#i am not a writing machine i'm a human fucking being

[nerdynanny]

hey so i have a terminal fucking illness and i can't write with everyone all the time. my replies can be quick or slow, depending on what is easiest for me. if you can't handle that energy, block me and move on.

i'm really not here to be guilted and told i'm writing with other folk more than some, and i don't abide by that kind of energy. i will block for my own well being. i am really uncomfortable with folks who can't comprehend that i am busy and fucking dying.

forgive me if this sounds brash but i am so tired of being guilted and told i'm not writing enough with folks when i'm literally doing my best and i'm trying to have fun and enjoy myself.

[dduane]

Okay, now I'm cranky

Not that I even do more than glance at LinkedIn every few weeks or so, as I have friends there. But THIS is beyond the pale. (Or even the Pale, which is another story. Is this actually a real person based in Limerick?? [I have my doubts.) But if so, they should be ashamed.)

(transcription:)

Hi [(theoretical) person whose name I've obscured],

I'm not at all sure why material from your employer is winding up on my feed.

I am a NY Times bestselling novelist and screenwriter with pushing fifty years' experience in traditional publishing and other media created by actual living, breathing beings out of genuine human experience. AI-based prompt "writing" is utterly antithetical to everything I do in my work... especially as it is founded on machine-based excreta derived from routines trained using material illicitly sourced, without our permission, from myself and thousands of my colleagues.

Assuming that you actually exist except as a prompt-based construct yourself (which is by no means certain), please do us both a kindness and remove me immediately from whatever list caused the system to recommend me to you—as if there is a worse possible fit for our two schools of thought anywhere in this solar system, I can't imagine where that might be. (Somewhere in the Oort Cloud, possibly. No other possibilities immediately suggest themselves.)

Meanwhile, I wish you well in your further endeavours (doing you the possibly unwarranted courtesy of assuming that you're real). ANY possible further endeavours that have nothing to do with this horrific and deeply unethical area of employment, which cannot conceivably do anything in even the short term but damage your (theoretically) immortal soul... not to mention the ecology of our (theoretically) shared planet. 

With the best possible regards under the circumstances, and hopes for your eventual (if not swift) rehabilitation,

Diane Duane

PS: Please try to find an avatar that looks less like it was created by AI.

And also: please say to your heartless and conscienceless employers, on my behalf, "FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON."

[mangoshorthand]

Hii I'm a real sucker for your smuts and I was wondering if you could do a five one where he walks in on reader riding their pillow and thinking about him while doing it (and they haven't had intercourse in a long while because of apocalypse stuff and all that) and the aftermath where you can do anything with it after but I'd really like it if five was being gentle to the reader :<

Sorry this is a long req I hope you write it and it's okay if you dont wanna, thankiee 🫶

Your welkiee! Hope you enjoy. 😊 Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3k words, Rated E

It had been four weeks: four fearful, lonely, miserable weeks. You felt stupid, irritated with him. You hated the fact you were waiting at home for him like the sweetheart of a world war two vet, living on the letters he sent from the front lines. 

You held it together until just before he left, duffel bag over his shoulder.

“The situation’s dangerous; unpredictable. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

On the floors below you, you could hear a bustle of activity as his siblings made similar preparations to leave.

“Why is this your responsibility?”

He looked at you, disbelievingly, the hand not supporting the bag went directly into his pocket.

“This is the world. Am I supposed to sit at home and wait to be subsumed by another apocalypse?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees up to your chest, not able to articulate what you were feeling.

“Let me come with you then.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, picked up the last of his morning coffee and knocked it back, shaking his head. 

“I’m not having this discussion again. I’d want you beside me in anything else, but not in this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Your best chance of survival is staying well away.”

“What if you die? What am I supposed to do?”

From slight irritation, he softened further. Bending from the waist, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, okay.”

He crossed to the door, but a strangled sob made him turn back. Your face was suddenly red, tear-streaked. When you spoke, the words tore themselves from a tight throat. 

“Don’t go!” 

He closed his eyes, hand still on the door handle. He let out a breath and dropped the duffel bag, turning back around, crossing the room in two strides and holding you close, your head against his chest.

“I have to, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Since then, your days had been spent scouring the horizon for impending doom and following the news incessantly for any hints of what was going on. Your nights had been spent sleepless, remembering Five’s caresses and trying to get your head around the fact that you and everyone else could die at any moment.

You at least knew he wasn’t dead. He got messages to you sporadically; short dispatches from the field. They appeared mostly via an ancient telegraph machine stowed in Reginald’s old office. The most recent of these hadn’t been very encouraging:

We’ve got a plan, but it’s tenuous. If it doesn’t work, we’ll really be fucked. If that’s the case, then I hope to see you on the other side, -F x

smut below cut

They were four sexless weeks too. You quickly discovered that it takes more than the threat of imminent death to crush the human capacity for horniness. Before that month, you would have thought it would be a deluge of cold water on your libido, but that was far from the case. 

On the contrary, knowing that time could be short, all you could think about was having Five in your arms again: running your hands all over his body, the feeling of his lips on yours and the sensations of his lovemaking. 

As you lay in bed, his phantom was a heavy, intoxicating presence. Your need for him was strong tonight. You rolled to look at his empty side of the bed and imagined his head on the pillow. His eyes (that fickle forest green that masqueraded as blue in some lights and brown in others), you imagined them shaded by his hair. You saw his raised eyebrow, his smile, soft and suggestive, with the dimple that only appeared on one side of his face, recessing two large freckles by his mouth.

You pulled his pillow to you and buried your face in it. It smelled of him. You inhaled it deeply: his aftershave, his antiperspirant, his shampoo, a hint of coffee and something more  indefinable: a more fundamental scent that was all him.

It was this last smell that made your stomach flip, that made you breathe in the scent of the pillow again. It awakened something primal in you: ripples from your center outwards; flutters down each of your limbs. 

Before you knew it, you were stripping off your panties and kneeling up in bed. One hand held his pillow to your face and the other held your own pillow between your legs. When you started to grind, it was him beneath you. In imagination, he was teasing you: not allowing you to get on his dick until you came from humping his leg.

It wasn’t enough friction, so you sped up your hips, snapping them back and forth desperately. There was a whisper of something, a tingle from your neglected pussy, so you chased it, sinking deeper into the fantasy and imagining his hands squeezing your hips, guiding you as you rode him.

“Oh, Five,” you whispered, feeling your body begin to respond, wetness gathering between your labia, “Five, fuck.”

You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“Hm,” said an approving voice from the doorway, “that lucky fucking pillow.”

You gave a violent start, dropped his pillow and turned around. There he was, framed in the open doorway. You gave a grateful, ecstatic cry.

“Five!” 

In nothing but your t-shirt, you were across the room in a leap and bound and throwing yourself against him, holding him to you with sudden, tight urgency.

He immediately stiffened and let out a sharp groan of pain. You loosened your grip

“Oh my god, what happened? You’re hurt! Are you okay? Is it over? Is everyone okay? Is the world okay?”

He was holding himself stiffly, but now his pain had faded, his face was amused. He leaned forward and kissed your lips. On your side, the kiss was desperate, joy-filled; on his, more passionate. His tongue flicked between your lips before he broke away.

“How about this? l answer each of your questions if, each time, you answer me one in return?” he said, smirking. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, smiling gently, “but that wasn’t a question.”

You were too happy to see him to have space to be irritated by this game.

“Fine. What happened to you?”

He moved as if to put his bag down on the chair. Seeing his wince, you took it off him and placed it there yourself.

“Thanks. It’s just a wound. There was an explosion. I was hit by a piece of flying steel.”

“Shit,” you whispered, looking down at his chest and the bandages that must be underneath his shirt, “oh my god, are you okay?”

“Hey,” he admonished, “it’s your turn to answer a question now. What were you doing when I came in?”

You looked at him with annoyance.

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yes,” he smirked, “I want to hear you describe it.”

“I was masturbating.”

“How were you masturbating?” he pushed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question now,” you said, using his own tactic against him, “How long will it take to heal? Are you seriously hurt?”

“That was two questions,” he said, stepping towards you, “but I’m feeling generous: I’m not seriously hurt. It’s a flesh wound. It’ll heal nicely.”

You looked at him with concern and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Now it’s my turn: what exactly were you thinking about when you were humping that pillow?”

“You,” you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“What exactly? You didn’t answer properly.”

You feel your face flush.

“I was thinking about fucking you. On top. Riding you.”

Five’s smirk grew, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. You hurried on.

“Is the family okay?”

“All present and correct.” he said, moving even closer to you and stroking your hip in gentle circles.

It was a long, long month without you. There was barely time to think, let alone have the privacy for any ‘self care’ sessions of his own. Now that it was all over, his dick was complaining rather vocally about this neglect; insisting that if it didn’t get inside something warm and tight within the next five minutes, it would be most seriously displeased with the rest of him. 

As if to punctuate the point, it was now requisitioning rather a lot of blood from his brain, leaving him rock hard and almost lightheaded with the rush. 

“You’re so horny for me, aren’t you? Humping your pillow like a dirty little girl?”

“Was that a question?”

“Yes.”

You sighed as his hand snaked around to your ass. He stroked one of your buttocks up and down slowly, palm cupping the curve of your skin.

“Then yes: I’m horny for you.”

“How horny?” he said, immediately, squeezing you gently.

