I guess, to put it simply, the manga effectively shows how humans see Plants worthy of worship. Meanwhile, Tristamp displays how humans see Plants as just a life-essential battery.

So beautiful... Oh...

What if the re-design happened because animating expressive individual feathers would be a pain for Orange staff? GASP! Is that why everyone's hair were cut short?! Because hair is tedious to animate. OMFG... IS THIS WHY MILLY WAS CUT OUT IN SEASON 1 since she really really long luscious locks?!

I kid. I kid. 🤣

Oh. That's really clever remixing by Studio Madhouse. So '98 Miss Purple Avenger Episode is like a "Prototype" of this manga arc. This is where Vash having to prevent an explosion of a Plant came from.

Okay. Another great difference... I've been saying that a lot in this chapter. Sorry.

In '98, Vash dealt with this alone and the only witness was terrified. It focused more on the mystery.

However, here in the manga, Vash is not alone. Humans must work with him to save the Plant and everyone. He can only buy time but it's up to them to stop the whole thing. It's a really nice display of Vash's hopes and beliefs regarding human-plant relations. ----> BTW, the art in this page is really pretty and interesting! (1) The almost "gradient" like transition of Vash's coat to the bulb is so creative. (2) The drawing of the Plant resembling a blooming flower: feathers as ray florets, the plant/sister as the disk floret, and the wires as receptacle/stem.

These pages are so gorgeous and the way the slowing down of the heartbeat was shown through the interspersed tiny panels is just really good.

ROFL. The human instinct of "I don't know what's going on but it's helping so I won't pry anymore and I'll just roll with it!". Love to see it!

I think this arc is so good because it justifies Vash's often criticized brand of hope - his endless patience at giving humans chances to bridge the gap between their species.

Humans can work together and save themselves with just a little push. They won't rely on exploitation forever.

People can realize when they are wrong. They can atone and redeem themselves. They do not stay cruel and ignorant forever. They are capable of change. ----> Also, this art is so perfectly adapted in '98. This page, actually, all the pages relating to this collective effort of humans to save the ships (with a bit of an assist from Vash) is so heartwarming to read. ----> Oh... Kudos again to '98 because since they relegated the 'Vash prevents a Plant explosion' to an earlier episode, the episode covering this particular plot had him out of commission. So, the stakes have become higher. Humans must set aside their differences and work together to save each other and Vash too.

And finally, humans are more than what they seem. They are complicated. What could be an enemy at first could turn out to be an ally that can save you later.

This entire conclusion to the conflict is just good and very... Vash. This is what he wants for Knives to see and understand about humans.

I think '98 really did well in adapting the essence of this arc. Tristamp is complicated because now, on hindsight as I read the manga, the episodes are basically hard-carrying and working overtime telling multiple plot lines at once!

Let's see... in Tristamp's version of this arc:

Wolfwood was working double time in the narrative as "Kaite" and one half of the "Good/Hope of Humanity". Not to mention he has his own conflict going on too.

Meryl was the second half of the "Good/Hope of Humanity" that works with Vash (Plant) in saving people.

Unfortunately, with BDN being replaced by the Gung-ho Guns, there is nothing that echoes the "Hidden Depths Enemy Turned Ally"... character...No way... OMFG! WOLFWOOD WAS SUBSTITUTING FOR THAT ROLE TOO IN THIS ARC!!! Poor Woofwoof!

Roberto is a unique addition since he is a Tristamp OG, but I think he represents well the approach taken by Orange with Trigun. He is like the "Flaws/Indifference of Humanity". He is good but experience had turned him into someone that's jaded and refuses to rock the boat (unlike Meryl). His age and 100% ordinary human status prevents him from surviving long enough to change his disposition too (unlike Wolfwood). It's pretty in line with Orange's more emphasis on the "darker" aspects of the story.

WHA-?!!!

Eh? Eh? EHHH?!!

WHY WAS THIS CHANGED IN '98?!!! THIS IS ADORABLE AND COOL!!! AHHHH!!!! NOOOO!!!!

But... then there won't be Meryl and Milly supporting injured Vash. NOOOO!!! Augh. AND THERE WON'T BE TRISTAMP VERSION OF THIS! AHHHH!!!!

Oh. So, the singing is in the manga too. That's a surprise. I thought it was a '98 original scene.

Awwww. ಥ_ಥ

[bardic-tales]

Happy Blorbo Blursday!

Have any of your characters come from a position of privilege that they’ve never had to examine?

Happy Blorbo Blursday, Mara. Thank you for the ask. I hope you are having a wonderful day. I have one character that fits this question. So, I'm going to talk about the big bad of Fantasy Worlds Collide, Azrakiel (Asmodeus).

Content Warnings: Abuse of Power, Manipulation, Entitlement, Superiority Complex, Parental Exploitation, Lack of Consent, Themes of Lust and Desire, Familial Conflict, Betrayal, Morally Ambiguous Relationships, Existential Struggle, Internal Conflict, Cosmic Horror, Loss of Identity, Ambition, Violence, Civil War, Societal Hierarchy, Emotional Trauma, and Descent into Darkness.

Azrakiel's origins as a revered angelic watcher grants him a unique perspective on privilege. He was among the first angels to be created by the Creator Deity and was granted the motif of a 'holy dragon', which is Azrakiel's true form. He was once a celestial being of unmatched grace and considered himself the celestial race of angels' as superior to the race of man. His elevated position once provided immense respect among his peers, but it also came with a sense of entitlement that shaped his worldview. He also believed that a celestial being can do what they want with the mortals: including mating and marrying them. This was one of the reasons he sided with Lucifer in the civil war that rocked the Celestial Realm and lead to him being kicked out of the Celestial Realm with the other rebels and securing him the title of the Prince of Lust as Amodeus.

Despite his fall from Grace, his ambitions remain deeply intertwined with the remnants of his celestial origins. Rather than addressing the moral complexities that came with his previous position and power, he chooses to exploit his understanding of cosmic forces for manipulation and control. This lack of introspection leads him to see himself as a master of destiny and an aspiring demon who lusts for omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence. He really is unconcerned about the impact he has on others, believing in the reason justifies the means. His refusal to confront the implications of his privilege creates a stark contrast between the angel he was and the primordial demon he became.

Azrakiel's privilege is reflected in his relationship with others, especially his daughter Bianca Moore. He views her as a pawn in his grand schemes, and he will often overlook her own autonomy and experiences. His ambitions blind him to the reality that Bianca, as a being of light and dark, possesses her own identity and power and is much more than the Harbinger of Chaos, Lady Amara, and the Duchess of Lust. Rather than nurturing their family bond, he would rather exploit her divinity to achieve his goals. I feel this dynamic emphasizes how his lack of self-examination not only continues a cycle of control but also creates a chasm in his familial relationships. By focusing on his relentless quest for supremacy and refusing to recognize the privilege that he once enjoyed as a Watcher Angel, he risks losing the very connection that could ground him, redeem him, and give him a true purpose besides getting back at his father, the Creator Deity.

Interested in joining the Creator’s Club? Please check out this post on it.

[breederking]

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering screen of the gaming console in the corner. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, a stark contrast to the muffled grunts and digital screams echoing from the TV speakers. Forrest, a proud and burly transgender man, lay atop his unsuspecting boyfriend, James, his swollen belly a silent testament to the life they had created together. James, engrossed in his favorite stealth horror game, had no idea that his evening of virtual terror was about to be interrupted by a very real and urgent need.

Forrest took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he positioned himself over James's erect member. He knew he had to be as quiet as a mouse, lest he ruin James's gaming experience. The baby inside him was stubborn, refusing to come out despite being overdue, and he had heard that sex could help induce labor. It was a desperate move, but he was willing to try anything to escape the prison of his own body. He lowered himself down, feeling the heat of James's flesh against his own, and began to ride him in slow, deliberate motions.

James's eyes never left the screen, his thumbs dancing over the game controller as if his life depended on it. The only indication of his awareness of Forrest's actions was a slight furrow in his brow. Forrest bit his lip, trying to keep his own moans of pleasure at bay. Each movement sent waves of pain and pressure through his body, a delicate dance between the need to stay silent and the overwhelming sensation of James's cock filling him up. His nipples, sensitive from the pregnancy, brushed against James's chest, leaving a trail of milk and sweat.

The tension grew with every silent thrust. Forrest's heart raced, not from fear of the game's monstrous villain, but from the fear of being caught by his own body's betrayal. He could feel the muscles in his abdomen contracting, the baby's movements more insistent now as it seemed to respond to the rhythmic pounding. His eyes squeezed shut, he focused on the game's audio, the soft creaks and whispers that signaled danger. He matched his breathing to the rhythm, hoping it would be enough to keep his noises unnoticed.

James's concentration was unwavering, the game's intensity demanding his full attention. "Be quiet, would you?" he murmured, not taking his eyes off the screen. His voice was low, the frustration clear even through the headset. Forrest's eyes shot open, and he nodded fervently, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He redoubled his efforts, his teeth sinking into James's shoulder to muffle the whimpers that threatened to escape.

James's hand reached up to adjust the headset, the movement causing a brief interruption in his gameplay. Forrest took this opportunity to increase his pace, his thighs quivering with the effort to keep the noise to a minimum. The room was a symphony of hushed gasps and muffled slaps of flesh against flesh, a stark counterpoint to the digital chaos playing out on the screen.

"For fuck's sake, keep it down," James hissed, his eyes never straying from the game. Forrest nodded again, his eyes brimming with silent apologies as he buried his face into James's shoulder. The pressure was building, the cocktail of pain and pleasure a potent mix that had him teetering on the edge of a climax and possibly, labor. He focused on the feel of James's strong arms around him, the steady beat of his heart, and the way his cock stretched him open with each delicate thrust.

The game grew more intense, the music rising to a crescendo as James approached a critical juncture. Forrest felt the head of James's cock swell inside him, a sign that he was getting closer to his own release. His hips rolled faster, his body moving almost of its own accord, desperate to find that sweet spot that would send him over the edge and perhaps, bring the baby closer to freedom. The digital monsters grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the game's tense atmosphere, and James's grip on the controller tightened.

Forrest's breath was hot against James's neck, his teeth digging in slightly as he held back the noises that yearned to escape. His hands clutched at the sheets, his knuckles white with the effort of staying silent. The contractions grew stronger, gripping his stomach in a vice-like grip that had him seeing stars. Yet, he couldn't stop. He had to keep going, had to push through the pain for the sake of the child that grew impatient within him.

James's hips began to buck upwards, meeting Forrest's movements with an urgency that matched his own. His eyes remained glued to the screen, his mouth moving in silent curses as he tried to navigate the game's treacherous terrain. The digital monsters grew closer, their digital breath hot on the back of James's neck, and Forrest felt a matching heat building within him. The need to be loud, to scream and shout and demand release was almost unbearable.

The moment of truth came when James's character was caught, the screen flashing red and the game's music screeching to a halt. He angrily slammed the pause button and threw the controller aside, his eyes finally meeting Forrest's. "What the fuck are you doing?" he snarled, the question laced with accusation and anger. Forrest's body was taut with need, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I'm trying," he gasped out, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm trying to make the baby come."

James's expression twisted into something uglier than the monsters on his screen. He grabbed Forrest's hips roughly, yanking him down onto his cock. "There," he snarled, "Is that what you want? You fucking knocked up bitch." He began to pound into Forrest with a ferocity that made the earlier gentle love-making seem like a distant memory. Forrest's eyes widened with a mix of shock and pain, but he didn't protest. The contractions grew stronger, his body responding to the harsh treatment with a desperate urgency.

Forrest's enlarged clit was trapped between their bodies, grazing James's skin with each bounce. The sensation was overwhelming, a spark of pleasure that ignited in the midst of the painful storm. He tried to rub against James, to coax that sweet spot into releasing him from his torment, but James's aggressive thrusts made it impossible. His clit was swollen and sensitive, begging for more, but the pain was too intense to allow for the delicate maneuvers he desired. He felt like a ragdoll, his body at the mercy of James's brutal strokes.

James's hips slammed into Forrest's with a ferocity that sent shockwaves through the room, his eyes glinting with a sadistic satisfaction. Forrest's belly was a heavy weight, anchored to James's stomach, each impact causing the flesh to jiggle and bounce. The pressure grew unbearable, his insides feeling as though they were being crushed by an unyielding force. Yet, amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of hope. The contractions grew stronger, the baby's protests against the rough treatment a beacon that told him he was getting closer to his goal.

A tear slipped from Forrest's eye, tracing a path down his cheek and disappearing into the fabric of the pillow. His nails dug into James's back, leaving half-moons of pain as he tried to hold on, to endure the abuse. The room was a cocoon of sound, the only noises their muffled grunts and the erratic thump of their bodies colliding. Forrest's body was a battleground, the war between pleasure and pain raging on as he approached climax and, hopefully, the onset of labor.

Suddenly, the sharp sting of a contraction sliced through him, stealing his breath away. He bit down harder on James's shoulder, his teeth breaking the skin and eliciting a grunt of pain from the man beneath him. James's grip on his hips tightened, his movements becoming erratic as he neared his own climax. Forrest could feel the baby shifting, as if sensing the change in rhythm and urgency, pressing down harder on his cervix.

With a final, desperate thrust, James reached his peak, his cock pulsing deep inside Forrest's body. The sensation sent Forrest spiraling into his own orgasm, his body convulsing around James's length. The pain of the contraction melded with the pleasure of release, leaving him gasping for air as James's hot cum filled him up. The room spun around him, the game long forgotten by then both as the focus narrowed to the fierce cramps gripping his abdomen.

And then, with a suddenness that took Forrest's breath away, his water broke. The warm gush of fluid soaked the chair and trickled down onto James's lap, pooling around his still erect cock. For a brief moment, the only sound in the room was the slow dribble of amniotic fluid onto the floor. James's eyes widened in surprise and disgust, his gaze darting from the game screen to the mess between them. "What the fuck, Forrest?" he exclaimed, his voice louder than it had been all night.

Forrest's eyes were squeezed shut, his body racked with the first true contraction of the night. He could feel the baby's head pressing down, insistent and unyielding. He took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, "It's happening." The reality of the situation dawned on James, and his expression morphed into one of annoyance. "You better get off me, you're ruining my chair," he groused, pushing at Forrest's hips to dislodge himself.

Forrest's water continued to gush, soaking through James's pants and leaving a dark stain on the fabric. The scent of amniotic fluid filled the room, mingling with the faint smell of sweat and arousal. "Come on, Forrest," James said, his voice a mix of irritation and urgency. "Get this kid out already, and then we'll deal with the mess." He didn't bother to move his cock, which remained lodged inside Forrest as if frozen in place by the sudden turn of events.

Forrest nodded, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. "I need to get up," he managed to get out. "The baby's coming."

"Jesus Christ, whatever," James muttered, rolling his eyes. He pulled out of Forrest with a wet pop and stood up, his cock still hard and glistening. Forrest's legs were wobbly, and he reached out for James's arm, which was begrudgingly given. With a heave, James helped Forrest to his feet, the chair soaked beneath them.

Forrest's knees buckled slightly as another contraction hit him, and he leaned heavily against James, his breaths coming in quick pants. "We need to go to the couch," he gritted out, his eyes watering. "I can't have the baby on your chair."

"Fine," James said, his tone begrudging. He wrapped his arm around Forrest's waist and helped him waddle over to the couch, his other hand still clutching his erection, which had yet to wilt despite the situation. He deposited Forrest onto the couch with little care, his eyes still glancing back at the game paused on the TV.

Forrest leaned back against the couch cushions, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the contractions grew closer together. The pain was intense, but he felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this would be it, the moment he had been waiting for. "Thanks," he murmured to James, his eyes searching for any sign of concern or empathy.

James, however, remained by the door, his eyes lingering on the paused game before he finally sauntered over to the couch, tossing a towel at Forrest's head. "Put that under you so you don't ruin my fucking couch next," he said with a roll of his eyes. Forrest's cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and anger, but he knew better than to argue. He spread the towel out beneath him, trying to ignore the way James's cum and the remnants of his own water break had started to pool on the floor.

The contractions grew closer together, each one more demanding than the last. Forrest's hands clutched the armrests of the couch, his knuckles white as he bared down, trying to remember everything the midwife had taught him about breathing and relaxation. James sat on the edge of the couch, his thumbs flying across his phone as he sent off a message to his friends, complaining about the interruption to his night.

James began playing his game again, the sounds of digital horrors filling the room once more. Forrest tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his own breathing. He didn't want to disturb James's game any further, not after the scolding he'd just received. His body was a maelstrom of sensations, his clit still half-hard and his pussy leaking cum, his belly tightening like a fist with each contraction.

Forrest's eyes rolled back in his head as a particularly intense wave hit him, his body arching off the couch. James grunted in annoyance and paused the game. "You're gonna make a mess," he said without looking up. "You should go to the bathroom or something." Forrest gritted his teeth, trying to hold in the scream that was building in his chest. He knew better than to argue. He waddled to the bathroom, the towel still clutched under him.

The bathroom was cold, the tiles sticky with their combined fluids. Forrest leaned against the counter, panting heavily. He could feel the baby moving, the pressure building. He looked into the mirror and saw the reflection of a man in pain, his stomach stretched to the brink, his body bruised and used. He whispered to himself, "You can do this."

He was in disbelief at how swollen he had become. His belly jutted out in front of him, having to rest on the sink. He felt massive and so heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world. Each breath was a struggle, his ribs aching under the pressure. He gasped as a contraction hit, the pain like a vice around his middle. He looked down, watching in awe as his stomach muscles contracted, his skin taut and shiny with sweat.

Moving with the urgency of the contractions, Forrest managed to get onto all fours on the towel in the bathroom, his body feeling a bit more stable and supported in this position. He let out a few quiet grunts, feeling more comfortable making sound now that he wasn't right next to James and his game. The sound was a strange mix of pain and pleasure, his body desperately trying to find relief from the pressure of the baby and the lingering sensitivity from James's rough treatment.

But the peace didn't last long. From the living room, James's voice boomed, "My mic picked that shit up! Would it kill you to just be fucking quiet? Pop the kid out already!" Forrest flinched, the words cutting through his concentration like a knife. He knew he had to be quieter, but the pain was so intense it was hard to hold back his sounds. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. He couldn't let James's words get to him; he had to do this for his baby.

He began to rock his hips back and forth, his swollen clit brushing against the towel, sending waves of pleasure through his body. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep his moans to a minimum. The contractions grew stronger, the baby's head pushing down with a force that made him feel like he was going to split in two. His eyes squeezed shut, and he dug his fingers into the fabric of the towel, willing the baby to come.

"Keep it down!" James's voice pierced the quiet of the bathroom, echoing down the hall. Forrest's eyes snapped open, his cheeks flushing with humiliation. He knew James didn't care about his pain, didn't care about the life they had created together. All he cared about was his fucking game.

The contractions grew more intense, and with each one, Forrest's body begged for release, for the sweet relief that only the baby's birth could bring. He focused on the feel of the towel beneath him, the coolness of the floor tiles against his knees. The only thing keeping him grounded in reality was the pain, a reminder that this was happening, that he was going to be a father.

In the corner of the bathroom, a shadow flickered, the light from the game casting eerie patterns on the walls. Forrest's mind was a whirlwind of fear and determination, his thoughts racing faster than his heart. He didn't know how much longer he could take it, the pain building like a crescendo that never reached its peak. The room grew hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desperation.

With a final, powerful contraction, Forrest felt the baby's head begin to crown. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot knife slicing through him. He bit down on the towel, the fabric muffling his screams as he pushed with all his might. His body was not his own, a marionette dancing to the tune of the baby's insistent demands. The contraction subsided, leaving him panting and sweaty, his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

"What the fuck are you doing in there?" James yelled, his voice muffled by the closed door. Forrest didn't answer, couldn't answer. He was too busy trying to keep the baby in check, trying to keep his own sanity. He could feel the head slipping back up, retreating from the world like it had changed its mind.

The door swung open, the light from the living room spilling in and illuminating the small, cramped space. James's shadow loomed over him, his silhouette outlined by the flickering TV. "You're gonna ruin the bathroom," he complained, his voice a mix of irritation and boredom.

Forrest felt the baby shift again, the pressure building once more. He looked up at James, his eyes pleading. "Please, just... let me do this," he whispered, his voice trembling. James rolled his eyes and turned away, muttering something about being interrupted and his game's score.

The contractions grew stronger, the baby's head pushing down with a force that seemed to rip Forrest apart. He panted and pushed, his eyes squeezed shut, the only light in the room coming from the gap under the door. He could hear James's frustrated sighs and the occasional grunt of his own, but he couldn't focus on anything except the overwhelming need to be free of the pain and bring his child into the world.