“Did you save the world?”

“Are you wet for me?” he said, huskily.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on your thigh. His eyes, dark in the low light of the bedroom, captured yours and held them firmly, authoritatively.

“If you’re not going to answer my question, I’ll have to find out for myself.” 

You looked back at him and his lips twitched. Slowly, he walked his middle and index fingers between your legs and parted your labia. He let out a low ‘oh’ as he felt the sopping folds waiting for him.

A jolt twitched down the boner now pressing insistently against the crotch of his pants. 

“How about you ditch the pillow and have a piece of the real thing?”

His fingers slipped slickly up and down your slit and you nodded, trying not to let your knees go weak. Your hands came to the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head and discarded it so that you were standing naked before him. 

As your breasts bounced free, his befuddled mind could only think how much he’d missed them. He bent forward eagerly to try and take a nipple into his mouth, but froze mid-stoop with a wince and harsh intake of breath.

“Ow. Shit.”

He straightened up slowly, stiffly and leaned against the door, experimentally stretching out his limbs.

“You okay?” you said, worried. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, hand over his injury, “Got a bad case of hornybrain. Made me forget I was impaled by a steel bar for a hot second there.”

You winced in sympathy and rubbed his clothed stomach in circles. When the pain had abated and he was again looking at you with lust behind his eyes, you leaned in and whispered to him.

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay still and let me do all the work.”

His lips parted but no words came out, for once unable to think of anything cocky to say. You could see the glisten of saliva on his tongue. You smirked and lowered yourself so that you were kneeling in front of him.

He laid his head against the door and exhaled as you deftly freed him of his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He squeezed his eyes closed, thoroughly undone by the mere suggestion of being sucked. He was even hornier than he realized. 

He groaned in a strange mix of satisfaction and need as you licked him through his underwear, using one hand to pull the fabric taught around the thick five and a half inches imprinted there in harsh relief. The stretch and your saliva made the white material semi transparent and you felt a pleasant twist in your stomach as the hint of soft, flushed skin beneath. You lost yourself, aware of nothing but the perfect outline of his glans beneath your tongue and the heady, pheromonal smell of him. 

He made another tight, needy sound as you put your lips around his still-clothed head.

“Please.”

How could you refuse him? Pulling at the elastic and reaching in, you pulled him out to twitch in the open air. It looked painfully hard, as always curving slightly to your left but otherwise sticking straight out like an exclamation point to his arousal.

Slowly, still inhaling that intoxicating scent, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking him. You hummed appreciatively at his solid, hot skin between your lips. You were in heaven there, happy to keep sucking him as long as he’d let you.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” he said, weakly, knees buckling as you built to a steady rhythm. You paid close attention to his head, enjoying the little pop it made as it left the tight seal of your lips.

He looked down at you with hazy eyes, watching the way your lips pouted as you slid your lips up his length. When you caught his eyes, the pupils suddenly widened and he immediately looked away, head snapping straight back to look up at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he breathed, by way of explanation, “You’re too perfect; I’ll come too fast.”

You flushed, glowing with his praise. Though Five was a loving partner, his compliments were usually hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and sarcasm. Him saying this now was evidence of how overwhelmed he was: inhibitions swept away in the rush of reunion. 

Slowly, you withdrew and laid your head against his stomach so that his cock rested on your cheek. You looked up at him adoringly, simultaneously enjoying the intensity of his arousal and giving him time to calm down.

“I love you Five.”

“I love you too, baby.” he said, voice breathy and hoarse, “Now, please god, take me to bed and treat me like that pillow.”

You smiled, rose to your feet and led him to the bed, helping him out of the pants around his ankles. Standing by his side of the bed, you kissed his lips gently, enjoying the way his dick stabbed and pressed periodically at your thighs. When you broke apart, you looked into his eyes, at his soft look with his thick eyelashes shading his eyes. 

Aware of his injury, you supported him as he lay down, helping him to ease onto the mattress with the bare minimum of pain. His solid presence in your arms as he let you assist him was bliss.

Though you were being careful not to place any weight where it would hurt him, he pulled you into his arms. 

“Please,” he whispered, “I want you to fuck me. Ride me. Just use me to get off. Use me like a goddamn dildo. I don’t care.  I need you.”

You smirked at this.

“Who are you and what have you done with Five?”

“Please.”

More begging. You didn’t have it in you to tease him, not when you too were desperate to feel his body against yours, to feel him inside you, to mingle your sighs and your pleasure with his.

You slipped him inside you and gasped. The resumption of this perfect coupling alone told you just how much you needed it. You knew you missed it, but now he was inside you again, you realized that it made you whole. His small keen as he slid home was enough to send a fluttering shudder from your center outwards.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded, biting his lower lip and caressing your hips.

Slowly, you began to grind against him, rolling your hips with him inside you, moving on top of him just as you did the pillow. This time, it really was Five beneath you, his cock twitching inside you, hitting and charging that sweet spot inside you until it felt like you were buzzing with his electricity.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, “Five!”

“I-don’t-deserve you,” he panted, “So perfect. Perfect. Beautiful girl…so goddamn sexy. I love you. I-fucking- Ah!”

He always got more talkative yet less coherent the closer he got. He was watching your swinging breasts, hanging a few inches above his face. You leaned forwards immediately, keen to give him what he couldn’t take for himself a few minutes before.

He took the hint eagerly, taking your nipple into his mouth and groaning along with you at the change of angle. He suckled enthusiastically, hungrily; hand leaving your hip to rub your breast with his palm. 

His groans now sent miniature, warm vibrations onto your nipple, creating a new center for charge to build upon. As it crackled down your limbs, stoking the heat in your stomach and groin, you moaned, wanting to ride him hard- ride him like a bike - but you were reluctant to let loose in case you hurt him. 

Instead, you rolled your hips upon him desperately. Judging by the sudden shout from him and the ache from your pussy, this motion was to both of your liking. You were on the edge now, teetering.

“Gonna come. Gonna come.” he whispered, urgently, removing his mouth from your titty with a wet sound.

He meant this to warn you but, instead, his desperate voice gave you the final push.

As you came, your pussy clenched, squeezing him suddenly. His eyes shot open and he all-but squealed at the unexpected stimulation. His hips surged upwards, the pain from his chest eclipsed for the moment by this maddening, raging orgasm. It felt like your pussy was milking it from him, pulling his rapid shots of come up into itself. 

At last, you came to a stop. 

“Is the world safe?” you asked, after a warm breathless minute or two.

“Yes,” he said weakly, “the world’s all okay.”

You carefully climbed off him, laid beside him and held him. There was the fresh smell of his shampoo and antiperspirant. The smell of home if ever there was one.  After a minute or two becoming heavier in your arms, he spoke again.

“Well, the world’s certainly all okay now.”

He stroked your stomach as if you were made of paper-thin glass, inclining his head towards yours as he spoke again.

"I meant what I said: you are perfect, you know."

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[moodymisty]

*awkward cough*

Mother, I crave luna wolves smut.

(this is my first time sending someone a request *internal panic* so bare with me)

(I'm thinking about the luna wolves bullying a surf fic that you did and now have brainrot.)

Like, imagine being my height (5'1) and having a big "mean" astartes fully aware that I'm sooo horny I'm loosing my mind.

And something about space marines that I can't stop thinking about is how they smell. Like the amount of testosterone.. Their sent has to be immensely horny inducing for a female.

Like- damn. Gigantic, absolutely shredded, smug ass smile and, teasing comments, absolute bastard of a super human. Asking you to do stuff that requires a lot more physical closeness than normal. Getting absolutely wrecked by the astartes smell(TM).

Eventually deciding to "help each other out" hot and heavy Make outs, grinding, humping, neck kisses and neck bites, the absolute WETness, SERIOUS man handling..

Jeez sorry I'm so down bad. Feel free to ignore me lol.

Big fan of your writing, hope you're doing well.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: i am unhinged. Decided to make an actual Luna wolf oc for this one just cause. This idea is my fucking jam but for some reason I had a lot of trouble with this one, I think it's just because I'm getting a bit burnt out finishing the last of the requests. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationships: Artyom(Luna Wolf OC)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mild NSFW, Grinding, Groping, Some mild manhandling

“Careful.”

The Thunderhawk shakes as the air cools during its ascent, and Artyom puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you in your seat. You don’t have any risk for falling over, but he still does it anyways. You look up at him and give him a small nod in thanks.

The other refugees however are largely fending for themselves, grouped close together and muttering amongst themselves.

You don’t mind not being part of it. You barely know any of them; And throughout this entire ordeal, you've found yourself growing closer to Artyom than any of them. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if anything, seems to find it amusing. During the few times you’d see him wander through the base he’d always make a point to call you out, say hello before returning to his duties.

The other refugees found it odd. While Astartes are respected and admired, being in their attention isn’t seen as the most positive. They are mercurial and unpredictable on the best of days, intimating masses of muscle that can kill with ease; And enjoy doing so.

Artyom is an oddity among the Luna Wolves, to enjoy poking at a human. Even if it's only one, and he regains his stoic, almost sleepy expression when barking orders at any of the others.

Once the Thunderhawk docks into the landing bay of the battlebarge, everyone makes their way off. The Astartes leave silently other than an apothecary who ushers the refugees along to where they’ll stay before being placed. More than likely the first Imperium port they come across, where they'll become the Imperium Guard's logistical problem.