The next contraction hit like a truck, and with it, the urge to push was undeniable. Forrest's body took over, his muscles contracting with a power that left him feeling out of control. He bore down, his face contorted with effort, and felt the baby's head start to emerge. The pain was unreal, but it was a pain with a purpose now, a pain that meant life was coming.

James looked up from his game, his expression one of irritation. "You're probably doing it wrong," he said, his voice distant and uncaring.

Forrest gritted his teeth, pushing away the hurt that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he had to keep going. With a primal roar, he pushed again, the sound of his pain muffled by the fabric of the towel. The head of the baby slid out, the soft, wet sound of new life entering the world stark against the digital cacophony from the other room.

James paused his game, finally looking up at Forrest with something other than annoyance. "Oh, so you're actually doing it?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I thought you were just being dramatic."

Forrest ignored the comment, his body in the throes of a contraction that had him gripping the towel with all his might. The baby's head was out, the rest of its body following in a rush of fluid and blood. He could feel the stretching, the burning, the overwhelming need to push again.

"Come on, get it out," James said, his voice a strange mix of boredom and impatience. Forrest's eyes narrowed, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain and determination. He took a deep breath and pushed, the baby's shoulders emerging with a pop that made him scream into the fabric of the towel.

The sound of James's game was a distant murmur as Forrest's world narrowed down to the task at hand. Each push brought with it a fresh wave of agony, but it was an agony with a purpose now. The baby was coming, and no amount of digital horror could distract him from that fact.

With one final, Herculean effort, Forrest felt the baby slide out of him. The relief was instant and overwhelming, a sudden absence of pressure that left him feeling empty and weak. He collapsed onto the towel, his body shaking with the aftershocks of labor, the baby's cries a sweet symphony in his ears.

James leaned over, his eyes wide with a mix of revulsion and fascination. "Well, I'll be damned," he murmured, reaching out to touch the slimy newborn. His hand hovered for a moment before retreating. "It's... it's a boy," he said, his voice hollow.

Forrest felt a surge of pride and love, despite the pain and the coldness of James's words. He had done it; he had brought a life into the world. He looked up at his boyfriend, searching for any sign of affection or connection in his eyes, but all he found was a smirk and a glint of something darker.

James reached for his phone, snapping a few pictures of the newborn, cropping Forrest out of the frame with a cruel efficiency. He sent the photos to his gamer friends, the words "Check out James Jr." accompanying the images. "Got a knocked up bitch to pop out a baby," he typed with a sense of pride that made Forrest's heart drop into his stomach. The replies came quickly, a flurry of congratulations and crude jokes that only served to underscore the reality of their situation.

Forrest looked up at James, his eyes brimming with tears, his body still trembling from the exertion of childbirth. "Is that all he is to you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the effort of labor.

James shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the TV screen. "It's what you're good for, isn't it?" He leaned back, his hand still stroking his semi-hard cock, his eyes glazed over as he focused on the game. Forrest's heart ached, feeling the weight of James's cruel words like a leaden stone in his chest. He knew James didn't see him as an equal, didn't respect his identity as a man, but he had hoped, just once, that their shared experience of bringing a child into the world might change something.

"It's my fucking son, Forrest," James said, his voice laced with a cold anger that sent shivers down Forrest's spine. "You just gave birth on MY bathroom floor." He didn't bother to look up from his game, his eyes still glued to the screen as he spoke. "You're the kid's mother. Now be a mother and feed him. And clean up the fucking floor."

Forrest's eyes fell to the squalling bundle of life between his legs. The baby's cries pierced the air, a stark reminder of the "love" that had brought them to this moment. With trembling hands, he reached down to cradle his son, the warmth and weight of him a stark contrast to James's coldness. He gently rubbed the boy's back, feeling the sticky mess of blood and amniotic fluid against his own skin.

He took a shaky breath, cradling the baby against his chest. The little one's wails grew louder, a demand for sustenance that was as natural as breathing. Forrest's body responded instinctively, his nipples hardening and leaking milk. He felt the warmth of the baby's skin, the softness of his newborn cries, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

James's voice was a distant echo, the cruelty of his words lost in the symphony of life and pain that filled the room. Forrest pulled his shirt up, exposing his chest to the cold air. He was bruised, his nipples sensitive from the abuse, but the baby didn't care. He latched on eagerly, his tiny mouth suckling with surprising strength. Forrest winced, the pain a stark reminder of the man who had fathered this child.

As the baby fed, Forrest's mind raced. He had hoped that the birth would be a turning point, that James would finally see him as an equal, as a partner. But the coldness in his eyes, the way he had used his body without care or thought, it was all too clear. He was nothing more than a breeding tool to James, a means to an end.

James resumed playing his game, his eyes flickering with excitement as he navigated the digital hellscape. His hand absently stroked his cock, a mindless habit that Forrest had seen a hundred times before. The sound of the baby's nursing filled the room, a stark contrast to the digital screams coming from the TV. As Forrest watched James, his heart was heavy with a mix of love for his child and disgust for the man he had once thought he could love.

James's eyes never left the screen as he played his game, his hand moving in a steady rhythm on his member. Forrest felt a strange sense of detachment, his body still trembling from the exertion of childbirth, his mind reeling from the painful realization of his partner's true nature.

But the baby's hunger was insatiable, and Forrest's body responded with a fierce love that overwhelmed everything else. He held the newborn closer, his chest tight with emotion as he watched the little boy suckle at his bruised nipples. The pain was a small price to pay for the warmth and life that now filled him.

James's grunts grew louder, his hand moving faster, his eyes still glued to the screen. Forrest felt a strange mix of arousal and anger, his own cock hardening despite the situation. He knew James didn't see him as a man, didn't care for him beyond what his body could provide, but the act of feeding their child brought out something primal in him.

Though his contractions had subsided, the pain lingered, a dull throb in his abdomen that was a constant reminder of what he had just endured. The baby's nails scraped against his chest, a gentle reminder of the life they had created together. Forrest felt a fierce protectiveness well up inside him, a need to shield his son from the ugliness that was his father.

James's grunts grew louder, his hand moving faster as he approached his climax. The sound was a stark contrast to the soft, content noises of the baby nursing. The juxtaposition of Forrest's pain and James's pleasure, an unwelcome reminder of the power dynamics in their relationship. He watched with a mix of anger and fascination as James's hand worked up and down his shaft, the digital world on the screen forgotten for the moment.

James groaned, his hips bucking slightly as he came into his hand, a small spurt of cum landing on the arm of the chair. He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Looks like I'm gonna have to clean up again," he murmured, his voice still thick with arousal. He wiped his hand on the couch cushion before picking the game controller back up, his attention immediately drawn back to the screen.

Forrest sat on the floor, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of labor. The baby had stopped crying, now contentedly nursing at his chest, the room echoing with the soft sounds of his suckling. He stared down at his son, his heart swelling with love and fear for what the future might hold. The coldness in James's eyes had not dissipated, and the weight of his words was a heavy burden to bear.

"What're you looking at, bitch?" James sneered, standing up from the chair. He had barely moved from his position, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he cleaned himself off with a grimy towel. Forrest's cheeks burned with the sting of James's cruelty, but he didn't look away, his gaze fixed on his son.

"Just... just looking at our son," Forrest replied, his voice shaking with a mix of pain and defiance. He cradled the baby closer, feeling the warmth of his body and the gentle pull of his mouth. The baby's eyes were closed, his tiny face a mask of contentment as he fed.

James sneered, tossing the dirty towel aside. "Yeah, well, keep looking. Maybe it'll remind you of your place." He zipped up his pants and stomped out of the room, leaving Forrest and the newborn in the cold, harsh light of the bathroom. Forrest's eyes followed James's retreating form, a cocktail of emotions churning in his gut.

[boykilledworld]

ARE YOU WITH ME? (ALWAYS.)

"[S]he is kind of his sister-slash-alter-ego..."

-Wayne Fitzjohn, Producer P.G.A. (Boy Kills World 2024 Making of & Behind the Scenes)

Mina represents Boy’s alter ego and serves as his imaginary companion throughout the movie. As his alter ego, she holds all the things that he can’t face head-on—the weight of his trauma, the guilt he feels over her ‘death’, his buried desires to not hurt others, his childish urges. Mina does also provide comfort and levity for Boy, although he tries to ignore her. For the audience, Mina betrays Boy’s subconscious fears and anxieties at times. 

ALTER EGO/LOST CHILDHOOD

Acting Like a Child

She's not real, but she's still there, so Mina does what children (hallucinations/tulpas?) tend to do when there's nothing else to do. She messes with her older brother. She eats chips while he's trying to meditate—a visual representation of Boy struggling to clear his mind—and pretty much just slacks off.

Maybe Boy is annoyed at first when he's younger and as he tries to act more mature over time, he specifically distances himself from any kind of 'fun'. It's like he uses his age as leverage against himself, with Mina acting as contrast. She should be slacking off, while he has no right to.

Tries To Stop the Violence

The first time this happens is when Boy and Shaman are sparring. Boy has the upper hand and looks up to see "Mina" and is so distracted that he ends up getting choked out. Why did Mina interrupt? Maybe because Boy was in the position to do some serious damage, and he subconsciously recoiled at the fact.

The next time is just after Boy kills Captain Frostington. We see Mina half-hiding from Boy, wordlessly disappearing into the little house. They used to eat Frosty Puffs every morning, and he's just killed the cereal mascot. In one way or another, she just "witnessed" his acts of violence, and he can't help but take a moment to feel his own suppressed revulsion and horror—but only through her eyes. This last remnant of their childhood being quite literally killed seems to destabilize them both.

Boy long accepted the place that violence has in his life. He is an instrument, shaped for a single purpose: to kill Hilda Van der Koy. It doesn't matter what happens to him or anyone who stands in his way. Yet that doesn't stop his conscience from manifesting in Mina.

Betrays Boy's Weakness...

Since she essentially absorbed all of the traits that Boy designated as unacceptable for himself, Mina is everything Boy can't and shouldn't be. She's loud, she's impatient, she's focused on everything but the mission, and she'd rather make friends than go around killing everybody.

"You're supposed to be helping me!"

She takes the brunt of his frustration, too. Boy gave himself away in the warehouse because a cart was heading toward Mina, though we know Boy is aware she isn't real. (It seems like her newfound "freedom" was a lot for him and his imagination to adjust to.)

When he fails, it’s because Mina “distracted” him, a contradictory concept since his "distraction" is the source of his strength. I feel like this cognitive friction only served to make her presence stronger.

...And His Fears.

“I don't like this game anymore. I wanna go home!”

Boy has never seen this part of the Culling¹. Compared to what he's seen out on the streets in the city, this uncanny performance catches him off-guard. This is one of his only surviving childhood memories, and they're all dancing around about to kill twelve innocent individuals. Of course, it's worse than anything he could have imagined—but the singing and dancing was a lot.

IMAGINARY COMPANION

Provides Comfort & Levity

When Boy decides to part ways with the Shaman, the authority figure responsible for keeping Boy (and therefor Mina) subservient, Mina gains the ability to "speak". This helps her further annoy her older brother. When things get weird or serious, or both, Mina always pops up.

“I don't think you know how butterflies work."

His Only Friend.

When Boy first meets Basho, he's excited about being on a team and having a teammate—not a friend, because warriors don't need friends. This is the first friendly face that Boy has seen; Basho didn't try to shoot him dead on-sight. Boy has no idea how to act. He tries to be cautious but that's quickly abandoned in favor of teamwork. It works because they're in the middle of a shootout and in the end, Boy does gain his most valuable ally and his first real friend.

Yet, the moment that the fighting is over, Boy has no accessible/easy way of communicating. Of course, he never tried, but Basho only noticed that he doesn't speak much later. Due to the language barrier, Mina is the only other person who can hold “real" conversations with him, making his loneliness and inability to express himself all the more stark.

He has no idea how to communicate with anyone other than Shaman and Mina, the latter of which because she's a literal extension of him. He's probably never been interested in speaking to anyone from the city, either. Everyone was either a bootlicker or too scared or a cop, or they didn't bother acknowledging Boy's existence. He doesn't speak and Benny and Basho don't ask. It's nice, but it needs to change.

BOY'S GUILT

Keeps Him Focused

Mina is supposed to slack off. She's a child and it's not her duty to become the ultimate warrior. Just the thought of Mina is enough to get Boy focused on the mission,, though, because she's the reason Boy is training at all. He thinks about her, "remembers" her death, and his mind is wired to funnel that grief into his rage toward Hilda.

So, Mina keeps him motivated and his self-esteem low. She haunts him because he needs her, he created her, he thinks about his little sister all the time—making her image sharper the more he tries to move on. She is a constant reminder of what Boy has lost and what he must do to make it right—making it easier to the Shaman to manipulate him.

The Shaman's teachings—memories make us weak, all that you once were is dead—is akin to "brainwashing" or coercive persuasion. He used thought techniques and physical abuse to make Boy forget who he was before the Incident, before his life became forfeit to the goal of killing Hilda.

Even his happy memories of his and Mina's childhood would lead to the same place, the same thought, the same mantra. Everything leads back to it.

“I am an instrument shaped for a single purpose, to kill Hilda Van der Koy.”

¹ He's probably seen some of the pre-ceremony rounding up for the Culling while with the Shaman but I assume that he hasn't witnessed a "proper" Culling after the Incident, so it's not rly relevant here.

[charbel-rajaee06]

Charbel Rajaee  

Prof. Christoph Heldt 

502-120-VA 

September 7th, 2023

Formal analysis assignment

The Starry Night was painted By Vincent Van Gogh in 1889. The artist was born in Netherlands on March 30th, 1853. He is one of the most famous artists in the world and he is well known for his oil paintings. In a 10-year period, he almost painted 900 paintings and approximately did 2100 art works in his whole life. Another thing that he is well known for is cutting his own ear. The painting was done in France at the Saint-Paul asylum in Saint-Rémy. The subject of the painting is that he used memories and emotions that came in his mind from looking outside of his window where there was a view of the countryside. He was letting his depression do the art for him instead of his own positive thoughts. The styles used in his famous painting are modern art and post-impressionism. The Starry Night will always be one of the best projects in Western art to this day. In 1890, he died from a suicide in France. The painting is currently at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and is worth at least 100 million dollars. 

Van Gogh used many elements of art and principles of design. He used composition, which is a huge element of art. It includes balance, proportion, emphasis, rhythm, movement, unity, contrast and pattern. Van Gogh used all of them for his painting. For the elements of art, he used color, line, form, shape, texture, mass and light. As we can see in the painting, there is a lot of color. Mostly blue, yellow and white are visible the most because of the sky. Obviously, he was focused more on the sky of the drawing to create spiral effects with a lot of lines to show the effect. Shape was more used to make the little houses. However, he used lines in his whole painting. The mountains, the tree, the sky, the buildings and roads were all done in straight or curly lines. The texture and light added to the painting brought more emotion and effect to the people viewing this work. 

The cypress tree is made with the mass element of art. This could be related to death or a horror event. Nobody knows what Van Goph means with this tree, but it’s a possibility knowing that he was depressed while painting it. The rhythm is mainly related to his swirls in the sky, and it creates a pattern. By adding the swirls in the sky, it gives the effect of a windy day in a spooky neighborhood. The balance is perfect because the sun and the tree aren't on the same side. In brief, Van Goph uses a lot of elements and design to present his work and his emotions. 

To conclude, I’m really impressed of how talented the artist is despite some negativity in his projects. I don’t like to see people suffer and not feel happy because we only have one life to live. After discovering his life and what he did, it made me understand more about his mental health and his work. My main reaction about the work is I feel related because sometimes people get thoughts of negativity or don’t feel enough for someone. To be honest, I think he was trying to tell us that his life isn't going too well and that he is stuck in a dark place. Another possibility is that he feels unsafe in that certain place where he drew the painting. He could also feel shocked about something that came to his life. Therefore, my understanding did change a little bit because I thought it was related to a horror event. Most paintings send messages that we would have never guessed the meaning because a work could mean anything. My point of view for The Starry Night has evolved and made me realize that artists don’t do art for quality. They do it to express themselves or teach us something that could be useful for the rest of our lives.  

[iyumeu]

spirit guardian

You call forth spirits to protect you. They flit around you to a distance of 15 feet for the duration. If you are good or neutral, their spectral form appears angelic or fey (your choice). If you are evil, they appear fiendish.

summary: you've been trying to keep things under wraps but when the bullying escalated and you find your life in danger, your demon finds out and the results are... not pretty. warnings: gore, blood, violence, body horror, self-mutilation, the boys are a little dark in this one, i would say hints of yandere, im not that good of a gore writer though so like if you're super into gore please dont expect much, but please read the warnings before each segment thank you.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You didn't want to admit it, but you were being bullied.

You had always known that the demon brothers had their own responsibilities to deal with and couldn't be with you all the time. The sentiment stretched over to your problems as well. They definitely had better things to concern themselves with and you weren't about to bother them with your insignificant issues, especially petty issues that surfaced from demons' general dislike of humans.

It wasn't anything you couldn't handle, really; acidic words spat at you in whispers, torn books here and there, a subtle exclusion from classroom activities... Small, inconsequential things that made you amused on a good day and irritated on a bad one. Harmless.

Or so you thought.

When the foot swung into your stomach, you swore you heard a sickening crack and you were flung into the wall behind you. Blood gurgled in your mouth and you spat it out on the ground in front of you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. After spending an entire year in the Devildom and making a pact with all of the demon brothers, you had gotten complacent. Believing your bullies to be merely harmless schoolyard types, you had followed them to a shady and secluded part of the R.A.D. because they wanted to "talk".

You had paid dearly for carelessness, completely caught off guard when one of them pierced you with a sharp jab of their arm. You remember feeling nothing but winded at first, shock numbing your nerves until you saw red trailing down their hand, dripping off the sharpened claws of their nails.

It was then that a scorching pain spread out from the gored out hole in your abdomen, spreading out to the rest of your body.

In hindsight, everything happened so fast. Before you knew it, you were slumped over on the floor and bleeding out. Even through your blurry vision the demons' malicious glee was clear as day.

"Not so proud now, are you?" one of them spat out. "Always looking down on us just because you were hanging off the arms of the Lords of Hell. Guess we're the ones looking down on you now!"

You were starting to shiver from the cold as blood soaked through your clothes, watching the demons advance while wondering if you were really going to die from as something as petty as this.

And then, one of your pact marks flared to life.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿Ꮚ´•̥̥̥ ‸ •̥̥̥Ꮚ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Lucifer

cw: body horror

A single black feather slowly drifted down onto the ground before you. The rest of the world turned hazy as your gaze focused onto the feather, long and elegant and delicate, watching as it fell into a pool of your blood. A pair of polished black shoes entered your line of sight before their owner crouched down in front of you, uncaring of the blood seeping into and staining his clothes.

A gloved hand reached out to cup your cheek, a gentle touch against your skin, and you sluggishly moved your gaze up to Lucifer's face.

"MC," he sighed. His eyes were dark, a complete contrast to the tender look on his face. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

His wings stretched out behind him, a dark expanse of feathers that curled around the both of you, separating you from the world... and the world from you.

"Lucifer," you began, but he was quick to press his thumb against your bottom lip, halting your words.

"This isn't a one-off, I assume?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. You avert your gaze and he sighs again. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to bother you," you said.

"I see." Lucifer's hand moved to pull out a black silk handkerchief, using it to clean the blood off your face. "Then it seems that I have failed you, if you believe that relying on me was not an option at all."

"That's not true...!" You were interrupted by Lucifer gathering you in his arms, while he took care to avoid your wounds as much as possible. With a gentle hand, he guided you to rest your head against his shoulder as he slowly shifted to a standing position, ready to bring you back to the House of Lamentations. His arms were warm around you, a comforting presence that made you feel safe and secure. You felt that, if you were by his side, you would never run into harm again.

It was then that you finally remembered your bullies, the ones who had put you in this state in the first place. Had they left the area, running off at the sight of Lucifer? That was most likely the case, you thought, but you still couldn't help but peer over Lucifer's shoulder and through the gaps of his wings, to check.

Your breath caught in your throat. Lucifer immediately placed a hand over your eyes.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't dirty your eyes with such a disgusting sight."

It was now that you were finally aware of a strange and disturbing cracking sound coming from behind Lucifer. A brand new chill settled down upon you, your body seizing up with fear. Suddenly, you wanted nothing but to put space between Lucifer and yourself.

As if he were aware of your thoughts, Lucifer shifted his hand from your eye to the back of your head, cradling you close to his body as he started to walk away from the scene. His wings were properly positioned this time and you were unable to peer through them.

Lucifer Morningstar. The First-Born. One of the strongest Lords of Hell. These titles hadn't meant anything to you before, but now they were are the forefront of your mind. The glimpse you had stolen before Lucifer turned your gaze away was now burnt into your retinas.

Your bullies' bodies hovered in the air with their limbs stretched impossibly long, curled up and tangled around their twisted bodies like a grotesque ball of yarn. Their mouths were torn open, jaws dislodged and handing horrible from their skull, eyes wide as they screamed silently for someone, anyone to put them out of their misery.

You knew that they would not die, not until someone found them and decided to kill them. And, considering the area they were in, it would take an extremely long time before someone were to chance upon them.

They had planned to use the remoteness of the location against you. They never could have thought that it would be used against them in the same way. This was something Lucifer had definitely taken into consideration.

Lucifer's arms were a cage around you; what was once comforting now felt suffocating.

"Lucifer," you managed to force out. You felt him lean down and press a kiss against your hair.

"It seems that I have to teach you how to be more reliant on me," Lucifer said in a tone as if he were speaking about the weather. "It wouldn't do for something like this to happen again."

"It won't," you were quick to say. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Lucifer looked down at you. You were the only thing reflected in his eyes as he gave a small, gentle smile that gave you a sense of dread that went down to your very bones.

"Don't worry, little lamb. For you, I will be a very forgiving master."

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Mammon

cw: violence and a lil bit of gore

The sudden caw of a crow drew the attention of your bullies. You tried to take the chance to stand up and run but merely shifting in place caused the pain in your abdomen to flare up, white hot and blinding. You hiss through your teeth, swallowing your yelp of pain.

There is a second caw. You look up and see at least a dozen crows perched up on windowsills and tree branches, their heads tilted in the direction of your bullies and their dark eyes glinting with something that invoked a sense of unease within you.

"Why are y'all distracted by a bunch of birds?" the lead demon barked out. They were not doing a good job of masking their apprehension. "We're here to teach this pathetic human a lesson, not gawk at crows!"

"But aren't those..." another student began.

The flutter of wings echo all around. More crows land on nearby fixtures; ten, fifteen, twenty. You slowly look up and see more black shapes flying in the sky above, circling the area like vultures to their prey. You hear the sound of wings flapping once again, closer this time, and Mammon lands in front of you, wings spread and in his demon form.

"...aren't those Lord Mammon's crows?" the student finished weakly. The demons were looking pale now, realizing just what they had done. You paid their expression no notice, filled with relief now that your guardian demon is here. Mammon, who despite his reputation, was always your reliable protector. Mammon, who always went out of his way to ensure your safety in the Devildom. Mammon, who... who was holding one of the demons up by their skull, uncaring of their struggles and pleas as their hands scramble against Mammon's, their toes skimming the ground. The other two demons were already running off, uncaring of their companion but Mammon didn't seem to notice, his attention on the demon in front of him.

In the back of your mind, you noticed that the demon was the one who had stabbed you with their hand.

"Mammon?" your voice came out in a whisper. The demon's pleas turn into screams of agony as Mammon tightened his grip. "Mammon!"

Mammon turned to you, eyes bright and feverish.

"Don't worry, MC," Mammon chirped. "I'll be quick!"

Mammon didn't lie. Immediately after his words, there was a frenzy of feathers and caws and screams. Just as quickly as it happened, the crows dispersed and the body dropped to the ground with a sickening thump, an unrecognizable, bloodied version of itself.

Mammon was holding something in his hands and, after he made his way back to you, he placed it in your lap. The blood-soaked wallet seemed to weigh a ton, its blood further staining your uniform. Mammon was beaming, standing in front of you like a dog waiting to be praised.

"That's compensation!" he said in his usual, nonchalant tone. "You deserve it after what they put ya through!"

Another caw sounded out and you couldn't help but flinch violently. Mammon was immediately kneeling beside you, soothing you with his bloodied hands. The sickening smell of bloodrust grew stronger with his proximity and you fought the urge to lean away.

A few crows hopped towards you, dropping more bloodied items onto the ground beside you. Staring blankly at those items, you recognize them as the necklace one of the other demons had on, a ring one of the demons who had fled the scene had worn, a earring, a tooth, bits of gold-tipped fingernails...

You lurched to the side, uncaring of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen, and started heaving. Mammon gently pat your back, trying to comfort you. It only made you more nauseous, the scent of blood overwhelming your senses once again.

For the first time since you arrived in Devildom, Mammon's presence invoked a sense of fear within you.

"I should've stayed by your side," you heard Mammon mutter. "Shouldn't have allowed those bastards to get to ya."

"Mammon..." You could predict the trajectory of his thoughts and desperately wished you were wrong. "It's not your fault," you choked out. Please, please, please—

"But it was!" Mammon argued. "If I were always by your side, they wouldn't have had the chance to even touch you!"

"It was my fault," you begged. "I didn't want to bother you so I didn't say anything!"

Mammon frowned. "I didn't think you needed protecting even from yourself."

oh. oh no.

Mammon carefully scooped you up into his arms. This time you could not help your flinch, but Mammon didn't seem to notice.

"It's okay!" Mammon said cheerfully. "If you can't take care of yourself, I'll take care of ya! I'm your guardian demon, after all!"

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Leviathan

cw: drowning, but u watch it happen. doesn't happen to u

The demon suddenly froze in their step, their hands coming up to grab their throat. They curled over and started coughing, started heaving, out long and stringy bits of black and green matter.

No matter how much the demon vomited out it never seemed to end and soon it was strewn all over the ground, accompanied with the pungent scent of rotten fish and the salty tang of the sea.

You blink and Leviathan was suddenly standing beside you, sharp teeth bared in a snarl and long black tail whipping around in agitation.

"Levi...?" you spoke slowly. You had never seen him this agitated before

"They hurt you," Leviathan said. His voice was low with an eerie quality to it; it was like a reverb, an echo, and it brought to your mind stories of hallucinatory voices sailors often heard at sea, beckoning them overboard.

The demons were frozen in place as Leviathan stalked towards them, slowly circling around them like a shark around prey. Then, another demon started choking, doubling over and throwing up the same black and green mess the first one did. The smell of fish and the sea grew stronger and you suddenly realize that they were vomiting out seaweed.

"I was wondering what was so important to you that you forgot that we were going to talk home together but I see now."

The third demon fell to their knees, clawing at their throat as they started throwing up seaweed as well.

"All this time I thought that you finally realized that I was just a no-good loser otaku... but that wasn't the case, was it?"

Levithan's voice was smooth, calm, and still retaining that ethereal quality to it. It felt like it was being spoken directly into your head rather than coming from in front of you. It made goosebumps rise up on your skin.

"Levi—" you tried again but you were interrupted.

"I should have known better!" Leviathan laughed. "My Henry wouldn't do that to me! No, the fault lies with these interlopers, trying to take you away! Trying to kill you!"

The first demon's face was turning pale. They tried to gasp for air but a strange froth poured out of their mouth instead, followed by water, copious amounts of seawater splashing violently onto the floor.

"But it's okay!" Leviathan turned to you, smiling brightly. It was the same smile he gave when he got a new high score on the game and was eagerly awaiting your reaction, it was the same smile he gave when he ran up to you with a drink in hand while you were queuing for him in C.S., it was the same smile he gave when he managed to get two tickets to an event and brought you along as his plus one. "I'll protect you! And I'll get revenge for you too, just like the Lord of Shadows does for Henry! Like in Volume 17, when Henry was kidnapped by the Lord of Lechery's jealous ex-paramours, the Lord of Shadows showed up and summoned his familiar to rip them apart..."

Leviathan glanced back at the demons for a moment. All three of them were coughing out seawater now and turning shades of blue. Long, red gashes left behind by desperate nails ran down their necks as they tried, in vain, to claw for air. Seawater was also dripping from this nostrils, bubbling from the horrible breaths of air they were trying to take. There was a sneer on Leviathan's face but it was quick to disappear when he looked back at you. When he stepped closer, you noticed that the pupils of his eyes had turned to sharp slits.

"I can't summon Lotan here to punish them; Lucifer would be mad and more importantly you might get hurt! So I did the next best thing! I know that drowning is a very slow and painful way to die, especially if you fight against it, so I thought that it would be a suitable alternative for a punishment!"

He looked so pleased with himself. It was like killing people for revenge was on the same level of enjoyment for him as getting merch of a character he liked.

Without a care for the demons behind him, Leviathan quickly made his way up to you, making sure to be careful as he picked you up off the ground.

"See?" he grumbled, "this is why I say that staying in my room is so much better." He paused. "Ah, do you want to see them drown the entire way?" You quickly shook your head no. "Yeah, you're right. That'll take too much time. I'll bring you to Satan to get you wounds healed. Afterwards, don't think of even taking a step out of my room, alright! You've already seen how dangerous the outside world is!"

With that last sentence, he carried you away. You desperately hope that Leviathan was joking about it but something about the way his tail curled possessively around your ankle made you think otherwise.

In your periphery vision, you notice the demons lying on the floor, some of them twitching and some of them writhing around. You close your eyes, and look away.

⭒☆━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━☆⭒

Satan

cw: just. loads of violence and gore

There was a large, gaping hole in one of the demon's abdomens, directly mirroring yours. Except it was larger, more brutal, and much more horrible than the one they inflicted on you.

Satan removed his hand from the demon's abdomen with a loud, wet shlick. The demon fell to their knees, clutching at their open abdomen. Satan smiled a bright, close-eyed smile. For once his spiked tail wasn't curled around his leg, instead gently swaying back and forth as he reached forward to yank the demon's intestines from the hole.

Perhaps it was due to the manner of the wound or the force Satan used but it didn't take long for the intestine to snap and for Satan to hurl it to the side in annoyance.

"Can't even do one thing right," he sneered. He raised his foot only to harshly stomp down on the demon's back. It landed with a sickening crack and the demon collapsed onto the floor, spine bent at an irregular angle. They were still screaming in pain. They were still alive.

Your voice was trapped in your chest, your eyes wide open and unable to be torn from the horrific scene happening in front of you.

Satan moved onto the next demon, grabbing them by the hair and pulling sharply to the side. When the third demon tried to scramble away, Satan froze them in place with a simple flick of his fingers and an uttered spell.

With his attention now turned back to the demon in his grasp, Satan used his other hand to hold the demon's head in place as he slowly pulled at their hair until it started peeling off, a thin layer of skin attached to the base of the strands and holding them together. That wasn't enough for Satan, though, and he inserted his long fingernails into the demon's eyes, scooping them out with barely contained glee.

"This is what you get for thinking that you can even look at MC," Satan told the demon. He then dropped that one onto the ground as well, kicking them in the stomach and sending them skidding across the rough earth.

It was at this moment that you realized that this was the demon who had kicked you into the wall... and the earlier demon was the one who had stabbed you with their nails. The last demon, the one Satan was dragging towards you now, was the one who had called you out in the first place. The one who had put the entire bullying thing into motion.

Satan kicked the back of their legs, making them drop onto their knees in front of you. Now that you had a much closer, unwanted look at them, you notice that their lips had been stapled shut, the dull metal gleaming slightly in the limited light.

"Sorry for taking so long, kitten," Satan apologized to you in his usual, gentlemanly tone. "I might have gone a little bit overboard." When he directed his words to the demon trembling in front of you, he was much harsher. "What are you waiting for? Not going to apologize?!"

The demon made some muffled cries, completely unintelligible from behind his cruel gag. A nasty smile spread across Satan's face. "Oh, I forgot. You can't speak, can you? Well, it seems like you'll have to apologize in another manner."

Satan reached around and ran a finger down from the center of the demon's collarbone to their sternum. From this close you could see the sweat dripping down the demon's face, hear the whimpers from their throat, feel their agony as Satan peeled off the left side of the demon's skin, revealing their rib cage and organs.

"You can still apologize with your heart," Satan told the demon. "Can't you?"

"S... Satan." Somehow, you managed to muster up the willpower to speak. "Satan, I can't do this."

Satan's green eyes were on you now. He was confused for a moment before clarity entered them. You waited for him to move the demon away, but he never did. Instead, he dug his fingers into the demon's rib cage and pulled it out, like one would with a closet door.

The demon screamed from behind his gag.

"Of course, silly me. You wouldn't be able to reach his heart due to his rib being in the way! Well it should be easier now, yes?"

You were going to be sick.

"I don't... I don't want this, Satan," you forced out through gritted teeth. Satan frowned, but it was directed to the demon.

"Hear that? MC doesn't accept your apology." He discarded the demon to the side before kneeling down in front of you, offering blood-soaked hand for you to take. "I'd love to torture them for you some more, MC," he said gently, "but I don't think now's a good time. You need to get your wounds cleaned and healed."

You closed your eyes and looked away. Even though you were trying your best to block it out, the scent of blood was still strong in the air.

You heard Satan chuckle in front of you. "I know," he said in an indulgent tone, "but I'm serious. I read that humans are a lot more fragile than demons so I need to disinfect your wounds at the very least. We can always come back later; it's not like they'll be running away any time soon."

You tried to tell Satan that there was nothing more you wanted than to never see this sight again, but you couldn't open your mouth without throwing up.

"If you don't stop throwing a tantrum, I'll get angry," despite his words, his voice was more amused than anything. You forced yourself to speak.

"It... hurts," you ground out. "I can't... move."

"Oh." His voice was deeper now. Your eyes flew open to see him trembling with rage as he glared towards one of the nearby demons. "I see. It appears that I've been too lenient with them." His gaze went back to you and softened. "Don't worry, I'll make them pay their dues. Now, this might hurt but I'll try my best to be gentle."

Without giving you a chance to react, Satan scooped you up into his arms taking care not to aggravate any of your wounds.

"We'll return to the House of Lamentations first," Satan told you. "When I'm sure you're fine, I'll bring demons to you instead. How does that sound?"

Instead of answering, you leaned your head against his chest and pretended to sleep. You hoped the demons died before Satan came back to get them... for their sake.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━(=🝦 ༝ 🝦=)━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

sorry things are short from here on out. im tire. d

Asmodeus

cw: suicide

You hear Asmodeus gasp before he quickly placed himself between you and the demons. Relief flooded you at the sight of your friend.

"Darling! What happened to you?!" he bemoaned, reaching forward to wipe a smear of blood off of your face. You smile weakly at him.

"I just got a little hurt, that's all. Can you bring me home?" you asked. Behind him, you can see the demons backing away.

"Hurt...?" Asmodeus's eyes trailed down and landed on the horrid wound in your abdomen. You blink and suddenly found him in his demon form, wings twitching with agitation.

"Asmo...?"

Asmodeus abruptly stood up and turned to face the demons. You see them freeze in place and an eerie blankness washed over their faces.

"My darling is hurt," he whined. "Do you know who was the one who did it?"

The demons pointed at each other, neither of them willing to take the blame. You see Asmodeus cock his hip and rest his cheek against the palm of his hand.

"There's so many conflicting answers that I'm soo confused. Ah! I just had a great idea! I want you to kill that horrible, horrible person who harmed by darling. You can do that, right?"

In a blink of an eye, the demons turned on each other, ripping each other to shreds with the utmost of ferocity. Meanwhile, Asmodeus stood in front of them, calmly watching them tear each other apart whilst humming a cheerful melody. Soon, only one demon was left, bloodied and bruised, and they collapsed in front of Asmodeus.

"Wow!" Asmodeus cheered superficially. "Now, I want you to kill yourself!"

The demon faltered. Asmodeus grabbed them by the chin, long nails leaving angry red lines on their skin as he forced them to look into his eyes.

"I want you," he repeated slowly, "to kill yourself."

The demon's expression was completely blank and open as they nodded at Asmodeus before placing their hands around their neck and squeezing.

Asmodeus stepped back to stand by your side as the demon slowly suffocated themselves to death.

"Isn't it great!" Asmodeus asked you. You turned to look at him and noticed that his eyes were bright and feverish. "How obedient they are! They all do what I want them to do without question..." Asmodeus trailed off, disdain in his eyes as he watched the demon die in front of him.

"No it isn't!"

Asmodeus blinked. Confusion was clear in his eyes. "Why not?" he questioned. "I didn't have to dirty my hands, you didn't have to dirty your hands, and they all got what they deserved!"

"Death? Was death what they deserved?" You searched his eyes for any signs of remorse but you found none. Asmodeus was one of the gentlest demons you knew... you supposed that the keyword there that you had been ignoring the entire time was 'demon'.

"They hurt you, my dear. They sullied your beautiful form with their ugly selves, of course they deserved death! If I weren't worried about getting blood on my outfit, I'd have them draw it out, too!"

"This is wrong," you muttered to yourself. "This isn't right."

"Wrong? Not right? Honey, you're in the Devildom," Asmodeus cooed. He gently carded his fingers through your hair as he spoke. "Unfortunately, might is right here."

You shiver and curl into yourself. A frown graced Asmodeus' features and he was quick to try and comfort you.

"You'll get used to it soon," he said. "And even if you don't, you shouldn't worry! I won't let it happen again. How could I allow those tear stains on your pretty little face?"

His eyes were glowing eerily.

"Just... introduce all of the people you meet to me, alright? Then you'll never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again♡"

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━₍ᐢ ̥ ̞ ̥ᐢ₎ ━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Beelzebub

cw: you know that thing in the mummy (1999) where the scarab beetles crawl under the person's skin and then eat them from the inside out? yeah.

You had never seen Beelzebub so furious before.

He held you in his arms as the demons before you paled at the sight of the sixth Lord of Hell.

"MC, you're hurt," he said slowly. His grip on you tightened for a brief moment before they loosened, Beelzebub clearly trying his best to control his strength so that you wouldn't get hurt.

There was a strange buzzing sound in the air. You assumed that it was coming from Beelzebub's wings.

"I'll be fine Beel," you try to comfort him. "It's just a flesh wound."

Beelzebub shook his head. "You're not fine," he insisted. "They tried to hurt you. They hurt you."

The buzzing was getting louder now. You touched Beelzebub's cheek and a warm fuzziness made itself known in your chest as Beelzebub leaned into your touch. "I'll be fine," you repeated. "I just need to get to the hospital, or a demon equivalent of it, and then rest up."

"I'll bring you to Satan," Beelzebub said. "But first, you need to see."

"See what, Beel?"

"Punishment," he said solemnly, directing your gaze towards the demons who were busy clawing at themselves. At first you couldn't tell what was going on but you soon managed to discern small little bumps moving around under the demons' skin.

The buzzing sound was louder, now.

One of the demons finally opened their mouth to scream and, to your absolutely disgust and horror, small black beetles crawled out of their mouth. As if it were a signal, insects started crawling out of the other demons' orifices as well, centipedes and ants and little white larvae, wiggling their way out before burrowing themselves into the demon's flesh once again.

The few seconds it took for the insects to eat away the demons felt like a lifetime, your eyes fixed onto the absolutely hellish sight in front of you. When the bones of the demons fell onto the ground, most of the insects scattered but some still dug into the bones, feasting on the bone marrow. You slapped your hand over your mouth, trying your hardest not to throw up while you were still being carried by Beelzebub.

"They hurt you," Beelzebub said. His voice felt so far away. "So I hurt them back."

You squeezed your eyes shut. The buzzing hum of insects did not allow itself to be tuned out.

"So... you have to tell me if people want to hurt you, okay? I'll protect you."

Beelzebub was no longer in his demon form, but the buzzing sound did not go away for a long, long time.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━ᙙᙖ━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Belphegor

cw: just violence i guess

The demon froze in their tracks, eyes staring straight ahead at something you could not see.

"What's wrong?" one of the other demons asked. They didn't seem to hear them as fear dawned on their face and they started backing away.

"Get away from me!" the demon screamed. They tripped over themselves and fell flat onto the floor, but they did not pause in their attempts to scramble away. "Get away from me! No! No! No!!"

"What's going on? Why're you acting like..." Another demon suddenly stared down at their feet for a moment before they started to heave. The last demon had a moment of sanity before they, too, suddenly started looking around them in fear.

"Ahhh! It's on me, it's in me, get it off, get it out!" they screamed, violently scratching at their skin. The first demon had stopped moving back and instead started waving their arms above them, fighting off an unseen assailant while the second demon was attempting to shove their entire hand down their throat. The third demon was scratching at their eyes, uncaring of how blood was now running down their body.

The first demon started clawing at themselves. The second demon slit open their stomach. The third demon clawed out their eyes.

Before you could see any more, a pair of cold hands wrapped around your shoulders, effectively drawing your attention away from the scene in front of you. A tail brushed against your face, blocking your vision entirely as Belphegor snuggled up to you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"MC... Are you okay?" he asked.