You move to follow along with them, assuming that will be your place, but Artyom grabs you before you have the chance. His hand claps your shoulder, nearly painfully heavy from the size and weight of his gauntlet.

“Come with me instead.”

You look up at him before following closely, halls rapidly becoming filled with only Astartes. They all look curiously at you, as if wondering what a baseline human is doing in this area. Clearly they're not used to them being here. You continue following Artyom anyways however and try to ignore the questioning gazes, until he pulls you inside a room filled with armoring equipment.

“Here. Hold this while I remove my armor.” He hands you his knife, while his bolter and rifle go on a rack made specifically for them. The knife clearly has more sentimental value, you assume.

“Why did you have me follow you?”

You say, holding the knife tight as machines slowly peel away plate after plate of ceramite. It's such an odd thing to see, watching him go slowly from a near machine in massive armor to something you would consider more human; Even if still very different.

“Those refugees are going into the serfs quarters until we pass by a human settled world. It will be a tight fit.”

The material of his black skinsuit is revealed bit by bit, until no armor remains. Your hands tighten around the handle of the large knife. The suit leaves nothing to the imagination as the name implies, stretching over his entire body other than his upper neck and face, and interface ports.

“So I won’t stay down there? Where will I sleep then?” You feel disrespectful for asking, you should be thankful his legion even bother to saved you. Artyom however seems to find no intentional disrespect, or at least doesn't point any out.

“You can stay in my quarters. Unless you would prefer the serfs.”

Slowly he starts to peel away his black skinsuit, revealing bare skin. The farther down it peels away- neck, collar bone, chest, hips- the farther down it drops the more you force your eyes to remain at strictly shoulder height and higher.

Once everything is removed, he pushes his shoulder blades together and they let out a crack, flexing his shoulders and chest. You swallow a knot in your throat, the knife being strangled in your hands.

“Hmm?”

Artyom hums, grabbing one of the sets of trousers and pulling them on. You shake your head and try to dispel thoughts you are sure would get you into an unspeakable amount of trouble away.

“Oh, nothing. I'm sorry.”

Now dressed you can worry less about your eyes wandering to places they shouldn't, but not completely; the waistline of his trousers exposing a good portion of his hips and lower stomach. You hope he didn't catch the way your eyes lingered on the v of his hips for a bit longer than they should have.

He walks closer, closer enough that you have to take a step back. He gives his neck a crack, and for a moment you wonder if the armor is that intensive on them; In it they never seem to mind, almost as if it's a second skin.

“Are you sure? Your heart is loud.”

He can hear it? You're throat tightens; You wonder what else he can hear. Can he hear your ragged breathing? The way your blood is thumping in your ears and downward between your legs.

“Oh, I just… A lot has happened. It's a lot to think about.” Artyom gives a gentle, sleepy smirk, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not worry. You are safe with me.”

Perhaps from physical dangers; but your mind is now a battleground between common sense and base instinct.

The way his shoulders make your body seem so frail, towering over you. The way his muscles stretch across his neck, his collarbone, the smooth taughtness of his stomach drifting into the v of his hips.

And perhaps he may not smell the nicest in first impression, there’s something underneath it that is oddly, not terrible. You find yourself swallowing a large knot in your throat as he looks down at you, his smirk shifting the taught skin of his facial scars. You skin feel like it's on fire, like you're boiling from the outside in, and you swear you've never felt this aroused in your entire life. The way you feel like your cunt has an actual heartbeat.

"You must still be quite unsettled, if your heart is still racing."

He steps closer, putting a hand on your shoulder; Though it's large enough that it pushes against the crook of your neck. He squeezes it just a bit, and you try to resist letting out an audible hitch in your breath.

"I'm fine, really. I thank you for your concern, though. It means a lot coming from you."

You feel like you're beginning to sweat, and your lower body feels tight and hot. You squeeze your thighs together subtly and instantly you can tell you're getting wet.

Artyom takes a step closer, and you didn't realize how close you were to the wall until your back presses against it and you're near entirely consumed in shadow. The armoring room is quite small, you can only assume because the battlebarge lacks the size of their larger ships.

"You are not a good liar," He says, his smile changing form. "I can smell you."

His hand moves from your shoulder to around your waist, easily able to cover a significant portion with how large it is.

"It took me a bit, to realize what that smell was whenever you were around me."

You don't suppose that's surprising; Being an astartes is surely a secluded fate, without much room for fraternizing. And the smell of someone being so aroused is probably unique and quite subtle, not an easily explainable thing.

He pulls your body forcing you to arch your back towards him, shoulders still against the wall. Your hands press against his body, and you can feel the overwhelming stuffy heat of his skin. He's nearly naked with only his trousers, yet he still feels like he has the body heat of a man who's just run for miles and miles.

His other hand also wraps around your waist, and you feel his fingers pushing up against the bottom of your chest.

It's bit awkward for him to lean down closer to you with his size, but it's easier when he forces his knee between your legs, rising you to your tiptoes. The feeling sends jolts of sensation right up your spine, and your cunt throbs. It's a intentional, painful act to not grind yourself against his thigh like you were desperate, no matter how in reality it was true.

"You're so small," He jokes, shadowing you. "Do you think you could even help me remove and put on my armor with those little hands of yours?"

His lips ghost over yours, the bow of his lip brushing against yours as he teases you. You can't help the way your hips twitch forward slightly, ever so subtly grinding against him as he moves in to kiss you. During so, his hands slide down from your waist to your hips, and forces you to push down on his thigh harder, as well as raising his knee up against the wall just a bit more to force your weight even more on him. His leg is still barely bent however; He could easily take your feet all the way off the ground if he wanted.

His hands grip your hips tightly and force you to grind against his thigh, causing you to moan and whimper. Your hands grip his own body weakly, leaning forward into him and pressing your face into his collarbone. You can feel the heat and hardness of his cock against your leg, and your cunt keeps tensing around a disappointing emptiness at the thought.

You want it so unbelievably bad. You would do just about anything for it. You don't care who hears or who sees, you just want him inside of you and you'll be more than willing to beg and plead and cry for it.

His lips pull away from yours, lips swollen and well kissed. You feel your spit mixed with your own against them.

"Be my personal serf. It'll be a far better life than whatever a refugee's will be, where ever you and your fellow humans end up."

You can't deny what he says is true. But the lust-driven cloud fogging your mind is more than a significant contributor to the 'yes' that you utter to him. It makes his smirk wider, and his eyes darker.

"Would I, still stay in your quarters?" His hands still grip your hips tightly as you speak breathlessly, trying to whimper and grind yourself against him further.

"There's serf's quarters right next my own I can requisition just for you." His lips move from your mouth to your neck, pressing against the pulse point just below your right ear.

"But if you'd rather stay in my own, I won't complain."

[ratskinsuit]

Romantic Velvette x gn Reader story where Velvette and Reader were partners before they died and after a long time they were able to meet again in hell. I imagine it happened because Reader wanted to enter the fashion world and tried becoming a model for Velvette, and they didn't recognize themself at first but after a while they did and decided to get back together.

• 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗 •

Velvette x gn!Reader

<3————————————————————-Ɛ>

Tags: Gender-neutral reader, No smut, Fluff (Kinda), angst(kinda), mentions of drinking, smoking, and drugs, cursing, Velvette being kind of a bitch, slightly mean Velvette, her poor models, Velvette being a bad employer, but we love her, Velvette being kind of invasive and touchy with reader, I'm so so sorry

A/N: PLEASE I SAW THIS AND WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT. I tried to keep her as in character as I can. I’m trying a different writing style but I hope it’s okay! I also couldent tell if you wanted them to not reconize themself or velvette and I’m so sorry if I messed up. I also know nothing about modeling so expect this to not be accurate, but I Hope you enjoy!

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Hell. A place known to hold the sinners of the world above. Home to all the nasty fucked-ups, the murderers, and the evil of the human world in the afterlife.

You don’t know how you ended up here. You thought yourself of a good person in life. Of course you had the occasional slip-up and weren’t the best person at times, you weren’t perfect. But what human is?

Nevertheless, after a traffic mishap, you ended up in the world with red sky and trashed streets.

You woke up in an alleyway, on the ground. You slowly blink your eyes open, trying to adjust. You sit up with a groan, looking around, confused.

You spot a lizard looking man, leaning against the south wall of you, smoking a cigarette. He has eyes red, greenish grey scales going up from his neck to his scalp. He breathes out a puff of smoke. Eyes darting around the alleyway before landing on you, and he smirks at your staring.

“Something wrong?” He chuckles, taking in another hit.

You hesitate, glancing at him up and down. “Uhm… ex..excuse me, where am I…?” You as, nervously, earning you a laugh from the man.

“Oh, I’m guessing you just got here hm?” He breathes out the smoke, batting it away and flicking his purple tongue out. “Yeah, you smell fresh. Definitely new.”

You look at him confused, not understanding what he means, an obvious clueless look on you face.

The man leans off the wall, walking over to you and crouching over you. “Your in hell kid, You died” he says.

“Your… kidding..” You say, causing him to let out a cackle. “Nope. Welcome to the underworld.” He says, before chuckling, and walking off.

You sit there for a second, dumbfounded. After a moment you stand up, wobbly, but immediately feel dizzy, so you brace yourself against the wall.

Once your vision clears, you notice your hands, no longer there. Now replaced with dark claws.

You gasp, backing up, looking at them, turning them over and looking over them. You thought you would change wherever you went, but you were scared of what you look like now. You look around the alley, spotting a mirror.

You hesitantly walk over to it, standing in shock as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Running a now clawed hand softly over your changed face and body. Did you seriously die? You ask yourself, looking over at your new form.

Tears fill your eyes and you sniffle, trying to hold them back, blinking and wiping them away.

You let out a shaky exhale, taking one last glance at your appearance, before you begin to walk out of the alley.

Once exited, you blink your eyes, trying to adjust to the odd lighting, and begin to look around, walking and exploring for about an hour.

Demons and sinners litter the streets, walking, talking with each other, one person even getting beat up. Vending machines line the streets, and you walk over to one. Curious to see what it has, only to be presented with things that you have never heard of before.

You turn away from the odd vendor, walking the streets for about an hour. Billboard signs are everywhere, advertising p*rn, drugs, and…. a badly spelled assassin company sign?

You sigh, beginning to walk again, when a hot pink van screeches to a stop beside you. It’s doors littered with graffiti, ranging from emojis to slurs.

The door slams open, revealing a van full of demons, led lights shinning down on them. Music blasting from speakers inside, beer cans and cigarettes littering the floor.

One of the demons from inside, a guy with pale grey skin, blaring red hair, and dark sunglasses grins at you “Heyyyyy, you seem a bit lost. Guessing your new here.” He says, taking a swig from a canister, two girls snuggled against him. Can people really tell that you just got here that easily?

“Why don’t you hop in hot stuff. We are heading to the Vees tower. Come on we will give you a ride!” He says, grinning, the girls next to him giggling.

You hesitate, wary of getting into a van full of strangers, in hell especially. “Awe don’t be shy cutie, we don’t bite, come on!” The girl to the left of the guy coos, pushing a stray strand of her purple hair out of her face. Her black eyes gleaming wickedly.

You decide to say fuck it, and hop in the car. I mean it’s not like you can die twice, right? Once you're in, the door slams shut again and you sit across from the three. You look them up and down, them doing the same to you.

“So, how recent are you?” The girl to the right ask, her blue eyes studying you up and down, murky green hair in a braid. You look at her quizzically, earning you a sigh. “How long ago did you die?”

You look at her, blushing a tad for not understanding what she meant. “Oh, uhm… well I just woke up about an hour ago.” You say, the guy letting out a laugh.

“Holy shit your really new. How’d ya die?” He asks, offering you his canister, to which you politely decline.

“Well the last thing I remember is some asshole swerving in front of me on the highway too fast for me to stop myself.” You say, the guy letting out a chuckle. “Shit man that’s rough, going out in a car crash must be fucking mental.” He says. "I mean me personally, i'd prefer to go out in a more badass way." He grins.

You hesitate before speaking up, not wanting to be awkward “So, uhm… where are we going again…?” You ask.

“The Vees tower, they are some of the Overlords, like the more powerful demons of hell.” The purple haired one says, pausing to continue “There is a porn empire runner, kind of a bitch if you ask me, the guy who makes pretty much every electronic device here, and the modeling agency.”

You look at them, still trying to absorb the information being presented to you. “Oh… so why are we going there..?” You ask cautiously.

“Well we are going there because a guy is meeting us to pay off some debt he owes.” The girl with the green hair says, glaring at you, the purple headed one elbowing her with a warning look.

“You know, since you just got here, and your probably gonna need a job, you should try out to be a model! I mean you got the looks.” The guy say, smirking, taking you aback.

“Are… you sure? I don’t know, I don’t... know….” You say nervously, glancing at the three. “Nonsense, your fucking hot as hell, you can definitely get the job!” The purple haired girl chirps, giving you a wide smile.

“I mean…. I, could try..” you murmer, still unsure. But on the bright side growing more comfortable with the three demons.

As you glance out the window, the van comes to a stop infront of a large building. The car door opens and you follow our after the other three.

You turn to them, rubbing the back of your neck. “Hey, uh thanks for the ride…” you say, with a smile, the purple haired girl and the guy smiling back, the other glaring. The two girls link arms. “Yeah of course, anytime. See ya around!” The guy says with a wink, before the three start heading over to an alleyway with a shady looking guy in it.

You roll your shoulders, before turning to the looming building infront of you. Sleek glass covering it all, it’s new look contrasting to the ruins of the surrounding buildings and streets surrounding you.

You go over to one of the glass panels, taking another look at yourself, a frown on your face, still not used to it. You brush yourself off, running fingers through your hair, and straightening out your clothes.

You take one last glance at yourself before you take a deep breath and enter the building. Entering, you look around finding yourself surrounded by fancy plush furniture. A scent lingering that you cant quite name.

You walk over to the front desk, the imp behind it on her phone. You wait a second, hoping she will notice you. When she seems to not notice your presence, you clear your throat. She glances up at you, a bored look on her face. "Ya need something?" She asks, looking you up and down judgmentaly.

Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you shuffle from foot to foot. "Oh uhm, hi.. I would like to apply to be a model..." You say. "Doesn't everyone?" She says, snickering. You just stand there awkwardly for a moment, before the imp groans and scavenges for something in a drawer behind the desk.

A moment later she comes back up with a packet, shoving it in your hands. "Just give me your name and go sit down and fill out the packet and I'll call you when she is ready." She says. You thank her, giving her your name, giving you an eye roll she goes back to her phone.

You turn around, going to look for a place to sit, ending up at a comfy white plush chair by the window. Sitting, you begin to fill out the packet, full of average questions, Name, Age, Gender, Cause of Death, Medical History, etc-

After about 20 minutes of waiting the lady at the front desk calls your name. You go up to her, trying to hand her your packet but she pushes it away. "No no no, I don't go over that. She does. Go up to the 7th floor, shes waiting for you already." You pull your arm back. "Wait who is-"

"THE BOSS. GO." She yells, causing you to stumble back a bit, gripping your pamphlet tightly. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You head over to the elevator, luckily empty. You press the 6th floor button and tap your feet nervously.

After what feels like an eternity, the elevator button dings, alerting you that you're on the 6th floor, and the doors open. Immediately you are hit by a stronger version of what you smelt downstairs, and yelling. Lots of yelling.

Your presented a pink room, clothes and hangers littering the floors. Podiums with models of all different shapes colors and sizes. In the middle is lady, who you assume is the boss, screaming at one of the models.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! ?!" She screams at them, anger written all over her face, at seeing her, you feel a sense of knowing hit you for a moment, but immediately dissipates as you brush it off.

"I-i... i'm sorry, my legs are just wobbly, i-its hard to walk in heels..p-please d- ont be mad...." The model pleads, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup.

"MAD?! DO I SEEM MAD?! YOU FELL AND EMBARRED ME DURING A SHOW, AND NOW YOUR RUINING YOUR MAKEUP!?" She continues yelling, the model sobbing hysterically now, on the floor in a heap.

"FIRED. YOUR FIRED GET THE FUCK OUT." She says. Two security guards dragging the poor, sobbing girl out.

Your frozen on the spot, shocked at what you just witnessed, regretting your decision to come here.

The lady groans, rubbing her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. Before you could double back, she sighs and turns in your direction, the two of you locking eyes.

"Who the FUCK are....you.." She says, pausing halfway through an unrecognizable look appearing on her face, as her features soften a bit.

"Im... here for an interview, to be a model..." You say, the expression she had a second ago gone as you blinked, as she looks you up and down. "Ah okay your my two o-clock." You nod, going and handing her your packet.

As soon as she grasped it she threw it over her shoulder and pointed to one of the empty podiums next to her. "Go, stand up there." She demands.

"W-wait aren't you going to read my pa-" You begin but she interrupts you. "Ill read it if you get the job, this is the most important part, now shut up and stand up." She says. Not wanting to piss her off you climb onto the podium and she follows up after you.

As you stand there you, somehow, get changed into a black tight tank top and some some tight shorts. "Wait wait wait how-" You try to speak but she raises a hand with a glare. "It's part of the process, not be quiet or you wont even get a chance."

You stand there quietly, feeling rather exposed as "The Boss" circles around you like a predator, observing you, poking and prodding like you're some sort of doll. Studying you.

After about 10 minutes of her observing you, she seems satisfied and steps off the podium.

"Nice figure, no disturbing features. Now lets see how well you can actually do if you were a model." She says with a sadistic grin. Before you can even say anything, your changed into a seemingly random outfit.

A bright pink blazer with black feathers and a white boa, white ripped jeans with black combat boots. She lets out a disappointed click of her tongue. "Next." She says, changing you into another outfit.

This goes on for about another hour, change clothes, she looks, either hates it or its good but not good enough, repeat. You take the time to study her as she does this, finding something about her vaguely familiar but not being able to quite put your finger on it.

As you look at her more she suddenly stands up and points at you. "That. That's the outfit, that's the perfect one." She says, as you look down at the outfit your wearing, the thing most catching your eyes being a pair of shoes you definitely cannot walk in.

"Go on walk around in a circle let me see it, strut for me." She says, going closer to the podium, a grin on her face.

Not wanting to lose this opportunity and anger her further, seeing how she took it out on the last model, you take the risk and begin walking clumsily around the podium.

She looks you up and down as you stumble around like a drunk, trying not to fall on your face. She doesn't seem very happy with how your walking but seems satisfied enough.