"I... I'm fine, but those demons, they—"

"—hurt you, right? That's why they're getting punished right now." You felt his self-satisfied grin against your neck and realized that whatever they were going through right now was the work of the demon behind you.

"Belphie, what did you do?!"

"It's nothing much, really." He was proud of what he did. "I just gave him some nightmares. Or hallucinations, as some people call it."

You opened your mouth, to plead, to beg, you didn't know, but Belphie interrupted you before you could speak.

"Anyway, they're not important. You need to go to Satan, right? He has some healing spells that would be of use..." Belphegor slowly untangled himself from you. "Can you walk on your own? Or do you need my help?"

You didn't want his help but, when you tried to stand up, the pain rendered you immobile. Belphegor caught sight of the wound in your abdomen and flattened his lips. For a moment, you were transported back to the entrance of the attic, Belphegor looking down at you with loathing and rage in his eyes, but the moment quickly vanished and Belphegor reached out to pick you up.

"I'm normally the one being carried but I can make an exception for you," he said in a faux, lighthearted tone.

The demons' screams became louder. More terrified.

"You'll have to make it up to me, though," Belphegor continued, already walking towards the House of Lamentations. "When you recover, I expect lots of cuddles. I won't accept any rejections~"

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━ʕ -ᴥ-ʔ━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

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hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this thing got away from me. well as the tags say i want to do a follow up to this but idk what sort of follow up it'll be. def yandere though. speaking of yandere, watch this space for the next yandere thing that gets churned out, because i like yandere a lot, anyway it's going to be yandere brothers x mc. all of them, at the same time. will mc survive? probably! will they be happy they did? probably not. :) anyway i hope to be able to do more yandere content in the future

edit: SORRY I FORGOT THE CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THE FIRST 3

edit2: inserted one (1) instance of satan calling u kitten for a friend

[wornoutmouse]

Last one I promise to stop bothering you ahhhhh . Can we plz get a Iida Tenya (pro hero age) smut (I love this guy) like maybe you reader catching him jerking off can you imagine prim and proper tenya doing dirty things? And things get crazy after:) thank you for listening to the rambles of a crazy woman

Your wish is my command

We all know Iida has a big dick right?

And yes i looked up black hairstyles cause i just started doing my own hair leave me alone 🤚🏿

Dubious Consent, blackmail, squirting

Working for the Iida family was honest but harsh work. They strived for professionalism and didn’t allow mistakes, no matter how small. With each member holding a leading title in almost every section of Japan, it was a no-brainer that you would choose to work with them. The only problem was, your socially oblivious boss.

One would think that as the new Ingenium’s sidekick, you would have an insider’s look into his personality and lifestyle, but that was farthest from the truth. For the 2 years that you’ve worked alongside him, you had been kept at a distance and forced mainly to handle the paperwork.

According to him, until he was sure you could handle yourself on the field, you needed to stay away from danger. In hindsight, you would have understood that choice and would have been completely fine with it. However the fact you couldn't m could never learn to handle yourself in the feels if you were never allowed on the feels was a glowing contradiction

Spending time with your boss was informative yet draining. He always set an example of a good business deal and would always explain things you didn’t understand.

The downside however, was his obsession with the non-existent dress code. Since you don’t do any outside work lately, you never put on your hero costume. So i you were always dressed in normal clothes, and every last one of them he had something to critique about.

“Here’s your coffee Mr. Iida.” The bluenette man hummed his appreciation and you turn to sit back at your corner desk.“Miss L/n….”

You tense, preparing yourself as the sound of his chair scraping against the hardwood floors announced his incoming presence. His heavy footsteps loomed closer until he stopped just barely behind you.

Your legs are kicked apart and you find your boss kneeling below you with a measuring tape. “I am appalled, your skirt is 4 centimeters away from the recommended 5 inches above the knee, we do not run a brothel here, please respect the code Miss L/n!”

You sighed, it was best to just go along with his antics. “Yes, Mr. Iida, I’m sorry for my ignorance.” As you bowed you faintly heard a small choking sound and Iida’s hands grabbed your shoulders to raise you back up. “I’ll have none of that bowing, it was a simple mistake.” He pushed up his glasses before stiffly walking back to his desk.

When he came back into view, his face was slightly flushed from what you assumed to be the heat, “I am printing something in the room below, do you mind getting it for me?” You nod and headed out the door. It may have been your imagination but you could have sworn you heard a faint curse word coming from your boss’s mouth.

Reaching the lower room was quick and effortless so you sat and waited for the presumed paperwork Iida was printing. Many of your coworkers passed you with pitying looks that you did your best to ignore. You knew that this life was not one strived for by an aspiring hero but you couldn’t just up and leave.

Your head began to itch slightly. Why is it taking so long to print? While you pondered the situation, you watched a short woman walk up to the copy machine and begin copying her own set of work. You felt your eye twitch, there wasn’t anything even programmed to print.

You stood up and quickly made your way back to your office. Stepping inside, you look blandly at your enclosed room. The memory of your boss's large windowed room flashes through your mind and you decide to work out there instead.

As you walked to the door that connected your office to his, you tilt your head curiously as a loud muffled growl comes from inside. "F-Fuck yes, suck that cock!"

His voice was guttural, and the words were something you would never dream of him saying. But what stuck out to you more was where it was all happening. I know this man ain't screwing at work!!

Without thinking you barge into the room and your jaw drops at the sight.

Sitting in your chair, was your boss, Tenya Iida. His hair was disheveled and his suit was reduced to nothing but his white shirt and open slacks. He was flushed from the neck up and sweat had accumulated in his brow.

Held tightly in his right hand was his dick and it was just as dodged as him. It was also bigger than you imagined

….not that you even imagined it in the first place.

Angry blue eyes dart up to look at you through low hanging bangs and you realised you had been staring. "This is uh… Sorry!" You internally cringe at the fact you stuttered.

As you turn around to leave, you are restricted by Iida's voice. "Stop." Almost as if in a horror movie, you turn back to him slowly and it takes all your willpower not to look down as he had shamefully left his manhood out.

You press yourself against the door as you watched Iida remove his glasses and place them on your desk. "It's rude not to knock Miss L/n." You swallow shallowly when he raises a finger to motion you forward and for a moment you lose all rational as you soon found yourself standing in front of him.

His legs were spread wide open and his dick looked like it was ready to bust any moment. The tip had become an even darker red hue, contrasting ironically with the trimmed layer of dark blue curls nestled at the base.

Despite the situation, the man before you sat looking rather relaxed. He slowly rolled up his sleeves and you caught sight of swirling tattoo sleeves wrapping around each bicep. "Come closer Y/n, I promise not to bite very hard."

He had never used your first name before and that seemed to compel you to move closer, allowing him to use your wrist to place you in-between his legs. "There is a very important rule that I have yet to teach you in the world of business."

The trained look he had focused on you left no room for argument as one of his large hands easily wrapped around your upper thigh. A shiver runs up your spine as his thumb strokes your skin slightly under your skirt. "When one has even an ounce of blackmail against you…"

Iida grabs the front of your blouse and uses it as leverage to tug you to the ground. Down there, fingers gingerly comb through your freshly dyed Nubian Twists, "... you need to blackmail them as well, fair trade and all that."

The grip in your scalp tightens and you feel your eyes slightly water at the sharp sting. The other hand still holding his cock, positions it towards your full lips as a silent order. Salty precum covers your mouth and your tongue darts out to lick it off. The sight was porn worthy.

Before you got too carried away, you decided to see how far you could push him. You bring your hands to softly wrap around his member as you gauged his response. "If I agree to this arrangement, what will I get in return?"

Iida sighed as you licked his dick starting from the balls to just below the top, "What do you want, a raise?" You shake your head and kiss a thick vein traveling along his shaft. "I want to work out there, as your official sidekick."

You could tell his patience was running thin as his hips twitched so you wrapped your mouth around the top, pressing the flat of your tongue against the slit. Iida looked down at you, teeth nibbling roughly on his bottom lip. "Why...ah~ why should I let you work anywhere near me after this!?"

In a bout of anger, you accidently let your teeth drag down the sensitive skin. Iida's eyes roll to the back of his head in such a way that you couldn't pinpoint it as a result of pain or pleasure. "I can easily report your victimizing and unprofessional behavior to HR."

Iida's eyebrows furrowed and he yanked you off of his cock. You stand up shakily before being slammed against his glass table. "You got a lot of nerve, making demands yet you're the reason I was being so unprofessional."

Iida slides down to his knees and raises your skirt over your plump ass. You internally groan as you remember the matching baby blue lingerie you were wearing, that was not going to help your case. Iida slaps your right asscheek nice and hard making you moan softly. "Who is this for?"

You decide to play into it, you sway your hips a little and stick your butt out closer to his face. "It's for me, myself, and I." Iida pulls at your panty strap before letting it snap back. You had to admit it stung. Giving attention to your other cheek, a tan hand takes hold of it and squeezes hard.

"And if I let you work with me, what is my reward?" Iida uses his teeth to pull the fabric of your underwear away from your hidden prize. You hummed as if in thought, "Good karma?"

Lips wrap around your clit and suck hard, "Sorry that's not good enough for me." You grind back on his face and relax on his table more. His hot tongue massaged and prodded your lips and clit, but never got close to being inside of you.

"Working as a pro hero is karma filling in itself, but it is stressful. Not enough time for personal focus."

Iida sucked on two of his fingers before siding them up and down your slit, taking extra time to teasingly delve past your opening before retreating just as fast. You groan, "What do you want me to do, suck your dick under the table on weekends?!"

Iida hums as he joins his mouth along with his fingers. You sigh as his large middle finger finally breaches you and sends soothing sparks throughout your body as it rubs against your walls. The combined stimulation of his hot tongue against your clit, and his even warmer fingers barely grazing against your g-spot had you in pure ecstasy.

"As convenient as that sounds, if someone were to find out we'd be in a lot of trouble." At this point you're bouncing back on his fingers giving Iida a show as your pussy squelches around his fingers. Your mouth hands open in soft pants, fogging up the clear glass below you.

Iida stand up as he continues to finger fuck you in the same rythm as he pumps his cock. "How about dinner and we see how that goes? Let's be professional." You side your clenched fists down your sides as Iida removes his fingers and replaces them with his dick.

You wait in anticipation for him to fuck you but he stands completely still, and you then realise that he was waiting for an answer. "You don't think it's a little too late, dinner comes first you know?!"

As much as Iida loved your banter, his dick was so fucking hard that your joke only agitated him.

Leaning over you, he places one hand on the glass table while the other takes hold of your hair, jerking it back. You hiss as your scalp burns for a moment, but that small pain was replaced with a greater one as teeth sank into your shoulder. "If your going to be sidekick material, that attitude is going to have to be worked on now stop testing me before I fuck it out of you."

You roll your eyes and grind down on his dick making him moan, "Fine sergeant dick, I'll be your little trophy wife, in return let me work for once, I didn't go to school for nothing damnit."

Your hair is released so much quicker than you expected that you almost hit your head on the table. Iida chuckles darkly, "Wife? Trophy slut would be a better word for it." Another harsh smack was delivered to your burning bottom, but he was satisfied after long last.

His hips finally press firmly against you as the full length of him is accepted with your pulsating core.You try to talk through the discomfort, "My ring better be huge after this."

Iida laughed sympathetically as he kissed the dark bruise forming from where he bit you. "The biggest money can buy."

The stretch began to feel pleasurable as his thrusts got faster. As a result of course you could feel yourself getting louder as well. "Faster!" Iida grunted as he held your waist to balance himself. Underneath the sound of the wobbling desk, your low groans are heard as the slapping of skin soon becomes more incessant.

"I've been waiting to fuck this lewd bottom for months! Parading around in all them damn form during outfits!"

The feeling of your bosses cock pumping in and out of you was overwhelming as he was ruthless when it came to chasing his own pleasure. Your legs trembled themselves closed, as you received another harsh slap to your ass. By the time this was over, you were sure you were going to be unable to sit.

On the other end, Iida was deeply pleasured by the sight of your ebony skin shaking from the force of each thrust. That's why it was unsurprising when a high pitched moan that most definitely wasn't yours fills the room.

"Ah, yes, I'm going to cum so deep inside of you, I can right? Pretty please!?" The man was practically whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you. If you were honest, you couldn't even answer as you feel his cum fill your insides. Even so, you felt your toes curl as he kept going.

"Come for me Miss L/n!" The shakiness that seeped from his voice as he fucked himself into an overstimulated mess was adorably pathetic. You do your best to reach in between your legs and stimulate your clit.

As you get closer, your cute hole tightens like a vice around Iida's cock and he finds himself coming again in quick spurts just like before. He was unable to take anymore stimulation and weakly pulled out of you before pumping the fingers in your wet heat. "Come on, cum on my fingers Miss. L/n."

You while loudly as you rub your clit faster and like a large wave, an orgasm crashes down on your body making s clear liquid spew from your cunt, wetting the floor.

[frozenambiguity]

@resolutepath | continued from here.

Steps that were once known to be swift and light now become heavy --- a clear indication of his disposition; of the struggle deep inside. Has the path from his lodgings to Mondstadt's church always been this distant...? No, no. Certainly not. There have been times when this walk posed no issues at all, like when he visited Barbara, the sisters, or Seamus in official affairs, social settings, or religious gatherings.

But this specific reason... It haunts him. It is a different matter altogether. Kaeya does not visit the church's premises with this intent too often. Partly because doing so means facing one's past and mistakes, and partly because he feels as if he does not have the right to visit in the first place. To grieve... Does he possess that right, he wonders, when the very last memory that remains of Master Crepus is his body disintegrating into thin air, Diluc shaking in horror, while Kaeya... while Kaeya is just standing there, immobile, incapable of doing something so little like providing comfort for his brother?

Diluc had been focused on Crepus' death. The loss of a parent. The tragedy that it is and what it truly represents for the future. In contrast, Kaeya's own immediate thoughts had been of himself --- how now he did not have to tell Master Crepus the truth, how now he may not have to choose a side anymore after all, so long as Diluc stood by his side. Hypocrite. Despicable. To want Diluc to stand by his side, when he had failed to stand by Diluc's when he truly needed to. Master Crepus' death had been... hard to digest. One supposes each and every single person grieves in their own way. Still --- the fact that Kaeya felt some relief, no matter how brief, stands. And that is something he will never be able to forgive himself for. Not when Crepus had been the one to take him in, to give him a home to the best of his abilities.

Kaeya's eyes are not focused on the path anymore. His body unconsciously leads him where he needs to go without him truly realizing it. His grasp tightens on the flower bouquet, jaw clenches ever so subtly. And before he knows it, there are only a few more meters before he reaches the cemetery. He pauses.

That is what he has always been in everyone's lives, has it not? An interference. Unwanted. Doomed to cause distress wherever he went, to whoever held their hands to him in aid. He allows himself to chuckle once, although he does not find the matter humorous. His features are... severe. Cold. Distant. No matter how often Diluc brushed away his advances and hopes of a possible reconciliation, ( and hurt him in the process ), sometimes he truly does believe that that is for the best. If Kaeya is not around Diluc anymore... Then he cannot continue to hurt him. Of course, he yearns for him and Diluc to be close again but... Is that not his hypocritical tendencies rising to the surface once more?

Yes. He shall have to become content with the single fact that he just wishes Diluc had someone to rely on. Someone worthy. Perhaps he should go talk to Jean soon... Suggest to her that, maybe, she should aim to fortify her ties with the Owner of the Dawn Winery. They had been close once, they can become so again. She is clearly in a better position than him to offer Diluc the support he needs. Yes. That settles it. Another extended sigh as he prepares to turn around the corner, enter the cemetery and...

Diluc. He has not prepared to face Diluc. Not like this, not today. It is not Diluc's fault, of course. He is the one who is not supposed to be here... Diluc is more than entitled to grieve his father, and if he so wishes to see Kaeya gone from the premises, he will not oppose the idea.

«Flowers...» His voice is quiet as he shows Diluc the bouquet. In a way, his current tone mimics that of his once younger self, quiet, uncertain, doubtful. In fact, he makes everything about himself small. As if he knows this could go very wrong, and does not wish to go down that path. There has already been enough pain on the day of Crepus' death and their physical confrontation.

«I brought some flowers... I thought they would be to Master Crepus' liking». Kaeya does not move an inch closer. He waits for Diluc's permission.

[maplecornia]

chapter 6

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1.17K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: i'm seriously considering uploading a chapter each day until I'm all caught up with all the chapters I have waiting. easy binge material lmao

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne

“BigHit Entertainment.”

The whole place is intimidating. Big and looming, looking more like a corporate building than BigHit studio. Multiple people are roaming about, some on tours, others heading to work, each one looking highly qualified, mature, and confident.

They know what they're doing.

Do you?

Swallowing hard, you meet the building with a steady gaze, taking a calming breath before heading forward, and entering it. The revolving door swinging shut behind you, you come to a stop as soon as you enter eyes wide in astonishment.

Everything is pure white, or at least, shades of it. The walls are stone; cold, plastered paint slathered in every nook and cranny. The floors are made of smooth white ceramic tiles that have a thin glossy sheen to them, like marble in museums. The windows of the building are one-way, much like mirrors.

The light from outside mixing with the light on the inside walls creates a bright contrast that calms the nerves.

So many people are there. Tour guides leading small parties down the halls. Managers hurrying to and fro. Receptionists at the front desk taking multiple calls. People waiting in the waiting room near the entrance.

As you take it in, as you ponder at it, you can feel your own heart calm itself. Your heartbeat slows, and your breath evens out, the knot in your throat unwinding.

You find yourself at ease, despite the busy attitude of the place.

As though you belong here.

However, the stupor the studio has you in is quickly broken by a group of people who enter behind you.

They shove past you and you stumble a bit forward, caught off guard. They quickly murmur an apology before moving along. Shaking it off you take a deep breath, as you set your sights on the receptionist's desk.

You best get this over with.

At the thought of meeting Kim Namjoon, RM of BTS for the first time, you can feel the knot rewinding and wish you could just lose yourself in the beauty of the place once more. You know that's not possible though, you have to stay focused, you have to be aware of yourself.

Reaching the desk, you wait for the receptionist to notice you.

She holds a phone up to her ear, talking animately while she types something frantically on the office computer. You wonder if you should leave and come back a bit later, but her eyes glance towards you and she holds up a finger for you to wait.

You swallow hard, and nod, trying hard not to stare as you wait obediently.

She's quite pretty, her long dark hair tied up into a bun, few stranglers from a hectic day trailing down her ivory neck. She has a small face, large brown eyes accompanying small plump lips. Though she has done her makeup quite dutifully, it's obvious that she doesn't need it. She has the looks of an elegant porcelain swan, almost as though one touch would break her.

Sighing as she sets down the phone, she spins to you and smiles. It doesn't seem that sincere considering it doesn't reach her eyes, and you can tell she'd much rather return to her phone call. You'd hate to keep her from it so you hope you can make this quick.

"Hello!" she greets. "Welcome to BigHit entertainment, how can I help you today?"

You smile hastily back before pulling out your phone and bringing up the letter of recommendation that Jaejin sent you so that they wouldn't think you're a fraud.

"Hi." You answer back, trying to be polite nevertheless.

"I'm here, as the replacement for Mr. Kim Namjoon's assistant manager?" You show her the picture, approving your statement. Once she's done reading it, her eyes raise to yours, all hints of the smile gone. Looking at you with slight annoyance, she starts rummaging behind the desk, gathering a clipboard and a few pieces of paper.

"You were supposed to be here 3 hours ago. Are you aware of that?" she snaps, and you swallow hard, still upset about everything.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I...." you ponder over whether or not to explain it to her. "...it won't happen again. Please, forgive me."

What?

There’s no reason for her to know, and besides, she may see it as empty excuses.

You bow your head slightly to her, and she sighs, holding up her hand.

"Please don't, I'm not the one you need to apologize to." Slowly, you rise, nodding silently. At the sight of your guilty expression, she sighs once more, before smiling, this one real.

"But I wouldn't worry, Park Jimin makes the same mistake all the time, and all Mr. Namjoon can do is smile and shake his head." When you smile in disbelief, she presses her hand against yours, smiling softly.

"It'll be okay." You nod, and she pulls away, clearing her throat.

"Now, Mr. Namjoon is heading to a meeting that concerns BTS, so you'll have to wait a while. As you do, please fill out these forms, officially stating that you're taking the position of his assistant manager." You nod, taking the forms, and reading them over almost immediately.

"Do you need a pen?" the receptionist questions, and you shake your head smiling softly.

"No thank you...." peering at her badge, you smile before saying her name. "...Kim Jojo."

At first, she seems a bit surprised that you said her name, but as she turns to her badge, she chuckles and nods.

"You're welcome, please take a seat in the waiting room as you wait." You nod and step back from the desk, reading over the papers on the clipboard.

They are simple documents, ones that are required when getting a new job anywhere. Name, address, security number, things like that.

Sighing, you raise your head, turning around abruptly.

A little too abruptly.

As you turn and step forward, you crash into someone right behind you, the coffee he has in his hands exploding between the two of you.

You cry out in surprise, as does the random stranger, each of you rebounding off the other and stumbling back. Hardly any of the coffee falls on you, most of it spilling over on his shirt. He hisses in surprise, pulling the soaked shirt off of his chest.

Your eyes widen in shock and horror at what you've done and you immediately step back, placing the clipboard back on the counter.

"I'm so sorry!" you cry out, reaching for emergency towels that you keep in your satchel. "I wasn't looking where I was going and I...."

However, as your eyes catch a glimpse of his face, your words falter, your hand tightening around the towel.

You know those eyes, you recognize that hair, you've memorized the same curve of that jawline.

You hardly notice everyone else around you, how they begin to whisper about the commotion, as they all notice what you did.

Why wouldn't they?

Who would look away when the person you've spilled coffee all over is none other than...

Jeon Jungkook.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: our first real encounter with a BTS member! isn't it exciting? chapter 7 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[thinkingimages]

Joan Bennett in the film Secret Behind the Door

Sexuality and Space edited by Beatriz Colomina

Elizabeth Wilson

In the early 1990s the addition of “sexuality” seemed to take the vibrant debate on space into new territory. The very title of Sexuality and Space reflects this, and as Beatriz Colomina remarks in her brief introduction to the collection of articles it comprises, to insist on “sexuality” as a component of space can be, at one level, to insert feminist concerns into a masculine discourse—although it is dispiriting if sexuality is still perceived as women’s domain, somehow suggesting that anatomy still is destiny and/or that women are still equated with the bodily in a way that men are not. As Colomina makes clear, however, the volume, like the symposium at which the papers it contains were initially presented, aims to do more than simply “include women.” Nor does it aim simply to explore “how sexuality acts itself out in space,” although this would have been an interesting subject in its own right: how actually existing urban, architectural spaces are used intentionally or illicitly for sexual purposes. We could have had papers on the role of the “cottage” (public lavatory) in gay sex, on museums as pick-up grounds for intellectual singles, on the voyeurism of peep shows, and so on. But this would presumably have been too literal a project for the theorists gathered. Instead we are invited to treat architecture as a “system of representation” on a par with film and TV, and to ask how space is “already inscribed in the question of sexuality.” Gender is inscribed in space and space is never designed in a gender-neutral way.

Accordingly, the articles range across the visual arts in a fashion that at first glance seems not so much interdisciplinary as wildly eclectic—Atget photographs of Paris, Alberti’s writings, an Australian advertisement for real estate. The approaches taken by the authors are also widely divergent.

Jennifer Bloomer has missed an opportunity to explore the purported “effeminacy” of Louis Henri Sullivan’s architectural work. She raises the interesting issue of the assumed relationship between gender identity (and/or sexual orientation) and allegedly “feminine” architectural forms and decoration, but instead of developing this theme she flirts with it, creating a theoretical bricolage that fails to achieve intellectual coherence, her discussion of the function and symbolic importance of ornament not fully meshing with the problematic figure of Sullivan. A similar collagist approach is used by Catherine Ingraham, and I can see that it may be a kind of postmodern criticism; but while it permits the introduction of a variety of interesting, if only tenuously related, points and theories, it has a modish feel, especially when the usual theoretical suspects are rounded up for an airing, Lacan’s lavatory doors making repeat appearances. By contrast, Alessandra Ponte’s essay on the 18th-century antiquarian Richard Payne Knight is very focused (as is Molly Nesbit’s meditation on the absence of “la Parisienne” from Atget’s photographs of empty corners of his city), a piece of historiographical excavation revealing the phallocentrism of 18th-century theories of architecture.

Yet most of the articles, despite their apparent divergence of subject, are united by theoretical protocols as well as by the central concern of the book as a whole, which is not eroticism but gender, and not architecture but space in a variety of manifestations, many of them historical. The main uniting factor is psychoanalytic theory.

The material throughout is rich and detailed. Beatriz Colomina contributes an analysis of representations of house designs, particularly interiors, by Adolf Loos and Le Corbusier. She explores the way in which these houses are photographed, and some of the ideas informing them, drawing out the way in which these utopian, perfect rooms are—paradoxically—theatrical sets for dramas of domestic life. There is an implied contradiction between the architect’s dream of perfect space and the actually existing mess of daily life; but either way the woman is always positioned as hidden and within, object of the male gaze. Surprising similarities (or perhaps they are not so surprising) are revealed between these modernist architects and the Renaissance architect and philosopher Leon Battista Alberti. Mark Wigley shows how Alberti, both in his treatise on the family and in his architectural writings, describes the ideal house as a building that encloses, conceals, and ultimately fetishizes heterosexual intercourse; the separate rooms of husband and wife may be entered by a private intercommunicating door, so that other members of the household need never know when the partners engage in sexual relations. More generally the domestic interior becomes, in Alberti’s propositions, a prison house for women, although Wigley suggests that this architectural manifestation of patriarchy only fully came into its own with the 19th-century bourgeoisie.

Patricia White’s paper is concerned with the filmic representation of a house, “Hill House,” as explored in Robert Wise’s 1963 horror classic, The Haunting. As she points out, this film is truly terrifying, but achieves its effects without any special effects or any actual representation of anything horrific. White identifies the underlying horror as arising from the film’s exploration of lesbian sexuality, demonstrating convincingly how the film’s central character, Eleanor, played by Julie Harris, although destroyed by Hill House, whose “gaze” she cannot escape, yet manages to “exceed” the narrative, speaking finally in voice-over from beyond the grave. White’s deployment of psychoanalytic film theory seems particularly apt and nonreductive; she uses it to bring out the ambiguity of the film, in which lesbian desire is apparently defeated and yet remains disruptive, “exceeding the drive of cinema to closure.”

Patricia White inevitably refers in the course of her argument to Laura Mulvey’s well-known article “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”1 I have never entirely understood why this article became so hugely influential, given its negative and pessimistic reading (especially from a feminist point of view) of cinematic pleasure. But perhaps that was the point: as this volume itself demonstrates, psychoanalytic theory (especially its Lacanian variant) has been the basis for a “criticism of suspicion,” by which I mean a criticism that not only deconstructs the way in which effects are achieved and exposes meanings that might otherwise be hidden from an “innocent” audience, but invests all aspects of any aesthetic work with doubt and dubiousness. The excavation of cultural products must always, it seems, uncover skeletons. In this regard, architecture and cinema are two forms of cultural production particularly vulnerable to what Martin Jay has termed a 20th-century “denigration of vision” that has supplanted its earlier (Enlightenment) celebration.2 Viewing and the gaze, the totalizing vision and the nobility of sight, have been comprehensively delegitimated as (white, Western) masculine methods of control and domination.

In Laura Mulvey’s original article there was no place for the female spectator to lay claim to the gaze other than by becoming masculinized. Mulvey has since sought to modify this view, while never renouncing the underlying assumptions on which it was based, and she contributes to the present volume a meditation that considers Pandora and her box (“the box can … stand as a representation of the enigma and threat generated by the concept of female sexuality in patriarchal culture”), the Hitchcock film Notorious, and the idea of female curiosity as a transgressive exploration of forbidden spaces. For her, psychoanalytic theory as used in feminist criticism is transgressive, for “curiosity describes the desire to know something that is concealed so strongly that it is experienced like a drive, leading to the transgression of a prohibition,” and feminist curiosity then constitutes an unmasking of the patriarchal structures of popular, or indeed any, culture.

Yet, as Victor Burgin argues in his essay on the photography of Helmut Newton, Mulvey’s original article has itself been fetishized; its influence has neither diminished nor evolved. Having made this statement, however, Burgin himself makes little further attempt to develop it, confining himself instead to an analysis of a Newton image, interesting enough, but much narrower in focus than his opening sentence had led this reader, at least, to expect. Burgin is rightly dismissive of the way in which psychoanalytic theory has been “sociologized” and collapsed into a vulgar-Marxist version of woman-as-commodity. He might feel that Lynn Spigel’s essay on television and the postwar American suburban home is too “sociological,” but this is one of the clearest articles in the collection, a model of structural simplicity and accessibility, in which the ambiguity between public and private, outside and inside, created by the plate glass doors and picture windows of the suburban home, is shown to be reproduced by the advent of television with its concomitant notions of the living room as theater and the TV space as a safe, sanitized public space introduced into the home. (Indeed, although television created fears of a new generation of what we now would call “couch potatoes,” the screen community of the sitcom often seemed preferable to the real-life communities of the new suburbs.)

With Elizabeth Grosz’s article on bodies and cities we return to a more euphoric postmodern take on the relationship between sexuality and space. Grosz moves the discussion beyond traditional metaphors of the “body politic” or the humanist idea that at one time people unproblematically built cities; instead she explores the way in which “the city is one of the crucial factors in the social production of (sexed) corporeal bodies: the built environment provides the context … for most contemporary … forms of the body.” But disappointingly she does not develop this idea, falling back instead on a familiar and arguably exaggerated vision of a cyborg future: “the city and body will interface with the computer, forming part of an information machine in which the body’s limbs and organs will become interchangeable parts with the computer.”

Meaghan Morris’s contribution, too dense and theoretically “over-egged” (i.e., incorporating too many ingredients) to summarize, rewards several readings, and is a serious attempt both at a critique of theories and at an analysis of two specific cultural events concerning property speculation in downtown Sydney. It is insightful and thought provoking; nevertheless it illustrates both the virtues and the flaws not just of the book as a whole, but of the general state of cultural studies. Simultaneously populist and obscure, such studies can become both incoherent and philistine (although the latter is certainly not an adjective I would apply to her essay or any of these contributions).

Indeed, this is a (probably rash) generalization, not a comment on any particular article in Sexuality and Space, but if I have seemed to single out some authors for negative criticism, it is less on account of their specific contributions than because they are the heirs of what for me are ambiguous, indeed dubious, tendencies in contemporary cultural criticism, in which the debunking of Marx and all Enlightenment thought is married (or at least engaged) to a fundamentally uncritical appropriation of Freud (or at least Lacan). I have gone terminally off Lacan since I discovered that, when Antonin Artaud was his patient during World War II, Lacan showed little interest in the deranged playwright3; an illegitimate ad hominem argument, I know—but the grip of his theory on academic critics has always been mysterious to me. Even worse is a practice, which I fear may have been on occasion my own, whereby a critic distances herself ironically or cynically from an assortment of postmodern theorists (Baudrillard, Deleuze and Guattari, even Derrida and Foucault) while simultaneously appropriating their thought, not infrequently in the form of spurious generalizations—a feature, Meaghan Morris suggests, of the work of Deleuze and Guattari themselves in relation to Freud. The whole is then likely to be couched in dauntingly arcane and grammatically tortuous language. Faced with this bricolage, I am totally with Edward Gibbon—who identified one aspect of the decline of the Roman Empire as the decadence of its later literary tradition, when, he complained, “a cloud of critics … darkened the face of learning, and the decline of genius was soon followed by the corruption of taste”4—and I cannot but feel that this kind of postmodern criticism is indeed an index of decay.

But I suppose that postmodernism in general and contemporary psychoanalysis in particular is the theory our epoch in history deserves. Psycho-analysis has certainly been reconstructed to fit; in contrast to the highly moralistic and adjustive Freudianism of the 1950s, which was in any case a therapeutic and sociological rather than a critical tool, we have today psychoanalysis as an ideologically empty vessel, a theory without consequences. A fractured body of thought pleasingly open to endless reinterpretations and deconstructions, a detheorized (or perhaps etherealized) theory, it holds up a (splintered, it is true) mirror to assist in the contemplation of ourselves, one which can be thrillingly seen as “transgressive” while remaining devoid of any calls to action or any social or moral imperatives. Truly a theory for our postpolitical times.

1. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (Autumn 1975): 6–18.

2. Martin Jay, “In the Empire of the Gaze: Foucault and the Denigration of Vision in Twentieth Century French Thought,” in David Couzens Hoy, editor, Foucault: A Critical Reader (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), 178.

3. See Stephen Barber, Antonin Artaud: Blows and Bombs (London: Faber and Faber, 1993).

4. Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985), 83.

Elizabeth Wilson is on the faculty of the School of Information and Communication Studies at the University of North London; her recent books include The Sphinx in the City and Chic Thrills: A Fashion Reader.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human

Hi, hello I was so excited to write this story you don't understand! I hope you all like it, I'm open to suggestions for part two or even part three hehe, I just like this concept a lot, lol i even made a Spotify playlist to listen to while writing. And I dont do that very often.

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Summary: he shouldn't have let Hange drag him to that frat party with Petra as his date, not when she knew you'd be there with someone else.

Tags: college au!, Angst, eventual fluff, slightly nsfw

Warnings: mentions of smoking, cheating, drinking and of you squint hard enough there's some nsfw, literally it's a frat party, you know how college students are

Disclaimer: drink responsibility if you are of drinking age, don't smoke, absolutely don't drive while being drunk, also I don't own the characters, but you already know that.

The deafening sound of pop music abused Levi's ears to the point his head was pulsing. His drink, a ratty cheep lager that was disturbingly common in such parties, stood in a red plastic cup in his hand, not even halfway drank. It was the watery taste he despised; when he wasn't much of an alcohol drinker, he was adamant about bitter tastes in beverages, a preference he hadn't managed to fight in his whole life time.

He shot an ominous glance at Hange and Petra. Stood right in front him, swaying their hips and smiling at each other as they shipped from their makeshift cocktails, they were more than surprised whatever they had dumped on their cups was consumable.

Petra in particular, beamed everytime she looked his way, auburn locks of her grazing the sides of her kind face as she swayed closer to him. The way his eyes never landed on her until it was necessary guilted him more than he wanted to admit. Mainly because Hange had set them up, and also because he shouldn't have been frying his brain with thoughts of someone else when he was with her.

But sometimes he couldn't help himself.

In an attempt to shut his brain down from making generously misery thoughts, he locked his hand around Petra's waist, sipping ever so slightly off his beer in the meantime. He didn't miss the way she lowered her head to smile, the sheer maroon tint on her cheeks. She fidgeted her fingers around her drink, shooting happy stares to Hange, Erwin and Mike as she went to rest get head on Levis shoulder.

Hange softly smiled back, curling her lips on an upward curve then brushing of three long to stare at the couple with ogling eyes. She focused on the conversation Mike and Erwin were having, as if it was something important enough to get lost into.

"I'm just wondering where Nanaba is, she said I'd find her here." Mike spoke with a puzzled voice, bobbing his head around to scout for the familiar blotch of short blonde hair that acostumed the face of his long term lover.

"Ah, she's with (y/n), silly. They're probably somewhere around if you want to say hi." Hange beamed.

Levi's eyes went wide and his hands numb at the sound of your name; he couldn't believe the plastic cup hadn't slipped off his palm. It had been so long since Hange had mentioned you so casually in a shared conversation, at least before him that is. It was more than natural to assume his friends hadn't cut ties with you, in contrast to his previous belief.

It was unlikely they were working against him on this situation, but his mind couldn't stop from running in possible imageries between them and you. Were they going to that cafe near campus with you when he denied their invitation? Did they spent some nights at your new place, drinking and driving you on watching horror parodies, when you despised it?

He shook his head trying to brush bubbling thoughts of you away from his mind. With a quick look at Petra, he decided to gulp down the warmed up lager, in hopes of finding relief in a stronger refill.

He despised the way beer didn't spritz on his tongue in it's warm state, but he refused to cringe at the aftertaste. Meanwhile, on his left, Petra enthusiastically bobbed her weight between her legs at the sound of another well known song. He didn't bother to comply to her moves, his eyes averted bitterly to the emptiness of his cup, yet he couldn't eagerly decide to step out of the comfort of his position.

Strolling around meant that he could come across you and he wasn't sure whether he wanted that or not.

Yet, Hange was adamant about dragging him, through the crowd to the kitchen counter, seeing his need for a refill as an excuse to get a new drink to mix to her cocktail.

Familiar faces fleet the kitchen, strolling around with numerous cups in their hands, heading to all directions. Levi pinched his nose in annoyance; the stench of sweat and smoke numbed his nostrils making him snicker, disgust masking the look on his face.

Setting his goal as to find a closed bottle of whiskey, his hands managed to work fast to their task. Upon discovering a single bottle that was still intact he twist the cap open, skillfully bringing the rim of his cap underneath the bottle's opening. Copper liquid poured in gushes in the red plastic, filling it to its maximum capacity.

The bigger the drink, the more chances he had to get a little drunk, maybe forget about you in the process.

"Are you thinking about her, shorty?"

Hange's voice rang in his blank head for several seconds fighting to elicit an answer out of him. He fought back, merely for a moment. If he knew Hange she would have kept pressuring him to answer her question on front of every one else for the rest of the night. He was trying to fix his mood with at least some alcohol, so he wouldn't let Hange ruin it.

He hesitated to speak loud enough for his voice to reach her eardrums. Admitting to his pain made it real, and he hated still being sentimental when it came to you. At least Hange would keep her mouth shut if she got her rightful answer.

"Well I do, I suppose." He muttered below his breath, gray eyes never averting to her direction.

Hange curious expression immediately transformed into one of pure mischievous excitement that, he had to admit, was pretty unsettling. He knew that look on his friend's face, he couldn't fight it even if he wanted to so naturally he wished he had bit back on his answer. Nevertheless, what was done was done.

"It sucks doesn't it?" Hange spoke, pointer finger stretching to fox her glasses.

"It makes me feel lonely."

"Well don't make your self suffer, shorty." Hange's eyes softened as she threw a playful punch on his bicept, her drink long forgotten on the counter. "You could try to be friends with her."

"It's not that I want to suffer, it keeps me going sometimes. And no, I don't want to."

With squinted eyes and a disappointed gaze Hange shook her head at him and grabbed her drink from the wooden counter. Her mouth formed in a disapproving smirk causing her cheeks to squint and scrunch in an almost too comical manner. Levi knew he should have paid, absolutely, no mind on stressing over it; whether she was right or wrong she wasn't in a place to judge him for any of his choices, especially on the ones on his romantic life. And even more executionally, on ones she had helped him make by setting him up with Petra.

Not that he had anything against Petra.

He actually enjoyed her company. The cute little remarks she'd make for him, the way she cared for anything he did or the way her eyes would ogle at him as if he was a god. She could keep her space clean and she was kind to everyone in the sweetest manner. On top of that she had a girl next door type of beauty, auburn hair parted messily according to any occasion and round hazel eyes. All in all Hange had been right to point out she looked good on him.

Tonight, Petra was shining in her favorite pastel layers. A soft strawberry lilac turtleneck with flared sleeves as a base, topped with a powder blue strappy dress and finally completed with velvet baby pink Vans. Cute sparkly pins were accessorising her hair and numerous necklaces with moon and star charms shone on her neck. The effort she had put to perfect her aesthetic had indeed paid off; she looked like a fairy under the erratic lights of the party. She had achieved her initial goal to stand out from the occasional soft girls around the crowd, signifying she was Levi's girl.

With Levi's popularity amongst ladies, she had to be effortlessly perfect.

And she was, for as long as she was concerned.

Levi shot his eyes to his friends' direction, catching quickly glimpses of the way Petra danced with Hange. Erwin and Mike were nowhere to be found for now, as he assumed they would be searching for Nanaba.

He cringed at the chaotic arrangement of things; Nanaba had distanced her self from the group because she was your childhood friend so her relationship with Mike naturally came second to not forcing you into the same group as Levi. As if Levi wanted to be forced to be in the same group as you.

Fortunately, you had plenty of friends as to not to stick onto his group.

He was gulping a mouthful of his drink, copper whiskey watering down his dry throat as if he hasn't drunk anything in hours, when his eyes met yours in the crowd. His heart immediately skipped a long beat, chest heavying at the sight of your flushed face.

Maybe, on second thought, you hadn't actually noticed him.

You stood outside of the massive glass window proudly downing the shot in your hand after cheering on it with Eren. There was joy written on your makeup accessoried face; with your eyes squinted and your smile spread to your face asour hips moved according to the music engulfed in Eren's palms. Your hair swayed with each one of your movements, (h/c) locks landed messily on your face and shoulders mirroring Eren's to perfection. Levi couldn't help but notice how Eren's man bun was coming undone on the erratic movements his made.