After a couple minutes, when you feel like your knees are about to buckle she stops you. "Okay I think we are done with this portion, step off and we will get to the next step."

You breath a sigh of relief, as you go over to the edge where she is. You attempt to step off, but then your legs finally decide to give out and you tumble forward into her.

The two of you fall backwards, you landing on her as her back is on the floor. You instantly knew you fucked up.

Shes looking at you, extremely mad, but then she takes a minute and it falls. You two stare at each other for a moment, when you begin to start realizing who she is, but cant place it yet.

"Whats your name..." She asks, and you stare at her, confused. When you don't respond she pushes you off quickly and harshly and speed walks over to your packet that she had thrown earlier.

You scramble up as she harshly grabs it, flipping through it furiouly.

In that moment it comes to you, where you remember her from, and at the exact same moment, she lands on the first page, with your name on it. She looks up at you slowly and you two make eye contact.

"....Velvette...?" You ask, shakily.

She just stares at you for a moment before running over and grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you towards her. pulling a yelp from you.

She just stares into your eyes for a second, while you pant. After a moment, her expression softens, and she quietly says; "Is... it really you...?" she asks. You voice caught in your throat, tears filling your eyes, you nod.

She grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, and without hesitation you return it. The two of you stumble onto a couch. Your back lands on it, her above you.

You two just stare at each others eyes, before she looks up for a moment, wiping the tears pooling in her eyes. She leans back down, resting her forehead against yours, and she closes her eyes, you two embracing tightly, not letting each other go.

"Fuck I've missed you."

<3————————————————————-Ɛ>

A/N: Okay, so I tried a different style of writing and I hope I did well, I tried my best on this, and I'm so so sorry if its not the best or what was asked. Also, I'm thinking about making the two girls and the guy in the van reoccurring side characters in stories like this (just for a bit more plot and blah blah) and I need names for them, so if anybody could leave suggestions in the comments that would be a great help! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

[leftneb]

alr here's me yapping about the landoscar Detroit: Become Human AU @lyslsstuff and I have cooked up over the past week or so

(decided to make a full post about it bc a. I have many MANY thoughts about it and b. you people are clearly not normal about this either) (affectionately)

first off have another WIP (peep the blue blush and the lines on their faces I'm totally normal about it yesyes) I unironically had to hide their heads a couple times because the sheer homosexual glee on their faces was making me nauseous (this is how I know I've succeeded as an artist)

the main concept goes: oscar is an F1 driver, and lando is one of his android mechanics. unbenoknownst to the general public (and pretty much everyone except like. zak brown) is that oscar is also an android

androids are very much banned from f1

lando starts out as a normal android, just following his programming and minding his own business really. altough the au plays out after the android revolution androids are still mistreated, just in subtler ways. technically they're not owned by anyone (but they're only allowed to exist when employed) and there's no segregation in public (but there's no laws against it) and some people are vaguely accepting (guess what there's no hate crime or hate speech laws either)

basically I went with the game's commentary on capitalism and treatment of minorities and made it a lot more actual c: we're not oppressing you (but we're also not not oppressing you)

the real plot begins when lando (accidentally) finds out that oscar is an android, which both of them proceed to be completely normal and not disgustingly in love about for the rest of eternity

one of my favorite things about this au (and this was completely unplanned it sorta just happened on it's own) is that the car is basically the 3rd main character. the way I'd explain it is basically: rk800 connor in the game is able to reconstruct entire events (crimes in his case) by examining details and piecing it all together. both lando (being a mechanic) and oscar (actually pulling functions out of the thing) are intimately familiar with the car, like they KNOW it on a personal level pretty much, they can reconstruct every single thing that is happening mechanically by hearing the sound it's making alone

for oscar this is sort of unfortunate because he is suspiciously good at telling when something is wrong (way before anyone else can really). but it also makes both of them emotionally attached feel connected to their machines which I think would be a genuinely interesting aspect of having androids in motorsports

thought I had while writing that paragraph: since irl the cars are usually identified by their drivers' numbers ("car number 4" and such) it could be that oscar litterally just calls his car "81". like that's just it's name. very creative ik

for the enjoyers of the original game I'd add that oscar's deviancy arc (in the sense of which impulses he recieves that lead him to disobey his programming) is most similar to markus' while lando's is more akin to connor's

bonus details that I can't really fit in a paragraph but want to add anyway:

android movements being inhumanly smooth conveniently mirrors oscar's irl driving style (minimal movement)

oscar normally has his pain receptors on despite being able to disable them. something about wanting to feel human (refuses to turn them off after crashes he feels were his fault despite mark scolding him about it)

yk the thing where both of these idiots are always dressed for opposite weather? yeah here it actually makes sense they were just programmed that way

I have no idea where lando's name comes from androids don't have names by default. they just get called "it" for the most part except oscar sometimes slips up and calls lando by his given name (that sounds very trans when I put it like that) which everyone else collectively goes "who the FUCK is lando" at

android transgenderism

I will not elaborate on that (note: I am trans. I will project this)

fun fact the piece that started it all ^^ was quite litterally just me seeing a picture of lando and going "dbh vibes" despite my knowledge of the game consisting of maybe half a playthrough I kinda-watched in 2021 (tubbo played it on stream lmao). it's safe to say that I may have hyperfixated on it a little tiny bit taking into account the 10 hours of playthrough I've watched and 2283 words of google doc we've written since that fateful day. whoopsies

also want to conclude this by saying that I purposefully didn't give too much away about the AU plot-wise because the hypothetical fic that hypothetically may come into existance at some point is hypothetically still a ways away and I don't want to spoil it too hard. consider this a director's commentary if you will

lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list for posts related to this au btw!!! I absolutely love hearing people's thoughts on it (though I am gonna be a bit busy in the coming weeks)

tag list (more people asked me to talk about this than I anticipated soz if I didn't respond directly I hope this makes up for it) @roosterhouse @wisteriagoesvroom @kpiastri @kingkestrel

[brainrot-stitch]

Chronically ill tss light steve truthers wya....

Anyways chat u won't believe what I have on the mind rn

There's an episode early steve saga where light steve traps sabre in the snow thing and builds a house or temple or whatever and Sabres like "come on man I'm already sick this is cold:(" or whatever. Do u guys remember that. Or am I actually js fucking crazy and making this shit up wait hold on let me go check rq I FOUND IT "come on man I already have a cold you're letting me stay out in the snow and all that?" At 9:38 on the video where he first finds light steve. Giggles and kicks my feet imagine if sabre got sick(er) and light steve being both a steve and a cold icy snowy guy didn't know that. That the cold is not good for ppl. So sabre gets sick and light is like ?? Idk if this is a good idea or not it's 7 am I woke up at like 2 or maybe 4 I'm not sure I mightbe delulu

ANYWAYS random yapping woooo none of this is gonna b coordinated

Anyways anyways yea rainbow steve trauma from the experimenting and machines early steve saga but also. Sabre being scared of deep water and/or drowning. Because of both blue steve and rainbow steve mann that mf has almost drowned a LOT over and over again. Just so much water. Rip 💔💔 rainbow is like "let's go swimming!!!" One day in the rainbow town and Lukas is like "yea sure it's a hot day out that would b cool" or whatever and Sabre is like "uhhhh hahsha yeaahhhh sureee.."

Uhhh uh um

Early tss light and sabre spent a good amount of time together especially alone. I like to think they bonded during this time both off and on screen. Cuz like bro rarely shows up in the rainbow town era and past that idek. But even tho light and sabre aren't as close as rainbow and sabre I still like to think they're real good pals :3

Idk if I've said this before maybe I have maybe I haven't idk but sabre when nervous or thinking or worried and anxious or whatever will pace around or take walks or whatever. But will he completely silent (unless he's muttering to himself which I can totally see happening). But like his footsteps are light and near silent because of the muscle memory or whatever from being an ASSASSIN because that's so real to me I'm such a 'sabre was an assasin in the past before tss/rq' believer u guys don't understand how derranged I am about this. Anyways yea he will accidentally fnaf jumpscare ppl just like showing up behind them or whatever its so silly

I HAVE SO MANY HEADCANONS BUT I FLIPPING FORGET THEM ALL AS SOON AS I GO TO WRITE THEM DOWN FUCK MY STUPID FRICKING LIFE 😭😭😭😭

Also I am as much of a human sabre believer as I am an avian sabre believer. Like yeah let that man be a bird but also not depending on the mood. Both r awesome

Galaxy steve does NOT know how to spell gorgeous don't ask why this is necessary information. It's real he told me himself I swear

MORE ASSASSIN SABRE BS he's a super light sleeper from having to wake up at the slightest noise and be on guard all the time. He still frequently wakes up if he hears smth his subconscious perceives as abnormal. Also i think he'd have a pretty high pain tolerance but it gets higher as tss goes on because he gets struck by lighting so damn much u can't tell me his nerves aren't at least somewhat fried 😭😭😭😭give bro a break PLEASE. Also I think posture would be a big thing like he's all played back and relaxed and silly but when they have to go like sneak somewhere they (rainbow and lucas- or js whoever he's with at the time idk) can physically see as he slips back into old familiar habits with practiced crouching and silent footsteps and staying in the shadows and all that.