As you slightly squated, attempting to perk your buttocks in the air for your partner to grab, your baggy jeans tightened their hug on your body in perfection. Levi remembered having seeing you in those baggy cargo jeans from afar on a few occasions, always thinking how good they looked on you, always admiring how you could always lull off your desired aesthetic effortlessly.

It was true that had he not seen you flawnting your effortless dark urban style, he would have thought that Petra had been the only girl who could show anyone how dressing aesthetically could be achieved. But you were something different. They way your breasts sat firmly at the bustier bits of your spaghetti strapped top, adorned by the corset like nature of the torso tube looked magnificent paired to your jeans. Your jet black Dr Marten's boots peaked from the flared finish of your jeans, giving the look a 90s grungy edge along with your all natural -be it for your dark maroon lip color.

Looking around, amongst numerous art majors like you he couldn't find someone who could mimick the way you pulled it off.

There fore, on a way he didn't blame Eren's hands as they traveled down your curves and touched tenderly at your torso. Even if the motion pulled any string in his heart that wasn't numbed by his alcoholic beverage.

He loathed you looked so good, and he loathed the way you danced to the loud tune as if no one was around.

With another big gulp on his whiskey, he felt the world slowing down around him.

As your eyes finally met -this time it wasn't just him imagining things- the tune changed, mocking him for gawking at you while taking your side against him. He noticed you mouth the lyrics to him, your head turned to his direction as his eyes struggled to rip away from your form.

Your moves on Eren became more intimate, more suggestive as you scratched the nape of his neck, bringing your mouth close to his ear to whisper words Levi couldn't have known of. Quickly, Eren pulled away with a pouty smile, displeased that he had to pull away from you. It was in that second that Levi's chest tightened dangerously, as Eren's lips brushed chastely on yours, noses bumping on eachother.

In an attempt to shook the image out of his head he turned on his heels, cup squeezed in hand and stomach growling in anxiety as he marched to his group of friends. Smiling faces welcomed him but he paid no mind in reciprocating the slightest glance. Levi wasn't exactly the type to bounce back immediately after having experienced his heart sinking in such horrid way.

Unsurprisingly for him -seeing that he was used to things only going downhill after a shitty event- Mike appeared out of the blue with Nanaba linked on him through their elbows. It wasn't in fact Nanaba that shattered any remain of his, already ruined, mood, but the person that clung into her palm.

More specifically, you.

"Heyy!!" Hange screamed, hands stretching towards your direction, already pulling you in her embrace once you reached her velocity. "I have missed you so much, where have you been these days!"

"Hange we went out for launch yesterday." You giggled through your squished cheek.

"Noo, that was ages ago I miss you everyday."

You shot a judgemental look at Erwin from Hange's back as she began to pull back from your embrace. The lisps and slips of her tongue were starting to become prominent as she poured words before you in an excessively fast paced manner, leaving you unable to come up with a way to respond to her, let alone understand what she had been saying.

Erwin scratched the back of his head an but his lip in response, shoulders rising up in an unbeknownst manner.

"You shouldn't let her drink that much. You know how she gets." You scolded, looking around the faces of your friends, trying your best not to let your faint voice get overlapped by the loud reggaeton beat.

Once again as Levi's eyes locked gazes with yours your breath hitched inside your chest.

His hand strode out to Petra's waist, pulling her closer almost too automatically for anyone not to notice. The commotion caught your eye, but you never flinched, much to your demise. Petra's hair swayed to the right as her smile widened from the sudden affectionate gesture, making you sick to the stomach from how soft and fragile and enchanting she had managed to look.

"Anyways I just came to say hi, I'll go find Eren now-"

Your words were cut short as your aforementioned significant other showed up bouncing in excitement beside you. Mirroring Levi's actions he pulled you close in a swift movement before ensuring he gave soft smiles to everyone. Hange excitedly greeted him back as Nanaba and Mike caught him up in casual conversation.

Levi watched as the brunette whipped his head whenever he flawnted on his achievements, causing Nanaba to shoot him awkward smiles and Mike to shrug him off in the process. You could see the despair in their faces as Eren egoistically carried on the conversation, but you tried to shrug it off for the moment as you conversed with Erwin.

Your mind wouldn't stop ordering your eyes to attach themselves into the picture perfect couple ahead of you, who paid no mind to your mere existence. In a way you blamed yourself for having caused this. Had you uttered a single hello to them you wouldn't have received such treatment. It served you right for knowingly intruding their space with the intention to make your presence known to Levi.

If you knew if the way Levi's eyes fell onto you everytime you looked away, you wouldn't have had yanked Eren's hand in an attempt to gain his attention.

"Ah sweetheart, I'm sorry, Yeagerbombs with your Yeager boy?" Eren blinked his emerald eyes into yours, pride splattered in his smile for his -cringeworthy to anyone else but himself- pun. You couldn't help but let out a nervous snicker of a laugh as he yanked you close to him again, pleading eyes landing into Levi's stormy gaze.

For you, the world seemed to stop in the moment as you took in his dimly lit face and delicate features. The music fell deaf to your ears as you gawked at him, hands trembling and tongue tied in words that you failed to recognize.

That mellow melancholy in his eyes, the adorning eyebags, the way some short coarse hairs on his face tried to mimick his neatly kept undercut, it all seemed unreal to you.

How long had it been since you had been so close to him? Nowadays it seemed the two of you had moved on to whatever. You had tried so much to avoid eachother that your timing never allowed the two of you to meet, not even for a the slightest, in hopes of forgetting about each others existence.

What downed you, though, from your precious pink cherry blossom rainfall bubble was that Petra was wrapped lovingly around him, her aesthetically pleasing image fitting conveniently with your little fairytale background, throwing you out of it.

By faintly excusing yourself from the group you let yourself lose on Eren's grip as he slipped you away from the crowd and towards the kitchen.

__

Levi didn't want to have to take a trip to the bathroom of a sorority house. In thought it seemed disgusting and unsanitary, but he had so much to drink that his body had been begging and screaming to him for some sort of relief.

He assumed the upstairs bathroom would be clean, supposing there weren't any horny young adults crushing their reproductive organs against eachother as there would normally be at any party of this nature.

With a steady knock that elicited no answer or even a simple grunt from the other side of the door he knew he was good to go. With a movement of his wrist the handle twisted and he slowly let himself in, eager to get through the process as fast as possible.

A few moments later and the fly of his distressed jeans was being zipped up again, tucked neatly under his black crewneck's bottom. He scrunched his sleeves up above his elbows and run his hand under the sink, waiting for the water to warm up.

His face looked tainted in the mirror; puffy eyebags and a deadpan expression while his lips stayed chapped. In an attempt to look presentable he run his now excessively washed hands through his front bangs tagging slightly to form a little volume at the roots.

He hadn't expected to swoon so easily at the sight of you being playfully entangled with Eren. He hadn't expected his heart to sink at the sight of you being explicitly affectionate with anyone before him and he wondered if it was simply due to the fact that he hadn't been accostumed to it. He certainly hadn't expected of Eren to step in and swoop you away before his very eyes; the pain of seeing you next to a friend of his seemed even more devastating for a few seconds.

Nevertheless, the little shit had always had an eye on you, even if he liked to consider himself as a protegee if his.

Levi wondered if you had felt that loathing feeling as well. Petra hadn't been that private about their relationship, with her constant posts on Instagram, her continuous snaps of him on a daily basis. Whereas he hadn't seen you post many things in the course of eight months.

He had brushed off the idea of scrolling through your socials a numerous times before finally agreeing on linking with Petra. Secretly he'd search for your shared photos, hoping they'd appear out of nowhere on your profile. Secretly he'd stare at his archived posts, contemplating on whether he should keep photos of a better time protected or whether he should delete them.

Now with his back against the sink to prevent himself from catching his reflection judging him, he unlocked his phone and tapped the familiar fuchsia icon. As expected, Eren's profile icon flashed in a pink and orange ombre circle before all others, signaling he had posted a story. Not supressing his pulled heartstrings who were set to call the shots tonight, Levi tapped on the icon with such force that a loud tapping sound filled his ears.

The video loaded painfully slow, his data connection giving in to the thick bathroom walls. Eren's face flashed on his screen, sheepish smile adorning his features."There's no hope for us!" He spoked in blurred pronounciation. "Even the anti smoker is smoking!" In a quick sequence the camera angle shifted on you, apathetically taking a drag out of a freshly rolled cigarette while cussing him out in a stern tone.

Silently he scrunched his nose and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Surely you still hadn't learnt from past mistakes. In seldom occasions you'd smoke while mixing your drinks, nothing unusual for people at your age; although Levi knew better than to do it consciously, you sometimes did. He had been strick and unforgiving on you, snapping out on you the following day for not taking good care of yourself. Clearly his short temper had only pushed you to riot now that you were away from him.

When the door shot open, causing him to jump and nearly let his phone slip away from his grip, he couldn't bring himself to realise for how long he'd been sitting in the bathroom, replaying Eren's story.

His eyes quickly recognised you as you shot your arms to pull your hair away from your face. He had seen you from every possible angle, a feeling that once upon a time had made him feel sick and trapped, pushing him to make stressed decisions. Every little detail of yours was curved in the back of his brain, awaiting for moments like this to unleash. It was easy like that to recognize you for miles ago.

As much as he'd like to, he didn't make a move towards you, afraid that maybe if you saw him out of all people in this state you'd jump in fear.

Nonetheless he couldn't help the silent inquiry concerning your condition not slip off his mouth. "You alright there?"

"I'm fine." You gulped, supressing the urge to spill your stomach's insides before the person behind you. "It's just- my ex is here and I- I guess I got stressed and I smoked and I drunk too much and ugh-" you cringed at the way you overshared your personal matters with a stranger, although you momentarily found comfort in the action. No one could judge you if they didn't know you, right?

"You don't say!"

Of course luck wouldn't be on your side. Ever since you laid your eyes on him a few hours ago you knew it in your heart this night would fall in crumbles, but did it really have to be this way?

You jumped, startled at the sight of Levi's familiar face, ignoring the way your heart fell as hard as a rock in your stomach, ignoring the vertigo like feeling to numb the poor organ. Puke hitched in your throat and you ripped your eyes away from his form in a panicked state. Your stomach emptied in the porcelain toilet, leaving atrocious sounds as it burned and scratched on your throat. You feel your whole body go weak with every shot of your stomach. Your hands couldn't keep their grasp on your hair; they quickly fell near your legs.

Levi crouched to your side in a heartbeat, his quick instincts getting the best of him as he grabbed your hair tenderly in order to keep it away from your face.

"Fuck, just how much did you even drink?" He whispered, hand reluctantly reaching to soothe down your back.

"You should know." You barked. "You were staring. How dare you?"

He had grown accustomised to quite make out your mutters by assuming what you were feeling in the moment. Athough, as your excessive vomiting came to an alt, you yanked your hair angrily out of his hands, refusing to associate yourself with him anymore.

As you meticulously washed your hands and mouth you noticed his stretched hand shielded the way to the door, blocking you from exiting. Your dizzy state didn't allow you to be feisty as you fixated your interest in swooning over the way his arms looked with his sleeves rolled up. You took a mental note to scold yourself for that very fact once you were sober enough.

"I have to go to my friends, thanks for helping me."

"You're not going anywhere." You noticed his breath hitched as he spoke. Was he equally as drunk? Wasn't he supposed to handle his alcohol like he had always said? Just how much had he had to drink? "You're not going anywhere until you tell me why you drunk so much."

Your silent thoughts geared up inside your brain, ready to skyrocket out of your mouth the moment you opened it to speak. "It's because you're here and you're with her and seeing the two of you in action is only making it real!"

Levi erratically blinked at your word vomiting. He hadn't expected you to just spill out those words without a notice it a warning, hell, even a little warm up would be nice to help him form a preserved reaction without becoming a drunk stuttering mess.

Without warning your hands wrapped around him, chests pressed against each other in the firmest way possible, sending shivers down his newly sweating spine. Normally, he'd say he hated the way you nuzzled against the crook of his neck, wiggling your nose through his crewneck sweater to coo into his warmth. Normally, he'd pinch himself and wake up and you would disappear, never to been seen laying beside him in such manner again.

Normally his blood wouldn't pump profoundly in his veins in excitement and lust as your touch and your smell.

As the sweet aroma of vanilla and pergamont englulfed his nostrils his arms loosened around him before jumping to the sides of your face, yanking it away from his neck. His next move was crucial; thumbs tenderly stroked on your cheeks as his stormy eyes looked silently into yours. He could only listen to his heartbeat as he crushed his mouth against yours in a feverous manner.

His body pushed against yours in need to pull you into the kiss as you responded with equal effort to your passion. Fortunately for him you had spent minutes trying meticulous wash out any smell or taste away from your mouth with some oral hygiene products you had happened to come across in the cupboards. The fact that he was drunk didn't mean he was inconsiderate of his need for everything to be clean.

__

All in all, be wasn't sure how the two of you ended up in the backseat of his car, topless with your tongues genuinely battling for dominance.

He must have been in a haze as he pushed past and out of the crowd, erratically trying to remember the general direction in which his car was parked.

As his hands gripped everywhere he could find his eyes didn't dare to shoot open. Existing in this moment, dry humping to your hips from underneath you. Tiny bumps adorned your skin every time he touched you. The freezing air of December had finally brushed its effect on both of you, soft shivers shook your whole form and he couldn't help but notice.

He couldn't think straight, despite wanting to though.

Your lips launched in the soft spot on his neck in an effortless manner. To him it was obvious you hadn't forgotten his own anatomy; all the places that you touched teased him perfectly to submission making him sink into the black industrial seat.

Your hands passionately grabbed the back of his hair, elbows colliding with the skin just under his collarbone.

"I've missed this, I've longed for this."

Your words, whether they were intentional or not, slit through his chest and set fire to the wound, causing another wave of stressful passion to spread from his stomach to his whole body. Chaste kisses were places all over his face, underneath his bangs, on his eyes, even the tenders corners of his jaw.

Your noses crashed, your breaths mingling in the air as your lips found his again.

You moved your lips in perfect synch, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that were fabricated to fit perfectly on eachother. It hurt you that your bodies were working against your sober wills. You made another note to punish yourself for that as well once you were in your right mind.

His hands wrapped tighter around your back, crashing you impossibly closer next to him. Your chest fought to rise and fall as squirms escaped you, engulfed into his mouth.

"We shouldn't do this here, I'm not up to voyeuring anyone." He remarked, but fell silent as you placed another brushing kiss on his lips before pulling back to slightly nod in agreement.

Before you knew it you were wrapped in his jacket, your top long forgotten in an unseen corner of his car. His own charcoal black crewneck shielded his body from your sight as he hit the pedals of his car almost too closely to the allowed speed limit.

Long forgotten were his friends and date to the first party, long forgotten were any attempts to find excuses for whatever had ignited what was happening.

The trip to his apartment was quicker than what you had expected; maybe it was for the alcohol in your system that left you in a constant vertigo, but your head wasn't getting any better. The warm golden Christmas city lights adorned every single aspect of the streets and captivated your eyes spreading their heat into your whole form. With Christmas around the corner the current situation felt even more alluring to indulge into.

Christmas always meant Levi, in a way.

You swore you only blinked for a second once you entered the apartment building front door but when you opened your eyes you were before his door.

As always, it read 25B.

In a flash you were underneath him in his bed, hair sprawled everywhere around you as his lips angrily assaulted your collarbones. You didn't trust your drunk antics to tell you if the night was still young, but you assumed it could still labor a few more hours of the greediness between two long lost lovers.

"I" he started acting kissed on your lips as his hands came to mingle with the button of your jeans. "Want you to know." Another kiss was placed on your lips. "That" another "I-"

This time you cut him off with your swollen lips on his, sucking all air out of his lungs. "Just kiss me and we'll talk about this afterwards."

__

Your eyes throbbed as light entered their cavities, reflecting on your irises despite your best wishes. You had only just shot out a hand to shield them from the warm rays of sun when panic stabbed through your chest like a murderous intruder.

They blueyish grey tink to the walls and the futuristic design of the drawers and nightstands were all too familiar to you. They stood there, mocking you on all their dark chocolaty color for being unable to come up with an immediate answer to your whereabouts.

Your head was being occasionally jolted in throbbing hot pain as you decided to look around you in the matress, in hopes of recognising the person to whom the newly sounding grunts belonged to.

To your utter shock and disbelief, Levi shot up from his position on the bed. You watched as his eyes widened at the sight of you, grey orbs slightly shrinking in shock and realisation.

"What did you-" he began but soon his hand shot up to his own throbbing head. "Shit just how much did we have to drink?"

"Okay I have a better question," you added to your shared misery "are you as naked as I am?"

It was on rare occasions that you had seen such irrational panic mask Levi's face, yet this time must have been the most striking one amongst the ones you could recall. His skin had lost at least two shades of color, his lips parted slightly. His forehead was cringled as his eyebrows were skyrocketing away from his eyes.

Although when he opened his mouth in an attempt to confirm the obvious, he was quickly cut off by the sound of his doorbell being rung, along with three stern knocks on his door. Even his phone started ringing from beside him, adding pressure to his momentarily frozen state. He picked the divice in his hands, fingers shakingly making their way to the acceptance button.

"Hey Petra!"

"Hey love!" You heard the cheerful voice fill the air through his speaker. Petra had a really loud voice, you noticed, it was either that or that your head was about to explode from the hangover. "I'm outside, please open up, you left without even saying goodbye and wouldn't pick up your phone. I'm so worried."

"Tch, give me a second I'll get changes and we can have breakfast at that cafe you like." Levi grunted, his thumb reaching to rub soothing circles on the prominent vein in his forehead.

"Can I come inside?"

Shit.

"Yeah yeah." He spoke as he hit the closing button, his phone being slammed against the bed. His head turned to you, only to reveal a section of his throat that was bruised in lovemarks you had left on him. "Hide, stay silent, I don't know which one, just do it."

After his harsh order, his eyes never had a chance to reach yours as he got up from the bed to sprint to his dresser, hurriedly searching for the only washed black turtleneck he owned. He hadn't even had a chance to look himself in the mirror, but knowing you, you couldn't have held back from munching on the skin in his throat.

Upon his quick discovery, he threw on a pair of gray of sweats that he recover from the hanger behind his door.

You didn't dare speak, hell you didn't even dare move, the fear of being discovered in such pretentious position -as the third person- in a house you once had lived in overtook your natural senses and your irrational thinking. Your heart didn't cease to sink as moments later you heard the door click open, then immediately close.

The familiar buzzing sound of silence filled your ears a few moments later. This time realisation kicked in immediately in hopes of drowning your mind in excessive amounts of overthinking. That's how it was then?

Your head plopped down the pillows, sinking deeper and deeper with each passing second. Your heart skipped essential beats and your breathing hitched in your throat. Only one question stood on top of others.

What had you done?

Tags because yay: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 and @ackermans-freedom-inc because I know they were excited for this story and the new addition to my taglist (??) @alrightberries 👉🏻❤️👈🏻

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Ok, yoga thots...instead of finding him a class, Nush offers to show him the basics. At her or his apartment. My yoga instructor was very...hands on. He wasn’t shy about coming up behind you and yanking your hips into the proper alignment or moving you into the correct pose. I can imagine Nush being the same. Telling Marcus to relax into it, pushing and pulling him into down dog or warrior, etc. and neither of them are unaffected by the seemingly careless but inherently intimate touches.

Once their relationship is more established, I can him turning the tables on her; teasing her with light touches to “correct” her form. Pulling her hips firmly back into him when she’s in down dog because “she really needs to extend into and out of the pose”. Yeah...yoga thots 🥵

For you @silverwolf319 Enjoy the fluff to sexiness ❤️❤️❤️

Marcus Pike is a good man. He does not spend the hours you practise yoga having impure thoughts about what he knows is enclosed in your brightly tie-dyed sports bra and how those tightly fitting leggings leave nothing to his imagination. He wouldn’t dream of the possible different positions he could comfortably take you in, on that yoga mat that is almost permanently unrolled on his balcony. He does not think about the strength, curve and definition of muscle in your thighs when you pedal your legs in downward dog. Or how, those thighs look wrapped around his head or how they could easily snap his neck with their goddamn strength.

What a way to go!

Today, you have those shiny silver shorts on - the ones that when you bought them, you loved them so much that you did what you thought were comical shimmies all around the apartment in them and although all Marcus could do initially was laugh, they soon were strewn upon the floor.

They keep catching the morning sun, making your ass sparkle like a sexy disco ball. In stark contrast, your black vest top is like a second skin absorbing some of the shock factor of your lower half. Instead of Marcus’ usual position of sitting at his dining table in the chair opposite the door, he has decided to join you, out on the balcony.

“What do you want? Have you come to disrupt my path to Nirvana?” You cheekily question the purity of his intentions, whilst settling yourself on your mat, cross-legged with your weight evenly across your sit bones, about to begin mindful breathing.

Marcus reaches out to encircle his arms around you in a hug, kissing the side of your forehead, “Teach an old man some new tricks. Your brother was fit to be tied when he found out I only do running and weights. He said that as the yoga queen, you are the deity I need to bow to.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“Okay, so I’m paraphrasing... slightly.”

Marcus grins at the small huff you exhale as he knows full well that means he’s got his own way, “Fine, but just remember that yoga goes way beyond the physical asanas. Sometimes just thanking your body for breathing is all you need to achieve from your practice.”

“My breathing is okay - but my IT bands and my hamstrings are not,” he concedes.

“Alright clever clogs, you’ve just been for a run haven’t you?” Marcus nods at you by way of confirmation, “Thought so, stinky boy.”

Teasingly waggling his sweaty pits towards you - that by no stretch of the imagination actually smelled - he loves watching your pretence of disgust whilst trying to swallow a giggle, “Right, we’re going to start by stretching your spine six ways.”

“Is that even possible?” He asks, eyes widening and skin looking a little ashy.

“This is just your warm up, idiot,” you swat at his shoulder playfully, “Sit however you feel comfortable, put your left hand on the outside of your right knee and now as you breathe out, I want you to twist to the right. With every exhale, try to twist a bit more.”

Crunch-

Marcus’ face contorts in horror at the sounds coming from his body, “Should my spine have made that noise?”

“Yep. Now you’re going to do the twist the opposite way- right hand on left knee and then twist to the left.”

Clunk-

“That already feels pretty good - can I go eat pancakes now?”

He loves how you narrow your eyes, shaking your head at his level of commitment to the exercise, “Now, we’ll do a lateral stretch- right hand beside your hip and arc the left arm over your head,” you place your hands on Marcus’s back and chest to stop him from collapsing forwards, opening his heart up, “‘K, now you need to do the other side.”

“Now, I want you to come to all fours, with your back like a tabletop. You’re going to do a Cat and Cow here and then your back should be warm.”

After arching and curving his back until you are satisfied, he allows you to help him up into his first ever downward dog - he enjoys you guiding his hips back and telling him to bend his knees a little until his back is perfectly straight.

“Try holding this for ten breaths. This is a brilliant pose for runners as it strengthens your hamstrings, calves and foot arches.”

Marcus listens more carefully than you give him credit for, enjoying your no nonsense attitude. The little adjustments you do to him, make him more comfortable than he ever thought he’d be upside down with his ass in the air. And you’re right - of course you are - but being outside, breathing deeply and listening to the bird song is just making him feel so relaxed.

“Ok Bubs, I want you to bring your knee towards your hands and plant your right foot between your hands,” you gently instruct him, “Do it slowly, there’s no race. Now drop your left leg to the floor and sweep your arms up to the sky to balance. This is a low lunge - quite often called runners lunge- as it’s great for your IT bands and hamstrings.”

Marcus enjoys the all too brief feeling of your hands on his bottom to help him tuck his coccyx under before helping him back into a downward dog to work his left side. He watches you walk over to the edge of the balcony, the slight movement in your shorts throwing sunlight back at him.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“Is it time for that lying down and sleeping pose yet?” Marcus questions pleadingly.

He loves the small laugh you give him, as you turn back towards him - eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No savasana yet, I thought we could have some fun with some couple poses,” oh that cock of your eyebrow has all the blood in Marcus’ body rushing to one area.

“Ok the first one is you holding me up in a plank position - your feet holding my lower tummy and your hands holding mine.”

Marcus places his socked feet gently against your hip bones, threading his much thicker fingers between yours, “Ready?”

He feels you take a small bounce up and catches your weight on his feet, straightening his legs, hoisting you up into the air.

“EAGLEEEEEE!” you squeal, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Marcus - the vibration making you almost lose your balance and wobble precariously, “ARGH!”

“Trust me, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let you fall - I promise,” Marcus promises wholeheartedly.

“I know you won’t,” he hears the little catch in your voice as you quietly answer, “Are you ready to let go of my hands? Keep your feet where they are - I’ll use my tummy muscles to keep myself up.”

Gradually unthreading his fingers from yours, Marcus lets go as you lift your chest into the pose. Seeing the shape you’re now in, he starts to hum the Superman theme, “I’m not sure I like these poses - you’re too far away from me and I’m touching even less of you than before,” his bottom lip sticks out in a juicy sulk.

“Oh, you want to be closer?”

“Uh yeah?”

“Ok, put me down,” you request as Marcus sets you mostly gently back onto your feet, “I’m going to help you into a bound angle pose - it’s not tricky and it feels really good as it opens up your pelvis, allowing good blood flow to the area.”

“Hah, certainly don’t have any problem in that area with you around,” Marcus winks at you.

Marcus relaxes his legs in front of him as you bend his knees outwards, placing the soles of his feet together, slowly bringing his heels in towards his groin. He shuffles his bum so that he sits directly on his sit bones, remembering what you’ve nagged him about before.

“You wanted to be close, right?” you check again, “I’m going to put myself between your legs and wrap my feet around your back now.”

“Mmm, this is better,” Marcus shuts his eyes as you settle against him, enjoying the sensation of you weaving your arms around the broad expanse of his back and resting your head against his shoulder. Looping his arms around you, he settles his head into your neck, inhaling the soft floral scent of your perfume. His eyelashes flutter butterfly kisses as his whole body relaxes into you.

Your buttery soft skin begs to be kissed and licked, nuzzled and nibbled. The closeness of your bodies has Marcus feeling giddy and drunk, despite the grounding of the floor beneath him. Focusing on the softness of your breasts pressing into him, he tries to mimic your deep inhalations and exhalations - desperately trying to suck in the air that you’ve just breathed out so that the same air can circulate through his body.

Feeling your hands move, snaking into the dark curls of his hair, Marcus pulls back slightly to gaze into your eyes before he kisses you. Soft, full lips meet yours - kissing you is always a revelation to him, astonishing him and caressing his very soul. Your gentle touches teach him the depths of your love, your intelligence and how you utterly rule him with the tenderness of your tongue.

Clutching you closer to him - as if he could try absorbing your body into his - Marcus holds you tightly, allowing your absolute adoration of him to become the glue that mends the shards of his shattered heart. Slowly bridging the gaps and reconnecting parts that have been trampled by decades of painful love - non reciprocal and undeserving- glueing it, fixing it, rewinding it back to that moment where the only love you are concerned with is that of the unconditional one of your family.

The spinning headiness from the cocktail of safety and vulnerability in the sweetness of your kisses, never fails to sweep Marcus away. Blinking the wetness that has gathered in the corners of his eyes, he draws back, attempting to swallow back the lump that has formed in his throat.

“Hey,” he feels you searching his face for the reason for his tears, enjoying how your thumbs stroke his cheeks, “Are you ok?”

“Sweetheart, ‘m’ok,” he quietly murmurs, leaning forward to brush the dampness of his face into the dark silk of your hair, “I know you’ve said that sometimes yoga makes you open your heart but I didn’t realise how literal that was.”

He loves how much you treasure his openness - never any mocking or roll of the eyes for that. For so many it was always too much - far too intense and seen as needy. Nuzzling into the scent of lazy summer evenings in Provence, he presses sweet kisses into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp enjoying the small moans of pleasure.

With your foreheads resting lightly -sitting so close that a piece of paper cannot pass between the pair of you - your breathing and heartbeats meet in synchronicity. A slight tilt of your head with the offer of your lips and Marcus is sinking back into you. Lost in taste that is so entirely you -your breakfast of black coffee and bitter marmalade- tantalising his senses.

His hands untangle from the tendrils of your hair to seek out the even softer parts of you, stopping momentarily to stroke the sides of your chest - hitting the underwire of your bra, searching for the softness encased above. Marcus scoops the rounded flesh of your breasts in his bear-like paws as his thumbs search for the sensitive, responsive nubs. He loves how your body keens into his touch - how you naturally deepen the kisses, ladening them with such an intense sensuality that it never ceases to steal the very breath from his lungs.

With a growl into your mouth as you scratch your nails into his back, he feels you arch into his touch making him squeeze your nipples tighter between his gun-calloused thumb and forefinger - a gradually softening memory of his time back in the States.

Entirely confident that you can feel the pleasure that you are bringing him, Marcus grinds his hips further into you - the warmth of your core pressing teasingly against his hardness, making him feral in his need to claim you. A small mirror of his movement from you makes him drop his hands from your breasts and grab the succulent muscle of your bum - the sudden movement making him pull you on top of him, rocking your hips forward, as he lies back between your knees.

Looping his fingers into the glittering elastic of your shorts, he goes to pull them down but is stopped by your gentle grip around his wrists and a small shake of your head, “I want to make you feel good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Marcus��� eyes roll back as you lean forward, pinning his hands above his head. Every small kiss you press into his skin leaves an imprint on his heart as you place them all the way down the velvety creased forehead, the aquiline arch of his nose and the patchy beard on his chin before licking down his throat. He enjoys the soft path that your breasts trail ahead of the warmth from your mouth, the sensation from the weight of them causing his cock to twitch.

A small flush runs through him as you lift the soft cotton of his t-shirt, a hint of embarrassment at the softness of his tummy. His hands unconsciously move to cover himself up, which in one smooth movement you have back above his head as you lick down his chest, sucking and nibbling each nipple as you edge ever lower to his treasure trail.

Feeling your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his running shorts as your mouth peppers kitten licks and kisses across his Adonis belt, he lifts his hips slightly to allow his shorts and boxers to be lowered. As his cock, which curves slightly to the left, springs free, it hits just beside his tummy button leaving a small bead of pre-cum. Marcus swallows hard, watching as you lap it up without a second thought, your hand wrapping the base of his length guiding the proud tip into the valley between your breasts.

The sensation of his cock being massaged there, encased by the soft pliable flesh, almost makes him explode right then, decorating your skin with a precious pearl necklace. The flicks of your tongue over the tip and gentle tugs of his balls, make Marcus’ mind empty of all thoughts as the surges of pleasure become more and more intense.

Marcus can’t help the guttural groans that escape his lips as you wrap the warm wetness of your mouth around his cock and suck. He holds your hair back from your face so he can watch his inches disappear between your lips. As your mouth, hands and tongue work in harmony together, he knows he won’t last long. The pressure builds and his hips arch up, chasinghis high. He cannot help but fill the morning air with his cries of ecstasy as he fills your mouth with a flood of cum. Pulse after pulse of semen bursts forth as you keep up the deliciously deep pressure around the base of his shaft.

He loves how you still keep his rapidly softening cock in your mouth - an absolute reassurance that there was no rush to come down from his heights of pleasure. Eventually, using the hands Marcus has wrapped around your head, he urges you to slide back up along his body. As you reach eye level with him, he surges forward crashing his lips into yours, unable to say thank you in any other way.

He loves how he can taste himself on your tongue. He loves how your normally relatively organised hair has been ruffled into standing out at mad-scientist angles. He loves the softness in your eyes and how your chest is still rising and falling quickly.

He loves.

He loves you.

Tag list : @yespolkadotkitty @astroboots @green-socks @bison-writes @mouthymandalorian @tardisfangurl @mrsparknuts @danniburgh @absurdthirst @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lunaserenade @agirllovespancakes @zukoyonce @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

With massive thanks as ever to the beauteous @yespolkadotkitty for her betas of my soft core porn ❤️

[my-writings-and-musings]

You know that trope where after a battle everyone is celebrating but one of the characters don’t realise they’ve been injured but pull their hand away from their side and it’s covered in blood, everyone is looking at them with horror and rush to their side as the character falls to their knees? Imagine if that happened but with the human liaison and the bots of the LL

Oh you mean one of the SACRED tropes?? Heck yeah I do it's darn near my bread and butter when daydreaming, and for our Lost Light bots...

The BIGGEST variable is what bots are present and their relationship to the human, but regardless of those a number of things are probably constant, especially when one considers the tiny and delicate nature of humans. No bot is unaware of how easily they can lose you. Not in theory, anyway. Seeing your body break is a lot, for each of them in their own way, especially if you're just coming back from victory...

Bots like Tailgate, Swerve, and Nautica are quick to go into an open panic. Without a plan, they'll rush to your side the instant they see crimson on your palm, knowing only that you need help and must undoubtedly be in pain but running far too deeply on emotions to form a plan. Their hands will likely hover in uncertainty before securing a hesitant grip to keep you sitting up, in the least.

This contrasts with the medics like Ratchet, First Aid, Velocity and Ambulon, who move with immediate purpose to stem the bleeding. Don't mistake action for calm, however. These quickly moving bots are just as worried to see your injuries as those who lose themselves to their panic. Having training just helps them channel their energy, but like the others, their sparks are filled with agony to see you in pain and their voices are softened to comfort you.

Others, like Rodimus, Rung, Skids, and Drift are somewhere in between. They have control but no training to assist you medically, so their first move is to offer encouragement and reassure you through the pain and delirium. Though they obviously are terrified as well, they don't hesitate to cradle your tiny form and shush your weak queries, encouraging you to save your strength.

Some of the more action oriented, like Ultra Magnus, Cyclonus, Chromedome and Rewind, but especially Whirl, will want to get you help before anything else can happen. Some reasurances will come from them, yet their primary focus will be on securing aid however possible, and if that means carrying you there they won't hesitate to do so. Like everyone else though, they don't stop worrying from the moment they see you're hurt.

Some particular reactions to note are;

Swerve- Will burst out begging for you to be alright and then feel really bad for doing so, thinking he was "guilt tripping" you with his emotions.

Tailgate- Cries almost on reflex, but is quickest to slip your little hand in his so you have something to hold on to while the pain starts to kick in.

Nautica- Can't help panicking because she's just done enough human research to know you're in trouble, but not enough to help, which tears her apart.

Ratchet- Breaks his calm only for an instant upon seeing the wound, because he has to fight to remember human medical treatment over ingrained Cybertronian.

First Aid- Of all the medics is the most openly nervous, due largely to inexperience with your biology, but you know this only because his voice trembles.

Velocity- Has the least trouble with your size due to dexterity, but tries to reassure you the most of any medic, as she knows there's little she can do for pain.

Ambulon- Immediately worries about where to actually begin, despite his training, because the alien nature of your anatomy has him worried he may make things worse.

Rodimus- He's actually the most tearful of his group, even if he ignores them while he talks, because he blames himself for you being here at all.

Rung- Undoubtedly the gentlest bot of them all, tenderly shushing you as he promises help is on the way, and he even supports your head for the sake of comfort.

Skids- The biggest surprise in terms of his mannerisms, he's calm and gentle as he whispers solace in his thick but pleasant sounding accent.

Drift- For someone so focused on positive energy, he really struggles the most to keep calm, and makes up for it by talking with a smile to distract you.

Ultra Magnus- Some might have found the way he lifted you and started moving cold, but one glance in his optics reveals that he is afraid.

Chromedome and Rewind- Work as a team, with the former running and the latter using small hands to carry you, while both talk as casually as possible.

Cyclonus- To strangers he's unstoppable and unfeeling, but he's an internal wreck at the sight of you in his hands, particularly due to how quickly you seem to bleed.

Whirl- Without a doubt, his reaction is the angriest, but he keeps that rage focused on motivating you to stay alive like an aggressive coach.

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[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

I've never met ANYONE who actually likes the Chibnall era. Would you seriously say that it's objectively good?

Brace yourself for unpopular (albeit positive) opinions.

Objectively? I don't know, I tend to feel like media is very much subjective and down to opinion. But on the whole...yeah. I'm gonna say yeah. I think the Chibnall era thus far is every bit as good as the Moffat Era and Davies Era were. It actually blows my mind to see the fandom come together and almost universally agree that the show has gone downhill. It's part of the reason why I kind of stepped away from the Doctor Who fandom because there's something very demoralizing about re-watching clips from Season 12 and seeing literally every comment just talk about how the show is ruined. And if I re-watch old clips, very often I come across comments that talk about how the show "used to" be good, and should have ended with Twelve, etc. I know a little reluctance toward the new Doctor can be part of the transition process, but normally the fans are over it by now.

Things haven't really changed.

I've been re-watching Twelve's era, and found a new appreciation for him. But I re-watched Thirteen's era right beforehand, and you know what? It holds up. Season 11 is remarkably strong. I can't think of a single "bad" episode in that season. It focuses on the characters, and thus it doesn't have nearly as strong ambitions, compared to one of the Moffat seasons, which were clever but often convoluted. They couldn't always stick the landing. (Looking at you, Season 6) But every has it's good parts and it's bad. The same man who wrote The Wedding of River Song and betrayed the entire season's storyline in the process...also wrote The Doctor Falls, which is probably my favorite final episode of any season ever. The Chibnall Era is the same way. The Tsuranga Conundrum isn't really a bad episode, it's just kind of forgettable, apart from the Pting. But then it is immediately followed up by Demons of the Punjab, which is an exceptional story in every way. I want the Thijurians to return for Thirteen's regeneration, I'm saying it.

My point being that even if there are episodes you can't stand in the new era, is that really exclusive to Chibnall? All the way back in Season 1, they had The Long Game, which I remember disliking, but it was sandwiched between Dalek and Father's Day, which are in my opinion, the two best episodes of that season. A lot of people don't like Orphan 55, for example. But it's followed up by Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror. Does anyone really dislike that episode? You're valid if you do, but I think it's really good. Ask me about any episode in the Chibnall Era, and I'll find something to like about it. (Except maybe Arachnids in the UK...and that one's not even bad, just kind of weak.) Because like I said, there is good and bad in every season...and I do think that the fandom has overblown how "bad" the Chibnall Era is...though that may be in part because I think this era is generally good? Incredible companions, solid episodes, a great Doctor, and hey...this era actually made the Daleks scary again. That is impressive. Even most of the hated episodes, like Orphan 55 as I mentioned...I enjoy them.

I stand by that. I think this era is great. If anything, I don't like that they reduced how many episodes we get, because some of these stories, like The Witchfinders and It Takes You Away especially Fugitive of The Judoon, are just begging to be two-parters. Spyfall is the only real two-parter we've had, in my opinion (Ascension of the Cybermen and The Timeless Children feel like two separate stories to me) and the episode was much stronger for having the extra time. If I have one genuine criticism with the Chibnall Era as a whole, it is the stark contrast between Seasons 11 and 12. I love Season 11, I thought it was beautiful. I like it far more than most people. I also truly enjoyed Season 12. But they are worlds apart, with Season 11 feeling so standalone and Season 12 picking up with a big storyline that really hadn't been hinted at all in the previous outing. The tone is also different, with The Doctor and "the fam" having a distance between them that seems to have developed offscreen in between seasons. It was as though Chibnall wanted to give everyone a breather from big overarching plots after the Moffat Era, but then after one season he decided "break's over" because he wanted to tell his story. And that's okay! It is. But it's jarring. Anyway, let's talk about Chibnall's storyline. You know where this is going.

"That" episode.

I meant what I said before. There isn't a single episode that I actively hate as much as say, Listen. Now let's get very controversial, because I know what y'all are thinking. "Not even The Timeless Children?" And I'll just get this out of the way right now: I don't think The Timeless Children, or it's twist, ruins Doctor Who. I don't think it gets anywhere close. I mentioned before that I was demoralized reading the comments on a clip of Doctor Who...to no one's surprise, it was this episode. Now, I may just be biased...after all, I didn't even hate Hell Bent. But while I have my criticisms of Season 12, The Doctor's revised backstory accounts for exactly none of them. You want to know what really bothers me? That we had a seven season buildup to Gallifrey's rescue, a nine season buildup to it's return...only for the show to do nothing with it, and then just destroy it again a couple of seasons later. As someone who loved The Day of The Doctor, I'm mad about that. Among other reasons, destroying Gallifrey is the kind of card you can really only play once.

So no, I don't think The Timeless Children is perfect. The Doctor had a seven season character arc culminating in them learning the lesson that using The Moment would be wrong, and that it was never okay to do something like that. To hear her even consider using The Death Particle, that "Or, a solution" line in response to Ryan appropriately reacting in horror? Yeah, that upset me. I don't like that Gallifrey is gone again, and even if The Doctor wasn't the one to do it, she almost did, and she left someone else to do it in her stead. That bothers me more than The Timeless Child ever could. That being said...the Timeless Child doesn't bother me. Seriously, it blows my mind that people act like this twist ruins Doctor Who. It...really doesn't, guys.