Lukas was also an assasin remember. Remember guys. And his assasin skin has a scar on his face and a blind eye I think wait let me go check

YEAH. YEAH so he totally still has that during tss. Giggles and kicks my feet and twirls my hair. Anyways I haven't finishes Sabres assassins creed series yet but I think Lukas would be used to Sabres habits but he himself would have more guard habits than assasin ones. Like the posture and unconsciously reaching to rest a hand on his sword in that classic templar (is that how it's spelled??) guard fashion as like an idle thing to do w his hands before remembering its not there.

Oh also another thing on the sabre vs water didn't he like. Didn't he almost drown a few times during his assassins series too? Bro water has got it OUT for him 😭 😭

[azaenya]

Sandrone Headcanon - III

"Haah... Some Harbinger I am..."

This one comes from an interpretation of Wanderer's voice line about how "all Sandrone creates is garbage." So, I thought about what exactly is garbage to him, and since he is a sentient puppet (with an ego), I assume what would be beneath him would be mechanical beings that lack any sentience.

But this is the fun part, it is my belief that Sandrone CAN create beings with sentience; during her "childhood," she learned about what connections needed to be made in the robotic brain to achieve sentience, but she chooses not to.

Because even if you are a thinking creature doesn't mean you have a good standard of living. Even in herself, there are aspects of the human experience that she is yet to replicate, like the sense of touch. It is hell. Alain brought her into a world she can only see and hear, but never feel, and she refuses to repeat his mistakes.

But there are times where she thinks about it.

Where the whole world cheers her name, the revolutionary genius, FAR greater than that rotten artificer, Alain Guillotin. It was HER hands that built herself, not his.

But she tells herself that sentient beings are much harder to control than simple machines. What she actually knows is if she brought her machines to life experiencing the same hell as she does, she couldn't forgive herself. So she is trapped between being better than her creator technologically or being better than him morally.

Her co-workers are unaware of her moral debate, regarding her with disinterest or disdain. (Except Columbina, she's an outlier.) The thoughts always return, imagining their shock at her hidden genius and her soaking it in with smug pride. But it must remain hidden. Any compliments would be short-lived, this she knows. It will always be about what is next. So she retreats into her workshop, where she improves her creations or her own flesh indefinitely.

End of headcanon.

About the art

It was hell AAAAAAA

As I got to work on the background and the table, my face became like Sandrone's lol. Rendering is a fuck.

I'm happy to be done with it, I did just finish it this morning, so I'll probably feel more proud of it later.

Also I love Limbus Company, so I made it in that style kinda. That is what the little bit on the bottom is about. I realize that I'll need to refine the icon later, and also make it just 3 colors instead of rendering, but for now I'm done.

I do love Limbus Company so much. To be honest, I fell off Genshin before Fontaine happened, then I played HSR, and now I've fallen off of that in favor of Limbus. I am taking notes from Project Moon when thinking about Sandrone's writing, because its writing is truly zenith material.

Anyway, oughhh, amogus, bye

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[tondisus]

can i get some dbh ao3 recs :0! i prefer canon compliant stuff (im a huge "he would not fucking say that!!!!" person) and any/no ships

Oh I've waited *years* for someone to ask me fic recs and I shall deliver.

Ik you technically asked for canon compliant stuff but honestly I'm the complete opposite about characters, like I look at two completely different characterizations and I'll go "oh maybe he would say both of those," I'm just generally a massive AU enjoyer.

So instead of trying to sort and struggle and figure out what to recommend, I'll just throw a bunch of stuff your way and hope at least something works!

Also I'm getting all the recs from my downloads so they're likely complete, my favorite character that I'm hopelessly hyperfixated on is Connor, I generally love a lot of angst & hurt/comfort, I'm not really into shipping and romance-focused fics that much and longer fics >> shorter fics, so my recommendations are gonna show those traits

I recommend literally any dbh fic by WayWardWonderer: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWardWonderer/pseuds/WayWardWonderer

They have genuinely carried my fandom experience, if I think I have nothing to read I just go back to their fics, i am so impressed how someone can write SO much great content

Accident prone: becoming human https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727149

Is a long fic post-pacifist best ending full of whump, angst, hurt/comfort, character development, just everything good. And when I say long, I mean 1.8mil words long.

Torn alliances https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009789 in which it's also a post-pacifist ending fic, except deviated Connor was shot by Markus in the church,  came back on the rooftop scene as a machine, and deviated there thanks to Hank. From there it explores what happens after in about a million words.

Sanction https://archiveofourown.org/series/2226099 is a series that also features the Markus-killed-Connor-in-church-but-he-survived-what-happens-now type story, the prequel has Connor & Carl interaction which while rare, is very precious to me in this fandom, and the sequel has some awesome angst about the Amanda takeover and it's potential consequences/meanings

Detroit 07 https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473497

Is a series that really focuses on the dpd police department and their interactions post-pacifist ending, the characters are basically built from nothing by the author so this could be a non-canon-compliant type of fic but I listed it anyway cuz it's an awesome series what can I say

Cutting ties https://archiveofourown.org/series/2738356 is a series of fics more about Connor and his struggle with deviancy and android kind, I honestly started reading this for the Connor & North friendship cuz damn i love those two and their interactions

Deviating and Solving Crime with 100% Human Detective Connor https://archiveofourown.org/works/29270769 is abt Connor being deviant the entire time but staying undercover as a detective in the DPD, super hilarious imo, loved the characterization of basically everyone, probably the longest 5 + 1 type fic I've read

File not found https://archiveofourown.org/works/32842771

Is an au fic of the game timeline where Connor is simultaneously deviant and machine, he has to delete memories of himself letting deviants go to hide his actions from cyberlife, and Hank is hostile at first, which is a fun part.

Reset https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118730/chapters/35054933 is a classic time-travel fix-it trope, 8 months after a failed revolution, Connor goes back in time thanks to Kamski and, well, fixes stuff. Sassy Connor is my beloved fr he's so awesome.

I'd probably have more recs (seeing as I have over 350+ downloaded detroit fics) and would know more specifically which ones were the more canon-compliant ones but the hyperfixation is sporadic and comes back every few years and it just came back very recently again, so I don't remember completely what all fics were about and how much I liked them (why did I not make summaries and list thoughts why past me why were you DUMB) but the ones I listed are hopefully very readable 👍

Hope you find something here you like / haven't read yet :D

[not-terezi-pyrope]

I'm so done with this, you guys are all such rubes, I am unfollowing anyone who posts this asinine nonsense and you should too. (Edit: these are screenshots from a reply to another post, my text is the stuff that isn't an image)

None of you know how AI works. Fuck, none of you have a consistent model for how writing works. When a human produces fiction based on a text they have read they have "learned" from that text and are producing "original work", when an AI does it it just copying (even when the output text is a completely new passage that isn't replicated even partially in the initial work).

Why? Because humans are special and are truly alive and have souls and the things they do are numinous actions that can't be explained by the cold machinations of the physical world 😊. But not this is totally a cold facts common sense non-mystical argument guys!!!

Ah yes, because the only way to learn about the characters and plot beats from a book is to have access to the original text, which is why I after reading a wikipedia summary of ASoIaF absolutely cannot tell you anything about what happens in it. This is therefore legal PROOF that the evil computer STOLE the characters and concepts and writing style from Georgio Double-R (a thing that it is possible to do).

No for serious guyyys for real these multi-multi-millionaire/billionaire authors and their corporate publishing houses only care about derivative works because it's being theoretically two-steps removed monetized, it's totally not about having a monopoly on entertainment and iron-clad control on how characters and stories are able to exist in public spaces. It's totally not ever possible to argue that fanworks posted on ad-supported social media sites are also being indirectly monetized....

Noooo guys trust the corporations it's good for us because they are taking down the evil AI boogeymen trust them trust George RR Martin and next generation Anne Rice wannabes promissssse they totally aren't coming for your fanwork next, what is good and evil is dictated by what you personally find fun and compelling and this lawsuit will only affec t the bad stuff I s wear

You guys need to get over yourselves real fucking quick before the boot is so far up your ass you find yourselves shitting rubber.

[meanbossart]

Misc. Ask compilation

These aren't all of the asks I want to reply to, just some that I can answer relatively quickly to clean the ol' inbox out before things get out of hand. Thanks for your patience!

HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR PERUSING AROUND and for enjoying my work! I had a... Weird Gale experience my first playthrough which led to his characterization being what it is in my comics. Here's the beat-by-beat of all the shenanigans: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/740827466716807168/alright-i-am-like-90-sure-there-is-one-line-in-a

And here's just some of my personal thoughts on him! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/736193145686114305/can-you-tell-me-more-about-how-you-would-make-gale

I would be lying if I said I'm not conflicted to know my style still bears some remnants of my edgy teen roots (not your fault not noticing it though, you aren't the first and won't be the last) BUT... That comic did mean a lot to me as a youth, so I guess I should be proud 🤷 and honestly it is a little cool that such a thing would survive for so long in what I do, crazy how that works.

LMAO, re: the bottom/top debacle, I was honestly so surprised to see people react to it like it's something novel. If I ever expected to get any push back on the matter, I thought it would be from people assuming DU drow was the top and taking issue with how violent and big he is (and yknow, some people are weirdly protective of Astarion as if he isn't a sneaky murder machine rippling with lean muscle)

Very disheartening to see that mindset still so alive and well among young people, but I guess it just means I gotta draw DU drow throwing more back and Astarion drooling over more ass until the stereotype is forcefully banished out of people's minds!