It does not insult the legacy of William Hartnell. He is still The First Doctor. It's not like there isn't a precedent for secret incarnations from The Doctor's past. We didn't start calling Christopher Eccleston The Tenth Doctor after we found out about John Hurt. Nothing can change The First Doctor's status or take it away, nor do I think Chibnall is trying. He is doing what I've actually wanted Doctor Who to do for a while. Give us a story about The Doctor's childhood. (Listen doesn't count, I don't care, that was all kinds of bad.) Let me ask you, what does this really change? I've seen people complain about the revision of The Doctor's history...but there's a precedent for that too. We could play bingo with how many times Clara fundamentally altered or influenced the show's history. She is the reason he started traveling, the reason he chose his Tardis, and the reason he saved Gallifrey. Why doesn't that bother people, if this does?

I also understand it if people dislike this change because they feel as though it makes The Doctor a kind of chosen one, compared to them having just been an average person who wanted to make a difference. I get that. However, this is down to interpretation, and there are so many ways to interpret The Doctor. Some people love it when The Doctor goes dark, other people cannot stand it and view it as out of character. Some people love it when The Doctor is heroic and badass, when they save the day...others would prefer that they take the backseat, teaching the humans how to save the day themselves. "The man who makes people better." And which interpretation you get, where it falls on the spectrum...it will vary from writer to writer. Moffat loved to make everything about The Doctor, and Davies frequently compared him to an angel or a god. This is not the first time that the show has portrayed The Doctor as a godlike being. It's not even close to the first time. And honestly? I don't think this makes The Doctor special or supernatural. I think it makes them a victim, nothing more. A victim of child abuse.

People also disliked this episode for removing the mystery behind The Doctor...but I fail to see how it did that? There are so. Many. Questions. That this finale opens up. Where did The Doctor come from? How and why did they get to our universe? What exactly is The Division? What went down between them and The Doctor? Where is Tecteun? (No, she's not Rassilon...) As the Masters asks, "What did they do to you, Doctor? How many lives have you had?" Amid all of the comments that made me sad, I did see a great one about how the original creator of Doctor Who actually didn't like it when they introduced the Timelords, because she felt that it boxed the show in and removed the mystery behind The Doctor, and how "She would have loved this episode." I agree with that. (Still salty that they destroyed Gallifrey though...) You know, I am genuinely interested in this story and where it's going to go, especially with the sixtieth anniversary approaching. But it depresses me that they might scale it back now, after how much the fandom has risen up against it. Not that I'm saying the fans shouldn't be happy, but...it's clear that a story is trying to be told here, and I think it should have that chance.

To each their own, of course. But I will never understand why this era is so hated.

[pixxiesdust]

Better Late Than Never • Midoriya Izuku

Summary • As a hero at Deku Agency, it’s normal for you to train with him. However, you did not expect this to happen.

Pairing • Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Word Count • 3.9k

Tags and Warnings • Characters are Pro Heroes, mid to late 20s, three sentences of slight angst, fluff, kissing.

Note • This is for @bnhabookclub’s Hero Camp Bingo and Celebrating Deku event! The prompt is almost kiss and “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” A huge thank you to the lovely @freckledoriya and @etegomanere for betaing, and to @prismaroyal​ for helping me with the ending!

–

“Again,” you pant, pushing yourself back onto your feet. You run the back of your arm across your forehead, the skin warm from exertion. 

“A-are you sure?” Midoriya asks. He’s breathing heavily too, and he lifts up the hem of his black workout tee to wipe at his face, but he doesn’t look as beat up as you are. 

He is the number one hero after all, and it’s hard for you to get as many hits in as he lands on you.

You roll your shoulders, trying to ease the ache that has been building there, and arch your back to stretch out the muscles. Your loose top rises up a bit, and Midoriya’s eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin that peeks through before your shirt falls back down to cover it. 

“I’m sure, Deku. No pain, no gain, right?” One of your eyes closes in a quick wink, reassuring him that you are able to continue training.

“Alright, then. Ready?”

You raise your fists up and start bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Bring it on!”

“Go!”

Midoriya charges toward you, and you run toward him, feet slapping onto the training mat with every step. He swings his arm forward, fist aiming for your stomach, but you see it coming and leap to the right. When his arm stretches past you, you grab onto it and pull him in the direction he’s traveling. You give his back an extra shove, and he stumbles a step, but he’s quick to regain his balance and whirls around to face you.

You’re already stretching out your leg in mid-kick, and Midoriya’s eyes widen at the speed of it. His reflexes are faster, though, and he ducks under it, sweeping his own leg out towards the one you’re standing on.

He knocks it out from under you. You lose your balance, and even though Midoriya knows you are a capable hero, his heart pounds just a little too quickly, and his movements falter as you fall toward the training mat. You hit the mat and roll, coming back up in one smooth motion. There’s no time for Midoriya to attack, especially since he wasted those few seconds in needless worry.

You take advantage of his hesitation, although you don’t know why he suddenly froze up, and you start a relentless attack. You swing your fists, one after the other, alternating with kicks that force Midoriya back step by step when they land.

A grin stretches across your face. “Looks like I’m winning this one, huh?” you say between swings.

But as you kick out again toward his chest, his large hands wrap around your ankle.

You freeze.

Midoriya looks at you. A satisfied smirk curls his lips up, and there’s no trace of shyness as he says, “Don’t get too cocky. This isn’t over yet.”

Your eyes widen as his hands tighten around your ankle, and you know what’s coming next. The muscles in his arms flex and strain as he heaves, pulling your leg over his shoulder, drawing your body toward his.

You know he’s going to toss you across the training mat as he’s done multiple times in the past, and you brace yourself for the landing–

But your other leg knocks against the side of his head, hard, causing Midoriya’s ears to start to ring, and he loses his balance.

He drops to the floor. 

You drop with him.

Your eyes instinctively shut as the impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and your head bounces off the mat. It takes a long moment for the ringing in your ears to clear. You slowly open your eyes, blinking hard to clear your vision.

You see emeralds.

Midoriya’s eyes are wide, showing most of his vibrant green irises. He’s stiff and still above you, muscles frozen as he covers your body.

Before you can fully register the warmth of his exhales brushing across your lips, Midoriya scrambles off you, rolling his body to the side before sitting up. His cheeks are dusted pink, and his eyes are still wide. He’s shaking as he bows to you multiple times, apologies spilling out of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean– Was I too close? Are you– I didn’t want it to be like this– I have to go, I’m sorry, I’ll see you later–” And he tears away from you, legs covering the distance from the training mat to the gym door in seconds. 

The door slams shut behind him.

You blink. 

“W-well,” you say shakily to yourself, “that couldn’t have gone any worse.”

You bring a hand up to your parted lips, feeling the lingering warmth from the closeness of Midoriya’s own. And though your chest is tight as you remember the way he apologized and quickly retreated, your heart pounds rapidly at the thought of nearly kissing him. 

If that was the closest you’d ever get with your long time crush, you’d treasure it forever.

–

Over the next few days, you only see glimpses of green in the agency. As soon as you catch sight of a head of vibrant hair, Midoriya disappears around the corner, or slips out of the room, or leaps out an open window.

And you’re getting sick of it.

So when you hear from a passing sidekick that Midoriya is busy on an important phone call, you march into the elevator and aggressively press the button for the top floor of the agency. You’re buzzing with anger and frustration, and when the elevator doors slide open, you ignore the secretary’s protests and march toward Midoriya’s office.

“He’s on a business call, I don’t think–” the secretary tries to say, but you cut her off.

“I won’t say a word until he finishes his call. But I’m waiting in there.”

You twist the handle and push the door open, slipping in quietly. You shut the door behind you with a soft click. Midoriya sits in his office chair, but he faces the floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying the city sprawled far below. Other skyscrapers stretch for the sky, but Deku Agency towers above them all.

You pad across the room with light steps, and ease yourself into the seat on the other side of his desk. Crossing your arms across your chest, your foot taps against the floor as you wait.

Midoriya continues to talk on the phone. His voice is low and soft, yet is firm—a huge contrast to what he sounded like back in U.A. 

You listen to him as he talks. You catch words like “agency” and “teamwork,” but you’re more focused on just letting his voice wash over you. It’s rather calming and soothes your anger, leaving behind sadness, frustration, and an ache in your chest that you rub at absentmindedly.

You bring your legs up in the chair, curling them under you so you’re more comfortable. In most cases, this would be considered unprofessional, but you were friends before he became your boss.

Friends.

A yawn causes your mouth to drop open, and you stretch your arms up, before settling back into the seat. Midoriya’s voice continues in the background, and lulls you into a drowsy state. You battle the weight of your eyelids, but you give up, and they slide closed.

As you slip into sleep, one last thought passes through your mind. 

You want to be more than friends.

–

You’re brought out of your nap as something warm settles down on your shoulders and drapes over your body. You crack open your eyes just the slightest bit and see the green of Midoriya’s hero outfit.

The weight is from one of his jackets, and he proceeds to tuck the edges around you with gentle hands and a soft look in his eyes. He straightens up and pulls his hands away, letting out a quiet sigh as he turns his back to you and moves around to sit back in his desk chair.

You watch him as he works, filling out papers on his desk, or typing into his computer. Your eyes stray from his face to his shoulders and chest, his hero costume clinging tightly to his well-muscled form. Your gaze moves back up to his eyes, taking in the green that sparkles with concentration and determination.

It’s silent in the office. But although it’s quiet, you find it peaceful and comforting to just be near him. 

Your chest is warm. 

You love him.

And because you love him, you need to talk to him about the not-quite kiss from training a few days ago. The conversation will completely change your friendship—and if you’re being realistic, not for the better. You try to think of the right way to say what you’re thinking, but your lips part and words tumble out of your mouth, breaking the silence.

“Is nearly kissing me so bad that you’d avoid me for it?”

Midoriya drops his pen and shoots out of his seat, eyes snapping up to lock onto yours. “I- I thought you were asleep!”

Your eyes crinkle as you give him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s so bad that you don’t even want to talk about it?”

He sputters and stammers, and you can see him trying to think of the right words to say. 

“It’s okay, Midoriya. It’s fine if you don’t return my feelings for you. But I don’t want you to ignore me because of it, or run away from me like I have the plague, because that hurts. I’ll gladly stay by your side, even as friends.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your feelings? For- for me?”

Your own eyes grow wide, but with horror. “You didn’t know? I thought- I thought you figured it out after we almost kissed, and that’s why you ran away and started avoiding me. Oh gosh, I just confessed to you.” You let out a groan and bury your head in your hands.

“Please forget what I just said,” you say, though your words are slightly muffled from your position. “It doesn’t have to be awkward, we can still be friends.”

A warm hand lands on your knee, startling you enough that you jerk your head up. Midoriya, the number one hero, kneels before you. There’s a strange expression on his face. It’s something you’ve never seen before, but it makes your skin tingle and your stomach flip.

“No,” he says softly.

Your stomach stops flipping, and you feel heavy with disappointment and despair. You blink, holding back the tears that start to prick your eyes. “N-no, we can’t be friends?”

“No!” Midoriya exclaims. “I meant that no, I won’t forget what you just said.”

He pauses to take up your hands in his own, the scars on his knuckles and on his palms a bit rough, but he holds you with care before continuing. “And I suppose no, we can’t be friends. Be- because, if you accept, only if you want to, um–”

You look at Midoriya with wide eyes as his freckled cheeks turn pink. Something light and sweet and hopeful fills your chest. Is this–

“–will you go on a date with me?”

A smile spreads across your face. You lean in close to him, until you can see the way his irises start from a forest green near the pupil and flare out into a brighter emerald, until you can feel the soft exhales from his parted lips brush against your mouth.

“Yes,” you whisper.

You withdraw your hands from Midoriya’s hold and move them up to cup the sides of his face, your thumbs stroking gently over his freckled cheeks. One of his hands slips up to support the back of your neck, the other rests on your lower back.

Your eyes flutter shut as he starts to lean in, and–

“Deku, sir, you have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

At the secretary’s voice, Midoriya jerks away from you and leaps to his feet. You yank your hands away from his face, face growing hot at being caught so close to each other.

“Um, yes! I’ll be there shortly, thank you,” Midoriya manages to say.

He watches as the secretary nods and leaves his office, pointedly leaving the door open behind her.

Midoriya looks down at you, cheeks pink, and an apologetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry, but I have to get ready for the meeting. You can stay in here if you’d like, though, and rest some more. I know you’ve been working really hard lately.”

You smile and shake your head. “Don’t apologize for anything, Midoriya. You’re the number one hero, after all. I’m lucky to be able to spend time with you almost daily.” 

You get to your feet, shaking out the jacket he had draped over you, and hang it over the back of the chair you slept in.

You start walking toward the door, looking over your shoulder to smile at Midoriya. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

Midoriya calls your name. He hurries toward you, closing the distance, fiddling with his fingers in front of his body. “Are you free? Tonight? I don’t want to be too forward, but maybe–”

You rest your hands on his own, and his fidgeting stills. “Tonight would be wonderful.” You pause for a moment, thinking.

“My place at seven? We can have dinner, and that way we don’t have to worry about someone recognizing you. And,” you add on, a cheeky smile spreading across your face, “we won’t get interrupted.”

Midoriya’s face turns red, and he swallows twice before speaking. “O-okay. Yeah. That sounds good. Really good.”

“Good.” You grin at him, eyes soft and full of affection. He always looks so cute when he blushes like that, and your brain isn’t fast enough to stop your mouth from moving again. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” you blurt out. 

His eyes grow wide, and you duck your head in embarrassment. “See you at seven!” you squeak, hurrying away from Midoriya.

As you leave his office and shut the door behind you, Midoriya rubs a hand over his face, his cheeks still hot and red. Then he stiffens. “The meeting!” He hurries over to his desk, sorting through the papers to find what he needs. 

He manages to get to the meeting on time and greets everyone with a smile.

A smile that is bigger and brighter than usual.

–

Midoriya arrives ten minutes before seven, and he spends those ten minutes pacing in front of your door and muttering to himself anxiously. He doesn’t want to mess anything up, but the fact that he’s had a crush on you since his second year at U.A. puts all the more pressure on him.

When the time on his watch displays seven o’clock, he takes a deep breath, straightens his green dress shirt, and knocks on your door.

You pull open the door, greeting Midoriya with a bright smile that he returns. “Hi, come on in, please!”

He steps through the doorway and takes off his shoes, but his eyes are focused on what you’re wearing—something more casual than what you wear to the agency when you’re not in your hero costume—and his heart picks up speed in his chest.

How did you manage to look so good whenever he saw you?

You blink at him, and Midoriya realizes that he’s been studying you for a while now. He flushes slightly then thrusts his hands out before him, a pretty gift bag in his hands. “Here, this is for you.”

“Wow, thank you! You didn’t have to get me anything, though!” You take the gift bag from him and walk further into your apartment, gesturing for him to follow you. 

“Oh, no, it’s nothing,” Midoriya says as he follows you to your dining room, with the kitchen on the other side of a high countertop. He leans against the counter as you busy yourself in the kitchen, lifting up the lid on a pot to let loose a cloud of steam. “Just some snacks and things that I think you’d like.”

You turn around and face him with a soft smile. “It means a lot, Midoriya, thank you.” With his sharp observation skills, you have no doubt that you’ll enjoy whatever he got for you.

“Izuku,” he blurts out. “Please, call me Izuku.”

You mouth parts, and you stare at him. “Are you sure?”

Smiles at your astonishment, he ruffles his hair with one hand as he replies, “Yes. Please. If we’re not in public, and- um-” He looks at you with a bit of heat in his eyes that makes your skin tingle and your face grow hot. “It wouldn’t do for the person I’m dating to call me by my last name, right?”

“The person you’re d-dating?” you squeak.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That is, if you want to? To date?”

“I- yes, I want to!” Your heart is racing in your chest, and you discreetly pinch your arm. The slight sting tells you that this indeed is reality, and that Midoriya is asking you to date him.

Midoriya is beaming, you are beaming, and you honestly could float away with how happy and light you’re feeling. But as the pasta on the stove bubbles, your attention is brought back to the meal you’re cooking. So you turn back to your stove and shut off the heat, letting the boiling water start to cool down.

Midoriya watches with soft affection as you drain the pasta, mix it with shredded chicken and white sauce, and divide it up onto two plates. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

You look up from the plates of pasta that you’re placing halved cherry tomatoes onto. “No, I’m almost done here! You can help by standing there and looking pretty.”

Midoriya’s spine stiffens, and he waves his hands in front of him. “You can’t just say that! I- you’re the pretty one here; you’re gorgeous.”

You laugh at his flustered words as you grab two extra plates, two forks, and two knives from a drawer. You slide them across the counter toward Midoriya, who picks them up. 

“If you’ll set the table, I’ll bring the food out.”

He nods and moves to the table. You pull out the salad you had made earlier from the fridge and place it in the middle of the table, passing Midoriya with a gentle touch on his back to alert him of your presence. 

As he finishes setting the table, you bring over the two plates of pasta. After you set them down, you move to your chair to take a seat, but Midoriya’s there to pull your chair out for you, and you give him a grateful smile as he pushes it in.

Midoriya settles down in the chair across from you. He takes in the salad and the pasta with sparkling green eyes, and thanks you for the food.

“Let’s dig in!” 

–

Though you both finish eating in under an hour, Midoriya stays in your apartment late into the night. He helps you wash the dishes, passing them to you so you can dry them with a towel. 

After that, you move to your living room. You open up the snacks Midoriya had brought for you, and share them while you talk about all kinds of things: work, U.A., favorite vacation trips, funniest memories, and so much more.

By the time there is a lull in your conversation, the clock in your living room shows that it’s nearly eleven-thirty, and Midoriya has been here for over four hours. 

He’s telling you all about a cute cafe he saw on patrol a couple days ago while he slips his shoes on by the door, but Midoriya falls silent when you open it for him. He steps outside, and you do too, closing the door behind you.

Midoriya looks at you, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Thank you for tonight. It was– it was amazing.”

“Yeah,” you say, “it really was.”

He swallows. “Would it be too forward of me to, um, ask if I can kiss you?”

Your eyes widen, but you step closer to him and slide your hands up his chest. “Would it be too forward of me to say yes?”

Midoriya instinctively dips his head closer to yours and wraps his arms around your waist. You lean into him, your body pressed up against his, until his breaths brush against your lips.

“No, it wouldn’t,” he says softly.

“It’s about time,” you tease. “Then kiss me, Izuku.”

His heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice saying his first name, and his body feels hot. “Okay.”

Midoriya closes the distance between you, and finally, finally, his lips meet your own. 

His mouth is warm and soft as it moves against yours, brushing once, then twice, before he deepens the kiss. You let out a small whimper as he cups one hand behind your neck to pull you even closer. He swallows the sound, and you can feel his lips curl up in the corners as he smirks. But when you slide one of your hands up into his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your head and trace his lower lip with your tongue, he moans too. 

You pull back to draw air into your lungs, staring at Midoriya as he does the same. His eyes are a dark green, pupils dilated, and they’re locked onto your lips that glisten under the light of the hallway.

He’s still staring at your lips as he says, “I have to go.” 

His voice is quiet and halfhearted at best, so you easily pull his head toward yours, and you slant your mouth to cover his own again. Your lips move, and your hands wander, exploring his muscles that shift under your touch, that flex as he takes a few steps until he has you pressed between his body and your door.

You kiss, and you kiss, and you kiss.

Finally, Midoriya reluctantly steps away from you, moving his arms back down to his side. He’s breathless, his face flushed. “I- I really have to, um, go home now.”

You’re equally out of breath, but you smile at him softly and say, “Get home safely, Izuku. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

He nods and presses one last kiss against your swollen lips. His eyes are green and bright, alive, as he watches you enter your apartment and close the door behind you. 

Though the slab of wood now blocks you from Midoriya, your heart still pounds, and your body still tingles. You bring a hand up to your lips and touch them gently, a content smile spreading across your face.

Sighing dreamily, you turn around, lock your apartment door, and start preparing for work tomorrow.

Even though you’re packing your bag and lunch for work, giddiness fills you as you move around your apartment.

You can only think of him.

–

Once he hears you turn the lock, Midoriya turns away from your door and takes the elevator up to the roof. He activates his quirk in a crackling of green light and leaps off the roof and into the night sky.

Though the air is cold as it cuts past him, his heart is warm with love and affection.

He can only think of you.

–

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