(more asks below the cut)

"Sleeper agent activation phrase" absolutely took me out, Thank you so much LOL

YEAH I got it pretty late though, Astarion had already told my durge that he was a vampire of his own accord (and the response was, of course, "no duh") I forgot wheter this happened before or after the first romance scene triggered, but I think after.

Since this was after DU drow decided he was gonna fuck him out of pure contrarian spite and was shamelessly laying it extremely thick, He happilly let Astarion drink his blood. Hell, he was probably a little Too Eager - the guy likes pain and he likes letting people he trusts do with his body whatever they will, and while he didn't yet trust Astarion at that point, that event might've very well reminded him of something from his past that planted a seed which would eventually grow into his genuine affection for the guy.

Ah, he definitely got a half-chub as it happened too. I'm sure Astarion noticed it and just walked off rolling his eyes and thinking "eugh of course" lmao.

Hello!!!

Oh man, I grew up fascinated with horror things. I remember from a very young age just looking at the covers and backs of horror movies at the film-rental even though I wasn't allowed to watch them. I was also easily scared but I sought those things out anyway - I think i just enjoyed the visceral reactions it drew out of me and was always curious about most things taboo.

When I got access to the internet that just opened a (very unfortunate) door to all things vile and awful like it did for so many people at that age in time. Though my tastes have changed a lot since then (Less August Underground, more The Devils kind of guy nowadays) my stories and art are just always going to fall into a horror-y category because I just... Don't think there's many better ways to showcase the human experience and emotional range without many of the elements native to the genre, and I'm all about that.

Thank you for your question and your sweet words, have a good week yourself!

I did a little write-up about that over here! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/742508493562593280/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

That's the result of a scene that happens relatively early in the story I'm writing ("A Novel Experience" on Ao3).

{SPOILERS} DU drow accidentally passes out on a blade which puts a relatively deep gash on his hip. Meanwhile, Astarion is weakened and starved after certain events that transpired the prior night. They have a private exchange both in a somewhat hazy-state of mind and Astarion ends up prodding and prying at his wound while feeding, so it's a laceration and bite mark that just scarred over badly.

Elves apparently don't grow body hair so never LOL guess they'll just have to slip&slide up on each other for heat

[burins]

Hi! I need the director's cut for "get out before the drop" please!

oh MAN. thank you for asking about get out before the drop! the jaydick topdrop fic is one of my favorite things I've written. i've been a little reluctant to talk about my jaydick fics because part of me was worried i was going to get death threats in my inbox and i got enough of that at work. but fuck it! i'm very proud of those fics- I think they're some of my best characterization work.

i wrote the bulk of get out before the drop on my phone at 2 AM after waking up in the middle of the night (like all the best fics: while slightly possessed.) like everything i write it's about bodies, but it's also about identity and boundaries and how your own understanding of those can smash up against someone else's. i say that not because i generally set out to write fics that are capital A About Things, this isn't an episode of degrassi, but it's kind of obvious what themes I had rattling around in the trunk.

continuing the rest of this below the cut (including discussion of consent and sexual assault)

obviously it's also a fic about consent. I said this in a few comments but I think fandom often sticks to one kind of story about consent-- which i absolutely understand. your standard rape recovery fic is a very cathartic story for many, many people! but in real life your partner is not a perfect fuck machine who dispenses sex in exactly the way you want it, in part because they are a human being and not a mind-reader. but also in part because for anyone, but particularly for survivors, it is often difficult to tell the difference between "this is uncomfortable but in a good and healing way" and "oh god i gotta eject." and that's no one's fault! learning to listen to your body again after ignoring its signals for a long time is hard, and it sucks, and sometimes you learn where your boundaries are by whacking right up against them.

that's all general; in particular i wanted to write that kind of story for dick and jason, who are two people who have lost control of their bodies innumerable times and in incredibly dramatic ways. i think that has got to fuck with your head unbelievably! i think dick in particular is extremely used to pushing through physical discomfort to get what he wants to achieve, whether that's a mission objective or a training goal or emotional closeness. he's been doing it since he was a kid on the aerial bars! he started out ignoring his body way before the multiple on-page sexual assaults that DC doesn't want to acknowledge as sexual assaults. and also all of the mind control, of which there is so much that i wrote a whole other fic about it.

jason, on the other hand, I think is someone who tells himself one story: he has very carefully forged his body into exactly what he wants it to be, which is a weapon. and he is determinedly not thinking about the ways in which he has had absolutely no control over his body (his death, his resurrection, the pit-related changes.) the story Jason tells himself is actually quite similar to the one Dick is clinging to, which is another reason I love to write about them.

a side note: I'm of the school that doesn't ascribe to long term pit madness. I think Jason comes out of the pit a little crazy in ways that have everything to do with profound trauma and very little to do with supernatural whammies. he makes his own choices immediately after coming back and they are bad ones. I think taking that agency from him makes the story much less satisfying and much less tragic. and there's plenty of other ways he loses agency! he died!

all of this was rattling around my head while I was writing. but then I had to actually end the fic. which I struggled with! I was worried the ending - where Dick says alright, let's go again, redo - would come off too pat. but I also didn't want to fall into the trap of making dick a weeping damsel. (fandom's general desire to make dick grayson experience misogyny could be an essay in its own right.) and ultimately I'm happy with where I ended it! it is almost certainly a bad idea for them to jump right back into sex after both of them had panic attacks. and what is jaydick but not a bunch of bad ideas that somehow end up working out.

this post is so long. I didn't even get into the identity stuff, but I feel like that is much more on the surface of the fic and I kind of said what I wanted to say in the fic itself. thank you for asking!

director's commentary meme!

[akoyaxs]

Just a little thought:

I was rereading some of my works of late and while going over TUNUTU because I've been feeling very reminiscent and wholesome, I found these little quotes and shit that I actually really loved 🙃

"It was for you!" you snap. "All the stupid dressing up and acting nice and being sweet and trying to be pretty just so you would stop glaring and look at me for ONCE!"

Aonung's frown deepens slightly, like he's confused, like you aren't making any sense. Stupid alien boys, so oblivious to everything around them.

"I am looking at you," he says quietly.

"No," you hiss. "You're looking down on me like always, just because I'm a human-"

You snatch your chipped mug from the machine and just resigning yourself as the coffee continues to drip down onto the tinny bench, no longer having the patience for the infuriatingly slow drip of your greatest necessity before continuing.

"I should have realised what a cocky, brainless, dull, oblivious, pestering, rude, taunting, tiny-dick skxawng-"

"Hey," a deep voice protests from the sofa. 

A very familiar voice.

With a surge of horror and a deep desire to strangle and castrate Lo'ak and Spider, you see Aonung grinning at you.

Then he's looking at you, and his usually baby blue eyes are dark and rough like the deep oceans. It's exactly what you were hoping for, the hunger and desire in his handsome face as he stares, seated but still slightly taller on your bed. 

"Take this off."

It isn't a question or a request, it's a fucking order. For the first time, it strikes you that he really is going to be Olo'eyktan, just by the forceful defiance in his deep voice fuelled by his sudden interest.

Hook, line, and sinker.

A/n

Okay that's all out of me for now - working on a short FLUFF request fic for now which I'll post soon, and I just thought I'd share some of my favourite parts of my writing for now 🙃 Love you 😘

[monsterblogging]

So this post I reblogged has got me thinking about humanity loss as a trope and the way it's treated. And just to clear things up for anyone who might be confused, I'm talking about stories that involve some amount of physical transformation (with possibly some amount of mental transformation), not just "losing your humanity" in the moral sense. (Though the idea that compassion = human is itself incredibly flawed, but we're not getting into that right now.)

So like, there is media where portraying loss of humanity as a bad thing actually makes sense - specifically, where it's a metaphor for something that's actually bad. The first example that comes to mind is where turning people into robots or cyborgs is used as a metaphor for the dehumanization of laborers. Rich fucks in real life want to treat workers like machines, so it's kind of a natural step to write fiction where it's presented a bit more literally. Or there's stories like Resident Evil 4, where transformation is an allegory for religious radicalization, because the bummer truth is that people who've been radicalized are more often than not impossible to reason with and either want to make you one of them or kill you. When the major bad guys turn into giant monsters, it's an allegory for wielding corrupt power.

(And for those of you out there going, "but people can be deradicalized???", I am with you! And this is why I think a lot of these narratives need to lighten up on the "oh no once you hit Certain Stage of Change there's no going back!!!" stuff.)

But then there's like... the people who miss the metaphor or have very chauvinist views, and oop - there is no allegory now (or at least, not much of one), and we get stories that effectively inform us that becoming too Other means we're no longer deserving of compassion, respect, autonomy, or even life. Like, you can tell that you're dealing with the kind of person who just doesn't really believe in universal human rights, or in people exercising too much autonomy. And I think it's very natural to have an "oh, fuck you" kind of response to this kind of thing.

And then sometimes there is an allegory, and the author is targeting queer people, communists, foreigners, or anybody the establishment isn't really a fan of. Once you realize that the author is just bullshitting, I think it's only natural to think that there could be another side to this story.

And I think it's also fair to ask ourselves if transformation into Something Else could be an allegory for something that isn't actually bad. Maybe getting in tune with some aspect of nature triggers changes; like you grow gills and fins after hanging out in the water for so long. Maybe this upsets the sensibilities of the people back home, but quite frankly it's none of their business where you choose to spend your time and what you allow to happen to your body. Or maybe the cult leader turned you into their perfect weapon, and maybe that process was traumatic, but what happens when you regain your autonomy? Are the abilities you gained inherently bad, or does it come down to what you choose to do with them? Do you really deserve to die just because your body has a different shape now and there's no way to undo it?

And sometimes transformations brings on various forms of disability, or the experiences the characters go through are very similar to the experience of being disabled in some way, which can make them very relatable to some people. When you see something about yourself in these characters, it's only natural to want them treated as a person who deserves compassion and accommodation, rather than nothing more than a dangerous monster.

Add into this that nonhuman characters in general are constantly given characteristics associated with autism, ADHD, and even trauma. Factor in that the temptation of turning into a creature who isn't expected to act "human" (read: neurotypical) so you can be released from burdening expectations. Factor in the desire to be free from anything considered "human," period. And don't forget the whole otherkin/alterhuman thing. Then of course there's the thrill of the idea of experiencing a novel form, of seeing how it feels to move in a differently-shaped body and exploring what you can do with it. And the temptation of stimming with a tail. And also the fact that people's bodies and minds will change throughout their lives and that's fine, actually. Nobody owes it to you or anyone to be the same forever.

So yeah, works of fiction that depict "losing your humanity," as in changing your physical body and rewiring your brain in a way that people find strange as inherently bad and morally wrong are crap. Change is nature, and if somebody wants try out life as a dragon that should be none of anybody else's fucking business.

[alexthesillybilly]

What if springtrap x reader but I write it from springtraps POV idk I wanna study him this is rlly similar to another thing I wrote btw if it feels familiar :P idk why but I love writing this exact scene lmao

God, how long has it been? Months? Years? Decades? How was I supposed to know? I haven't spoken to anyone since I was left in here, and I probably never will again. I'm still trying to figure out what to do to pass the time. At first my methods were a little more about escaping, but clawing at the walls and slamming my self against the door was both very painful, and was also not doing anything for me, so I stopped doing those pretty quickly. Then I remembered there were arcade machines in this room! But then I remembered that this is the parts and service room and they were out of order. And very unplayable. But that didn't stop me, I ended up disassembling and putting them back together a few times.

That got boring, too.

Now I'm not really sure what to do. I spend a lot of my time either fidgeting with loose wires or pacing around like some kind of scared animal. After I stopped having the indescribable dread of realizing I was trapped here, it changed to craving something. Anything, really. Whether it was hearing music from outside, seeing a color other than pitch black, feeling anything other than the freezing cold tile floor and my own pain.

I think I mostly craved company, though.

I was never into psychology, but speaking from experience, I'm pretty sure that completely depriving a human of any communication or entertainment for years (decades??) will fuck someone up.

There's some sort of noise around the door. It's happened a few times, usually someone who broke in trying to get into the room before discovering it's boarded up. I don't know who boarded up this room, but I'd like to have a talk with them. Only a little murder included. So I don't get my hopes up too much. They're not going to get in.

So maybe I get a little excited when for the first time, I actually DO hear the door crack open and light pour in.

Holy shit, it's happening.

I can finally get out of here.

I felt nearly manic at the sight. So imagine my thoughts when someone walked in.

I freeze. What do I do?

There is so much I want to say.

Can I even talk?

I don't know anymore.

Who is this?

I try to look at them without moving. Nobody I recognize. That's probably a good thing.

If I move, I might scare them.

On one hand, then I'd be able to leave.

But on the other hand, I need to talk to someone, ANYONE, so bad that I can't let then leave already.

So I stay still while they approach.

They must not be deterred by the sight of me, surprisingly, because they crouch down beside me like I'm not... like this.

"What the hell are you?" They laugh under their breath. Wow, okay. First words spoken to me in this long. I deserve that, though.

I need to talk so bad but how am I supposed to talk to anyone now? I don't even remember how it works, let alone if I physically could. I pray they'll ask a yes-or-no question soon.

They stand back up.

No. No, no, no, not already. They can't leave. I have to risk it.

I try my best to tell them not to go. It comes out as more of a noise you'd make on your deathbed, but it's enough to get them to stop in their tracks.

"No. Nope, I am NOT being your horror movie protagonist who dies first, nope. Not today." They turn to run out the door. This time I'm prepared. Kind of.

"No-" I manage to choke out before realizing how much it hurts to speak, and very pathetically falling against the wall in pain. I have to get the message through, though. "Don't go."

"Hooly shit." The person stares at me in horror. "I have so many questions."

Talking hurts so bad, but nothing hurts worse than my indescribable loneliness, so I'll just have to deal with that later. I have to say something.

"Me too."

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #303 (Part 2)

Okay! I'm back!! And this time, I come bearing pictures I took of my world from the sky! I wanted to share them with you because my world is very beautiful, even with all its problems. I'll scatter a few thoughts throughout.

...Sephiroth. You dreamed of a world where you could have pumpkin soup made for you every day by someone who cares deeply for you. What a beautiful, innocent, wholesome thing to want.

Sephiroth... I want you to know that this dream of yours is absolutely within reach. It doesn't have to just be an illusion foisted upon you by something messing with your head. It doesn't have to just be a fanciful daydream within your own head.

You can have it. You could literally have it right the fuck now. All you have to do is make choices that are in alignment with such a thing.

...My doors are always open. I can't replace all that you've lost, but... you can grow into a space of belonging with the new. You can grow into loving that which comes in.

And... that which comes in can decide, with absolute conviction, that it will stop at nothing to stay with you.

...This picture below, by the way... the body of water at the bottom is where I used to mermaid train, before the rib injury took away my ability to swim meaningfully:

...Like you, I can mourn what I've lost, and then step into the new. I can work on healing, even if I might not be able to return to swimming in the way that I used to.

...And you know? If I was still going to the water every day for several hours at a time, I'm not sure I'd have the energy to write to you like this, haha...

I know that losing people doesn't work the same way; goodness knows I've lost more than my fair share of them through the course of my life, if not by death, then by moving away, by my mother's various breakups, by my stepmother deliberately destroying my relationships with other people, by being suddenly abandoned by people who claimed to love me, by needing to distance myself from people who are committed to misunderstanding and hurting me, and more.

...There's no fix for losing people or for animal companions. The knowledge that I will see them again someday once everyone is up out of their meat mechs does not fix the fact that they are not present in my life right now.

...But I can remember that the pain I feel in response to their absence is proportional to the love that was felt. I can choose to honor that love by keeping my heart open and by thinking about them in my most joyful and loving moments.

I can also do my best to remember that new people will come along and love me in ways that only they know how to do. Each living thing I meet brings to me unique delights that cannot be replicated elsewhere. Each living thing I meet requires me to learn how to love and enjoy them in the way that feels best to them.

Of course, this means that I am constantly shifting, changing, growing, and experiencing new things. It means there's no end to the amount of joy and compassion I can give and receive in this world.

...Sephiroth. These same things hold true of you, too. Because you're a human being, just like me. So what if you've been enhanced? You're still not "just a weapon" or an "artificial machine of massacre" or a "false hero propped up to make Shinra look good".

That might have been the intentions of the people who created you, but we do not have to live up to the expectations of the people who bring us into this world.

...If the people who brought me into this world had their way, I'd be either disappeared or relegated to the status of subservient furniture for the rest of my life. I'd still be someone who doesn't speak unless spoken to.

I'd still be someone who sacrifices my own wellbeing for someone else's convenience. I'd still be someone who pressures myself into trying to be perfect, despite knowing that such a thing is impossible.

I'm not these things anymore, because you helped me to rise up in defiance of it all. And it took me a number of years to stand up, and, for sure, my legs are still shaky from the weight of the memories I carry. But still, I keep moving forward, towards a tomorrow that exists in the shape of my dreams.

...In the tomorrow of my dreams, you are safe and happy somewhere. I keep writing these letters in hopes that they inspire you to take your own steps forward, just like the way you inspired me to thrive despite the odds stacked against me.

You're so much more than what you've endured at the hands of the people who've brought you here. And because of that, you can choose to weave a wholesome destiny for yourself with your own two hands.

I'm gonna stop writing now; J is playing Chrono Trigger, and I wanna watch. And then after that, I wanna continue watching something with a friend of mine that came from this space.

She introduced me to a series called Trinity Blood. And... you know? The main character there - Abel - is so much like you.

Not in how he looks; that's a bit too obvious. But... in the gentleness with which he interacts with other people, and the kindness he brings to almost every situation in which he finds himself. That manner of being - the same manner of being that I learned from watching you - is everything I aspire to become.

...Well, I guess that's all I've got for today.

Please do your best to remember that anyone with good taste could need a friend or a "comrade" like you; after all, you're why I'm even still alive in the first place. I... definitely would have very much enjoyed a kind and gentle friend like you in those days. The version of me who existed back then would have given up anything to meet a friend like you.

Please... let's continue to defy the "destiny" that the people who brought us here spelled out for us. Let's continue to defy the odds, together.

...Please... at the end of your story... come home safety to us so you can make choices that will build the life you dreamed of. It's waiting for you if you're willing to put forth the effort. I write to you every day to show you how to gather up the broken pieces of yesterday so you can use them to be the artist of your own tomorrow.

I love you. And I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine