#i have a hunch which will be the most popular and the least popular but i wanna see it play out

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free. 

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground. 

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes. 

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home. 

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls. 

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance. 

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion? 

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room. 

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those… 

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done? 

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water. 

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-” 

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely. 

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.” 

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.” 

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that. 

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.” 

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor. 

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae. 

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets. 

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed. 

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger. 

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip. 

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands. 

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it. 

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye. 

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved. 

“I made a mistake don’t-” 

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather. 

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic. 

“No, no I didn’t.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple. 

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman. 

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said. 

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side. 

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…” 

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.” 

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice. 

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.  

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed. 

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea. 

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly. 

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.” 

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood. 

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.” 

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night. 

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.” 

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him. 

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind. 

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for. 

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.” 

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

[veraghost]

𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙊𝙆 𝙊𝙉 𝙔𝘼 ! - 𝙅𝙐𝙅𝙐𝙏𝙎𝙐 𝙆𝘼𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙉

an upcoming exam can be stressful, especially when you have a hard time with memorization. lucky for you, your boyfriend seems to have a solution.

𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: camboy!choso x innocent gf!reader

𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂!! 𝙈𝘿𝙉𝙄: fem!reader, established relationship, piercings, choking, overstimulation, detailed body descriptions, dirty talk, pet names, recording

𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿 𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏: 3.5k

a/n: installation one of my first series, loosely based (aka one lyric) off of this song by Ariana Grande. i wrote this after a 7 hour shift + a nap, so i apologized if i missed anything proofreading, happy reading xoxo, lex

SERIES MASTERLIST

𝙇𝙀𝙎𝙎𝙊𝙉-𝙊𝙉𝙀.𝙈𝙋4

there are often times at university when you have questioned why you chose to become a nurse, especially when it comes to studying for biology exams. in the past, you've found ways to memorize the majority of what's given to you, walking into each assessment prepped and prepared, knowing you've done your best and you'll most likely receive an amazing grade. however, as you walk into your apartment, you don't even know where to begin. biology was never your strong suit, especially when it came to navigating people's bodies, finding small veins and understanding certain placements. the silver lining of your current situation, you had just under a month to prepare before the exam day, which meant time to create study sheets and cue cards to practice with.

as you set your bags down on the kitchen island with a deep sigh, you begin to piece together everything you need to do, the list slowly piling up in your head. "everything okay?" your boyfriend asks you, walking into the kitchen. you assume he was filming content in his room while you were gone to class, seeing as though he walks out of the bedroom in nothing but sweats, and judging by the look of it, his fans will be happy with what he's recorded. "yeah, no, i don't know choso, i forgot how killer biology was" you respond, utterly confused on how you should feel. sitting down on the barstools surrounding the table, head in your hands, you grab your ipad from your bag and begin writing your to-do list.

the list is extensive and almost all-consuming, as you take in everything. leaning over your frame, choso is reading the list, eyes trailing down the screen, brows slowly rising as he realizes just how much you have to deal with. "damn, that's... a lot", he says, looking down softly at you, "what do you think you're gonna start with?". you debate in your head, genuinely wondering what to do. "probably start with the bigger stuff, that seems smart right? begin with broad topics and slowly get more specific as i understand the content." you decide, finding a starting point to your dilemma. choso hands you a plate with apple slices, yogurt and granola, with a simple smile, before settling himself on the couch a few feet away from you.

"so, what're you starting with then? i mean there's a bunch of large topics, might as well pick one and start as soon as possible" you hear him say, taking a bite out of his own food. glancing at you hunched over the island. "probably mapping the body for veins, where's safe to place needles is iv's," you say, tracing your own arms as you speak, "and then i'll move onto bodily reactions to certain things, mostly if the body rejects a needle or medication, and how it'll affect the patient."

placing your plate in the sink, satiated for now, you saunter over to the couch, sitting in the spot next to choso. "were you filming while i was gone?" you ask, eyeing him up and down before he nods. "at least i was trying to, i have no ideas and don't wanna just show me jerking off and that's it you know, i got popular for doing more than that, but i'm running out of ideas." he replies, looking just as defeated as you did a second ago. it's understandable tho, he's been at it nonstop for months, and the fruits of his labour have been nothing but rich, being able to pay for rent while also saving for his own degree.

the room falls silent for awhile, a comfortable silence as you begin to trace your arms, struggling to find your own veins. choso is watching you, following your finger up and down your arms. you catch notice of this, and also of how pale your boyfriend is, an idea popping into your head.

"choso... could i use you to study?" you ask him, innocent eyes looking into his. "i mean, look at your arms, i can see almost every vein without having to even squint, your the perfect candidate to help me ace this exam" you continue, basically pleading with him to agree. you can tell he's debating in, listing the pros and cons in his head. you know he doesn't like physical affection much, especially when dealing with his own assignments, but he'd be doing you such a big favour. he shrugs before putting his plate on the coffee table next to him, before pulling you onto his lap.

"i'm assuming this is a yes, baby?" you say, shifting a bit in his lap to get comfortable. a light sigh is heard from your boyfriend, before he agrees, letting your fingers go up and down his arms. you move the short sleeves of his t-shirt exposing his shoulders to you, letting you see more of him. "can you take this off, it keeps falling back off your shoulder, plus then i can use my supplies to make little marks to show where i could put needles and everything into a patient" you say, slightly tugging at the bottom of his shirt, before he pulls it off completely.

fuck, you thought, forgetting just how strong your boyfriend was. although he doesn't look it choso was built. big arms that help you carry groceries into the apartment, big shoulders hiding under every shirt he owns, and a perfect set of abs to top everything off. blushing lightly, you thank him quietly before getting up and grabbing your bag, pulling out a handful of markers to begin mapping his body out. choso is sitting there silently, watching you work meticulously. this was one of his favourite parts about you, the way you fall silent in focus, looking so innocent compared to him.

it wasn't that choso was bad per say, he just looked so different from you. other than the size difference between you both, he was also into different things, his arms adorned in tattoos, a tongue piercing hiding in his mouth, and nipple piercings, his smudged eyeliner, his dark, wild hair, normally worn in ponytails or buns, let loose in the comfort of his home. in comparison to you, he looked like someone who belonged elsewhere.

the amount of moving you're doing on his lap, the friction between your bodies, the heat the proximity creates, becomes unbearable. you're so deep in thought, making sure every mark on his body is placed so perfectly, you don't even notice the growing erection in your boyfriends pants until you hear a small groan. looking at him, he grounds his hips into yours, making a red blush appear on your face.

"i'm sorry baby, i know but you're just so pretty on top of me, i couldn't help it." choso says, sounding so honest, as if he wasn't the one who pulled you onto his lap a half hour ago. "please just give me a kiss, i promise i'll let you go back to work afterwards" he says, tilting your chin before leaning in, a small peck on your lips. one turns into two, then three, and before you know it, the marker has fallen into his lap, choso's holding your waist, and there's not a thought in your head.

breaking the contact between your lips with a sigh, you try and find your marker, lifting off choso's lap just enough to hunt for it. looking around frantically, you feel a pulse between your legs, then another, and another. you realize this feeling isn't going away any time soon, and neither is choso's fully grown erection, still painfully stuck in his sweats. giving up on your hunt, you place all your weight back onto your boyfriend, hearing him suck in a breath.

"baby, remember how you said you needed to study bodily reactions?" he asks you curiously, moving you slightly, hands gently on your helps. you nod silently, knowing if you open your mouth it'll only be moans from how sinful he feels underneath you. "do you think - just maybe - some reactions are like this?" he says, before pushing you further into his lap, letting you feel every inch that's hiding under layers of clothing. you let out a light moan, wanting nothing but more, more of him, more of this.

"i mean probably, right?" you respond, before feeling another grind into your core, riling you up even more. choso smiles, so kindly at you while giving you another drag against his lap. lifting you up, he starts walking you both to the bedroom, placing you down gently on the bed, standing between your legs.

"cho, i..." you start, not knowing how to bring this up to him. even though you and choso have known each other since freshman year of uni, you started dating after becoming roommates. originally, you lived with a few of other friends, before moving in together a handful of months after getting together.

"what baby, if you don't want this we don't have to-"

"i'm a virgin", you tell him hiding your face from his gaze, "actually i haven't done... anything with anyone," you say. god you wanted to die in this moment, basically ruining the entire mood. if only you had kept your mouth shut. choso is silent, making you even more nervous.

"oh baby, why didn't you tell me sooner? we've been dating for months and yet this is the first time you've bothered to say something." he replies after a few beats, grabbing both your cheeks so delicately, wiping the tears that started to well in your eyes from panic. you breathe a sigh of relief, thankful you chose someone so soft and loving. "i didn't want you to look at me differently, i mean, all of our friends have done it, except for me. as much as they love me i know they probably judge me for it, and i didn't want that to be you." you say, tears coming back just as quickly as they were wiped away.

"no, no, sweetheart, never. i chose you as you are, no matter the past, you have or the things that i still don't know, you're my baby." he says, bringing your head to his stomach, your arms wrapping around his waist. you can still feel his erection to your surprise, thinking the moment was over. "i don't mean to ruin this moment, but did you want to..?" he trails off, looking at you with something in his eyes, something dark and almost primal. and truthfully you do, you trust choso so much, he would never hurt you.

"baby i need to hear you say it, i need to know you fully want this" he says, voice sounding so raw, like he's holding himself back from just pouncing on you.

"yes choso, i want to, wanna feel good. but can we go... slow?" you reply, still feeling a bit jittery. it's not that you didn't want to fuck choso, you knew he was good in bed, the hundreds of fans he has on twitter speaks for itself, but this was different, this was personal.

"of course baby, anything for you." and then it's back on like nothing ever happened in the first place, he's leaning over to capture your lips in a kiss, gentle yet consuming, making all thoughts wander out of your head. pushing you further onto the bed, leaning you back against the pillows, his weight a comforting, before something shifts. the kisses become more frantic, and then animalistic, both of you just tongue and teeth, hands roaming everywhere, his hands on your waist, then to your hips before moving to the hem of your shirt, slightly tugging to up.

breaking the kiss, you throw your shirt somewhere on the floor before pulling him back to you, hungry for more of this, more of him. choso is just as hungry as you, grabbing and groping every inch of skin he can get to, before moving his kisses to your jawline and down your neck, kissing every square inch of you. the kisses turn into nips, and then he's sucking a hickey into your neck, one that's sure to come out dark and pretty, adorning your beautiful skin. upon feeling the slight sting, you let out a gasp, learning something new about your body.

"fuck baby, you bruise so easily, so simple to mark you as mine." he mumbles mindlessly, before making a second further down near your collarbone, and another right on top of one of your breasts. he seals each mark with a kiss before sitting up and unbuttoning your jeans, throwing them on the floor to join your shirt. "is this ok? do you wanna stop at all?" he asks, making sure your still set on this.

instead of answering, you grab his face before pulling him down for another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist, letting him feel the heat thats coming from your core. his hands start to play with your panties, before slowly slipping them off your legs along with your bra.

he sits up, taking in you, completely naked, so fucking pretty.

"hey, don't stare for too long, but thank you, cho" you say, a sheepish smile on your face before your arms start to try and hide yourself from him, getting embarrassed from his stare. "don't you dare hide yourself from me baby, not when i'm gonna make you feel so good." he says, pulling your arms away and pinning them down by your head. he fits both your wrists into one of his hands before lightly tracing your body before reaching your pussy.

"oh baby, look at her, she's basically begging for me to touch her." he says, basically to himself, before putting one finger to your entrance, feeling just how wet and messy you are, hours worth of teasing finally building up to this. "you better pay attention, this is how to body reacts to pleasure", reminding you on what got you into this position, before taking his finger and tracing around your clit, making you gasp. "oh so sensitive, haven't even touched you properly yet" he notes, before finally rubbing your clit, slowly, watching your reaction.

your so quiet, almost shy to show him your pleasure, not wanting to sound slutty. he's treating you so carefully, a drastic change to how he was kissing you just a few minutes ago. he's tracing your entrance again now, gaging how you react to his slow push past the first rings of muscle, and your gasping again, back arching up in pleasure as your eyes close. it doesn't hurt, but feels weird. his middle figure fully sat in you before it pulls back, leaving you empty.

he watches your face, before plunging his finger back in again, eliciting a small moan from your lips, before getting another, and another. you understand now why your friends won't shut up about sex, it feels so different, and yet so fucking good. you can feel something in your stomach, feeling so good and warm, and as choso continues his magic, the feeling slowly builds.

choso isn't even doing that much, he doesn't even say anything, so in awe of your reactions to the simplest ministrations. when you seem comfortable with one, he adds a second, and that's when he sees your body react so wholly, a louder moan coming from you, he speeds up, allowing you to feel everything. and god, you look gorgeous, eyes tightly shut, back slightly arched from the bed, mouth open, moans and sighs of pleasure falling from your lips. his other hand has long since discarded you wrists, allowing you to claw at his shoulders and back as he decides to test the waters a bit more.

he lets his hand wander a bit, not wanting to make his actions to obvious, before speeding up a little more and stopping his hand on your neck, thumb and fingers resting lightly on your pulse points. you don't even notice when he tightens his grip on your neck a bit, so caught up in the pleasure, his thumb finding your clit, and that's when you wake from your trace. eyes opening wide, a loud gasp coming from your mouth.

"feels good, doesn't it baby? didn't even notice me choking your pretty little neck. my pretty girl, so overwhelmed she doesn't even know what to do" he says, a small pout on his face before tightening his grip a bit more.

"feels so g- good, wanna feel like this forever cho, just y- you and me never leaving this room." you moan, dumb off his fingers "can you go even tighter? feels so goooood" eyes rolling into the back of your head when he fulfills your request. he's so focused on you, completely forgetting about his own erection, you just look so angelic. he adds a third finger, noting the little twinge of pain that shows up on your face, keeping his pace nonetheless. the strange sensation thats your stomach becomes so much more prominent, and you can feel yourself losing control.

"awh baby, are you gonna cum? gonna cum all over my fingers like a good girl? yeah c'mon, cum for me, get my fingers all messy" he ebbs you on, watching as pleasure consumes you completely, body spasming and exhaustion paints your face. when you open your eyes, you see choso sitting up between your legs, fingers in his mouth. "you're so sweet baby, it's fucking intoxicating, wanna taste you" he says, licking every inch of his fingers clean.

"can i taste you baby? i'll be extra gentle with how sensitive you must be. came so prettily on my fingers for me" he says, slowly moving his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself slightly on his tongue, before he's trailing his lips down again, taking a your nipple into his mouth. you gasp, body jolting upwards from his piercing, cold on your skin.

his lips trail down, down down, until his head is right between your thighs, looking up at you so innocently, silently asking if he can taste you, and you silently respond.

everything is so much more enhanced, if you weren't sensitive before, you definitely are now. as his tongue circles your clit, piercing creating such a strange sensation, your hands fly straight to his hair, moaning. "oh cho, feels so good, makin' me feel so good fu- fuck!"

you can feel him smile before he takes your clit fully into his mouth, letting a finger circle your entrance yet again. everything is so hazy, your eyes blurry, mind foggy, and yet you wouldn't have it any other way. he's so loud, sucking and licking at you so obscenely making such a fucking mess. he's so obsessed on you and your release, he doesn't even notice his hips rutting into the bed beneath him, solely focused on making you cum on his tongue.

it takes you a fraction of the time to cum again, and has he tastes you fully for the first time, he moans, groaning when your release coats his tongue, and it's good that he cums, right in his pants. he's so drunk off your pussy, you have to push his heaad away from your pussy, wanting more, wanting to memorize how good you taste on his tongue. it's only when he's finally straight in the head he feels so sticky his pants feel, silently cursing under his breath.

"fuck baby, why didn't we do this sooner?" he asks you with a laugh, pulling you onto his chest after finding you a shirt to put on, and new pants for him. everything is so calm now, hearing his heartbeat, the faint lub-dup echoing in his chest. you shrug, genuinely not knowing why you didn't let anything to further than kissing if you knew it would be like that.

you both sit in comfortable silence for a bit, before an idea comes to your boyfriends head. "baby, why don't we record ourselves when we do this?" he asks you, eyes bright and brows raised.

"why the fuck would we do that?" you say, sounding a bit meaner than you meant to. i mean, the boy in front of you just made you cum, twice, and now wants to make porn to post to his twitter of it?

"no baby, so that you can use it to study" he says, and you come to the realization you said that aloud. you ponder. it for a bit, not a horrible idea. you'd have a visual to study off of, and could use the videos to draw diagrams of the body for different tests and assignments, while also leaving timestamps at certain points to describe how something felt for your upcoming exam.

"sure, why the fuck not? we're young, and it's not like anyone else is gonna see these" you say, looking at him for approval. "right, it's a win-win, i get to make you cum, and you get to learn about the human body and all of it's amazing sensations." he replies, reaching out a hand for you to shake. sealing the deal with a firm handshake, you both grow silent before falling asleep, still on choso's chest.

surely these videos will be for educational purposes only... right?

© veraghost 2024. All work belongs to @veraghost. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes and pinned.

[hannieehaee]

hii I loved loser!chan fics and I was wondering if you could do loser!jihoon as well? anyway you want works for me I’m just insane over jihoon being all subby and your fics are amazing!!!

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jihoon, virgin!jihoon, sub!jihoon, afab reader, smut, dry humping, handjob penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2466

a/n: ive always thought of writing loser!jihoon u read my mind lmao i hope i made him loser enough <3

masterlist

jihoon wasnt too much of a social person. it had been like this throughout elementary and all the way too high school, even manifesting up until college. currently, he had his usual group of friends, but he was as still pretty much a very antisocial guy. he liked it this way. it kept things simple.

his lack of socialization, however, also came with a lack of social skills, which in very obvious fashion also meant he lacked experience in social situations; dating included.

his romantic life had been fully nonexistent thus far, making him fall far behind most of his friends, who were all thoroughly experienced in one way or another.

it's not like jihoon didnt have any interest in that area of his life. it was just that he was too shy. a bit of a loser too, to be honest. this was a trait of his that he had wanted to finally rid himself of, which wad how he ended up attending one of his good friend's mingyu's many frat parties.

this wasnt his usual scene. he had been invited to these gatherings multiple times, but always turned them down, knowing he could never keep up with his popular friends (not that he wanted to anyway; as he said, this was just not his scene). however, something his friend mingyu had said about a week back had caught his attention, making him insist that mingyu let him tag along this once.

he had been in the cafeteria at the time, looking across the room as he usually did while his friends engaged in conversation. he was the only member of the friend group who was not a member of the frat, so it was easy for him to blend in the background most times. this time, however, mingyu had caught sight of what was keeping jihoon so distracted. this had just gotten interesting.

it was you.

by some strike of luck, it turned out that mingyu knew who you were. you were a frequent attendee to his frat parties. he knew you pretty well, actually. had spoken to you a few times, and coincidentally knew you had a bit of a thing for his friend jihoon – at least that's what he gathered from your occasional inquiries as to where he was any time he'd be absent from mingyu's parties. mingyu had never attempted to hook you guys up before, but he had decided in that same moment that he liked you for jihoon, which only meant one thing; he had to play matchmaker.

considering jihoon's clear interest in you as he stared and stared while sighing at the pretty sight, mingyu felt very justified in not-so casually dropping the fact that you were usually in attendance to his parties, meaning that you'd very likely be at his following party. this caught jihoon's attention immediately, who tried to nonchalantly make some excuse as to why he'd wanna be in attendance this time around. mingyu considered it a mission accomplished and simply awaited the fateful day of the party.

at the party itself, mingyu immediately got to work, making sure jihoon remained alone and in close proximity to your location – also letting you know that jihoon was wandering somewhere in the frat house, taking note of your smile as he relayed that piece of information to you. as soon as he located the two of you and deemed the situation manageable for jihoon, he went his own way to party with his friends. he had a hunch that it'd work out on its own. he had seen you sneak a few glances at his friend tonight already, which gave him all the confidence to leave the two of you to eventually interact.

it didn't take long for the two of you to bump into each other at some lone corner of the frat (it's not like jihoon had been keeping track of your movements and making a calculated effort to incidentally bump into you in a not-so casual way). upon crossing paths, you immediately engaged in conversation, rendering jihoon slightly speechless at your friendly disposition.

although he had a hard time keeping up with your outgoing personality, – barely being able to mutter full responses as his eyes avoided yours at all costs – you seemed interested enough to suggest the two of you move onto a quieter part of the house in order to have a better chance at understanding each other.

that remote location manifested itself as mingyu's room, which had conveniently been left open for jihoon to access (something gyu had made sure to let jihoon know about, "in case he grew tired or something").

for some reason, sitting on the edge of the bed by your side as a booming party occurred downstairs felt a bit too intimate for jihoon, someone who was not used to any sort of interaction with women of any kind, much less the girl he'd been secretly crushing on for months. you seemed relaxed, though, simply maintaining sporadic conversation as the two of you enjoyed the muffled music coming from downstairs.

at some point you seemed to sense his unnerved state, deciding to call attention to it.

"parties not your thing?"

"oh, uh .. yeah. just not used to the environment , i guess."

"this is my first time seeing you at one of these. what changed?"

"h– how'd you know it's my first time?"

"i wouldve noticed you before."

oh. oh.

"why do you think i brought you in here, jihoon?"

"you know ... you know my name?"

you had scoot closer now, sitting side by side with your legs gracing against his, which were stuck together as he made himself as small as possible.

"of course i do. i've been keeping tabs on you jihoon."

he felt himself shiver at your proximity, despite the fact that everything was still very much friendly and platonic. but he couldnt help himself in feeling shy at the implications of being alone with you whilst sitting closely to each other on the bed.

"o- oh."

"jihoon? why wont you look at me? are you okay?", you took your hand and placed it under his chin, making sure he was now facing you.

your face was far too close to his, and the expression you carried was not one of worry, but one of want.

"n- no, i mean, yes. it's just–"

"just what, jihoonie?", you tilted your head, somehow coming into even closer proximity to his lips.

he gave up the clueless act first, being unable to control himself in his need for you.

"please ... just– please."

that was enough for you to close the gap, sighing softly against his lips as he froze, unknowing in what to do. his arms also remained on his sides as his posture stayed rigid. luckily for him, you didn't mind his temporary inactivity, simply urging him with your own hands and lips to take some action.

these notions were enough for him to nervously begin to kiss you back, copying all your movements as he opened his mouth to allow yours in. his hands were also now awkwardly resting on the small of your back as he leaned a bit towards you. it was all very awkward on his part, but he was truly having the time of his life as you made love to his mouth.

your kiss had quickly grown filthy, making jihoon's eyes roll back as he attempted to keep up. you only kissed him like this for a short while before pulling away breathless, inquiring for more.

"can i? will you let me take charge, jihoonie?", you said in a hot breath against his lips, eyes still glued to his pout.

"i– ive never ..."

"that's okay ... i'll show you, jihoon. ill make you feel good. i can ... i cant teach you."

he wasnt sure if you'd meant to sound like a siren's song when you said this but the effect was just the same, because he found himself breathlessly nodding in agreement, allowing you to lay him down as you straddled him on the bed.

just moments later and you were already starting a slow and sensual grind against his hips as you made a show of arching your back and throwing your head back at what was likely just minimal pleasure for you. for jihoon, however, it was the most action he'd ever gotten. he always assumed that his first act of intimacy with a girl would be a quick peck, not the girl of his dreams dry humping him on his friend's bed.

he took a leap by putting his hands on your hips, unable to control his moans and the way his hips pushed upwards a bit to match yours. this seemingly caught your attention, causing you to make eye contact with him once more before leaning down and connecting your lips.

once again, he was unable to help himself in kissing you back, although sloppy and inexperienced, he enjoyed your kiss all the same, nearly losing his mind at your ability to turn such a sweet act into one of pure desperation so quickly.

"always wanted you, jihoon ...", you breathed against his lips, "knew you were friends with gyu, so i kept coming here hoping to see you, but you never showed up. made me wait so long for you ..", you pouted.

"i– i didnt know. i wanted you too, i swear ..."

you gave him a sweet smile, caressing his cheek softly as your hips slowed down for a moment, "i know, hoonie ... which is why you're gonna be good for me, right, baby?"

"y– yes. i– anything. ill do anything you want, just–", he was interrupted with yet another kiss; a kiss which he instinctively gave back without even having to process it.

"anything? oh, jihoonie ... gonna have so much fun with you."

his confirmation had been enough for you to take further action. jihoon wasn't sure how it ended up happening, but eventually you had managed to undress the two of you, now sitting in the exact same position as before, – you on top of him as he laid back on the bed – except this time fully nude.

from the moment you'd thrown off your shirt, jihoon had been unable to stop staring at your tits. he didnt wanna sound like a total creep or anything, but he wouldve given anything to bury his head in them and never come back. luckily for him, you seemed to read his mind pretty well (re: took a hint from his endless staring and licking of his lips) and leaned down, enticing him to kiss your tits by bringing his face close to them.

with a quick nod in confirmation, jihoon went to town on your tits. he didnt know he had it in him, but his lips and tongue explored every inch of your breasts, breathing against them at how supple they felt under his touch. he drank in every single sigh you let out at the feeling, with his arousal growing to an extent he didn't know was possible.

"oh, hoonie ... fuck ... such a good boy. play with my tits, shit ..."

your hands eventually reached out to play with his dick, which he had been neglecting thus far. his actions halted upon the feeling of your warm hands encompassing him, jerking him in a way that had his kisses against your chest becoming even more sensual in nature as he moaned into your breasts.

"you– oh ... that's .... please ...."

"like it, baby? want me to keep playing with your dick?"

"yes, fuck. please! want–"

"but, baby ... dont you want my cunt?"

that statement took him to another planet altogether.

your cunt? you were going to fuck him? oh. oh.

the simple thought of you wrapping around him, bouncing up and down as he lost his mind under you almost had him cumming. the best he could do in that moment was lift his head from your chest and beg you to please let him have it as he kissed your lips.

you took advantage of his begging to lick his lips, teasing his tongue with your own as you positioned yourself to lower yourself on him. jihoon was sure you could feel his heartbeat almost beat straight out of his chest as you pressed your hand against his chest for support, but he didnt care. he wanted you to know how carnally he wanted you.

"this is your first time, right, baby?"

"yes, b– but its okay! i want it, i swear!"

"oh, i know, pretty ... just wanted to make sure. gonna make you mine after this. you know that, right?", you leaned down to kiss his neck as you said this, making him shiver at the thought, "gonna be my pretty little jihoon that only i get to have ..."

"yes ... yours, just– wanna be yours, please ..."

that was all you needed to finally sink down on him, moaning out at the feeling. similarly, he arched his back against the mattress at the warmth and tightness he felt around his cock; a pleasure he never knew was humanly possible.

you rode him like a champ, wasting no time in speeding up and he himself lost his mind. he couldnt help it when his hips began to cant up against yours, loving the way you threw your head back at the impact. at some point all rhythm between the two of you was lost, making you hump against each other like you were in heat.

"hoonie! gonna cum, please ... cum with me, pretty. wanna feel you cum."

"gonna cum for you ... feel so fucking good ...", he whined at you, knowing his end was right there.

the two of you cried out and held each other through your respective ends. his came slightly before yours, making him wince at the overstimulation as you tightened up around him after he had fully ridden his high. but the feeling was extremely pleasurable nonetheless.

laying down next to him, you cuddled up against his side, giving his chest a sweet peck before gesturing at him to look at you.

he felt shy making eye contact, but felt less so than before. he felt such a strong connection with you at this moment, smiling at knowing that you liked him back (at least going off on your rambles as you fucked him).

"i like you. so much," he interrupted whatever you were about to say, not even realizing his words until after he'd uttered them.

you chuckled at his widened eyes upon realizing what he'd said, "i know, hoonie. i like you too."

you stayed quiet after that, choosing to fall asleep in his arms as he held you against him. he wasnt sure what exactly came next, but he was content in that moment.

[destinationtrekk]

Well I've been going a bit... Unhinged lately; and the umbrella reader prompt gave me a few... Ideas

Umbrella reader who fell first for wesker? In the whole yandere-ish way? Like "I have an entire scrapbook dedicated to him" way???

oh man this is a good one. cut added bc it ended up much longer than i expected

you’ve been working at umbrella for a while, you’re no longer just a rookie assistant. You’re in charge of your own lab and techs, and they actually like you, which makes manipulating them a lot easier

everyone knows who Dr. Wesker is. And i mean everyone. There isn’t a soul in the building, in the entire company, who doesn’t either shiver or scowl at his name. He’s umbrella’s golden child, after all, especially since Birkin went and got himself killed.

he is not known for being friendly, but he was never cruel to you, at least. Nowadays he’s out making deals and monsters so his time in the actual labs are rare, so every moment you see him is like a miracle from god.

you notice everything about him in these days. The cut of his trousers, how much gel is in his hair, which pair of sunglasses he’s wearing (no one except you even realizes he has different pairs - seven of them, to be exact). You even count his breaths when you’re both in the same lab and one of the assistants is pissing him off (he actually breathes slower when he’s angry, like it takes every ounce of focus to keep his composure)

this is when you think things might be getting out of hand. You��ve gotten yourself into quite a situation. You’re thinking about him constantly - in traffic on the way to work (he drives an unmarked, pristine black sports car), when you’re hunched over your desk working (he actually wears headphones when he’s using a microscope, you noticed he doesn’t like the sound of the slides clicking), when you’re cooking dinner (he never eats during his shifts, and he scowls at anyone who isn’t using a napkin in the break room) - even when you’re showering, all you can do is remember the smooth scent of his air when he walks past you.

you’re certain you know everything about him now. Even his cologne. A few weeks ago he leaned over your shoulder to correct one of your equations, his voice quiet and void of any emotion, and before he stepped away you got a solid breath of his expensive cologne - subtle, woodsy, deep, intoxicating. You went home and spent half the night looking up the undertones of every single obscure cologne you could find, because no way was it cheap or popular, until you found what you think was the right one

(you order it and a week later, you’re elated to find you were correct. Now your entire bed smells like him)

you make your move on a Tuesday. The entire lab had been whispering about annual reviews, Wesker would be conducting them himself since the other supervisors were busy. A few weeks earlier you had seen his coffee cup in the trash and memorized his order (ew, but you had big plans) and you had left a perfect cup of coffee on his desk before he arrived, conveniently walking past him in the halls just a few minutes later and flashing your most charming smile. He actually smiled back

later that day he leaned over your shoulder again, mouth brushing your ear and hand next to yours on your desk, and his voice was pure sin.

“My office, Doctor, three o’clock. I think we have a few things to discuss.”

needless to say, the two of you are inseparable after that

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Thigh Fucking~

this was a bit hard for me. i didn't want to go into too much detail on here, so i did what i always did. started a new au which leads up to it. i hope you like this. i think it might be one of my top five!

@adamsappleweek

Adam sighed, feeling the weight of the day in every bone and muscle. His body ached from hours spent hunched over his desk, fingers stiff from holding his pencil, eyes burning from the endless focus. Yet, he couldn’t stop. No matter how his body screamed for rest, he pushed forward. He had to. His future depended on it. This project was his golden ticket—if he could nail it, so many doors could open. This company, after all, was a titan in the industry, its designs coveted across the globe. Their releases caused a frenzy; people craved their issues like forbidden fruit.

There was a quiet pride in Adam’s heart, knowing they had chosen him, a humble dreamer with passion, not some polished, high-end designer with an inflated ego. He still remembered that moment like a first kiss—wide-eyed, fresh out of university, hardly daring to believe his luck when they offered him an internship. His hands had trembled as he signed the paperwork, tears of gratitude brimming in his eyes. He was the youngest, the least experienced, the intern who fetched coffee and sat in on meetings like a fly on the wall, but none of that mattered. He had one thing that couldn’t be taught: passion. And he poured every bit of it into his work, vowing he’d prove himself worthy. Design wasn’t just a job; it was his lifeblood, a legacy left by his mother.

Adam could still see her clearly in his mind—elegant and bold, a force of creativity, designing clothes that danced between classical beauty and daring adventure. She had been the leading lady of her fashion house, captivating the world until her tragic passing. Adam grew up idolizing her, dreaming of one day standing where she once stood, weaving his own designs into the tapestry of fashion. He had inherited her artist’s touch; he was sure of it. Now, it was his time to prove it.

The lamp on his desk flickered dimly, casting soft shadows in the nearly deserted office. The ticking clock felt like a countdown, each second urging him to make something extraordinary. Everyone else had long since gone home, but not Adam. He wasn't ready to quit. Not yet. This "scrap" project, tossed to him like table scraps, would be his masterpiece. Something that would make the seniors take notice, something more than just an intern running errands.

Adam’s emerald-green eyes gleamed as he turned his attention to Lilith Leonhart, the muse of his art. Lilith—one of the most stunning and sought-after models in the industry. She was perfection wrapped in golden silk, her icy blue eyes and flawless features etched into the minds of designers and artists everywhere. If he could design something that matched her beauty, something elegant yet unforgettable, he’d have a chance. He had spent hours sketching her, imagining her in every pose, every fabric, every colour, refining every line until his fingers cramped. Her pinups dominated the walls of the design department—lips parted in a coy smile, hair cascading in luxurious waves.

He had chosen a popular style—one that young people were wearing in droves, a look that blended sophistication with a pop of youthful energy. The outfit was sleek, tailored to perfection, a bold purple suit with sharp lines and subtle accents in green, blue, and pink. Purple, Adam thought, made Lilith's striking features stand out even more, her icy blue eyes practically glowing against the rich fabric. It was trendy, it was polished. Surely, this would catch someone’s eye.

Just as he was about to lean back and admire his work, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Purple has never been Lilith’s colour."

Adam jumped, nearly knocking his sketches to the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he snapped his head around to find Sera, the head of the design department, standing behind him. She was stunning in her own right, with long, thick curls in a striking blend of white and purple, her dark skin glowing in the soft light. Her features were sharp, almost regal, with a gaze that could cut through steel.

“O-oh? Excuse me?” Adam stammered, blinking in surprise.

Sera didn’t seem fazed by his reaction. She hummed softly, her long lashes fluttering as she examined his work. It was late, and she appeared to be on the verge of leaving, yet something had drawn her over to him. Her lips curled into a slight smile, a knowing look in her eyes.

"You're married to the work, just like me," she remarked with a cool chuckle.

"I... I just want to do the best I can," he confessed, voice softening. Adam flushed, his pulse quickening at her words. "I’m serious about this—about being a designer. Like my mother."

Sera's hum deepened, her eyes still on his drawings.

"I can see that. You’ve put your heart into these," she said gently, but there was something else in her tone, something that made Adam’s chest tighten. "But sometimes... effort isn’t enough."

Adam froze, her words hitting him like a splash of cold water. He swallowed hard, watching her as she tilted her head toward the wall of pinups—not just Lilith, but Eve Heather green, Lute Scar, Michael Morningstar. Each model radiated their own unique energy, their own style. They were all muses, not just Lilith, Adam realized.

“I remember when I was in your shoes,” Sera continued, her voice soft, yet filled with experience. “I wanted so badly to be like the senior designers, to mimic their success, to be noticed. But I had to learn something important—you don’t get noticed by doing what everyone else is doing. You get noticed by being yourself, by bringing something fresh, something that speaks you into the world."

Adam gazed across the room, at all the designs pinned up for inspiration. Lilith was everywhere, yes, but suddenly, he saw it—how uniform they all were. How... ordinary. His breath hitched as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Sera was right. There was nothing special about his designs. He had been following trends, regurgitating what had already been done. Nothing original.

"Take a break," Sera suggested softly. "Come back to it with fresh eyes. Don’t stay too late."

With one last encouraging smile, she turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she walked away.

Adam watched her go, his heart sinking. His chair squealed as he swivelled back to face his desk, staring down at the sketches of Lilith. Slowly, his lips twisted into a frown, eyes flicking over the designs pinning around the office. All the same. All safe.

Without another word, he crumpled them up and tossed them into the trash. No, this wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He needed to dig deeper, to find that spark within himself, even if it meant creating something new, something risky. He wasn’t here to follow—he was here to lead.

With renewed determination, Adam stood up, ready to start over. He would create something different, something that would leave an imprint—not because it was what the world expected, but because it reflected the artist, he knew he could become.

Adam slowly climbed to his feet, the weight of the world resting heavily on his shoulders. His body felt stiff, but it was his mind that bore the real exhaustion. His thoughts, spinning in endless circles, needed clarity. He wandered around the design apartment, his fingers brushing lightly against the countless portfolios and framed issues that lined the walls. The models, captured in breathtaking poses, stared back at him—faces aglow with soft, luminous light. Every detail of these iconic covers was meant to catch the eye and hold it. The colors—cool, muted tones mixed with vibrant accents—made the models shimmer, like rare gems in the sea of high fashion.

Even the work of the senior designers, those whose approval he craved, had a consistency to it. They all pursued one ideal—polished, ethereal perfection. As Adam moved between the desks, his gaze fell on the work of the other interns, the sketches and color swatches they left behind. They too seemed caught in the same web, designing to a familiar formula, chasing the style that had already been deemed successful. A quiet frustration brewed in his chest. He thought he had been creating something fresh, something new, but now he saw how closely his work mirrored theirs. Too close. He was following, not leading.

Back at his desk, Adam tapped his fingers against the surface absentmindedly, slumping back into his swivel chair. What should he do? How could he stand out when everything he created looked like a reflection of what had already been done? He wanted to carve out his own path, just as his mother had. But what would she do? What advice would she give if she were still here?

His emerald eyes flicked across the scattered art supplies on his desk—cheap, store-bought tools that felt as disposable as his ideas. Then, his gaze settled on something different, something precious. In the corner of his workspace, tucked away but never far from his thoughts, was a small, sealed packet. His mother’s hand-me-down watercolors. They were all he had left of her. Adam had never dared to use them, too afraid of wasting the last remnants of her artistry.

Slowly, as if drawn by some invisible thread, he reached for the packet, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the lid. The worn edges were soft under his touch, and with a deep, steadying breath, he eased it closer. A small piece of his mother, something he had kept with him all this time but had never been able to fully embrace.

Breathing deeply, Adam carefully pulled the latch. The box opened with a soft click, revealing the pristine watercolors inside. But what caught his attention wasn’t the paints—it was a small, folded piece of paper tucked neatly inside. Frowning, he reached for it, curiosity and a hint of apprehension bubbling in his chest. Slowly, he unfolded the paper, his breath hitching when he saw his mother’s familiar, elegant handwriting.

“Adam,” the note began, the letters flowing smoothly, as if she had written them just yesterday. “I’m so proud of you, my love. I’ve always adored the little fashion designs you did for school. I could see even then that you had something special, a talent that would blossom into something extraordinary. I know you’ll grow into a wonderful designer, just like you’ve always dreamed.”

Adam’s chest tightened, and before he even realized it, tears welled in his eyes. His vision blurred as he read the last line.

“I love you so much.”

The tears slipped down his cheeks, unbidden, and he didn’t bother wiping them away. He’d tried so hard, poured everything he had into his work. But what if it was never enough? What if, despite all his efforts, he didn’t make it? The fear gripped his heart, squeezing tighter with every silent tear that fell. His breath came in shallow bursts as he stared at the note, his fingers trembling.

Then, as he folded the note over, he noticed something written on the back. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Adam carefully turned the paper over and read the words there. It was a quote, one that tugged at the corners of his memory. His mother had often said it to him when he doubted himself.

“Just be you, and everything else will fall where it should be.”

A soft sob escaped his lips, and he covered his mouth, trying to steady himself. Adam swallowed hard, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The words echoed in his mind, weaving through his doubt like a balm. His mother always knew just what to say to pull him out of the dark.

He stared down at the delicate watercolors for a few moments, his heart aching but also filled with warmth. She had believed in him, more than anyone else ever had. And if she had believed in him, then he had to believe in himself, too.

With gentle hands, he began to close the box, making sure everything was lovingly put away. But as he did, his gaze wandered to the walls again, to the faces of the models who hadn’t graced the big issues, the ones relegated to the sidelines. His eyes landed on Vagatha Luna, with her sharp, mysterious features, and Husker Card, with his brooding gaze. Then there was Anthony Dust, whose playful smirk seemed to challenge the status quo, and Alastor Shot, whose wild, untamed hair defied every convention but spoke so old fashioned.

And finally, Charlotte Haz, the sweetest person you’d ever meet. Adam chuckled softly, wiping his damp cheeks. Charlotte, with her golden hair and striking blue eyes, bore such a resemblance to Lilith and Michael that there had been rumours she was their daughter when she first debuted. For a brief moment, she had been the talk of the town, until the rumors were debunked, and her popularity plummeted. She had been cast aside, like so many others. The "hazbins," as people cruelly called them. Forgotten, rejected.

Adam’s fingers drummed softly against the edge of his desk as his mind began to wander. What if he didn’t follow the path everyone else was walking? What if, instead of chasing after the perfect, popular muses like Lilith, he turned his focus to the ones no one was paying attention to? The ones who had been cast aside, dismissed, overlooked.

He bit his bottom lip, a new spark of excitement flickering in his chest. Maybe that’s where his originality would come from—not by following the trends, but by embracing the forgotten, the misfits. They had stories, too. They had beauty that the world had turned away from. And maybe, just maybe, that was where he could shine.

Adam sat back, his fingers itching to grab his pencil again. He wasn’t just going to follow the crowd anymore. He was going to lead it in a direction no one else had thought to go. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to make him stand out.

The following morning, Adam sprang from his bed before the shrill call of his alarm could even break the silence. Excitement pulsed through his veins, every inch of him buzzing with the creative fire that had ignited deep within his soul the night before. His mind raced with ideas as he leapt into the shower, the water cascading over his skin barely registering against the flood of inspiration that stormed through him. Today was going to be the day—the day he set the world ablaze with his designs, something fresh, something bold. His heart raced in sync with the images flashing in his mind.

He barely noticed the blur of the city as he dashed through the streets on his way to work. Coffee for the seniors, sushi for the team—it was all routine, but today everything felt different, sharper. The mundane tasks didn’t bother him, even as he juggled cups of steaming coffee and trays of sushi while dodging pedestrians. As he passed the old, dilapidated movie theater, its faded marquee hanging forlornly above, something about its crumbling grandeur caught his eye. He stopped for a beat, staring up at it as though it held a secret only he could decipher, before shaking his head with a smirk. Not today. Today, he had bigger dreams to chase.

By the time he arrived at the office, he was running late, and the seniors wasted no time reminding him. But instead of the usual flush of embarrassment, Adam simply grinned, an unshakable confidence burning in his emerald eyes. Sera, the head of design, who was known for her cool, unreadable expression, glanced his way, and her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. She could see it in him—the fire, the hunger. There was something different about Adam today.

After handling his minor duties with a practiced efficiency, Adam returned to his desk, where the other interns were already deep in chatter about their own designs. They were blissfully unaware of just how dull, how monotonous their ideas had become, stuck in the same tired loop of what had already been done. His friend, always curious, frowned slightly.

"Don’t you have anything to show?" they asked, peering over at Adam.

Adam hummed softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "I’m aiming for next week now."

His friend raised an eyebrow, surprised. They had seen Adam sketching feverishly the day before, but they didn’t press the issue. Something had changed in him, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what.

Adam didn’t linger in conversation. He twisted in his chair and sprang to his feet, walking with purpose toward the neglected corner of the design room—the forgotten “hazbins.” These were the models no one wanted to work with anymore, their faces pushed to the side as newer, shinier names took the spotlight.

But today, Adam had a different vision. With a greedy, almost possessive determination, he began taking down the pinups of Vagatha Luna, Husker Card, Anthony Dust, and Charlotte Haz. Nobody batted an eye. They were rejects, after all, collecting dust in the shadows. But not to Adam. No, to him, they were the key.

He carried their images back to his desk and dumped the pile of headshots and old issues in a chaotic sprawl across his workspace. His friend looked over with a slight grimace, as if Adam had brought home a box of junk. But Adam paid no mind, a sly grin spreading across his face as he sorted through the pile.

"Do you want these?" Adam asked casually, without even looking up, holding out a handful of Lilith’s pinups to his friend.

They blinked in surprise, eyeing the coveted images of the company’s golden girl. "Uh... sure.”

"Thanks... But are you really going to use those?" Their tone was sceptical, a little bemused.

Adam’s grin only widened, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Of course."

His friend made another face, half-amused, half-worried.

"Well… your funeral," they muttered before turning back to their own work.

Adam chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that vibrated with the thrill of rebellion. He was breaking free from the mold, and it felt exhilarating. He pinned up the photos of the hazbins in a deliberate arrangement, making sure each model’s face stared down at him as if they were waiting, eager for him to breathe life into them once more. With the room around him buzzing with the hum of design talk, Adam leaned back in his chair, surveying his new layout with satisfaction. This was it. He was going to do something crazy. He was going to pitch his Hazbin Project.

But as the initial excitement began to cool, doubt slowly crept in. Adam groaned, his forehead dropping to his desk, his fingers threading through his tousled hair in frustration. What theme? What style? What colours? Every idea he sketched felt stale, too similar to the trends already dominating the office. He needed something bold, something seductive—something that would make the seniors stop in their tracks. But no matter how hard he tried, everything he came up with felt… wrong. Boring.

His pencil danced between his fingers, spinning idly as his thoughts swirled in chaotic frustration. He was on the verge of pulling his hair out, desperate for the spark of inspiration that just wasn’t coming. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming for a breakthrough. He needed something daring. Something sensual, seductive, yet elegant.

His eyes flickered to the models pinned on the wall—the hazbins, their eyes shimmering with forgotten potential. Maybe… Maybe they needed a theme, something that played off their fall from grace, their buried allure. Something darker, more dangerous. The glitz and glam of the typical designs weren’t enough anymore. No. Adam’s models would rise from the ashes, not in the glowing light of stardom but in the sultry shadows of allure and mystery.

Adam groaned, letting out a frustrated breath as his friend gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm, telling him they were headed out for a smoke break. He waved them off, too absorbed in his failure to respond properly. Every line he sketched felt wrong. His ideas twisted and crumbled the moment he put them on paper. With a defeated sigh, Adam laid his head on the table, turning his face to the side as his arms formed a fortress around him, his forehead resting on his makeshift barricade. The weight of his creative block felt unbearable.

Then, a soft chuckle drifted from above. Adam blinked, lifting his head to see Sera standing over him, her cool grey eyes taking in the array of models he had spread across his desk. For a brief moment, Adam expected the usual dismissive comment, the same ridicule he’d been receiving from everyone else. But Sera said nothing of the sort. Instead, her lips curled into a sly smile.

“Hazbins?” she asked, her voice low and almost teasing.

Adam sat up straighter, feeling a flicker of hope, and gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s a play on words.”

Sera’s smirk widened, clearly appreciating the joke. “I see.”

Her gaze lingered on the models before returning to him. “And what would the Hazbins theme be?”

Adam’s smile faltered, his excitement fading as quickly as it had appeared. He groaned, running a hand through his tousled hair. “That’s the problem. I can’t come up with one. I’ve been stuck all morning.”

Sera hummed thoughtfully, crossing her arms. “I know that feeling all too well.”

She gestured with a subtle tilt of her head, inviting Adam to walk with her. “Come with me. Sometimes, when I’m stuck, a walk around the building helps. You never know what might inspire you.”

Adam grinned, eager for any break in his mental block, and quickly agreed. He followed her through the halls, their steps echoing softly as they moved past the bustling design room. The tension in Adam’s chest began to ease as they strolled side by side, the rhythm of their walk soothing him.

After a few moments of quiet, Adam finally asked, his curiosity piqued, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Sera’s cool gaze flicked to him, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

“I was on the board of decisions for this year’s internships,” she said, her tone casual.

Adam blinked, his brows knitting together. “Really?”

Sera nodded. “We had a lot of young artists apply. Normally, we wouldn’t take someone so fresh out of university.”

His curiosity deepened. “Then why did you accept me?”

Sera’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with something almost secretive. “Because I can recognize talent when I see it.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. He stared at her in awe, his mind reeling. She had believed in him all along?

They came to a stop by a large set of windows that overlooked the company’s sprawling garden. Sera leaned against the frame, her eyes gazing out at the view with a serene smile.

“I liked how you sketched back then,” she continued softly, her voice carrying a touch of nostalgia. “The raw emotion you put into your designs was exactly what we were looking for. You didn’t just draw… you felt it.”

Adam noticed the shift in her tone—past tense. His heart sank slightly, realizing what she was implying.

“You need to stop thinking so hard,” she added, her voice low and almost intimate. “You’re letting your mind get in the way of your instincts. Just… let it out. That’s when the magic happens.”

Adam swallowed, nodding, though the weight of her words pressed heavily on him. He turned to gaze out of the window as well, taking in the beauty of the garden below. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of trees, casting warm golden rays that painted the leaves with soft red and amber hues. The light danced across the landscape, creating a stunning tapestry of colours that seemed to shift and shimmer with every breeze. Adam couldn’t help but marvel at how peaceful it looked, like a scene from a dream.

His breath hitched, eyes widening as he caught sight of a figure sitting on the grass.

Lucifer Morningstar.

The name struck him like lightning. Michael’s older twin brother. The company’s retired golden boy, and Lilith’s fiercest rival. For years, Lucifer had been the face that adorned countless magazine covers, his popularity surpassing even Lilith’s at her peak. He was a legend—mysterious, untouchable.

Adam’s gaze lingered on the man below, who sat elegantly on the grass, feeding bread to a few ducks. The afternoon sunlight bathed Lucifer in a warm glow, highlighting the shimmering strands of his golden hair, which fell in soft waves around his face. His brilliant blue eyes, half-lidded and serene, glimmered in the sunlight, their cool depths seeming to capture the very sky itself.

“He’s beautiful…” Adam breathed out, almost to himself. His heart pounded as he took in the sight of the man, his chest tightening at the sheer presence Lucifer exuded, even in such a quiet moment.

Sera sighed softly beside him. “Such a shame he retired. He was so young.”

Adam gulped, tearing his eyes away from the vision below. “Why did he retire?”

Sera’s smile faded slightly, and she shook her head. “Personal reasons. I’m not going to delve into it.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if recalling something bittersweet. “But the company would welcome him back with open arms if he ever decided to return. Can you imagine the explosion if Lucifer came back? Every department would be scrambling to work with him again.”

Adam listened in silence, his attention drifting back to Lucifer. There was something so captivating about him—his grace, the quiet way he moved, the warmth in his smile as he sat with the ducks. Adam’s eyes traced the soft blush of his cheeks, the same natural rosiness that had captivated fans for years. There had always been rumours that Lucifer’s makeup was enhanced during shoots, but seeing him now, in this unfiltered moment, Adam realized the blush had always been real.

Lucifer reached into a small bag, pulling out a shining red apple. As he bit into it, the sun shifted again, casting a delicate array of shadows across his body. The leaves above danced together, and for a brief, magical moment, the shadows framed him like wings—six ethereal wings, as if the very earth recognized his angelic presence.

Adam blinked in awe, his breath catching in his throat. Something inside him stirred, vibrating with a deep, sudden realization. “

Oh…” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Sera glanced at him; curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Adam gasped, his entire body shuddering as the revelation hit him like a tidal wave. He turned to her; eyes wide with excitement.

“Oh, I got to go!” he nearly squealed, the spark of inspiration blazing to life. “I’m sorry, Sera, I’ve got to go!”

Without waiting for her reply, Adam bolted down the hall, his heart racing with newfound purpose. Sera watched him speed off, a bemused smile tugging at her lips. She placed a hand on her hip, shaking her head in amusement.

Glancing back at the garden, her eyes met Lucifer’s curious gaze. He waved wearily, offering her a gentle smile. Sera awkwardly waved back before turning sharply and sighing deeply to herself.

“What a shame he retired…” she muttered, her voice laced with quiet longing.

Adam burst back into the design room, heart pounding with anticipation, making sure to steer clear of the senior desks. He practically flew to his own corner, relieved to find it still empty. His hands trembled as he fell into his chair, adrenaline surging through him. Without a second thought, he seized his pencil, the memory of Lucifer in the garden still vivid, still glowing in his mind. Every detail burned into his imagination—the way the sunlight framed Lucifer, casting delicate wings from the shadows of the trees. His fingers danced feverishly over the paper, sketching as if driven by something primal, a deeper force beyond his control.

Lucifer didn’t have wings in reality, but in Adam’s mind, they unfurled, majestic and otherworldly. His pencil twirled, bringing to life the angelic vision that shimmered in his mind’s eye. Emerald eyes gleamed from the page, full of ancient wisdom, seduction, and untold power. His chest tightened with excitement as he continued to sketch, knowing full well he couldn’t use the retired model in his Hazbin pitch. But something, some mysterious pull, urged him to keep drawing Lucifer anyway.

With a gentle stroke, he added a top hat, laughing softly to himself at the juxtaposition—something so refined yet mischievous. A delicate halo encircled the brim, like a crown of light tainted by shadows. His pencil moved fluidly, as though bewitched, and soon Lucifer was draped in flowing, elegant robes, each fold and ripple caressed by the imaginary breeze that Adam saw in his mind’s eye.

The sketch took on a life of its own. Adam paused, staring at the breathtaking figure before him, his hand itching to add colour—a sensation he usually ignored. Colouring had always felt secondary to him, something he left for last with minimal care. But this time, the urge was so overwhelming it made his fingers twitch with need. His eyes shifted to the old, rare watercolours his mother had left him, the elegant black box sitting patiently on the shelf.

Adam’s heart raced as he reached for the box, his hands trembling ever so slightly. He opened it with a reverence reserved for sacred things, selecting the colours with care—yellow, orange, red, blue, green, pink, and white. It felt like a ritual, and as he dipped his brush and began to paint, he realized he was not merely colouring but bringing something divine to life. The hues bled together, creating a luminous, delicate masterpiece. Each brushstroke breathed life into Lucifer Morningstar, who now sat on the page as the angel who had once walked in the heavens.

Lucifer—the true Morningstar Angel. Adam could hardly believe he’d captured him in this light, this way. It was almost laughable—the irony of painting the fallen angel who had given the apple of knowledge to Adam and Eve. His lips quirked into a smile, amused at the symbolism he hadn’t even intended. But as his eyes roamed over the final painting, an idea—a theme—began to swirl in his mind like a whisper from the cosmos.

Heaven. Hell. Knowledge and damnation. The story of Lucifer’s fall, of him giving humanity the apple of knowledge and being cast down for it. And then, in Hell, witnessing the consequences—the Sinners, who entered his dominion because of that single act of defiance.

Adam’s breath hitched, excitement flooding his veins. Lucifer, the King of Hell... The vision of it was so clear, so powerful. His entire body tingled as the concept came together in his mind, piece by piece, until it felt like a masterpiece begging to be unleashed.

This time, Adam didn’t stay late at the office, though every fiber of his being wanted to. He left on time, unable to think of anything but the theme—his entire body buzzing with it, as though lightning had struck him. His fingers twitched at his sides, eager to hold a pencil again, to keep sketching, keep creating. He was nervous—no, terrified—by the boldness of the idea, the enormity of what he was about to pitch. But that fear was intoxicating. It pushed him, thrilled him.

Adam couldn’t shake the thought of Lucifer Morningstar. The man was a legend, a god-like figure in the modelling world, and even though he was retired, there was something so irresistible about using him. Lucifer, with his perfect face, his golden hair that shimmered in the sun, his brilliant blue eyes that could pierce through to someone’s soul. Adam bit his lip, his thoughts spinning wildly. He couldn’t officially use Lucifer in his design—he knew that. But that wouldn’t stop him from drawing inspiration from the retired model, from weaving him into the very heart of his concept.

In his mind, Lucifer would become the anchor, the forbidden muse around which everything revolved. He was the spark—the one who gave humanity the knowledge that led to sin, the one who had been cast down for it. The Hazbin pitch would be centred on that moment of temptation, on the forbidden fruit and the world that came from it—Hell itself.

Adam’s pulse quickened. He didn’t think anyone had done something like this before. It was new, daring, and so close to the edge it made his hands shake. What would people say? How would they react? A part of him was terrified of the backlash, of the potential failure. But another part—the part that had been sitting dormant for so long—thrived on the idea of pushing boundaries, of creating something no one had dared to before.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing thoughts in his mind, though his excitement wouldn’t die down.

Lucifer, King of Hell, he thought again, smiling to himself.

The title alone sent shivers through him. And though Lucifer was no longer in the spotlight, no longer a model, Adam knew that he had become something far greater in his world—a legend, an idea that couldn’t be pinned down by contracts or retirements.

He may not officially be part of the project, but Lucifer Morningstar would forever be intertwined with it, unofficially the beating heart of Adam’s vision.

As Adam walked home, his thoughts swirling like a storm, he couldn’t help but laugh softly to himself. He was both exhilarated and terrified—nervous beyond belief. But more than anything, he felt alive.

Adam was humming to himself, completely lost in thought as he turned the corner, eyes closed, a smile playing on his lips. The thrill of his new project still buzzed in his veins, making him giddy with excitement. He didn’t even notice the man stepping out of the nearby store until it was too late.

Crash.

They collided with a surprising force, sending both tumbling to the ground. Adam’s sketchpad and various materials scattered across the pavement, his precious painting slipping from his grasp and landing right in front of the stranger.

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Adam babbled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he hurried to gather his things. He didn’t bother to look up at first, too busy trying to collect his scattered thoughts and belongings.

A soft grunt came from the man he had bumped into, and Adam heard him mutter something under his breath as he rubbed the back of his head. It wasn’t until Adam’s hand reached for the painting—only to find it already in someone else’s grasp—that he finally turned to face the person he had crashed into.

And froze.

The sight of him hit Adam like a tidal wave, stealing the breath right out of his lungs. Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar, the very man Adam had just been painting, was sitting there, staring intently at the artwork in his hands. His golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his brilliant blue eyes were framed by impossibly long lashes that only added to his ethereal beauty. Adam's mouth opened and closed, words escaping him, his heart hammering in his chest. His cheeks flamed crimson as he stuttered an incoherent apology, barely able to comprehend the situation.

“I—uh—I didn’t mean to…” Adam fumbled.

His pulse roaring in his ears, watching Lucifer’s expression for any sign of anger, but the retired model’s face remained impassive. Was he mad? Would he be upset that people were still sketching him even after all this time? Adam’s mind raced with anxiety, fearing the worst.

Lucifer blinked, his eyes softening as he turned his gaze from the painting to Adam.

“Did you make this?” His voice was smooth, calm, and utterly captivating.

Adam nodded, swallowing hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Y-yeah, I did.”

Lucifer hummed, his gaze returning to the painting, and for a moment, Adam could only stand there, breathless, as he watched the man take in every detail of his work.

"It's beautiful," Lucifer said softly, his voice warm but distant, as if lost in thought.

Adam blinked, utterly floored by the words.

“Excuse me?” he blurted out, disbelief creeping into his tone.

Lucifer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles as he slowly got to his feet, the painting still in hand. He looked at it once more, turning it slightly in the sunlight, allowing the vibrant colors to dance on the canvas.

“I said it’s really good. I like it.” He then handed the painting back to Adam with a slow, deliberate motion. "I don’t usually like most designers’ interpretations of me."

Adam stood there, in awe, as he gingerly took the painting back. His fingers brushed against Lucifer’s as he did, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe that Lucifer Morningstar—the legend—had just complimented his work.

“Do… do you really like it?” Adam asked in a hushed voice, still unsure if this was some sort of dream.

Lucifer chuckled softly, a low, velvety sound that sent shivers down Adam’s spine.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied, his brilliant blue eyes meeting Adam’s. There was something in his gaze, something warm and genuine, that made Adam’s heart pound even harder.

Adam’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—disbelief, joy, terror, and something else entirely that made his breath catch in his throat. He was standing face-to-face with Lucifer Morningstar, and the man was complimenting his art. The one figure that had inspired him more than anyone, the one he thought would never even glance his way, was standing here, admiring his work.

“I—I don’t know what to say…” Adam murmured, feeling his heart race. “I-I’m Adam.”

He looked up at Lucifer, who now seemed so much more than just a figure in his painting. He was real, tangible, and even more beautiful up close. There was something mesmerizing about him—an effortless grace, a magnetism that Adam couldn’t quite put into words. His presence was overwhelming, like standing in the presence of something otherworldly.

Lucifer smiled, a soft, almost tender expression that made Adam’s stomach flip.

“There’s nothing you need to say,” he said simply, stepping back with an easy elegance. “Just keep doing what you're doing.”

“I’ll see you around, Adam.”

Adam could hardly breathe as he watched Lucifer turn and walk away, the moment leaving him both shaken and exhilarated. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his thoughts swirling in every direction, but one thing was clear—this was just the beginning.

As he clutched the painting close to his chest, Adam felt something light up inside him, a spark of inspiration and courage he hadn’t felt in a long time. Lucifer’s words echoed in his mind, filling him with a sense of confidence he hadn’t known was possible.

Maybe—just maybe—he was on the right path after all.

Adam had been on cloud nine the rest of that evening, practically gliding home, his feet barely touching the ground. His lips were curled into a grin so wide it made him look like a meerkat basking in the sun. It was a kind of happiness he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. Lucifer Morningstar had complimented his work—his painting! It was surreal, like something out of a dream. Adam hummed to himself, his heart light, hopeful that tomorrow would be just as good.

But it wasn’t.

The next day was an absolute disaster. Worse than anything he could have imagined. The seniors had him running around like a headless chicken, darting from one ridiculous task to another. He wasn’t pitching today—or all week, actually—so he’d been relegated to the role of the errand boy, pouring coffee and tea, fetching snacks for the seniors while the interns presented their ideas. Adam stood on the sidelines, watching as his friend made their pitch, and he saw the way the seniors’ faces pinched, how Sera’s lips curled in subtle disappointment. Everyone got feedback, but no one was taken to the next stage.

Adam’s heart sank for his friend, watching them deflate under the weight of rejection. He wanted to say something comforting, something to lift their spirits, but nothing seemed right.

For the rest of the week, Adam was the errand boy—every day, running around, fetching drinks and food. It was humiliating, but in some small way, a relief. Every time he sat down to work on his own pitch, his mind blanked. He couldn’t get anything onto paper. The creative high he'd been riding was now nothing more than a distant memory, washed away by the endless monotony of menial tasks.

Then came the day that everything truly fell apart.

Adam was rushing through the company garden, a large tray of lunches balanced precariously in his hands, when disaster struck. His foot caught on something, and with a yelp, he tripped forward, sending the entire tray of food flying. He crashed to the ground, covered in salads, sandwiches, and drinks, his face and clothes a mess of spilled liquids and sauce.

For a moment, he just lay there, stunned. The week had started so perfectly, and now it felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke on him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as humiliation washed over him. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, someone crouched down beside him, and the bag that had fallen over his head was gently lifted.

"Are you alright?" came a deep, smooth voice filled with concern. "That looked like a nasty fall."

Adam’s eyes shot up, his breath catching in his throat. It was him. Lucifer Morningstar. Of all the people to find him in this state, it had to be Lucifer. Adam’s face turned beet red, his mouth opening and closing, words failing him completely. He could hardly think, let alone speak, as Lucifer’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his.

"I... I..." Adam stammered, utterly mortified.

Lucifer didn’t seem phased by Adam’s embarrassment. Instead, his expression softened, and without hesitation, he reached out a hand to help Adam up.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a gentle smile. “No one else saw.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, and though Lucifer’s reassurance was kind, it did little to ease the burning humiliation he felt. His vision blurred with unshed tears, and he could barely hold it together when a voice called his name.

Sera appeared, rushing over with concern written all over her face. "Adam! Are you okay? I saw what happened from upstairs!"

Adam was too flustered to respond, but Lucifer turned to her and said smoothly, “He had a bit of a rough fall. I think he might have smacked his chin.”

Sera’s eyes widened in alarm as she moved closer to Adam, her hands hovering as if she wanted to help. “Do you need to sit down? Should we call an ambulance?”

“No!” Adam’s voice cracked as he scrambled to assure them both. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Sera frowned, her worry etched clearly in her expression. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. I’ve noticed how hard the seniors have been pushing you this week. A bit of time off might help you focus on your own pitch.”

Lucifer’s brow arched slightly at Sera’s comment, his gaze flickering between her and Adam. Adam, on the other hand, could only look down, his face growing hotter by the second.

Sera lingered for a moment before she nodded, giving Adam a soft smile. “Think about it, okay? Take care of yourself.” With that, she left the two of them alone, retreating back into the building.

Adam exhaled a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion and embarrassment. “I wonder who else saw that,” he muttered under his breath, his face still burning.

Lucifer’s gaze was steady as he reached out and gave Adam’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“It happens to everyone,” he said softly. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

His voice was calm, soothing, and for a brief moment, Adam felt the tension ease slightly from his body.

Before he could respond, Lucifer started guiding him toward the nearest bathroom. The walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves in the garden. Once inside, Lucifer helped Adam clean the mess from his clothes, his touch careful yet confident.

“On the bright side,” Lucifer said with a light chuckle, “at least you weren’t carrying hot liquids.”

Adam managed a small smile, but the embarrassment still clung to him. Lucifer seemed to sense his unease, his eyes softening as they continued their quiet work. After a few more minutes of wiping away food stains, Lucifer sat down beside Adam, their backs against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall.

“I was bullied when I first started out, you know,” Lucifer said casually, his voice breaking the silence.

Adam’s eyes widened in surprise, his gaze snapping to Lucifer. “You were?”

Lucifer smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, of course. I was this geeky, skinny brat from the Highlands. Thought I was better than everyone, and believe me, nobody liked me. For good reason.”

Adam blinked, taken aback by Lucifer’s honesty. He couldn’t imagine anyone bullying the elegant, confident man sitting next to him.

 “But... you’re Lucifer,” Adam said quietly, almost in disbelief.

Lucifer laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “I wasn’t always this Lucifer. It took time.”

He leaned back against the wall, his arm brushing lightly against Adam’s. “You know, you’re not the only one who’s been stuck as the errand boy.”

Adam frowned, glancing over at him. “You were?”

Lucifer nodded. “Oh, definitely. Had to run around, get everyone their coffee and food. The senior designers made sure of that.”

He shifted slightly, his hand brushing lightly against Adam’s knee in a way that felt deliberate. “But you’ll get through it. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat at the light touch, a strange warmth flooding his chest. “I just... I feel like I’m the only one they always stick with those jobs.”

Lucifer’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, his expression softening further.

“They’re testing you,” he said, his voice low. “Seeing how far they can push you.”

Adam sighed, the weight of the week pressing down on him.

“I thought you were retired,” he said, changing the subject, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Lucifer chuckled, his smirk returning. “I am.”

Adam blinked in confusion. “Then... why are you here?”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head. “What, I can’t miss the gardens?”

Adam’s cheeks flushed. “No! I mean, yes, of course you can! I didn’t mean it like that!” He stumbled over his words, panicking slightly as he worried about offending Lucifer.

Lucifer laughed again, a rich, melodic sound. “I’m just teasing you. I was actually invited back for a few meetings. They’re trying to get me to sign a new contract.”

Adam’s eyes widened in awe. “Are you going to do it? Another issue?”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, his expression turning distant for a moment. “Probably not. For me to come out of retirement, it would have to be something... grand. Something I couldn’t say no to.”

Adam nodded, feeling a strange mix of admiration and curiosity. After a long pause, he asked in a quiet voice, “Why did you retire?”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened slightly as he looked at Adam, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I made a mistake,” he said softly, almost regretfully. “A mistake that led to some... bad things. For my own sake, I had to step away.”

Adam’s chest tightened, his heart aching at the pain in Lucifer’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Lucifer nudged him lightly with his shoulder, a soft grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

Adam smiled weakly, and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence again. After a while, Adam asked, “What were the designers like when you worked with them?”

Lucifer chuckled darkly, tapping his chin. “Predictable. After a while, I could tell what the next concept would be

Lucifer’s voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, as he leaned back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. Adam sat beside him, feeling both overwhelmed and strangely at ease in the intimate quiet of the moment. He listened closely as Lucifer spoke, his tone turning soft, reflective, as he shared his past experiences.

“You know,” Lucifer began, “it’s supposed to be a partnership. When the model likes your pitch, you present it to the higher-ups, and if they approve, it gets brought to the model you based it on. If the model likes it, you work together on it. If not, it goes to another model. Sort of a half-and-half deal.”

Adam nodded, absorbing every word. He could hardly believe he was sitting there, side by side with someone as legendary as Lucifer Morningstar, listening to his personal experiences. It felt surreal.

Lucifer’s voice took on a more thoughtful note.

“It really meant something to me when I liked a pitch,” he said quietly. “I remember being so eager, so excited to work with certain designers. But over time, it soured. Some of them became pushy, ignoring what I had to say. Sometimes I’d be shut down with nothing more than a wave of their hand, like my input didn’t matter. It infuriated me, to the point where there were certain designers I couldn’t work with anymore.”

Adam stared at Lucifer in awe, his mouth slightly agape, disbelief flooding his features. The idea of anyone shutting down Lucifer like that seemed absurd. He bristled with a flicker of anger on Lucifer’s behalf.

“That's awful,” Adam muttered, his voice tight with indignation.

Lucifer smiled warmly, a kind of tenderness in his expression.

“It’s alright now,” he said soothingly, his tone calming. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. But, yes, some designers were pretty pig-headed. They thought they knew best, but sometimes... I could just tell when something could be better, you know? And they wouldn’t listen.”

Adam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “If someone like you agreed to be their model—to work with them—it would be a dream come true. How could they think they knew better?”

He spoke with such sincerity, unaware of how passionately his words tumbled out until Lucifer turned to look at him, his eyes soft, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

“I would be beside myself if you liked my pitch,” Adam blurted, and then, realizing what he’d said, his face turned bright red. “I mean... I would listen to everything you said... I—I just mean, it’s... it’s common decency.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound warm and rich, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re very sweet,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “But, trust me, it’s not as common as you’d think.”

Adam’s blush deepened, and he glanced down, feeling his heart race in his chest. The warmth of Lucifer’s gaze made him feel both flustered and flattered, emotions mixing together until he couldn’t quite tell which was stronger.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“So, tell me,” he said, his voice soft and inviting. “What about your own pitch? You must be working on one, right?”

Adam shifted uncomfortably, his embarrassment now tinged with frustration.

“Yeah... I am,” he admitted, though his tone was far from confident.

Lucifer hummed, his gaze steady as he watched Adam. “How’s it coming along?”

A deep sigh escaped Adam, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment before groaning.

“It’s not,” he confessed. “I can’t even start it. I have an idea, but no concept. It’s just... stuck. I’m running out of time, and I don’t even know where to begin.”

Lucifer shifted closer to Adam, his presence warm and steady.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he suggested, his voice gentle, the words almost a caress. His hand brushed lightly along Adam’s arm, the touch sending a subtle shiver through him. “I’ve got plenty of time. I’d love to hear about your idea.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?” he asked, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. Adam looked up, blinking in surprise. “Surely you have more important things to do.”

Lucifer smiled, a soft, reassuring smile that made Adam’s heart flutter.

“Nope,” he said, his tone light. “I’m completely free. These days, I’ve got so much free time, I never know what to do with it.”

Then his voice softened further, more intimate, as his fingers lightly grazed Adam’s arm again. “And besides... I’d really love to hear about your idea.”

The sincerity in Lucifer’s words, combined with the subtle, almost tender way he touched him, sent a warmth flooding through Adam. He smiled shyly, his heart pounding as he gathered his thoughts.

“Well...” Adam began, his voice a little shaky, “it’s not even a full idea. More like half of one.”

Lucifer nodded, encouraging him to continue, his expression one of patient interest.

Adam took a deep breath. “The idea... it came from you, actually.”

Lucifer blinked in surprise, his brows lifting slightly. “From me?” he echoed, intrigued.

“Yeah... You were in the garden, feeding the ducks,” he said, his voice growing quieter as he spoke. Adam nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “I saw you from the third-floor window... You were eating an apple.”

Lucifer’s expression shifted, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to recall the moment. Slowly, he nodded. “I remember.”

Adam bit his lip, feeling nervous but determined to explain.

“The way the shadows of the trees fell across you... it made it look like you had wings,” he said softly, his heart racing as he spoke. “And that’s where the idea came from.”

Lucifer’s gaze sharpened, his eyes locking onto Adam’s with an intensity that made his breath catch.

“The painting,” he murmured, realization dawning in his voice.

Adam nodded again, feeling a little exposed but also strangely relieved. “Yeah. The painting.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, thick with something unspoken. Lucifer’s eyes were fixed on Adam, his gaze soft and searching, and Adam found himself lost in the brilliant blue depths.

Then Lucifer smiled, slow and warm, his eyes gleaming with something Adam couldn’t quite place.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he said softly, his voice almost a purr. “That’s a beautiful concept.”

Adam’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening at the praise. He wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or the way Lucifer looked at him—like he was truly seeing him—that made his chest tighten with emotion. All he knew was that, in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something deeper and more intimate than before.

Lucifer’s hand lingered on Adam’s arm, his fingers brushing lightly against his skin as he leaned in just a little closer.

“You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, sending a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, unable to tear his eyes away from Lucifer’s.

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s smile deepened, and for a moment, Adam wondered if he could feel it too—the unspoken tension between them, the subtle pull drawing them closer.

“You’re welcome,” Lucifer said softly, his voice full of promise. “Now... tell me more about this idea.”

Lucifer’s warm chuckle filled the small, quiet space of the bathroom as Adam shyly admitted his inspiration.

“Well... when I saw you in the garden like that, it sorts of made me think of the Bible,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He glanced at Lucifer, feeling both flustered and nervous.

“Oh?” Lucifer’s laughter was soft, almost melodic. “I can imagine.”

Adam’s cheeks flushed a little deeper, and he gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah... well, with your name being Lucifer and you looking like an angel, I couldn’t help but think of the Lucifer. You know, the one who became the King of Hell.”

Lucifer tilted his head, curiosity dancing in his brilliant blue eyes.

“Is that your pitch, then?” he asked, voice gentle and amused. “Something centred around the fallen angel from Eden?”

Adam quickly shook his head. “No, no—that’s more the lore. Not the pitch itself.”

“Lore?” Lucifer’s interest deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned in, intrigued. “Go on, tell me more about this lore of yours.”

Adam hesitated for a moment, feeling both excited and nervous under Lucifer’s focused gaze. He took a breath and tried to explain. “Well... since you’re retired and I couldn’t exactly use you as a model, I thought I’d still use the idea of you. So... you’re the lore. The story behind the concept. The pitch is something about Heaven and Hell, set after Lucifer—uh, you—became the King of Hell.”

Lucifer’s expression softened as he listened, his blue eyes darkening slightly, a hooded look crossing his face as Adam’s words sank in. There was something in Lucifer’s gaze, something Adam didn’t quite understand, but it sent a flutter of nervous energy through him.

“And who’s your model, then?” Lucifer asked, his voice soft yet laced with curiosity.

Adam’s face brightened with enthusiasm, momentarily forgetting his nerves. “I wanted to do something different! Everyone in the department is so stuck on Lilith Leonhart. Every issue looks the same because they’re all using her, and I just... it’s not interesting anymore. So I looked into some of the less popular models.”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up with renewed interest, his curiosity piqued.

“Are you using them?” he asked, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

Adam nodded, smiling brightly. “Yes! I want to use them as the focus for my pitch, to make the issue revolve around them—instead of using models to serve the issue. I want to highlight them.”

Lucifer’s blue eyes widened, truly fascinated now. The depth of his gaze made Adam’s heart skip a beat, and for a moment, Adam felt like he was the only person in the world as Lucifer focused on him.

“And what would the issue be about, then?” Lucifer asked, leaning closer, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

Adam’s enthusiasm faltered for a second, and he sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the uncertainty that had been plaguing him for days.

“That’s where I’m stuck,” Adam admitted, his voice quiet and frustrated. “I don’t know what the theme and concept are yet. I’ve tried to write some, but none of them feel right.”

Lucifer seemed to understand immediately. He smiled softly, watching Adam with an almost tender expression.

“That’s where you’re stuck, isn’t it?” he said gently.

Adam nodded, his frustration palpable as he exhaled slowly. “Yeah... I’m stuck there.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened further, and he shifted closer to Adam, his presence warm and reassuring.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said in a low, comforting voice, lightly brushing his hand along Adam’s arm again. The touch was gentle, almost soothing, and it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

Adam looked over at Lucifer, his breath catching in his throat. There was something about the way Lucifer was watching him, the way his touch lingered just a little too long, that made Adam’s heart race.

“I... I don’t know,” Adam murmured, feeling the weight of Lucifer’s gaze on him. “Maybe I am...”

Lucifer’s smile deepened, his eyes never leaving Adam’s face.

“You’ve got the core of it already,” he said, his voice soft and encouraging. “You’ve got the models, the lore, and the passion. The rest will come.”

Adam’s chest tightened, not just from the weight of the project but from the sudden closeness between them. He could feel the warmth of Lucifer’s body next to his, the way their shoulders brushed, how Lucifer’s hand still rested lightly against his arm. It was enough to make his thoughts swirl.

Lucifer leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Adam’s ear as he whispered, “Tell me more about your idea. What’s the vision in your head?”

Adam swallowed hard, trying to focus, but it was difficult with Lucifer so close, with the way his voice sent shivers through him.

“It’s... it’s about redemption,” he said quietly, his voice a little shaky. “Fallen angels, like you—well, like the lore you. It’s about reclaiming what’s been lost... finding a way back to the light, even after you’ve fallen.”

Lucifer’s hand slid down Adam’s arm, his fingers grazing his wrist in a way that made Adam’s pulse quicken.

“That’s beautiful,” Lucifer murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “You’ve got a real heart for this, Adam. Don’t doubt yourself.”

Adam blushed, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Lucifer’s closeness, his gentle touch, and the way he spoke to him—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“I don’t know how to make it all work yet,” Adam whispered, his gaze dropping to where Lucifer’s hand now rested against his. “I feel like I’m so far behind everyone else.”

Lucifer’s fingers curled slightly around Adam’s hand, and he gently lifted Adam’s chin with his other hand, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“You’re not behind,” Lucifer said softly, his voice low and intimate. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Adam felt like he was falling into those brilliant blue eyes, lost in the warmth and intensity of Lucifer’s gaze. He swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks burn as Lucifer’s fingers lingered on his skin, the touch electrifying.

“Thank you,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lucifer smiled—a slow, soft smile that made Adam’s heart flutter.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “Just... believe in yourself, Adam. You’re more than capable of making this work. I can see it in you.”

Adam nodded slowly, his breath hitching slightly as Lucifer’s fingers lightly traced the back of his hand. He couldn’t quite process everything that was happening—Lucifer’s encouragement, his closeness, the way he made Adam feel like he was the only person that mattered.

Lucifer’s smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with something warm and unreadable.

“I think you’re going to surprise yourself,” he said softly, his voice full of promise.

Adam’s heart swelled with emotion, the weight of Lucifer’s words filling him with a quiet confidence he hadn’t felt in days. And as they sat there, close and connected in the dim light, Adam realized something else—he was falling for Lucifer, and maybe, just maybe, Lucifer was falling for him too.

Adam couldn’t believe it—surprise himself, he did. Spending the day with the Lucifer Morningstar had felt like an impossible dream, something he’d never forget. He had been so close, so intimate with the retired model, and the thrill of it lingered in his veins as he made his way home. He had assumed nothing could top that feeling. But then, it happened.

It came out of nowhere, like a sudden flash of lightning on a clear day. Adam was wandering along the quiet streets, lost in thought, when his eyes drifted toward the abandoned theatre. He crossed the road, glancing over at the crumbling building, when he saw them—a father and his daughter standing outside. The father was animated, speaking excitedly to the little girl, who seemed to vibrate with joy. As the moments passed, their laughter grew louder, the father eventually lifting her into his arms and spinning her around in pure delight. Their laughter echoed through the air like music, tugging at something deep inside Adam.

A daughter.

The idea hit him with such force that Adam nearly stumbled. His heart raced as he stood frozen on the street, staring at the joyful scene. Lucifer should have had a daughter. That’s who the issue would center around—the Princess of Hell, Lucifer’s daughter, who was determined to fulfill her father’s old, broken dreams of redeeming the sinful souls of humanity. The concept burned through him, igniting his imagination with such clarity that he gasped aloud.

His feet moved before his mind could catch up. Practically bouncing with excitement, Adam raced back to his tiny flat, his breath coming in short bursts as he climbed the stairs two at a time. Once inside, he didn’t even pause to catch his breath. He swept everything off his desk in one motion, grabbed his sketchbook, and flipped to an empty page. His hands trembled with anticipation as he thumbed through the various models he’d clipped into his notebook—hazbin models, ones no one else seemed to notice.

His gaze landed on Charlotte Haz, and he froze.

Charlotte Haz... the rumours about her flashed in his mind—the whispers that she could have been Michael’s daughter when she first debuted, even though it was impossible. If Michael had a daughter, he would’ve been twelve at the time. But still... the resemblance between her and Lucifer was uncanny. The sharp angles of her face, the intensity of her gaze—everything about her screamed of Lucifer’s lineage. Her last name too—Haz. It was as if the universe had already written the story for him. Charlotte would be the star, the heart of the issue.

The Princess of Hell. Lucifer’s daughter.

Excitement coursed through Adam as he began to unpack his supplies, grabbing a pencil and lightly sketching out Charlotte’s features. But something nagged at him, and he paused, frowning in thought. She wouldn’t look completely human, would she? Not if she were a demon now. A half-human, half-angel hybrid... yes, that was it. Lucifer was a fallen angel, so his daughter would carry both the heavenly and infernal traits.

His mind raced with possibilities. She would still be beautiful, of course, but with demonic features—goat hooves, curling horns, a sleek tail, claws—yet she would still maintain that ethereal, humanoid beauty.

Gasping in realization, Adam’s pencil flew across the page, sketching Charlotte in her full demonic glory. His excitement grew with each stroke of his pencil. He drew her over and over again, experimenting with different styles, until finally, he settled on the perfect version of her.

Long, dark hair braided back, with strikingly familiar reddish cheeks, claws, and hooves. But her eyes—her eyes were what captivated him most. In real life, Charlotte’s eyes were a vivid green, but that felt too human for what he envisioned. She needed to stand out, to embody the power of Hell. With careful, delicate fingers, Adam reached for his mother’s watercolours, mixing shades of fiery red and molten gold, and painted her eyes. When he finished, a chill ran through him. The way those eyes gleamed on the page, so similar to Lucifer’s yet uniquely her own—it was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Adam leaned back, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the demonic beauty he had brought to life. But then another question stirred in his mind: How would she redeem humanity? What was her purpose, her mission? It had to be something Lucifer had attempted, something he had failed at.

His thoughts drifted back to the theatre, to how much he had admired the old grandeur of it. That’s when another idea struck—what if she ran a theatre? Or better yet, a hotel within a theatre, a sanctuary for lost souls. The Hazbin Hotel. The image formed in his mind, clearer than ever. A place where damned souls came to seek redemption, a last chance to claw their way back from Hell.

Adam grinned, already sketching Charlotte again—this time, in a hotel hostess outfit. He gave her red pants, a crisp white dress shirt, and a matching blazer, with a black ribbon tied around her neck. She looked perfect, exuding both elegance and strength, her demonic features only adding to her allure.

This is it, he thought, staring at her. This is the Princess of Hell, Charlie, who runs her Hazbin Hotel in hopes of redeeming souls.

His gaze swept over the pages filled with other ‘hazbin’ models, each one unique in their own way. Some would be residents of the hotel, forced to be there by fate or circumstance. Others would come willingly, seeking redemption or a second chance. Each of them would have their own style, their own story, their own struggle.

Adam smiled to himself, feeling a rush of satisfaction and pride. He had done it. He had created something entirely new, something that felt alive. Charlie, the Princess of Hell, and her hotel for the damned—her mission to redeem lost souls, picking up where her father left off. And as the excitement of his creation settled into something warm and satisfying, Adam couldn’t help but think of Lucifer again—how the model had been at the heart of this all, inspiring every detail.

And deep down, Adam wondered if Lucifer would be proud.

The day Adam had both eagerly anticipated and dreaded finally dawned, leaving him feeling half-dead and utterly frazzled. For three relentless days, he had poured every ounce of his creativity into his work, meticulously assembling a dazzling array of assets, designs, and models that shimmered with vibrant life. As he stood in his studio, his heart raced like a wild stallion, his skin tingling with anticipation, and his hair standing on end, electric with excitement.

His eyes swept across the breathtaking spread before him, each model a masterpiece that reflected a style so unique it felt like a glimpse into a world he had only dreamed of. But it was the finalized artwork of Lucifer that captivated him the most. In that moment, Adam couldn’t help but lose himself in the mesmerizing image of the King of Hell, resplendent in his pristine white suit, a jaunty top hat perched atop his head, and a whimsical apple cane gripped in his hand. Lucifer’s sharp-toothed grin radiated mischief and charm, and as Adam stared, a warm flush crept across his cheeks. He had to look away, shaking his head in disbelief—only he could find his own artwork so alluring.

Gathering his scattered thoughts, Adam rubbed his face and meticulously packed his creations, securing each piece with a protective embrace. But then, he caught sight of the clock, and a horrified squeal escaped his lips; he was five minutes late! Panic surged through him, and he darted around his flat like a headless chicken, collecting his belongings and racing toward the company building.

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding like a drum as he arrived just in time to see Lucifer entering the building. The sight was mesmerizing; it felt as if time had slowed, the world around him fading into a soft blur. With a twinkle of mischief in his eye, Lucifer greeted him, a delightful laugh escaping his lips.

“Someone seems happy,” he teased, his smile sweet and inviting.

Adam’s heart soared at the sight of him, a radiant warmth enveloping him like a soft blanket.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t chat—I’m late for my pitch!” he exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. “Wish me luck!”

But before Adam could turn to flee, Lucifer's fingers wrapped around his arm, gently pulling him back. With a playful glint in his eyes, he leaned in and pressed his soft lips to Adam’s cheek, whispering a melodious, “Good luck~”

That sent shivers racing down Adam’s spine. Stepping back with an air of smug satisfaction, Lucifer chuckled as Adam blinked in a daze, his cheeks burning hotter than the fiery depths of Hell.

“Y-you’re right! I’m late!” Adam gasped, suddenly jolted back to reality. Lucifer nodded, a teasing smile still dancing on his lips. “You should probably get going then.”

With a startled squeal, Adam spun on his heels, his heart racing as he began to run. But then, an audacious thought flickered through his mind, and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Lucifer once more. Gathering all his courage, he bravely pressed a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s cheek, his heart fluttering with vulnerability.

“Thank you for believing in me. I probably wouldn’t have made it to the pitch without your support.”

Lucifer’s blue eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks blooming with a rosy hue that matched Adam’s own.

“Adam, you’re late!” he exclaimed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

With a startled gasp, Adam shot off, leaving Lucifer standing there, his heart racing as he shyly touched his cheek where Adam had kissed him. A tender smile spread across his lips, the warmth of their brief connection enveloping him like a cherished secret, promising a future filled with laughter, creativity, and perhaps, love.

Adam stepped into the pitch room, a chill running down his spine as his eyes met the intimidating line of senior designers seated before him. The room felt heavy with judgment, their eyes scanning him with the precision of a thousand needles. He swallowed nervously, shuffling his feet as the weight of their stares pressed down on him.

"I—I'm sorry for being late," he muttered, sheepishly offering an apologetic smile.

His gaze flickered over to Sera, one of the more approachable seniors, who smiled at him warmly, offering a silent encouragement. That small gesture was enough to settle him, if only a little. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm inside him as he clumsily set up his presentation.

With shaking hands, Adam began, flipping up his first artwork—Lucifer as an archangel, bathed in a soft, radiant light, majestic and untainted.

“The core of my concept is the balance between Heaven and Hell,” he explained, his voice wavering. “Redemption. Souls being given a second chance at Heaven.”

His throat felt dry, and his hands trembled as he unveiled his next set of models, each one meticulously crafted. A deep breath. Focus. “This,” Adam gestured to his painting of Charlotte, her dark, angular features contrasting with her father’s sinister charm, “is Charlotte, the central figure. She’s the daughter of Lucifer and runs a hotel where sinners—those condemned to Hell—are offered a second chance at redemption.”

The room felt suffocating as he continued, explaining how each model represented different residents of the hotel, each with their own unique style and story. The words came out unevenly at first, shaky and stuttering, but the more he talked about his creations, the more his passion bled through.

When he finally finished, silence followed. It was broken by the harsh, slicing questions from the seniors.

"Why such a complicated concept?" one asked, their tone cutting like glass.

Adam hesitated, his mind scrambling for the right words. “I… I don’t think Heaven and Hell is that complicated. It’s a well-known idea in media, something people understand. But I wanted to explore it differently—through the lens of second chances of redemption.”

The next question was sharper, as if testing his resolve. “Why choose Charlotte Haz as the main model? Why not someone more prominent like Lilith Leonhart?”

Adam stammered, his voice faltering, unsure how to defend his choice. But before he could reply, the door at the back of the room creaked open, and in slipped Lucifer, as effortlessly composed as always. His blonde hair gleamed under the harsh lights, his sharp, cobalt eyes finding Adam in the crowd. Lucifer’s smile, soft and reassuring, washed over him, and instantly, the weight of anxiety lifted from Adam’s chest.

He drew in a breath, steadied by that glance, and turned back to the senior.

“Lilith is overused,” Adam said with newfound confidence. “I wanted someone new, someone fresh. Charlotte isn’t well-known, and that’s exactly the point. The audience will be intrigued by her because she’s different, unpredictable. They’ll want to come back to learn more about her.”

The seniors leaned in, more interested now. Adam pressed on, explaining that his models were meant to be outcasts, unfamiliar to the public, so that their stories would captivate in ways the more conventional characters couldn’t. Another senior frowned, crossing their arms.

"And the colours—red and purple?" they asked with a slight sneer. "They’re too harsh. Why choose those?"

“Red and purple have meaning,” Adam said, feeling strength in his explanation. “Lucifer’s story is about falling due to pride—purple is the colour of pride. Red represents passion, both destructive and transformative. These are the central themes of the project, and I want the audience to feel them in the designs.”

Another senior, this one fidgeting, asked, “And the fashionable outfits? They’re… bold.”

Adam’s eyes flicked to his paintings. “Every model has their own style, their own sense of identity. I didn’t want them to look the same, because they’re not the same. They’re individuals, each with their own journey to redemption, or failure. That’s what makes them real.”

The room quieted as the seniors muttered amongst themselves, their expressions hard to read. Adam’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as he twisted his fingers together, nerves biting at him like cold wind. Had he failed? Was it not enough?

And then Sera spoke, her voice cutting through the murmurs. “I like it.”

Immediately, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to her. Adam’s heart soared.

“It’s different,” she continued, her tone thoughtful, yet warm. “It’s fresh. It’s not like anything we’ve seen before, and it’ll give the project a new edge. It’ll make people think.”

One of the other seniors frowned, crossing their arms. “Sure, it’s different, but the models might be overlooked. A concept like this needs someone with more… relevance.”

Adam’s stomach sank, knowing exactly who they wanted. Lilith. He clenched his fists, not wanting to give up on Charlotte. She was perfect. She was his vision of redemption.

But then, from the back of the room, a voice smooth as silk cut through the tension. “Well, I like it the way it is, too.”

Heads whipped around, eyes wide with shock. Lucifer stood, his arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Sera’s eyes widened in surprise. “And how much do you like it?”

Lucifer’s smirk widened as he tilted his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Enough to come out of retirement for.”

The room erupted in disbelief. The seniors gawked, their jaws nearly dropping. Sera, looking amused, turned to the senior who had been complaining earlier.

“Would Lucifer Morningstar be relevant enough for you?” she asked, her voice dripping with victory.

The senior flushed, stumbling over their words as they nodded furiously, unable to argue.

Adam’s heart raced as he met Lucifer’s gaze across the room. Everything else became background noise as the others began talking rapidly, making plans to take his pitch to the higher-ups. All Adam could see was Lucifer, who gave him a warm, knowing smile.

It was really good, Lucifer mouthed.

Adam blushed deeply, smiling back, his lips silently forming a grateful, "Thank you."

In that moment, he felt like he could conquer anything.

Two full months had swept by like a whirlwind, leaving Adam breathless and in awe. Everything had happened so fast, it felt like a dream he had yet to fully wake from. After the higher-ups heard his pitch, the green light came almost immediately—and Adam knew Lucifer’s involvement had been the key to tipping the scales in his favor. Lucifer coming out of retirement for this project? It had sent shockwaves through the industry, giving the whole thing a sparkle of prestige and a sense of gravity Adam hadn’t expected.

He remembered that day vividly, when all the Hazbin models gathered around, eyes wide, waiting to hear what was next. Adam could see the disbelief in their faces as he and Sera explained the concept. Charlotte, in particular, had looked utterly shocked. Her pale face and wide eyes held uncertainty as she hesitated to believe she was being considered for such a pivotal role.

She had even asked, her voice quivering, “Are you sure you want me?”

Without hesitation, Adam had exclaimed, “Yes! I want all of you!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and it wasn’t long before the models shared excited looks and agreed to sign on. The contracts were inked in a flurry of excitement, and Adam was left feeling dizzy from how quickly things were moving. What had begun as a stylish, playful spread of colors and characters had spiraled into something so much bigger than anyone had anticipated.

And then there was Lucifer. His mere presence had electrified the entire project, boosting their ratings and igniting a wave of interest that no one could have foreseen. Soon, people were talking about not just fashion spreads, but TV series, movies, books, even video games. Adam could hardly keep up with the endless meetings. It seemed like every other day, he was being pulled into another room to discuss the future of Hazbin. One day, overwhelmed, he had turned to Sera and asked why everyone kept requesting him for these meetings.

Sera had blinked in surprise before softly explaining, “Adam, you own Hazbin Hotel. No one can just use its concept. The company is here to help you develop it.”

“Oh,” was all Adam had managed to say at the time, the reality of it sinking in slowly.

He hadn’t fully realized that this creation of his—this little passion project—was now something so vast and powerful, with limitless potential. And suddenly, everyone wanted him to expand it, to bring this world of Heaven and Hell to life in ways he had never even considered.

But amidst the chaos and pressure, Adam found peace in the models he’d worked so hard to bring together. Vagatha Luna, with her sharp, mysterious beauty, carried an air of quiet power, while Husker Card, with his brooding, intense gaze, brought an edge to every shot. Anthony Dust, with his playful smirk, challenged every convention, and then there was Alastor Shot, with his wild, unruly hair and vintage style that screamed of old-fashioned charm yet somehow worked perfectly within the bold, modern spread. And of course, Charlotte Haz. She was the glue that held it all together, her elegant portrayal of Lucifer’s daughter, the princess of Hell, elevating her to new heights of fame.

The father-daughter dynamic between Lucifer and Charlotte became iconic. The spreads of them together—Lucifer with his devilish smirk, Charlotte with her soft yet determined expression—captivated audiences. Their story gripped the hearts of fans, and soon, Charlotte suggested something that took their work to an even more touching level.

“Why not use my little sister, Hazel, to play a younger version of me?” she had said with a smile.

The idea was an instant hit. Adorable photoshoots of Lucifer and a six-year-old Charlie—Hazel playing her role with innocent sweetness—went viral. Fans ate it up, and it wasn’t long before the love for Hazbin exploded even further. The company, in response, dedicated ten full pages of its monthly publication solely to Adam’s Hazbin project—a move that was unprecedented but well-deserved. It gave Adam room to expand the characters’ backstories, to play with their dynamics in ways he hadn’t been able to before.

One of his favorite developments was the relationship between Charlotte and Vagatha. Adam had always thought they would make a compelling couple, and as he fleshed out their connection, it just worked. Vagatha—whom Adam had reimagined as a fallen angel—was hesitant at first, nervous about taking on a more prominent role. But she embraced the challenge, and soon, Charlotte and Vagatha’s bond became a centerpiece that fans adored.

And then there was Alastor, whose popularity surged beyond anything Adam had expected. Alastor’s idea to speak with a radio-static voice—a charming nod to an older era—became his signature, and Adam loved it. They even gave him a radio staff to carry as part of his character, and it became an iconic prop that fans instantly associated with him.

Angel Dust and Husker, too, found their own following. Adam found himself especially drawn to their dynamic, the chemistry between them palpable in every shoot. As Hazbin continued to grow, the company began suggesting new characters, more models to add to the expanding universe.

Through it all, Lucifer was by his side, quietly supporting Adam in ways that went beyond words. Late nights in the studio, reviewing character designs and storylines, were made sweeter by Lucifer’s presence. There was something comforting about the way he would sit beside Adam, casually leaning in to offer an opinion or teasing him with that ever-present smirk. And when the work became overwhelming, Lucifer had a way of calming him, his mere presence a reminder that Adam didn’t have to do it all alone.

"Purple isn't really my colour."

A sudden voice chimed in, cutting through Adam's swirling thoughts like a warm breeze. He blinked and turned, finding Lilith standing beside him, her figure both commanding and graceful. His face lit up immediately, beaming at her presence.

Lilith’s sharp blue eyes flicked down to the watercolour paintings Adam had carefully arranged on the table. He had been working tirelessly on these pieces for her, hoping to entice her into joining the Hazbin project. Now, six months in, the project had blossomed into something far beyond his original vision, and they were ready to add some of the most iconic faces into the mix—characters who would serve as powerful side players but would become integral in the years to come. Lilith wouldn’t make her debut right away, but when she did, it would be alongside other legendary figures like Eve, Lute, and countless more. The future felt electric with possibility.

Adam glanced down at the paintings again, feeling a surge of nervous pride. Lilith, the queen of seduction and darkness, draped in rich purples and blacks, her horned crown casting a shadow as regal as her presence. Her long, elegant dress shimmered in shades of amethyst, her gloves stretching up to her elbows, delicately concealing the claws that hinted at her fierce power.

“I wanted to try something a little different,” Adam explained, his voice soft but eager. “I know people usually don’t associate you with purple, but I thought... maybe this could be an exception. A twist on tradition.”

Lilith hummed thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on every detail of the artwork. She studied the sharpness of the horns, the fluidity of the dress, the subtle, hidden power the design implied. There was a contemplative silence as she weighed it all, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, her eyes lifted, meeting Adam's.

“Are you sure you want me to join?” she asked, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of vulnerability that Adam hadn’t expected.

Adam blinked, surprised by the question. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I? Is something bothering you about the role?”

Lilith shook her head, a small, rueful smile playing on her lips. “No, no. I love the role. It’s perfect for me, really.”

She paused, her gaze drifting back to the paintings. “I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Adam’s heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of admiration. Disappoint? He almost laughed at the thought, but instead, he let out a soft gasp, eyes wide with awe.

“Lilith, you could never disappoint anyone. You’re... you’re incredible! You’re a brilliant model, and I’m so excited to have you as part of this. I mean it. The project wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Her smile softened, warmth flickering in her eyes as she looked back at him. “You’re too kind, Adam.”

There was something almost tender in the way she said it, like she was letting down her guard just for a moment. “I can’t wait to work with you.”

Adam couldn’t contain his excitement, his entire face lighting up as he grinned at her.

“Neither can I! Does that mean you accept?” His voice was eager, almost childlike in its enthusiasm.

Lilith chuckled softly, a melodic sound that danced through the air. “Yes, Adam. I accept the role.”

Adam’s heart soared. He cheered softly in relief, his entire body relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you, Lilith! This is going to be amazing.”

She smiled warmly at him, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before nodding. “I think so too.”

As she walked away, her presence still lingering in the air like a sweet perfume, Adam found himself glowing with pride. Every piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

Later that evening, Adam found himself back in his studio, surrounded by sketches and designs, his mind buzzing with excitement. But this time, he wasn’t alone. Lucifer stood behind him, leaning casually against the desk, watching Adam work with a fond, almost amused expression.

“You’re going to wear yourself out,” Lucifer teased softly, his voice like velvet as it filled the room.

Adam looked up from his drawings, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Lucifer’s easy smile. He couldn’t help but grin back, a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m fine. Besides, there’s still so much to do.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a smirk as he moved closer, his hand resting gently on Adam’s shoulder.

“You’ve done more than enough for one night.” His fingers traced delicate patterns on Adam’s arm, sending a shiver of warmth through him. “How about we take a break?”

Adam tilted his head up, meeting Lucifer’s gaze. The way those piercing blue eyes stared into his own, like they were seeing right through him, always made his heart race.

“A break?” he asked softly, though a teasing smile was playing on his lips. “And what would we do on this break?”

Lucifer leaned in closer, his breath warm against Adam’s cheek, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “I can think of a few things...”

Adam felt the heat rush to his face as Lucifer’s lips brushed his ear, sending a thrill down his spine. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this little universe they had created together. It was in moments like this that Adam realized just how much had changed since the day Lucifer first walked into his life.

They were partners in every sense of the word now. From the dazzling world of Hazbin to the quiet, intimate moments they shared late at night.

Adam looked up at Lucifer, his eyes softening as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” Adam murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. “For everything. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Lucifer’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he wrapped his arms around Adam, pulling him close.

“You did this all on your own. I just... gave you a little push.” His voice was warm and affectionate, the teasing edge replaced with something deeper.

A soft gasp escaped Adam as Lucifer shifted himself onto his lap, his fingers tracing along Adam’s shoulders. Adam meet Lucifer’s eyes, watching shyly as Lucifer began to rotate his hips. Grinding their hips together, making sure their hardening cocks beginning to rub together through their pants.

Leaning in close, Lucifer licked at Adam’s lips. He soft tongue tracing Adam’s soft lips until he parted them and his tongue slipped inside, meeting Adam’s.

“Have I ever told you…” Lucifer whispered, running his hands down Adam’s body. He rubbed his chest, traced his stomach and finally, slipped his fingers along Adam’s thighs. “I really love your thighs.”

“Um, no.” Adam said. “Don’t think you’ve ever mentioned my thighs before.”

Chuckling, Lucifer snipped at Adam’s chin and throat. He shifted himself off Adam’s lap, pushing his thighs over his and pressing down harshly with his hips. He purrs as Adam let out a delightful moan.

“I think they’re my second favourite part of you.”

“Second?” Adam laughed, cupping his lover’s face. “And what’s your first favourite?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lucifer asked lovingly, leaning forward to kiss him again. “Your mind. Your brain. I love what you make. I love what you can think up.”

The two began to kiss again, Lucifer beginning to rub his hips firmly against Adam’s. His fingers pulling at Adam’s t-shirt, pushing it up so he could touch the warm flesh. A shiver ran through Adam as he traced his fingers along the soft curve of his back.

“Adam, can we try something new?” he asked.

A hum escaped Adam. “Always.”

“I want…” Lucifer pulled back to meet Adam’s eyes. “I want to thigh fuck you.”

Adam stared. His mind fuzzy.

“What?”

A sharp grin spread across Lucifer’s face, a grin that sent a familiar, exhilarating shiver down Adam’s spine. It was a look Adam had come to know well—too well, in fact. Lucifer seemed to be merging with the very character Adam had painted him as, slipping between the lines of reality and fiction with an unsettling ease. His smile, wide and gleaming, carried all the same energy he embodied as the King of Hell—dazzling, dangerous, and impossibly charming.

Even without the costume or the fake sharp teeth, the effect was the same. His pearly whites gleamed with a hint of mischief, the smile teetering on the edge of intimidation. It was a look that could both seduce and terrify, depending on who was on the receiving end. Adam, sitting there under the weight of that smile, felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed, unsure whether to laugh or shudder.

“You’re doing it again,” Adam murmured, his voice half-amused, half-nervous as he playfully narrowed his eyes at Lucifer.

Lucifer tilted his head, arching a brow in mock innocence.

“Doing what?” he asked, though his voice carried that telltale lilt, low and smooth, like a purr.

“That grin,” Adam said, pointing at him with a small, nervous laugh. “You look just like him—the King of Hell. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or if you’ve really become him.”

Lucifer chuckled, the sound rich and velvety, sending another wave of heat through Adam.

“Maybe I have,” he said with a wink, stepping closer, his presence intoxicating.

“Or maybe I’m just giving you what you wanted, hmm? The devilish charm you so meticulously designed.” His finger gently lifted Adam’s chin, bringing their faces close enough for Adam to feel Lucifer’s breath warm against his skin.

Adam’s blush deepened, though he kept his composure, his pulse racing in his ears.

“Well, it’s a little unnerving when the devil in my head starts standing in front of me,” he teased, though his voice wavered slightly under Lucifer’s gaze.

Lucifer’s grin softened, becoming less menacing and more affectionate, though the spark of danger never entirely left his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his tone softer now, though still steeped in mischief. “I’m still me. Your Lucifer, not the one in the paintings.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat at those words—your Lucifer.

It was in moments like this, when the playfulness gave way to something more sincere, that Adam felt the full weight of their connection. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten here, in this strange whirlwind where reality and fantasy blurred so effortlessly. But in Lucifer’s arms, he didn’t mind. There was a warmth, a safety, even in the chaos.

Lucifer leaned in, his lips brushing against Adam’s, not quite a kiss, but a promise of one.

“Besides,” he added with a smirk, pulling back just slightly, “It’s you who brought the devil to life. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

Adam chuckled, though his voice was breathless. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Adam,” Lucifer teased, his eyes gleaming playfully. “You might just get more than you bargained for.”

Adam’s heart raced, but he smiled, leaning into Lucifer’s touch. “I think I’m okay with that.”

"Now." Lucifer purred, beginning to strip Adam of his clothes. "Let me show you what I really want from you~"

And that was how Adam later found himself naked, on his knees with Lucifer behind him. A sharp gasp escaped Adam, his green eyes watering as his body jolted back against Lucifer's much warmer body. His blonde haired lover's arms held him against his body, with his hard cock pushed between Adam's thigh and rubbing without mercy against the bottom of Adam's.

"Aw, you're so stressed~" Lucifer cooed, flashing that same grin again. "Let me help with that~"

"Oh god!" Adam gasped, Lucifer's hold on him tightening and snapping his hips even harsher. "You really are the devil in disguise."

Lucifer grinned at that.

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 5

Summary: In which you avoid Zagreus, until one day you can't. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

WC: 2.4k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut, MINOR descriptions of blood and injuries. Physical touch, affection. Just Zagreus being soft and doting and kind to you this chap

Damn her, damn her, damn her, damn—

Teeth clenched, your vision swims as you grip the rim of the basin for balance, washing off the blood as red drops swirl and mix like watercolor paints before the water clears again. It’s days like this where you wish you can get stronger, more powerful, but there’s a limit to everyone’s full potential, and unfortunately you met yours a long time ago.

Still, it’d be nice.

Contrary to popular belief, succubi can be vicious warriors, they’re simply in their own class. Their abilities, their magic, while never measuring up to gods, could ruin an army in a master’s hand, but it has its limits. Especially amongst demonkind.

As the water calms, you grind your teeth at the sight of your reflection, assessing the damage. Blood and darkness, that’s going to bruise, that one’s definitely going to scar, and you curse the universe because your job’s about to get that much harder now that you may have to use a glamor. Oh, you swear next time you get your hands on her, you’ll—

A resounding rumble quakes the room.

Your chamber door.

You curse. But you're sluggish from the blood loss, and before you can hurl yourself out the balcony, Zagreus steps in without his usual greeting, panting and laurels slightly askew, like he rushed in knowing you’re here. Wild eyes dart to every corner of the chamber, as if he half-expects you to be hiding, until they fall on you, embarrassingly hunched over your healing fountain.

One glance at your battered face, he’s beside you in a flash.

"Zag—”

“What happened?” His tone is surprisingly strained as his hands, clean of blood and gore, reach for you. Then something flickers across his face that makes him hover, his eyes—red and green and wide—taking in your new wounds with horror.

If only you had the energy to cower, shield your bruised face. He’s the last person you want to see right now, and your vision blurs, hating how he of all people is seeing you like this—broken, imperfect.

“I’m fine, Zagreus,” You croak, your voice quiet as you swallow your insecurity like bile. A poor attempt to put some distance between you, you try to step aside, but your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumple like a house of cards.

Of course, Zagreus catches you—asshole—strong, lean arms gentle as he hugs you to his chest, holding you up as if you’re the most precious of gems. Hate how quick you are to relax in his hold, clay in his hands. Blood and darkness, it’s so easy, so quick, so… right.

You squirm against him, but his grip tightens slightly, mindful of your injuries.

“Sure you are,” Zagreus snorts, though he gazes down at you so soft and sweet you want to shout, wondering if he tastes the same. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

Unable to protest, you let him carry you like a rag doll, limp in his hands before he gently props you up on the lounge chair. You lean against the back with a groan. “Really, I'm—”

“'Fine', yes, you’ve said that,” Already, he’s rummaging through your cupboards, at least the ones he knows aren’t filled with art supplies. “Do you have bandages?”

“… Second last cabinet on your left.”

Without a word, he walks through your chamber with self assurance, maneuvering around your easel and stepping over splayed out canvas as they finish drying, careful where to leave his burning footprints. He finds what he’s looking for easily enough, a moment later pulling up a chair and plopping down in front of you. His hands are methodical as he lays everything out; two bowls of water, a small cloth, and the saddest little first aid kit.

In your defense, you hardly end up like this.

You watch his hands as he dips the towel in the water then wrings it out, before gently dragging it across your exposed arms. You flinch as he begins wiping off the grime.

“I know,” His tone is soft, terribly understanding as he continues. “Give it a minute, you’ll feel much better soon.”

You want to snort, snap at him that you’re fully aware of how it works, but the cool sting of water, the mild burn from the open gashes and cuts along your skin, is quick to clench your jaw shut. Pain ebbs across your body, and you watch him speechless, the rhythm he follows, painfully gentle as he drags the cloth across your skin, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Clean water, wring out, wipe, rinse, repeat; he even goes out of his way to change the water, and the relief that comes after would make you sink into the couch, if not for Zagreus's silence.

He's yet to say a word since he entered. He'd asked you already, yes, but you take him for someone who doesn't give up that easily. You expected more of a fight. Now, you're not so sure.

"Zagreus, I… I—" It's hoarse, hardly above a whisper, but it's a start.

You feel him pause before choosing to lay into your newfound cowardice like a wet blanket, avoiding his eyes. Who knows what you'll do if you meet his gaze.

Sensing your hesitation, Zagreus clears his throat, "Perhaps you should save your energy. We can chat when you're healed."

You shake your head, though it only makes the room spin. "No, I need to tell you this now. Before..."

"Before what? You start avoiding me again?" He resumes, wrapping gauze around your forearm, his touch ghosting your skin as he holds your arm out. There’s no malice or respite in his tone, soft and withdrawn as it comes, but you wince. If anything, it’s bittersweet, with an acceptance he long held before he approached your chamber, and it leaves your heart clenching. You don't know how to respond. Are you that obvious?

"(Your Name)... did I do something wrong?"

You blink, whirling to face him.

Zagreus bites his lip, emotions he can’t fathom threatening to spill out of him. That's always been his flaw, according to Father. He's attuned to his emotions, more than Nyx, Father, literally any of the chthonic gods. He stares as his hands tremble, attempting to knot the bandage. "Because if I did, please just tell me what it is so I can make things right between us."

"No-no, you've done nothing wrong," You assure him, sitting up through the pain even when Zagreus protests. When he raises a brow at your answer, you rush to add, "I swear! I've been busy with... work." Technically, this isn’t a lie.

"... 'Busy'. Is that how you got these?" Zagreus holds out your mangled arm by your hand, flicking his eyes over your body in the way you hate most. You'd take aura-induced desire over this: pity, disgust.

You wrench your arm away, cradling it in your lap and shrugging. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

"(Your Name), who did this?"

You freeze. Nerves go haywire, and you squirm under his piercing gaze, burning through you as you contemplate lying to him, but you know better. At this point, you know each other too well, and—blood and darkness—he'll see right through you. There’s a defeated sigh, then a quiet, "Alecto."

Zagreus's eyes darken, but you wave him off. "Don't worry. In her defense, I kind of deserved it."

Zagreus sputters, taken aback, staring at you as if you offended him. "'Don't worry'? Don't—how can you say that? First I've seen you in days, and you're—" A sharp intake of breath, and he clenches his jaw so hard you're surprised it doesn't break.

"It's not a big deal. I disobeyed direct orders, and..." You trail off, thinking back.

Since meeting Zagreus, seeds of doubt sprout in your chest, in your lungs, suffocating you as you question the system you’ve worked under for so long. You’ve never questioned who you are and what you do, not to say you love your job, but it’s your life. Yet who’s to say there aren't poor souls sentenced to the wrong level? Genuine and kind, noble and passionate—people who don't deserve eternal damnation.

The possibility of your victims being innocent and undeserving makes you want to hurl, tortured shrieks and endless tears flashing across your memory and echoing in your ears. Your stomach clenches just thinking about it.

"(Your Name), I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Zagreus starts, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words, his breaths coming quick and ragged. He just stares at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you can't quite place—as if your virtuous act breaks his heart, crushes his soul. Then he blinks, and it's gone, shaking his stupor. “This is my fault…”

You raise an eyebrow, “How is this your fault?”

“I… I just… you shouldn’t have…” You frown as Zagreus struggles, brow furrowed, clearly pained as he thinks over his answer, like whatever he says next determines your fates. Seeming to think better of it, he shakes his head and brings your hand to his lips, and you flush, your heart skipping as his lips graze over the bandages, warmth seeping through the material and into your wounds like a healing salve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He rasps between each kiss, trailing up the back of your hand and up your forearm, like they’ll heal the wounds faster. Like this is the best he can do, like this is all he can do. Not that you plan to stop him.

Your face burns, but you let him apologize, though you’re not sure what for as he stops before your shoulder. At some point, he slotted himself between your thighs, and now face to face, he studies your cuts and bruises, already fading away as his eyes, soft and glistening, flick over your features. Like he’s debating if his kisses will help them heal faster too.

Gods, if he brings those lips anywhere near your face, you might combust.

You meet his gaze, “What—”

“I lied.”

It comes as a whisper, his voice dry and low that you tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’m not some mortal soul, dredging their way through Tartarus,” Zagreus grinds out, scanning your face as if committing you to memory one last time. Then he sits back and stares at the floor, still gripping your hand as he rubs circles over the bandage. “I mean, it’s true I intend to escape the Underworld.”

“Zagreus—”

“And yes, I’m searching for my mother—”

“Zag—”

“But I’m really—”

“My prince.”

He flinches, his eyes shooting up to meet yours. “What?”

“None of this is your fault, my prince. With or without your influence, I’d have done the same thing anyway.” He gapes at you and you smirk, using the little strength you’ve recovered to squeeze his hand reassuringly, “Or would you rather I address you as Your Highness instead?”

Zagreus shakes his head, black hair flopping out of his shocked face. “I don’t understand. You knew?”

“For a bit now, yes,” You shrug as you turn his hand over, large and calloused in yours, swiping a thumb over one of his healed blisters, probably from gripping his weapons. “Took me a while to figure it out, but I can’t say I was surprised. It explained some of your funny behavior.”

He scoffs, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, “What sort of funny behavior?”

“Pretend all you like, but you can’t suppress those noble habits,” You chuckle, eyes crinkling seeing him cheer up. “All your mannerisms screamed ‘royal’, I just didn’t realize we were talking Underworld royalty.”

“Seriously?” Zagreus gazes at you in disbelief. “I thought I did a pretty good job acting—”

“Like a commoner?”

“Like a mortal,” He shoots you a pointed look, and you snort, relaxing into the love seat.

“You were okay.” You purse your lips, “While we’re on the subject of identity reveals, you should know I’m—”

“A succubus?”

You blink before pouting, snatching your hand away to cross your arms over your chest. “You only say that because I was about to tell you…”

“Not true,” Zagreus grins, leaning over to give your thigh an affectionate squeeze. “I knew from the beginning. Succubi magic doesn't affect gods, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.”

“And you still stayed? Knowing what I am and what I do?”

“And you still treated me as any other friend, knowing who I am?”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I disagree,” He coaxes your hands into his, prompting you to meet his gaze as his expression shifts into something more earnest. “We both tried—and failed miserably—to hide a huge part of ourselves in fear of what we’d think of each other, am I wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Exactly. (Your Name), I hope you know not once did I think any less of you for your work, much less your species.”

You respond in kind, “And not once did I consider bowing down to the Prince of the Underworld, especially not after seeing him stuff his face with wraps he picked off the ground.”

He guffaws. “Good, then we’re in agreement?”

“I guess...”

“Just what every man wants to hear from a beautiful creature.” Ignoring the burn in your cheeks, you roll your eyes, and he adds, “But we’re okay? You won’t avoid me anymore?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Keep that up, you won’t be seeing me for another couple runs.”

“I was agreeing with you!”

“Your tone said otherwise.”

By the time your shared laughter dies down, the atmosphere clears, leaving a comfortable silence settling in the small space between you. In that time, he’s yet to let go of your hands, your thighs brushing as he rubs soothing circles against your hands, and while he insists on staying until he’s sure you’re better, acceptance rushes over you like the oncoming tide, because try as you might, Alecto’s punishment was nothing in comparison to Zagreus’s absence. These fleeting moments he stops by your chamber, whether to recover, commission a painting, or to simply have a chat, you appreciate each and every one of them. If that’s all you’ll ever have with Zagreus, you decide, your chest tight with a melancholic warmth, then that's okay.

This is enough.

—

Soon after Zagreus reluctantly leaves you once more, he enters the last chamber of Tartarus.

“Redblood! What say you—ack—hey, I wasn’t done talking!”

If he prolongs their time together, allowing him to indulge his cruelty, then consider it time well spent.

—

AN: One of my biggest peeves in media tropes is the betrayal and angst as a reaction from hiding identities from s/o, like in superhero media. It's overplayed, overdone.

A good, recent example of this is the new animated Superman show, My Adventures with Superman, where (SPOILERS) Lois forces the truth out of Clark, and is pissed when he confirms he is Superman. Bro, you literally said to his face how you'd reveal his identity to the public, can you blame the guy? Idgaf you think he's lying ab his feelings omfg he's protecting his idenity (its a good show tho pls watch it!!)

However, a cartoon that does the scenario right is in the old Nickelodeon cartoon, Danny Phantom (some of yall may be too young to remember), the older sister, Jaz, of the mc, Danny, quietly realizes he's the superhero of their town, and decides to patiently wait for him to tell her when HE'S READY. Like askjgdaksjhf yassss we love patience and understanding.

Which is why I like to imagine while Zag didn't outright tell you who he is, he didn't try to hide it either. The underworld's a big ass place, he's got no control over who and what ppl say and do, so however you find out, whether in passing or of your own sleuthing skills, you both wait.

Ty for coming to my ted talk :D

[cheegu3]

Enhypen - the glory (part 5)

summary; after rejecting one of the most popular boys at your new school, you soon realised that you'd done the gravest mistake of your life; these weren't ordinary boys, and now they were set on making your life a living hell - heavily based on the kdrama with the same name

warnings; yandere, bullying, swearing, alcohol, hospital scene, mentions of murder & suicide, affair

genre; yandere

wc; 4.8k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

note; this is more of a chill chapter, we get someone's backstory :D but yeah u won't be as stressed after as the last chapter lmao, also I've changed the narrating a little based on this poll I did, if everyone hates it I will change it lol, but I felt it added a little more flavour ??? to the characters.

masterlist

The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoed in the empty hallway. You backed away, slowly while never taking your eyes off of it; as if it had a camera inside and whoever texted was watching with a grin on their face.

It started ringing, vibrating violently on the floor. You ran up and picked it up, only because you were afraid they were still in the building and could hear it. But when looking down at the screen, you breathed out in relief. It was the number that Soobin had texted with.

‘’ Hello? ‘’

You waited in silence, not wanting to risk revealing anything in case that number wasn’t him either.

‘’ Y/n? ‘’

It was his voice, thankfully.

‘’ Soobin! I think they have my number. I got a text from someone else and I thought it was you. ‘’ you said in a hushed voice, starting to walk towards the entrance while hunched over.

‘’ What? Did you say anything? ‘’

‘’ Not anything that would make them think I was talking to you. But who do I say I thought it was? They will probably ask tomorrow. ‘’

Soobin quietened for a moment.

‘’ Maybe it’s best you don’t come to the academy tomorrow. ‘’

‘’ No, that’s a terrible idea! It will make me look really suspicious. ‘’

‘’ Will you really be able to lie to their faces if you see them though? ‘’

‘’ I have to try at least. But if I don’t succeed, a backup plan? ‘’

You heard him hum on the other side of the line.

‘’ We can use Yeonjun then. ‘’

Your face scrunched up, doubt written all over your face. You were pretty sure he’d reject it, rather rudely, based on him telling you to stay away from his brother the last time the two of you talked.

‘’ Or…Yena. ‘’ you suggested.

‘’ Yena? Who is that? ‘’

‘’ Jungwon’s sister. I’ve met her and she gave the impression of almost hating him. It’s a long shot bu- ‘’

Soobin sassily agreed, ‘’ It definitely is. ‘’

‘’ Backup plans don’t have to be super solid. I’m just gonna bet everything on plan A working out. ‘’

You didn’t have many choices after all. Yena was risky and uncertain, Yeonjun was almost certainly a no and you weren’t sure about Sunoo yet. With no other friends that could be undercover right under the noses of your bullies, all that was left to do was to believe in yourself and be confident; which was definitely a first.

‘’ What do I do if they text again? ‘’

‘’ Pretend like you knew it was them from the beginning. If they question it, say you were…drunk? ‘’ 

Your loud laugh echoed. ‘’ Soobin, your suggestions suck. ‘’

‘’ Sorry…’’ he mumbled back.

‘’ I might have to resort to that though, if it all goes to shit. ‘’

‘’ I still don't think you should go. ‘’

‘’ My parents want me to get good grades. I can’t lose my scholarship at this prestigious school. ‘’

‘’ But you already went today. Just use an excuse so you don’t have to see them. We can hang out instead, if you want? ‘’

Your phone vibrated again in your hand.

‘’ Hold on, I’m getting another call. I’ll let you know though. ‘’

‘’ Okay, bye! ‘’

You pressed answer on the incoming call after having hung up on Soobin. It was an unknown number again, so mentally you prepared yourself before putting the phone to your ear.

‘’ Hello? ‘’

‘’ Did you guess right? ‘’

The voice sounded familiar, but admittedly it was one of the last people you expected.

‘’ Sunghoon? ‘’

‘’ Well done! ‘’

‘’ How do you have my number? ‘’

‘’ Took your phone while Ni-ki was busy with you in the gym. ‘’

Ah, of course. It would’ve been almost impossible to divide your attention between all seven of them to catch them in the act if they went through your stuff. You were thankful for having changed your settings so you actually had a password now, making sure they couldn’t go through your phone and see Soobin there.

‘’ Do the others have it too? ‘’

‘’ Not yet. ‘’

You weren’t sure what to say next, letting the silence settle. You felt like there was something else, but he was taking his time saying it.

‘’ Oh, right! I forgot about that. ‘’ he shouted out abruptly as if talking to himself.

‘’ Forgot about what? ‘’

‘’ You texted me back, almost like you were waiting for someone to text you. ‘’

You panicked and was forced to come up with a lie on the spot in just a few seconds. Luckily, since he couldn’t see you, it was much easier to lie. Your face didn’t heat up and you didn’t have to maintain eye-contact with basically one of the living lie detectors out of the group. 

You were incredibly lucky today. If you were face to face, he’d be able to figure out you were lying very fast.

 ‘’ Yeah…my cousin just got a phone and said she’d text me today. ‘’

He went quiet for a moment, scaring you. Was he trying to assess your voice because he wasn’t sure if he believed you? 

‘’ Are you lying to me, sweetheart? ‘’

You froze but managed to press out an answer through clenched teeth, ‘’ No. ‘’

‘’ Are you sure? I can easily check up on your family, you know that. ‘’

But you had already made up your mind, it would be cruel and very stupid to throw Soobin under the bus now. The only option was doubling-down and lying until your nose turned red.

‘’ Yes. I’m sure. ‘’ you tried to put a little irritation to your tone to make it more believable.

After some time, he ticked his tongue and reluctantly answered,

‘’ Okay. ‘’

You waited with bated breath, for what he’d say next.

‘’ You’re coming tonight, right? ‘’

‘’ Tonight? What’s tonight? ‘’

‘’ Just hanging out. Jungwon’s house. Come over. ‘’

‘’ But- ‘’

Your protest was rudely cut off by the sound of the call ending. Looking down at the phone, a scowl formed on your face and you huffed. Another party? What was wrong with them?

You stood in the corridor, feeling completely dumbfounded. Could you even run away now, no- you glanced down at your arms, remembering what happened last time you did and cursing them for giving you such a permanent reminder.

Taking a deep breath you cautiously made your way to the entrance. Despite him not mentioning anything about the hospital, it was still pretty smart to be on your guard on the way out. Who knew if that girl had texted them as soon as you and Soobin left her room, and they rushed there to ambush you.

But it was fairly quiet when you reached the front desk. If they were hiding, they probably would’ve come out a long time ago, since you were just meters away from the entrance now.

You shrugged off the random burst of paranoia and sprinted to hail a taxi outside. Maybe they would let you go home quite early just like last time. There wasn't much you could bring to the table anyway.

You fished your phone out and texted Soobin, telling him that Sunghoon had called and told you to come to Jungwon's house. It felt a bit unusual. You’d never hung out with them after school up until the day before, when Jay dragged you to the party.

‘’ Miss, we’re here. ‘’

‘’ Thank you. ‘’

You got out and hurried inside as it was still snowing, albeit a lot less than earlier. They were standing in the entrance, all eyes on you when the taxi drove away. The gate stood wide open this time, and the front door was open which gave them a perfect view of the driveway.

‘’ Hey. ‘’ Sunoo smiled at you.

You groaned mentally, whole body screaming for you to turn back around and go home. They didn’t even give you a chance though. As soon as you had put your stuff down, you were dragged by the waist to the living room, where all those people had been last time.

However, this time the couches were empty except for when they started sitting down in them one by one. You shifted uncomfortably, being the only one still standing.

It was obvious that there was no party. No music and no other people, only the alcohol in the red cups was the recurring theme from the day before. Why did they make you come there all alone? You felt anxiety start to brew at the pit of your stomach. 

‘’ I-uh…can I use the bathroom? ‘’

It was the oldest trick in the book, but hopefully they had already had so much to drink before you showed up that they wouldn’t think twice about it.

Jake was the only one who answered, with an uninterested grunt. You went right away, in case they would change their minds. Locking yourself into the bathroom you texted soobin. 

6:00 pm

You: Soobin? They’ve dragged me to Jungwon’s house.

The phone pinged almost immediately, you panicked and turned off the sound, looking around in the silence to see if they might’ve noticed. Nothing moved around outside and no noises or footsteps got closer. 

Next you had to suppress a laugh as you noticed you named him cousin so the others wouldn’t notice anything. Naming him ‘’ baby ‘’ would’ve made all hell break loose if they had just spotted it once.

Cousin: What? Like a party? 

You: Not really, I’m the only one here.

Cousin: Can you get away? 

You sucked on your lip while thinking. There wasn’t really a way out of this unless you wanted to have more wounds on your body. The whole thing felt like a very annoying headache.

Cousin: Y/n? Hello? Do you need help? 

You: No! We have a plan, remember?

Cousin: Sorry :(

You: I’ll text you later

Cousin: I live close by, just run over

You: Will you drive me home? :) 

Cousin: ofc!

‘’ Princess? ‘’

You jumped and almost dropped your phone clumsily in the process of getting up from the toilet seat. The phone slipped into your pocket again. You unlocked the door and stepped out, coming face to face with Heeseung.

He only looked at you briefly, then pushed past you to get to the bathroom. You went back to join the others. Sunoo and Ni-ki occupied the only couch that wasn’t full so you went to them.

Sunoo lit up when seeing you and Ni-ki only said something under his breath before moving so you could sit next to him. Sunoo handed you a cup and you poured alcohol in it, downing it almost immediately in a poor attempt to fix your uneasiness.

‘’ Not drinking? ‘’

‘’ Not a fan. ‘’

Ni-ki sounded moody, resting his elbows on his legs so his whole form was slumped over. His head didn’t raise when he talked, indicating he wanted to be left alone. You looked at Sunoo for answers but he just shrugged, mouthing ‘ bad day ‘.

‘’ Do you still box? ‘’

He finally raised his head to give you a very vehement look. ‘’ Yeah. ‘’ 

Sunoo tried to avoid it when his eyes averted to him, knowing he was looking at him in disbelief over what he had blurted out when he was alone with you. Whistling innocently he looked away and pretended like he was interested in the intense and lively conversation Jake and Jay were having next to him.

Now that Sunoo was turned away from you two, you leaned in a bit closer to Ni-ki, asking what you’d been wondering for a long time.

‘’ Do you even like me? ‘’

He frowned and then looked a bit caught off guard, pulling his hood further up to cover more of his face. ‘’ Yeah? I…think so. ‘’

‘’ But like, as much as the others or…’’ you trailed off.

He glared at you through his bangs which made you close your mouth again, regretting saying anything at all.

‘’ Y/n? ‘’

Sunghoon called you over, patting on the empty seat next to him where presumably Heeseung sat in before. Reluctantly you sat down, glancing at Jake and hoping you wouldn’t catch his attention any time soon, since he was extra bad when intoxicated.

Sunghoon must’ve noticed, his long fingers came up to your jaw, turning your head towards him. You stared into his bleary eyes. He looked very drunk, long gone with his pupils struggling to focus on you. But there was still some tenderness in them.

Sunghoon was slightly anxious. He’d never been alone with you before, and not this close in such an innocent way too; they all acted as a group and stuck together as one, agreeing to not be alone with you for too long.

While leaning his head back on the couch the two of you were sitting on, he turned his head to look at you. It was embarrassing how nervous you made him, as if you were some crush he had in middle school. Just looking at you made his throat close up.

‘’ Do you like this house? ‘’ he randomly blurted out, through slurred speech.

You laughed lightly which made Sunghoon smile widely.

‘’ Yeah, it’s nice. ‘’

He wanted to say more, maybe the way to your heart was to make you laugh. But he didn't get the chance to before Jungwon plopped down on the other side of the couch, next to you.

He didn’t seem at all interested in flirting with you, instead going straight into a rather serious-toned conversation, a dead-pan look on his face.

‘’ Do you know why he invited you here? ‘’

‘’ No. Not really. ‘’ you tilted your head.

‘’ From now on, we want to see you outside of school too. ‘’

You turned to him. ‘’ Why? ‘’

His lips were licked as annoyance flashed across his face, his cold eyes piercing through you. ‘’ Because we said so. ‘’

The alcohol had started to rush to your head already, making your speech a bit slower, vision blurrier but also lips bolder. 

‘’ Why are you always so blunt with me? You’re kind of mean. ‘’ 

He grimaced at your whiny tone and got eye-contact with Sunghoon, who probably knew what his friend was thinking. But he could never really stop Jungwon, since he was the leader after all.

‘’ Because, you’re a brat. ‘’ he calmly said, although his eyes were anything but.

‘’ A brat? ‘’ 

You stood up and almost stumbled into his lap when the dizziness hit you. Tauntingly, you looked down at him while swinging your cup in one hand.

‘’ You’re the ones who fucking bully me, you piece of shit! ‘’

‘’ Y/n. ‘’ Sunghoon warned, seeing Jungwon’s eyes narow.

‘’ Don’t talk to me like that. ‘’

You groaned and almost ripped your hair out in frustration. His calm exterior always made you feel crazy; it made you look hysteric in comparison, and wrong when you had all the reasons to be acting like that.

‘’ Shut the fuck up! ‘’ you yelled.

He snapped. Standing up so fast you flinched and lost balance, he was there to jerk you towards him with a harsh grip around your wrist. You lost your chance to talk as he hurried to drag you upstairs, Sunghoon running behind. 

You get pushed into a bedroom and Sunghoon got the door slammed in his face just as he was a few seconds away from it.

The tension in the room is high. Even though your back was turned to Jungwon, you could almost feel how he seethed of anger, but it was controlled and calculated, he was in control not you.

‘’ Face me. ‘’

You shuddered at his low voice, taking as much time as possible to turn around. The door was locked, who knew what he was going to do to you, away from the eyes of others?

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

You finally turned, and immediately your eyes unwillingly welled up with tears. It was the last thing you wanted to happen, but you became that girl in the gym again. Just one look at him and you wanted to cower away, beg for mercy or cry like a helpless child. 

You felt like a different person outside of the school. Because when the day was over, so was the torture. Seeing him look like he wanted to tear you apart in a different environment than the bleak walls of the gym reminded you of your grim future; they would torture you in your safe haven now too. It wouldn’t be over as soon as you passed the gates. They demanded you meet them at their houses and text them. What would happen if you answered just one second too late?

Jungwon stared at you wordlessly. He felt his chest swell with pride due to the sadistic nature of the situation. He liked that you were so afraid of him and that he, more than the others could elicit such a strong reaction from you - only a puppeteer could know his toy that well, know exactly what strings to pull for what; and what is that if not love?

You saw his face unmoved by your sniffling, so as a last resort you pathetically went down on your knees, hands clasping together while incoherent pleas left your mouth.

‘’ Please…please- don’t hurt me. ‘’

He crouched and was careful not to show any emotions. ‘’ Say you’re sorry again. ‘’

You looked up at him and he almost became entranced by the look of your teary eyes, glimmering while looking up at him, only him.

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

‘’ Good. ‘’ His lips twitched. ‘’ Stand up. ‘’

They tugged upwards momentarily when you obeyed. You kept your head down, scared to provoke him, even by doing the slightest of things.

‘’ I’m gonna give you my number. When I text, answer. When I call, answer. ‘’ 

He turned his back on you to dig his phone out from a bag thrown on the floor. You got the sudden urge to attack him and then make a run for it, but that wouldn’t lead to anything but short satisfaction.

You recollected yourself in time for him turning back and handing you his phone. When you’re done and he took it back impatiently, he stared at the screen for a while. Then he pressed the number and your phone vibrated.

‘’ Save it. ‘’

You gave a fake smile and nodded. However, seeing as it didn’t seem to satisfy him, you quickly did what he asked on the spot.

‘’ You can go now. ‘’

‘’ Already? I haven’t really talked to the others, and they don’t even have my number except for Sung- ‘’ you pressed your lips shut.

Although it was slowly starting to wear off, the alcohol had made you ramble again and by the look of dissatisfaction on his face, you could tell he wanted you to shut up.

‘’ You don’t need those yet. Am I not doing you a favor? ‘’ he stepped closer, making you automatically back away.

There were only a few meters until you’d back into the wall. You prayed to God that he wouldn’t force you to back into it entirely, so he could creep over you.

‘’ Do you want to be here? ‘’

Your mouth fell open at the horrible accusation. Why would you want to be at the house of one of your bullies, where they all hung around you, taking turns to poke their sticks into your skin to get a reaction?

‘’ No. I’m leaving. ‘’

He didn’t stop you, but you heard the arrogant scoff and saw the smirk when passing by him anyway. Your angry stomping down the stairs caught the attention of the other guys.

‘’ You’re leaving already? ‘’ Jake shouted, hurrying to get up so he could follow you.

Ni-ki and Sunoo watched you curiously, not saying anything.

‘’ You basically just got here. ‘’ 

He tried to pull you into a hug, which you quickly slipped out of, seeing Jungwon standing at the top of the stairs. 

‘’ I said she could go. ‘’

His stern voice made Jake freeze and he moved away from you, giving you a small smile which made you raise your eyebrows awkwardly.

‘’ Bye. ‘’ you mumbled, closing the door behind you.

Well that was…weird? 

*******

‘’ I’m here! ‘’

Soobin ran over to greet you, a big grin plastered on his face.

Footsteps approached the hallway and rounding the corner, the owner of them, Yeonjun popped his head out. His smile dropped when seeing you.

‘’ Y/n. ‘’ he said, rather formally.

‘’ Yeonjun. ‘’

Soobin chuckled. ‘’ No need to be so awkward. You’ve met before. ‘’

You took off your shoes and he strolled off in front of you, making you hurry to follow as you didn’t want to be alone with his grumpy older brother.

‘’ Are you okay? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. ‘’

He looked relieved and started walking further into the house, waving at Yeonjun to come with and ultimately stopping in the living room.

‘’ Maybe we can watch a movie. ‘’

‘’ I’m fine with anything. ‘’ you smiled.

‘’ Is this the part where I leave? ‘’

‘’ Yeonjun! ‘’ Soobin gasped.

His cute attempt at trying to look stern made you snort.

Meanwhile, his older brother threw his head back and groaned in discontent, plopping down on the couch and crossing his arms in protest.

‘’ For how long? ‘’

‘’ I don’t know yet. Don’t be rude. ‘’

Soobin pressed on the control and the large flat TV screen lit up. You almost ticked your tongue and shook your head. Of course he was a Disney nerd.

He turned around, looking childishly excited, and came over to sit down next to you. The movie quite quickly became forgotten, serving as background noise while you and Soobin passionately fought over the snacks.

‘’ I’ll go make you kids some food. ‘’ Yeonjun said, rolling his eyes at the two of you, and leaving you and Soobin alone in the living room.

Soobin craned his neck to check that his older brother had really left before turning to you. There was something he had wanted to tell you for a long time.

‘’ Does he not like me? ‘’

He smiled knowingly and shook his head. ‘’ It’s not that, I promise. ‘’

‘’ Then…did he have a rough childhood or something? ‘’ you sarcastically joked as you didn’t like when people used that as an excuse to be rude.

‘’ Something like that. ‘’

You caught the way his tone sounded borderline uncomfortable so you cleared your throat awkwardly. ‘’ Sorry, I was just joking.

‘’ His friend got bullied when he was in middle school. I’m sure he just feels a bit- well, vulnerable around you. ‘’ 

You weren’t sure how to respond so you just hummed, it was your turn to feel uncomfortable as Soobin was determined to continue no matter what.

‘’ He really struggled to see him like that. There wasn’t much he could do. When he went to the principal he was shut down, told that it was just ‘ friends playing around ‘. Later he found out their parents were pretty rich though, and at least one of them was a part of the anti-bullying committee. ‘’ Soobin shook his head, sighing while a sour expression overtook his face.

‘’ If he confronted them, they wouldn’t beat him. No, they were different, almost psychos despite being kids. They would bully his friend harder instead, knowing it would push Yeonjun away from him because he wanted to protect his friend. In the end, he was lonely. Everyone he loved watched from a distance, knowing that if they intervened it would get even worse. ‘’

‘’ What happened after they graduated then? Did he never get his justice or revenge? ‘’

Soobin looked away from you, his heart felt heavy.

‘’ No. He never did. ‘’

Silence filled up the living room. Hearing that both made you feel incredibly sorry for Yeonjun and also anxious for your fate. Would it be the same as that boy? Would Soobin have to suffer the same way - by the sidelines watching helplessly just like his brother?

You raised your head, noticing he wasn’t completely finished with his heartbreaking story. He had to hurry because the rummaging in the kitchen had stopped, indicating Yeonjun was on his way back.

‘’ It had a very unhappy ending. Remember when I said I recognized the look in your eyes when you were walking to the rooftop? ‘’

Your heart sunk. ‘’ Yeah…’’ 

Did you even really want to hear the next part? 

‘’ He saw that one night. While walking home from school. So just like I did, he followed his friend to a rooftop. ‘’

‘’ He wasn’t as lucky as you were? ‘’ you filled in when he got quiet again.

He nodded, a somber look on his face.

‘’ But, he didn’t jump though. ‘’

You frowned.

‘’ What? What do you mean? ‘’

‘’ He was pushed. ‘’

This time the silence was deadly, stretching on for several minutes. On the other side of the wall, Yeonjun was leaning against it, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

‘’ Did he get justice?

‘’ No. Of course not. The rich and powerful always get away with it. Yeonjun went to the police station but when they arrived, a bunch of black cars were already there. Took about ten minutes of inspecting before they concluded it was a suicide. ‘’

You felt nauseous. 

‘’ Did he…did he see who pushed him? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, it was them of course. The worst out of them all did it, and while they all freaked out, he barely flinched. As a solution, they were transferred to different schools in Seoul and it was swept under the rug. Even if Yeonjun wanted to get revenge, it would be almost impossible to find them. ‘’

‘’ Fuck, that’s heavy. ‘’ you leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, taking in everything that had been said.

‘’ I think the worst part is that nobody believed him. ‘’ you turned and saw that he was crying now, his knuckles were rubbed due to the rage he felt on the inside.

Breathlessly you watched him. You hadn’t seen Soobin like this yet.

‘’ What do you mean? ‘’ you softly whispered and tried to reach out for him.

He let you take his hand, and you rubbed his knuckles instead, but in a more calming and loving manner.

‘’ Since those fuckers cleaned it up neatly, his parents fought a lot about it. When he told them, crying out and looking for support, his mom didn’t believe him, but his dad did. So they got divorced. Then, his dad met my mom. ‘’ 

He ruffled his hair and scoffed. ‘’ Turns out his dad didn’t really believe him either after all. One night he got drunk and confessed he had an affair and just wanted a reason for divorce. ‘’

Your other hand wrapped around his shoulder.

‘’ But you believed him. ‘’

Soobin nodded. The endless tears had started to stain his shirt.

‘’ Of course I did. He’s my brother. ‘’ he mumbled, pain coloring his voice.

‘’ Is that…why you were so quick to help me? ‘’

‘’ I thought that if I couldn’t help him then, well…’’

Struggling to find the words, you filled in for him. ‘’ Then you could help others, to prevent it from happening again? ‘’

He grimaced. ‘’ I haven’t been successful so far. People don’t really believe in me. ‘’

You felt his words sting. It hit a little too close to home and you found yourself feeling guilty for doubting him like everyone else had.

‘’ I’m sorry. ‘’

Soobin let out an airy laugh, knowing what you were thinking of.

‘’ Don’t apologize, you let me in the end, didn’t you? ‘’

You smiled shyly. ‘’ Yeah. I guess so. ‘’

He smiled too, warmth spreading all over his face. But it faded quite suddenly as he had to look away. Why was his heart beating so fast?

-

-

I can't tag some of u and idk why tumblr is being a bitch??? does anyone know how I can fix this??)

taglist; @peaceout97, @ayadikreino, @beoms-sugar, @keikeu, @sunghoonnsupremacy, @lilyalone, @roses-and-blue-perennial-salvia, @eunchaesmileyface, @nunugget, @seunns, @nshmrarki, @huening-ly

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #6166:

I feel like I have very bad luck with my ships. M/F ships? The author hates my ship because it's problematic and women too dumb and will in fact emulate every romantic relationship they read even though the canon M/F ship is also problematic but both canon and author refuses to acknowledge that. This sounds very specific but you will not imagine the amount of times this has happened to me. M/M ships? Lately a lot of my M/M ships are called incest even though they aren't. If you see a post complaining about incest ships that aren't actually incest, it's probably from me because I literally cannot go one week in one of my several fandoms calling a non-incest ship incest and it's almost always M/M for some reason and I sometimes get so frustrated that I need to complain. 

But I feel like my luck's the worst with F/F ships. It's not that I can't find any F/F content, I can (There's no need to recommend me anything. I know where to find them and I'm not the type to get into something for a ship anyway). It's not like I hate every popular F/F ship, it's just that there's ships I like (I don't mind it and I think it's cute but wouldn't actively search for it) and there's ships I love (the ships that I adore and would actively search content for it) It's just seems like every fandom I join, I always ship the F/F ship that no one likes. It's understandable for my problematic F/F ships which I think is a combination of fandom's weird attitude to problematic ships, and fandom's reluctance to write problematic female characters.

The one time my F/F ship was popular, I couldn't enjoy it because the fandom made it so OOC that there wasn't anything I originally liked about the ship. I even remember once joining a fandom being so confident my F/F ship would be the most popular ship. It was the most teased ship, it wholesome and it was cute. Well, I was right about it being the most popular ship, in the JP fandom that is. EN fandom hates it because it's between a 15 year old and a 19 year old. I had forgotten about that fact because it was mentioned so little in canon. I also recently joined a new fandom. 80% of the cast is female and there is a prominent F/F shipping fanbase. I had like 5 F/F ships, one of them was problematic but would probably be popular in JP. Most of them I knew would be ships literally no one but me ships. But I thought had a chance with my one because they were paired together in canon. it wouldn't be the most F/F popular ship. I had a hunch on which ship that would be but I thought it's be at least the most popular ship involving said characters. It wasn't. Somehow a ship between one of the characters and another one was the most popular ship. Not only that, but somehow the F/F ship I thought would be most popular is a lot less popular than I thought it would be. It's been a few weeks since I joined and I collected another 2 F/F ships. But they are background ships that will be mentioned in a fic but almost never be featured in.

This really isn't me complaining about how people's taste in ships are worse than mine.It's more me complaining about how my luck with ships is cursed. And yes, there was a non-incest M/M ship that was called incest in the latest fandom i joined.

[letteredlettered]

Since people expressed interest in the comments about the music I used to write my current fic, I wanted to share some of what I explored to write it. I don't think that you need to know this canon or have read this fic to read this post, though I do spend a bit of time talking about how canon influenced the choices I made. Anyone who has been following this fic knows that it was supposed to be porn, and largely, it really still is for the most part a fic about sex. But I did do a lot of research on music with which I'm frankly not very familiar, and the process was really rewarding.

The fic is Time Signature, if you're interested. This post has a lot about music, electronic music, Chinese music, and music theory, as well as some links to music that interests me and inspired portions of the fic. I don't expect anyone to read anything this long, but it was nice to write it.

Canon. One of my favorite things about both book and drama canon is how in synch WWX/LWJ are cultivation-wise. It’s not just that they can predict the talisman the other will use or the seal the other will cast; they also have the same hunches solving mysteries, the same instincts protecting others, the same ideas about where to go. When writing an AU, it’s important to me to show that synchronization (beyond physical attraction and sex), mostly because I think it’s hot.

In canon, however, WWX revolutionizes cultivation, inventing a whole new method when no one ever thought that possible. I also think this is hot. I also think it’s hot if LWJ thinks it’s hot. Look, canonically, LWJ disapproves of demonic cultivation because it will injure WWX’s spirit and body, but imo there is a reason LWJ is so into WWX, and it’s not just because WWX bugs him. It’s not even just because WWX is really cute and happy and exuberant and everything that’s the opposite of his upbringing. I also like to think that it’s because WWX is a fucking genius, and LWJ doesn't mind the idea of upending tradition and the entire cultivation world as much as it really seems at first that he would; he just struggles with anything that could hurt WWX. So anyway, WWX being revolutionary, in basically a technological sense, is important to me.

Wangxian both play music canonically. LWJ’s playing is noted to be particularly powerful, and WWX’s chosen music is at least one part of his revolutionary cultivation method. Additionally, the song LWJ writes for them is an important plot point. It makes sense that in a modern AU, music is a point of connection, so that is what I chose for their careers.

The final point about canon I want to make in connection to the music for this fic is that this is a Chinese canon with Chinese characters set in China. I don’t think it’s wrong to write AUs set in the west. I have done so, and I think there is value in examining a Chinese canon that has become very popular in the west through the lens of the Chinese diaspora. But I also think that there is a lot of value in a western person such as myself trying to learn and understand the cultural context for a canon that I really like, even if I sometimes get it wrong.

I had decided to set this fic in China because I thought the setting would not strongly feature, which would give me an easy “in” to write something set in a place I don’t know much about. Directly after choosing the setting I chose their careers, which made me realize I needed to do a lot more research—both about the careers but also about the setting--than a fic that was supposed to be mainly porn should have really required.

Music genre choice. Lots of AUs I’ve read have Wangxian’s mutual interest be that they both play western classical instruments. This baffles me, but it’s what I’ve seen, so I loosely started there—ie, I spent some time thinking about what would be revolutionary in western instrumental music, which entailed doing some research on contemporary classical music. There are obviously pioneers in any music genre, folks doing new things, but it turned out I just did not know enough about this genre to really understand what would be truly avant-garde.

I took a step back and thought about the instrumental music I have personally heard that feels really new and different, and Philip Glass was the first thing that came to mind. I first heard of Philip Glass when I saw The Hours, for which he wrote the soundtrack. I still think that soundtrack is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard, and I did use it as inspiration for music in this fic, particularly LWJ’s. More on that later.

Philip Glass is great, but for all his eastern minimalist influences, he is a strong figure in the western paradigm. I did some research on Chinese contemporary instrumental music, but most of what I found had a really western flavor. I think there are two reasons for this—one is that I am in the west searching for articles in English; for all that we like to imagine the internet is universal, search algorithms and search history is actually making it far harder than it used to be to find material with which you are completely unfamiliar. Secondly, western music did in fact have a notable impact on Chinese music, which is fine, it’s still Chinese, but I worried about everything I wrote just sounding like it was about western classical, which is a concern of mine I’ll address more later.

Since I wasn’t finding what I wanted, particularly for WWX, in the “art music” (aka, lowercase “c” classical music, which Wikipedia says is also known as “cultivated music, serious music, or canonical music”—ie, instrumental music with strings, winds, percussion) scene, I realized I needed to examine the other contemporary music, by which I mean everything else. Since I am most familiar with rock, Radiohead immediately came to mind, but Radiohead is a band, and there are lyrics. Though the lyrics are not where the meaning of Radiohead songs lie (the vocals are treated as largely instrumental), if there were lyrics, I’d need to write about them, and I didn’t want to. More importantly, Radiohead is singular in what they do, which makes them difficult to categorize, and this makes them difficult to describe textually. You can say that Radiohead revolutionized rock, or even reinvented it, but that is not really addressing how fundamentally avant-gardeRadiohead is. Describing how revolutionary Radiohead is on paper really is just saying “but they’re different!” over and over again.

What I needed for WWX was a music genre that was revolutionary, an entire school of music that felt cutting edge and frankly, unfamiliar, and for that, I realized I needed my brother.

Some stories about my family. My brother is a music artist who creates electronic music. If you want to understand why it took me this long to get to my brother in this thought process, you should understand a few things about him. First, I love him a lot, but we’re not very close. Second, my brother is probably the quietest person I know—like, idk, LWJ levels of non-talking. Last, I do not understand my brother’s music. I’ve tried! I listened to it a lot! But when I didn’t understand, I asked questions, and my brother cannot explain any of it. He’s an expressive guy! Just not verbally, and as a very verbal person, I have a tough time when people cannot use their words. Like, even asking him what type of music he plays, he’ll say something like, “It’s complicated.” (This is a lie. He’ll look at me and say, “Type?” And I’ll try to explain what I mean. And he’ll say, “I don’t know.” And if I said, “Okay, but if you had to label it?” He’d laugh and say, “Why?” And if I said, “So I can better understand your music,” he’d think for a long time, then look very frustrated, and laugh, and say, “I don’t know?” I think we’ve literally had this exact conversation).

Anyway, possibly through one of these type of exchanges, where I’m grilling him like a school marm and he’s acting like I’m making him take a standardized test he hates (I’m his little sister. Would it be easier to subject him to these horrors if he was my little brother?), I learned that one of my brother’s influences is Aphex Twin. My brother loves Aphex Twin. I . . . don’t. I’ve listened to a lot of him (in order to understand my brother better); I do not like it, and I do not understand it. My brother talks about Aphex Twin like he’s a genius (if and when my brother talks at all). Now, my brother is a very smart guy; it’s not that I didn’t believe him when he said Aphex Twin was a genius, but he also gets . . . swept up by things, and as previously discussed, he doesn’t talk a lot, so I didn’t really understand what my brother meant by this. It took hearing about Aphex Twin randomly, in a couple other places, for me to realize Aphex Twin is a Big Deal. When I looked up Aphex Twin at some point in order to better understand the music my brother makes, I found that Aphex Twin is considered by many to be a genius and also a pioneer. Apologies to all of you who already knew that about Aphex Twin.

Sidenote, my brother’s wife is also a musician, though not professionally. She could have been, considering that she was ranked as one of the top flute players in Texas, and Texas is fucking huge. But no, professionally, my sister-in-law is in cognitive science and linguistics, which you may remember was the career LWJ had in Say More (my fiancée is also a linguist. I also know a few other linguists. My life is convenient for my Wangxian AUs, I gotta say). I mention my sister-in-law because my sister-in-law has enough musical acuity to also recognize that both my brother and Aphex Twin are geniuses, which really helped me to understand that even though I’m not really into this music at all, it really is a Big Deal.

So, I researched Aphex Twin and also went to my brother’s website for his music to find out what the hell this type of music is called, and it turns out there’s not a good name. IDM, which stands for intelligent dance music, is a label Aphex Twin himself famously does not like, and my brother labeled his own music as “acid, techno, house, electro.” Wikipedia said that Aphex Twin is known for techno, ambient, and jungle.

Anyway, into this confusing morass of electronic revolutionary music is where I decided to plunk Wei Ying.

Electronic music. Note for this section that I know nothing about electronic music. I’m writing this post partly to document the journey of discovery I went on to write this porn. I’m not really trying to educate anyone so much as I’m trying to provide insight as to what I researched for this fic and what the references are, in case the fic interested you.

When you really get down to it, music made with electronics has as many genres and styes as music made with more traditional instruments, and the labels are just as confusing (see this Wikipedia list of electronic music genres). For instance, “electronica” just means music made with electronics to some people, but to others it’s more specific. You’ve also got a bunch of other terms: ambient, EDM, techno, house, IDM.

This is all based on what I learned from Wikipedia, but here are some loose definitions as I understand them: There’s ambient, which is really made for background listening, and then there’s EDM (electronic dance music), which is made for active listening—ie, dancing. Within EDM you have lots of genres, such as techno; techno is usually characterized by a specific tempo and repeating structure, and house, which . . . is also characterized by a specific tempo and repeating structure, but the tempo is different. From what I can gather, house is also a bigger tent than techno; ie, many different genres and styles can be house, but techno is more often just techno. (Note that part of the reason all of this terminology has so much overlap is that it originated in different places; techno was invented in Berlin, house in Chicago.) Meanwhile, the list of genres of house is so big that it also has its own Wikipedia page, which is almost as large as the list of electronic music genres.

Note that there is such a thing as “house ambient”, which explodes the entire concept of ambient vs EDM. To aid in that explosion, IDM is described on Wikipedia as including styles such as ambient techo, and “is regarded as better suited to home listening rather than dancing.” What stands out about IDM, and the reason it is featured in the fic, is that it’s known for being experimental. (I’ll add that it emerged in the 90s, which isn’t great for my fic. Whatever WWX is doing, he is on the edge, and 90s music already old to him, even if he’s Aphex Twin’s biggest fan! But alas, my research could not tell me what is happening right now, because you really have to be involved in The Scene to understand what’s new. By the time it’s documented, it’s already really a little old.)

If you are researching electronic music and how it is revolutionary, you’re probably going to get into its evolution and history, since this is a new style of music. And if you are looking into the origins of this kind of music, you’re going to find Brian Eno. And if you’re looking into Brian Eno, you’re going to find minimalism.

Minimalism. Brian Eno is an extremely famous dude. I’d probably heard of him before, but I am very good with big concepts and pretty bad with details, so because I didn’t know anything about the bigger concepts behind ambient/electronic music/minimalism, I never paid attention. Now I’m hearing about him literally everywhere, which is funny, since it’s not like he’s new news. Ezra Klein was literally waxing poetic about Music for Airports just a month ago.

Eno is famous for his pioneering work in ambient music and electronic music, and, as one might expect, electronic ambient. Eno was always doing experimental, avant-garde stuff, and early on he embraced a minimal style. He later coined the term “ambient music.”

What’s interesting about this is that around the same time as Eno was doing this in later 1960s/early 1970s, a new kind of art music was being born in classical circles. This is the capital “M” Minimal music, for which—you guessed it—Philip Glass is really famous. And when you look at Philip Glass’s influences, he was deeply influenced by the minimalism of eastern music, especially Indian and Tibetan music. I couldn’t really find anything saying that Brian Eno was directly influenced by traditional eastern music, but Eno is definitely a fan of Glass and vice versa; they really build on each other.

This ended up just being a very cool intersection for the fic that I didn’t plan. I didn’t end up using it very much, but I must say I was stupidly pleased that the kind of music I was looking into for both of these characters has such deep roots in eastern music traditions. So now let’s talk a little bit about eastern music, specifically Chinese music, since that’s where this fic is based.

Chinese music. I did read a bit about Chinese music for this fic, and I have to say that I still don’t know a lot about it. As stated above, I’m in the west, using my western search techniques, looking for primarily articles in English (though I get Google to translate some things). I also just have a western understanding of music and music history, and it turns out, surprise, different cultures are different, and my entire paradigm for understanding music does not really apply to music from other cultures.

I, and many of us, want music to be a universal language, something that can move through all barriers and touch us in our souls. And it is! I have listened to and loved music not from my culture! But thinking of music as something intrinsically universal and therefore immediately moving to everyone really collapses the rich history of musical tradition all cultures have. Music really is like a language, in that it is built on the culture that creates it; it has its own internal logic; it has style and meaning that depend on the history of that tradition and the understanding of its audience. The brief reading I’m going to do to write some porn will not give me to understand the deep and rich tradition of Chinese music, but also, frankly, even if I turned all my efforts and career to learning and understanding this right now, I still would not have the best comprehension. I don’t even comprehend western music, and I grew up with it. So, forgive me for the paucity of my understanding and knowledge, and please correct me if I make mistakes.

When I think about Chinese music that I know about, I think of two things: modern and traditional. The modern stuff I’m thinking of is stuff like C-pop, but also the things you might hear on the soundtrack for a drama or movie. To me, none of this music sounds that different than western pop or western soundtracks. There are a few reasons for this: one, there are tons of Chinese music that is not reaching me. Two, maybe I just think it doesn’t sound that different because I can only really process what I recognize. Three, in a similar vein, maybe I’m thinking “that sounds like what I know” when really what I know sounds like what I’m hearing. Globalization is definitely doing things to music; if you’re telling me that Asian pop is not influencing western pop right now, I’m going to think you’re crazy, considering the influence and popularity Asian pop has in the US and Europe right now. And four, western music did have an impact on Chinese music, so there’s that.

Obviously, the music genre I chose for Wei Ying falls into the modern sphere, and I certainly looked into the techno/EDM/IDM/electronic/ambient/house scene in China. Articles I found stated it took a little longer for EDM to pick up steam in China, but now it’s definitely going strong. There are some great electronic music festivals, EDM clubs, underground EDM scenes, and EDM music artists (composers and DJs!) in China. Researching these artists was pretty difficult, especially because I wanted Wangxian’s musical discussions to be highly technical, and for highly technical discussions about EDM you are wandering into some very niche spaces. I’m sure such spaces about EDM in China exist, but they’re most likely to be in Chinese.

As I’ve said, globalization is a factor when it comes to cultural difference in music, and I’d add here that because this genre of music is so new, globalization has even more influence, from what I can tell. That said, I do not want to diminish how much influence very specific locations have to do with this type of music. EDM is very tied to clubs (because of the dancing) and performance (because of deejaying, and also because of things like live coding/algorave), which is probably why we get so many granular genres of house—Chicago house is different from Detroit, just for example. Regardless, I stuck with researching a lot of western artists for both the music and musical discussions in the fic, mostly because the music is supposed to be so new and avant-garde that is should not be something overly familiar to the reader, even if they’re steeped in electronic music genres.

Then there’s traditional music.

Traditional music. Traditional music obviously had a huge influence on Chinese modern music. The influence of traditional eastern music on modern eastern music, as well as traditional eastern music itself, is what really influenced a lot of western minimalism of the 1960s and 70s (and onward). To be clear, not all “eastern” traditional music is the same. It’s just as richly diverse regionally as traditional western music, if not more so, given “the east” is fucking huge—though I will say that a lot of people think of western music as pretty monolithic, because folk is characterized as a separate tradition than classical. When you consider ancient western folk, there’s a shit ton of it, and it’s quite diverse. There is also folk music in eastern music traditions, and this is different than music that would have been played in courts and palaces, so there’s really a ton going on.

Traditional music is what people think of when they think of eastern music being “weird,” which is something I really hate. Look, I love being weird; I think weird is cool; it’s great. But weird means unusual, and traditional music is very usual; people who say that just mean it’s unusual for them, and they should think about their words. What they’re trying to say is that traditional eastern music will sound very different for many western listeners, even though, again, we like to think of music as so universal, actually!, because it’s based on math, actually!, and math is so universal!!! The truth is that math is patterns, and patterns are things that your brain recognizes when there are familiar elements, and when there are unfamiliar elements your brain has trouble recognizing the pattern. So, again, music is a way to communicate across all kinds of boundaries, but it is not a universal translator. (But it does make you wonder . . . if Lan Zhan played Inquiry, could Aeneas answer???)

Regarding the unfamiliar math, what we’re talking about is scales. I think most people know this part. Eastern scales are based on math, just like western scales, but the frequencies are divided up differently. Among other things, traditional Chinese music did not use equal temperament, which means depending on what note you start with, the intervals for all the notes on the scale were be different. A way of thinking about this, at least as I understand it, is that a piano is even tempered. All the notes are always the same whether you’re playing in C major or B flat, because you have no control over the frequency produced when you press the key. But if you’re using just intonation—say you’re using an instrument with just a few strings—you’re adjusting the frequency of the note to match your scale. It requires extremely precise hearing and playing ability.

Notation for traditional Chinese music was really different than how I as a westerner understand it. For one thing, it didn’t include rhythm, and for another, it represented more a framework for improvisation than every single precise note. (See Gongche notation, Wikipedia.)

Authorship was also thought of pretty differently. When I googled “great Chinese composers,” the only results I was getting were twentieth century. There are some great ancient Chinese composers, but I had to do a lot of digging to find them, and trying to find someone like the Chinese equivalent of Beethoven is just the wrong approach. When you get right down to it, this really seems to be about the fundamental difference between western individualism vs eastern collectivism and community-based thinking. The individual artist is not the hero of the story. That said, the tradition of the music is very heroic. For instance, the notation allows such variation that the same piece can really build and grow through different artists, much like a story through oral tradition. Additionally, for an artist in an ensemble piece to stand out would really be quite rude; the point is not the individual talent of the musicians but the fundamental beauty of the piece. (This was a particularly hard thing to research, and I mostly found out what I laid out above from various folks answering questions in forums. The best one I found is here.)

Another thing is that harmony, as we think of it, was just not really a thing in traditional Chinese music. The focus was on a melody, which is where minimalism comes in. I’d add here that the “as we think of it” is pretty important, because the western paradigm, including western music language, is not super great at really capturing the nuance of Chinese music. I am terrible at tracking my sources when I research stuff for fic, so I was trying to find some of them now, and I came across this article, which examines the harmony that did exist, but how different it is from what we think of when we think of western harmony.

Despite the reading I did on this subject, very little about Chinese traditional music made it into the fic. I do have Lan Zhan reading a book on traditional music that he hates. This isn’t based on a book I found, but rather to show that Lan Zhan isn’t really into the idea of musical “purity,” that is, ideas of what you should and shouldn’t do with music. That said, I’m not really aware of what strictures around traditional Chinese music are like, or what the Chinese thought is on that. I am aware of how deeply restrictive western thought is regarding music theory, and that’s really where that part of the fic was coming from.

I’d originally had Lan Zhan reading a book on western music theory and very deeply hating it, but I also felt like having him read a book on western theory could reinforce the idea that he’s working within a western paradigm, when really the whole point is that this Lan Zhan very intentionally uses traditional music values. Due to his inspiration from Wei Ying, he’s breaking the norms of how that music works, but he's not necessarily making it western; he’s making it avant-garde. Basically, my inspiration was a Chinese Philip Glass, but I didn’t want to say that because as mentioned above, Glass is still western, no matter his influences. That said, Wei Ying does compare Lan Zhan to Philip Glass and also Tan Dun, who you might recognize as the guy who did the soundtrack for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, among many other very famous projects.

Tan Dun has in fact been called the Chinese Philip Glass, which is probably not very respectful to Tan Dun, who is himself an incredible (and experimental!) composer. I should note, however, that Tan Dun is Chinese American—he was born in China, but got a degree at Columbia and has lived in New York since. Also, he is particularly famous for marrying Eastern traditionalism with western style, and that really wasn’t what I wanted for Lan Zhan. I didn’t want Lan Zhan to be incredible because he was using western traditions, though he is familiar with them and can make very talented use of them. A lot of very famous Chinese modern composer are famous for that, and that music is still very Chinese. That said, I felt that if I made that Lan Zhan’s style, it would feel like I was saying Lan Zhan’s music is special because it’s western, and that was something I really wasn’t keen on.

In the end, I possibly did the fic and traditional Chinese music a disservice by having Lan Zhan read his book and hate on it. One of the whole reasons western music theory sucks is it can be pretty racist, and that’s what I was trying to avoid, but by conflating my rage at western music theory with eastern, I didn’t really help things much. But anyway, since I’ve now mentioned it, let’s just take a slight detour to talk about what I mean by racist music theory.

Western music theory racism. There’s a scene in the movie Tár that really solidified my feelings on the subject. In it, a student who identifies as BIPOC and pangender, says they don’t really have much use for Bach because of Bach’s misogynist history. The extremely famous director, Tár, played by Cate Blanchett, lambasts the student for “cancelling” Bach because of Bach’s personal life. The student goes on to say that they really just don’t have much interest in cis male white composers, and Tár continues to lambast the student for considering things like gender and race in conjunction with the art.

My understanding of this scene was that it was demonstrating that Tár is a jerk, so full of herself that she can’t listen to other voices, and so steeped in her 18th century western ideas of genius that she’s literally silencing the music voices she’s supposed to support. That was not most people’s reading of the scene, and in retrospect, possibly not the intention of the film. It seems rather telling that not a lot is known about Bach’s misogyny or lack thereof; there are plenty of other “great” western composers that are known to be worse in terms of misogyny and abuse, and yet the film did not make this scene about them. In retrospect, maybe that scene wanted to paint this student as kind of ignorant for cancelling Bach, and Tár really puts them in their place when she describes how art is more important than the artist.

Fuck that. I certainly believe that art is more important than the artist. JK Rowling sucks; that doesn’t mean I will stop loving HP fic and the part it’s played in my life. But the ugliness of the scene is that it hinges on importance of Bach, and look here, shocker, Bach is not essential, just as JKR is not essential if you decide you don’t ever want to familiarize yourself with the literature of TERFs. Even if you want to be a musician and create or conduct music, Bach is just not essential.

He’s pretty important if you want to be a western music historian, true, but when we talk about music there are many, many music traditions that are incredibly worthwhile and important that not only weren’t created by cis white men, but also weren’t ever derived or influenced by cis white men. If you think that you need Bach to know and love and create and perform and conduct music, it’s because you’re operating in a single paradigm that has become yes, universally known, but also for that reason oppressive and imperialist. I am not saying western classical music is bad because it’s imperialist, just to be clear. Bach’s great! Hate ‘im, but I do love me some Beethoven and he was also very cis and male and white and also a complete douche! What I’m saying is that forcing this music tradition on others is deeply imperialist, and it happens all the time.

Anyway, this is really a tangent, because despite my very good intentions to write about Chinese music, as I have stated, almost everything I used for reference was western, even a lot of the stuff I listened to. Maybe I just wanted to acknowledge that that’s a little racist, even though I tried not to be. Maybe I also wanted to hate on Tár and leave you with this interesting video about white supremacy in music theory.

References. Finally, we’ve reached the part I had originally intended to post, which is why I started writing this. Below are the essays and articles I used to write this fic. They were used in three ways: 1) to describe the music (though I also listened to things, see next section), 2) to inform Lan Zhan’s critiques and Wei Ying’s ideas—though I read a lot of essays to do that, just a crazy amount considering how little of the fic is actually about that, and 3) to describe the reading material Wei Ying and Lan Zhan exchange.

Music Beyond Airports – Appraising Ambient Music

This is a series of essays largely focused around Brian Eno’s Music for Airports, though there’s a lot of other stuff as well. I didn’t read everything in here, but the collection is absolutely fascinating. “Ambient House: “Little Fluffy Clouds” And The Sampler As Time Machine” is one of the “articles” Wei Ying sends Lan Zhan; meanwhile, the collection as whole is what Lan Zhan sends Wei Ying when he says he’s been reading about ambient house. Additionally, “Adaptive Game Scoring With Ambient Music” really influenced Lan Zhan’s commentary about arpeggiation, the first time he comments on Wei Ying’s music.

Counterpoint - Tracking in the Music of Aphex Twin

I have some embarrassment about this, given that the article is about counterpoint, and as I have discussed above, eastern traditional music doesn’t really employ that in the way westerners think about it. However, it’s also pretty backwards to restrict Wei Ying to traditional eastern music, as modern Chinese music includes plenty of counterpoint, and part of the point of the fic is that Wei Ying is doing entirely new things that haven’t been done before. Well. They’ve been done by Aphex Twin, as described in this piece, which also describes the first piece that Wei Ying plays for Lan Zhan in the fic, in the car. I did lift the phrase “pedagogy of counterpoint,” and could not decide whether it was long enough or significant enough to credit in the fic.

Unequal Temperament: A Review of Aphex Twin’s SYRO

I can’t remember what I used this article for. It’s an interesting read.

Reverb Machine (the entire website)

This is the site I kept returning to over and over and over again. Most of the articles about electronic really focus on either the equipment used or chords. In the fic, Lan Zhan isn’t supposed to know much about equipment or how any of it is used, because he does not do electronic music. Also, I didn’t really want to talk much about chord progressions, because those discussions are steeped in western music theory, and I wanted it to be possible for Wei Ying to be using the kind of scales traditional Chinese music used, even if a lot of modern Chinese music does use an even-tempered 12-tone scale. However, this site has a lot, and I ended up returning to it again and again so Wei Ying could say an offhand thing about reverb, and to describe certain things.

Notably, Wei Ying’s track, sex.mp3 is loosely based around Trent Reznor’s and Atticus Ross’s soundtrack to The Social Network. I haven’t even talked about Trent Reznor, but he was also someone I considered deeply when I started thinking about making Wei Ying do electronic music. In case you don’t know, Reznor was the artist behind Nine Inch Nails, but in later years he moved on to more experimental things, including movie soundtracks. Side note, movie soundtracks and video games is where a lot of these experimental artists doing either minimalism, ambient, or electronica, or a combination of all three end up, and I ended up reading a lot about video game music.

But anyway, when I saw the Social Network, I came out of it 1) admiring Aaron Sorkin and wishing I didn’t admire Aaron Sorkin because he’s kind of a douche, 2) shipping Mark and Eduardo way too much for my comfort, 3) going HOLY SHIT THAT SOUNDTRACK. Turns out I was not alone in finding that soundtrack totally different and new compared to anything I have ever heard, because as it turns out, it really was—wait for it—revolutionary. I understand that I have now said that about Glass, Eno, Radiohead, and Aphex Twin, but hey, people are doing things in music. Like I get that pop and hiphop artists are revolutionizing their genres all the time, but also it is possible for music as we know it to be redefined, and it’s not just the weird shit you hear that sounds like noise (there is a place for the weird shit that sounds like noise, and Brian Eno is closer to it than any of the above mentioned; I am not dissing weird shit that sounds like noise, because it is part of how we get where we are going).

Anyway, I used this website’s essay about The Social Network’s piece, “In Motion” to describe some of the music and inform some commentary on it.

“East Meets West: A Musical Analysis of Chinese Sights and Sounds, by Yuankai BaoSounds, by Yuankai Bao” by Jiazi Shi

This was the only essay I found that really had the extremely niche technical jargon that I really wanted for the fic that was also about Chinese music. You’ll note that it’s about a Chinese composer who is, again, famous for marrying eastern and western tradition, but this was what I could find in English, and I searched a lot. You’ll note that Lan Zhan’s very specific comment about the key change is something very directly inspired by this grad school dissertation. You’ll also note that this is where I found “Flowing Stream,” including a description of the song and the lyrics.

Music. A lot of fics like this one will link you to a specific piece that the character is playing. I could not do that, because the music in my fic is very intentionally made up. As I have been saying, the whole point is that Wei Ying is pushing the boundaries, inventing music that does not exist. So is Lan Zhan, by the end. I listened to music to inspire the descriptions, but it is not what they are playing, and almost none of it is Chinese. I’d be very interested in finding some Chinese music that is working on some of the principles of minimalism and electronic that these pieces employ.

Aphex Twin – Stone In Focus

Now you’ve come to the climax—this is really the story of how I learned to love Aphex Twin. This piece makes me cry. It’s what I used to describe the piece that has the remix of Lan Zhan’s guqin piece from 12 years ago. Obviously, the guqin piece mentioned in the fic is the canonical piece, Wangxian, but I find Wangian in the drama cheesier than I want it to be, and this Aphex Twin piece doesn’t have the Wangxian part. It’s just the sad longing part before Wangxian enters, but you’ll also notice that there are no flutes! Again, this is not the piece Wei Ying wrote; it’s just what I used for the description.

I didn’t link to the YouTube video I was watching, because the video was a collection and this didn’t come on until after minute thirteen. But that video just has this very sad tunnel that looks like maybe it’s for a train, and the rain is falling, and that makes me cry as well: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHl4NVytGpo&t=1074s

Book featuring Ndidi O - Hold On, I'm Coming

Wait, you’re saying, this is not electronic/house/ambient at all; this is just a trick to get me to watch one of your favorite wangxian vids! You’re right! But frankly, I was not focused on the genre when describing the music; I was focused on getting the feel of it that I wanted. The opening sequence to this was what I used to describe the track they make love to. (Lan Zhan starts making out with him and kind of slowly humping him to the track with the wangxian remix, but then Lan Zhan demands he plays something else, and this is what I listened to to get the feel for it.)

This pieces is a cover, and frankly, I can’t find out much about it. But just thinking about it turns me on and makes me cry and makes me feel so much, I can’t do it too often.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – “In Motion,” from soundtrack to The Social Network

As noted above, this piece inspired sex.mp3, but I will say that the article I linked above about this piece, as well as the memory of the soundtrack itself, inspired descriptions more than listening to the piece itself. In the fic, sex.mp3 is initially described as “violent.” This was because I didn’t know if the track would play a big part in the fic, and then when it did, I really had to change to both to fit the meaning and the flavor I wanted; it became “anxiety inducing,” and that’s when it became “In Motion.” “In Motion,” however, is kind of too bright and peppy to really be sex.mp3, though I will say I was trying to listen to it just to write this section of the post, and I had to turn it off. It makes me SO anxious.

Philip Glass – soundtrack to The Hours

I’m linking the whole soundtrack, because in the fic Lan Zhan writes several related pieces, which is what this soundtrack is. I can’t even recommend one piece on this soundtrack, because it’s the thing as a whole that really makes you cry, and I can’t say I listened to a specific part of it to describe Lan Zhan’s music, because I know it so well that I only have to listen to a small piece to get all of it.  

Flowing Water, played by Chen Leiji

The part this played in the fic is obvious. I listened to at least five versions of Flowing Stream/Flowing Water, and this is the one that I like the best. However, like all the renditions I listened to, the piece eventually becomes pretty complex and different than I wanted for Lan Zhan. In fact, what the narration describes as “showing off technique” is what I found in all recordings of this piece. I guess if you’re going to play “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on YouTube you’re going to do something impressive with it, but I will say this piece is still very close to what I wanted.

I will also say that when I searched for this piece, as well as several other traditional songs, the search results had a lost of stuff that said you can listen to these pieces for tranquility and calm and meditation. I suggest listening to this one as extremely passionate and longing, and you’re going to get a lot more from it. If you resign it to the background, yeah, it’s kind of nice. If you let each note really speak to you, you’re going to really ache in a beautiful way.

Brian Eno – Ambient 1, Music for Airports

After hearing so much about Eno and Music for Airports, I was a little afraid I wouldn’t like it. After all, this isn’t really my genre, and witness how long it took me to find something I liked by Aphex Twin. However, I really needed some inspiration for the piece Wei Ying composes after Lan Zhan breaks them up, so I started listening to it.

The opening to this album is not the heartbreaking thing that the fic describes. It in fact does break my heart, but that is because there is something so sweet about it, lonely and sweet, but also perfectly fine being by itself. This piece is like a child alone in a room, figuring out blocks. This piece is like a cat on a piano, content with its nonsense noise. This piece is what it’s like to be alone and to be fine with that, to love from afar and be fine with that. It still brings me to tears, listening to it.

Radiohead – Everything in its Right Place

Apparently I did not succeed in writing all the music without Radiohead. I will say it happened because I happened to be watching a TV show that just happened to use this song right when I needed something powerful. I was already thinking about them, because my BFF was listening to a podcast about In Rainbows, which explains the children shouting “Yay!” in 15 Step. I really wanted something other than rain to get sampled in Wei Ying’s music, and my brother has specifically used his children talking or his babies crying as samples. Once Lan Zhan knows about A-Yuan, I wanted to use that idea, so I listened to 15 Step again, which is far too peppy for what I needed. But then Everything In Its Right Place came on, and it’s actually way too melancholy for what I needed, but that doesn’t really matter; I just needed to get a few notes described, so this is what I used for inspiration for what Wei Ying plays Lan Zhan after he admits to being in love with him. I will just say that re-listening to this song really does remind me of just how much Kid A means to me, but also how much it means to, like, music. There was really nothing like it at the time.

-

I will end this post by saying that I am not, in fact, a "music" person. So many people need and rely on music to get them through tough times. I mostly don't care about it. I don't have a Spotify account, and I can't imagine taking the time to really curate playlists.

But one thing I can say about me and my tastes is that I'm interested in learning. I want to try new things and hear things that I haven't heard before. To be a little self-aggrandizing, I think that that's a good thing. I think it makes me a better person to work on listening to things that I'm a little unfamiliar with and learn what's great about them. I think I got to do that quite a bit writing this, even though in the end I used a lot of pieces I was familiar with to do the actual writing. I hope that maybe someone reads this and decides to listen to something new, just like I did.

[wienersmosh]

done with the smosh membership. :)

i cancelled my membership a couple of weeks ago and here's why.

i was a smosh royalty member. as some of you know it comes with access to the official smosh discord server. i was never very active on it. in the ~5 months that i used it i only checked it a handful of times. i had not even opened the discord app since december 2023.

last month, i decided to open the app. it said that i was not a member of any servers and with the help of a couple of friends who were still members, we figured out that i was banned. (and just today i also found out that i had been banned from the youtube livechat, which i couldn't have known sooner bc i missed the past few livestreams.) one of them reached out to a well-known mod -- a popular smosh fan artist here on tumblr, iykyk -- and asked on my behalf why i was banned. the mod refused to say why, but it didn't matter. it was either i said something inflammatory to someone (doubt it, bc i was barely on it), or because i had been leaking members-only content which, to be fair to them, i have. and i'm 99% sure it was the latter.

now... i don't know for sure who snitched or how they managed to trace it back to my discord profile and youtube account -- but i have a theory. the platform i'm most active on is smosh twitter, where i did occasionally post bts photos, screenshots of bts videos and livestreams, and little clips here and there and included those clips in edits. but even so, i highly doubt it was from my twitter account that they traced back my discord and youtube. i don't have my discord handle anywhere on my twitter and vice versa. any mention or hints of my youtube account have long been buried bc i tweet 50 million times a day.

i'm not saying no one has snitched on me for my twitter account, i'm sure at least a few people have bc my account had 1.3k followers and it was public. what i'm saying is that it couldn't have been my twitter that linked back to my discord and yt. i have a hunch that it's this tumblr post with this ianthony edit of mine, which includes multiple clips of bts videos, that got me into trouble. when i posted it, my tumblr url was different to the one i have now, and my old url was similar to my discord handle and youtube display name, and i'm positive that's how they traced it back to me.

i'm not going to make outright accusations and name them specifically bc i have no concrete proof. but i have a strong hunch that it's a specific smosh fan artist here on tumblr who happens to be a discord mod that did this sleuthing and banned me. and the only thing i have to go off of is that they weirdly have me blocked here on tumblr despite me never interacting with them in any way that could be construed as harassment. all i ever did was dm them and ask if i could see ian's halo fanfics from back in the day. that's it.

and you know what? i can't be too mad about being banned. again, i rarely used discord, so it's not like i lost something that i used regularly, and i did break a rule. it's not like they banned me for no reason. i get it.

but the part that upsets, or i guess, confuses me is that after i had been banned from the discord and the livechat, i was still technically a member. i was still being charged $20 AUD/month and i still had access to all their bts content. banning me from the discord and livechat wouldn't have even stopped me from leaking their content. so it's like... what was the point? it definitely wasn't loss prevention. i can't help but feel that this was more of a social punishment than a legal one. i think if they hit me with a copyright notice i'd be less offended, bc then i'd get the message that this is just business to them and they can't let people steal. but banning someone from the community, so to speak, but not from paying for and accessing your content, seems like such a petty, mean girl, "you can't sit with us" kind of punishment? does this make sense? especially bc it's up to the mods' discretion which people to ban AND not every single person who has leaked content is even being punished.

idk. i know i'm in the wrong in a technical sense, but cracking hard on stupid shit like leaking photos and clips -- not even full videos being uploaded somewhere else -- makes me feel like they're turning fans against each other. those who can pay vs those who can't pay. rule breakers vs snitches. no wonder there aren't a lot of ianthony stans nowadays -- most of the content we want to discuss is behind a paywall now.

i just think there should be a difference between major leaks, like uploading entire videos for everyone to see for free, and fans still being able to make fan content out of bts stuff. bc why is including one-second clips in a 30-second edit enough to get someone banned? no one is watching my edit in lieu of signing up for a membership. it's literally free marketing to entice people to sign up but i guess they don't want that.

so... here i am now. i still love smosh, i still love ian and anthony, but i don't have to further support them as a business anymore beyond just watching their videos. banning me from engaging with the community but not from paying for their content and doing free publicity and marketing for them made it clear to me they did not see a human being behind the fan account. i was just a source of revenue to them.

goodbye, smosh membership. i'm still a fan, but i guess i wasn't that important.

[thevindicativevordan]

I know you're saving your big thoughts on MAWS for the end of the season, but what did you think of episode 6's use of Evil Superman?

Sucks, but I get why they’re doing it. This is the Gen Z (or is it Gen Alpha at this point?) Superman, and what has Gen Z grown up with?

The DCEU, DC’s first attempt at a shared universe, revolves around an evil Superman plot.

Injustice, the most commercially successful DC video game franchise outside the solo Batman video games, revolves around evil Superman.

The DCAU, the prior DC animated continuity, had fucking three evil Superman plotlines, one of which in Cadmus served as the spine of the JL show.

Am I happy to see this plotline again? No. I’m tired of it, it’s beyond played out, almost as played out as shoving Batman into everything Superman. But I get why they chose to go this route. Due to the sheer popularity and amount of stories about Superman breaking bad, any Superman take that aims to present him as a hero pretty much HAS to acknowledge the elephant in the room that his counterparts have a bad habit of snapping. You have to go “no, REAL Superman won’t turn on us no matter what and here’s why”. Superman & Lois did that in its first season too.

Besides, I have a hunch where this is going. I suspect it’s not Injustice this show is aiming to emulate, but the other young Superman show: Invincible. Just like how Mark has to reckon with all his evil counterparts who sided with his father in taking over Earth, I believe MAWS Clark is going to be told that it’s his destiny to conquer Earth for the Kryptonian Empire… and some of his counterparts accepted that destiny. Our Superman won’t of course, but it will cause him no small amount of angst and throw another wrench into the Clois romance.

At least they used the cool evil Superman suit with Justice Lord Superman.

[therealslimshakespeare]

did u expect that lu would become this beloved. like literally = peoples princess

Haha no, I had no way of expecting that, lol. But I did have a hunch that as she’s the most likable and least problematic she’d probably end up the most popular. Which, maybe she did? But not this level of love ha

[bloody-bee-tea]

24 Days of Satosugu 2023 Day 9 - Popular

Suguru gives a polite smile to the girl in front of him. He’s certain she told him her name but he can’t remember it, even though it’s been less than three minutes.

Satoru is lingering a few steps away, something like a sneer on his face ever since Suguru stepped away with the girl when she had asked him to. It’s not the first time a virtual stranger confesses their feelings to him and Suguru is certain that it won’t be the last either, though it never means anything to him.

“That is very nice of you,” he says to the girl when she gives him some chocolate with a letter attached. “But I can’t take that.”

“Oh,” she breathes out. “Are you already taken?”

Suguru’s eyes flit over to Satoru again, and he wishes the answer was yes but all he can say is “You should really find someone else to give that to.”

The girl looks down at the chocolate and then sighs.

“I guess I should, huh?” she asks, with a wry smile on her face and Suguru is thankful that this one at least doesn’t seem to be a crier.

He had way uglier encounters in the past.

“I hope you have a good day,” he says, turning away from her with a wave and going back to Satoru, leaving the girl standing there.

Satoru’s eyes are still on her, though and Suguru wonders if he’s jealous, if he had his eyes on her and the thought makes something in Suguru’s chest clench painfully.

“You should have at least taken the chocolate,” Satoru complaints as soon as Suguru is close enough to do so and Suguru huffs out a laugh.

He should have known that was the thing Satoru was fixated on.

“That would have been mean, since I have no intention of ever calling her or seeing her again,” he gives back and bumps their shoulders together. “Now, lunch?”

“You are the one who made me wait,” Satoru grumbles out and Suguru frowns.

It might not be visible to everyone, but Suguru can see that Satoru is upset about something.

“What’s going on?” Suguru asks and Satoru shuffles on his feet.

“Nothing.” It’s such an unbelievable lie that Suguru doesn’t even bother to say anything to that and simply stares Satoru down.

Most people might be unable to hold prolonged eye contact with Satoru, but not Suguru. He has always won in a staring contest.

“I didn’t know you’re this popular,” Satoru finally huffs out and Suguru allows himself a small smile, because he knew Satoru would fold in no time.

“I don’t care about it,” Suguru says with a shrug and tugs on Satoru’s sleeve to get them back on track.

He’s hungry now and lunch does seem like a very good idea.

“Clearly. She was cute, though, wasn’t she?” Satoru asks and Suguru frowns at him.

“Satoru, you do know that—” I’m in love with you, he doesn’t say and instead finishes with “I’m gay, right?”

Satoru blinks at him as if that’s new information to him and Suguru fondly shakes his head. Only Satoru would miss something that Suguru wasn’t even hiding from him.

“I see,” he gives back and his voice sounds strange enough that Suguru comes to a stop.

“That a problem?” Suguru wants to know and for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Satoru says yes.

“No? I mean, I’m bi, so what would it matter to me, it’s just—I didn’t know,” he rambles out and that makes his previous reaction even more confusing.

“Then what’s tripping you up?” Suguru asks and Satoru avoids his eyes.

“I never see any guys hitting on you. Or—well, you hitting on any guys,” he whispers out, his hands in his pockets and hunched over as if he was bracing against a cold wind.

There are several things Suguru wants to say to that, but no words make it past his lips. The guys they come across usually try to hit on Satoru, which Suguru discourages with biting glares and the only guy Suguru ever wants to hit on is standing right in front of him, absolutely oblivious to Suguru’s feelings.

No, these are not things Suguru can say to Satoru.

“I like it that way,” Suguru finally says, hoping to shut that particular conversation down, and yet he still can’t help but to add: “What, you jealous of the attention I do get?”

“No, it’s just—no one has ever hit on me,” Satoru mutters, and clearly that matters more to him than he likes to admit.

And it’s not even true. People of all genders havedsdshave hit on Satoru, it’s just that usually it flies right over his head. There was even that one guy who put a hand inappropriate close to Satoru’s ass which Satoru still didn’t pick up on and ever since then Suguru has deterred any and all flirting attempts.

If people can’t even be decent about it, then he’s not going to let them close to Satoru.

“Does that matter to you?” Suguru asks because he was just trying to keep Satoru safe, but if that makes him unhappy then maybe he’ll have to change something.

“Not really, it’s just a little bit of a blow for the ego, isn’t it?” Satoru gives back, a forced smile on his lips and Suguru wonders why he even needs the ego boost.

Satoru’s ego is already big enough as it is and everyone they know always tells him that he’s too pretty anyway. Which is not even true, because in Suguru’s eyes, Satoru is entirely perfect.

“I wouldn’t know, it never mattered to me,” Suguru replies with a shrug. “I only ever feel vaguely uncomfortable when strangers hit on me.”

“But you’re always so nice about it.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t have a reason to be mean to them.”

At least not to the ones hitting on Suguru himself. He is being plenty mean to people who want to hit on Satoru.

Satoru only hums at his answer and Suguru can tell that he’s really upset about this. Suguru doesn’t like the thought of letting strangers hit on Satoru again, but clearly it’s bothering him that no one has gotten a chance to do so lately and Suguru vows to stop glaring at everyone.

Surely some of the people who want to hit on Satoru must be nice enough to not cross any boundaries, like that girl just now.

Suguru is not going to like it—will probably hate every second of it—but he hates Satoru’s sad and dejected face even more.

If this is something he can do for Satoru, then he will.

~*~*~

“That guy wasn’t asking you for directions,” Suguru mildly says, because he just knows that this went right past Satoru.

“What? Of course he wanted to know, he asked about the main station,” Satoru gives back and Suguru sighs, before he points towards the huge ass sign right across the street that points towards the main station.

“Huh,” Satoru says. “What did he want, then?”

“He was hitting on you,” Suguru informs him and he’s proud that his voice doesn’t sound as bitter as he feels.

At least he now has confirmation that Satoru doesn’t intentionally ignore his flirting attempts; by now, Suguru is convinced that Satoru wouldn’t know he was being flirted with if Suguru should state it outright.

“He was what?”

“He was hitting on you,” Suguru dutifully repeats because it’s clear that Satoru doesn’t believe him at all.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before Satoru slumps.

“I didn’t notice,” he whines out and despite everything, Suguru has to snort out a laugh.

“Yeah, that was painfully obvious.”

“How do you pick up on stuff like that, it’s so hard,” Satoru mutters, looking after the guy who left.

He’s long gone but still, Suguru can’t help but to wonder if Satoru regrets it, if he would have been receptive to his flirting if he had picked up on it.

“It’s actually not,” Suguru says but doesn’t elaborate because it’s not as if he wants Satoru to notice every idiot flirt with him. It’s bad enough that Suguru already has to see, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Satoru ever reciprocates anything, even if it would be just a little harmless fun.

“Help me understand,” Satoru whines out and hangs himself off Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru doesn’t have to look at him to know that Satoru is blinking his puppy eyes up at him as if they still have any effect on Suguru.

He’s ashamed to admit that they do still work pretty well, but mostly because Suguru can never find it in him to say no to Satoru. The puppy eyes are just overkill at this point.

“If someone around our age comes up to you for whatever reason, you can generally assume they are there to hit on you,” Suguru finally presses out even though he very decidedly doesn’t want to.

“There was this girl yesterday,” Satoru muses.

“Who asked if you dropped the pen? Yeah, flirting,” Suguru immediately replies and it wasn’t even a very good pretence.

They were walking down the street with no bags to speak of, how would Satoru ever lose a pen like that.

“Huh,” Satoru says. “Now that I think about it, there have been a lot of things like that happening the last few days. I wonder why that is.”

Wonder no more, Suguru wants to say, but he bites his tongue. He did stop glaring at people who want to approach Satoru, but he is still not liking it.

And it’s not as if Suguru allows everyone to come close; he has a very good eye for creeps by now and he make sure to keep those as far away from Satoru as he can.

“Can we go now?” Suguru asks in a clear attempt to distract Satoru and he breathes a sigh of relief when Satoru seems to forget all about it and explains yet again why the café they are going to is the best one there is.

Suguru dutifully listens and nods in all the right places, and really, he likes this much more than having to stand by and watch random people hit on Satoru.

~*~*~

Suguru grits his teeth as he watches the guy Satoru is currently talking to slides his hand down his arm as if he has any right to it, which he doesn’t. Suguru is the only one who is allowed these liberties with Satoru, but clearly Satoru doesn’t think the same, because he does nothing to stop the wandering hand.

Suguru has to watch how the guy smoothly transfers his hand from Satoru’s arm to his waist and he has to give it to him, that is one hell of a move. Suguru could appreciate it more, if it wasn’t done on Satoru, though.

He holds out for a while longer, but when the guy leans close to whisper something into Satoru’s ear, Suguru finally snaps.

“I think that’s enough,” he bites out as he reaches for Satoru’s arm to pull him back, pulls him to his side where he belongs.

Satoru seems mostly confused, but the guy immediately glares at Suguru. He is not one to be out-glared though, so he gives the guy a look so nasty, it makes him turn around on his heels and walk away almost immediately.

“Suguru?” Satoru asks, not moving away, but clearly more than confused about the entire situation.

“Sorry,” Suguru breathes out and immediately lets go of Satoru. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Satoru wants to know, staying right where he is, pressed to Suguru’s side.

“He was being—pushy,” Suguru mutters in explanation. “He shouldn’t have taken that liberty with you.”

It’s not even a good explanation. Clearly Satoru hadn’t minded his advances at all and the only one who seems to have a problem with the entire situation is Suguru.

“I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” he rushes to add before Satoru can even say something.

“Was he flirting with me?” Satoru asks and of course this went right over his head again.

Suguru doesn’t even know why he worries in the first place, because Satoru never knows.

And there’s the danger, a voice in Suguru’s head whispers. Who knows how far people are going to push and Suguru is not going to take the chance that Satoru feels belatedly uncomfortable, once he realises what the true intent was.

“Satoru, please,” Suguru breathes out. “Of course he was flirting with you. You really have to be more perceptive of that; he was standing way too close, only looking at you, and that hand on your arm, your waist? Of course he was flirting.”

At that Satoru looks down, looks at the distance between them, before he looks back at Suguru’s face, and Suguru can feel himself blush because of course he’s still looking at Satoru.

He’s only ever looking at Satoru.

“Are you?” Satoru finally asks him and an immediate denial is on the tip of Suguru’s tongue but it dies a quiet death when Satoru steps even closer, all but presses against him. “Are you?” he asks again, his voice a mere whisper in the space between them and really, what is Suguru supposed to say to that other than the truth.

“Thanks for finally noticing,” he gets out and then braces for the inevitable rejection. Now that Satoru knows what he’s doing, Suguru is certain he’ll have a few choice words for him.

“All this time?” Satoru says with a frown, clearly wrecking his brain and Suguru sighs.

“All this time, Satoru,” he admits and then takes a step back. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru is still frowning but when Suguru moves away he follows, as if he was being pulled by in invisible leash.

“No,” he replies to that and Suguru’s heart falls.

Of course Satoru wouldn’t simply accept his apology; not after all this time.

“Satoru, I’m—”

“Don’t apologise,” Satoru fiercely gives back. “I’m sorry for never noticing.”

“It’s very on brand for you,” Suguru sighs out but falls silent when Satoru shakes his head even as he reaches out for Suguru’s hand.

“No, I should have noticed, I was paying so much attention to you,” he mutters. “I don’t know how to flirt.”

“Yeah, that one is painfully obvious,” Suguru replies, his heart in his throat because Satoru’s hand is still in his and Suguru can’t help but to wonder where this is going.

“I’m flirting with you,” Satoru says. “Well, I would be, if I knew how. I want you flirting with me, though,” he rushes to add and a small smile tugs on Suguru’s lips.

“For fun or—?” he can’t help but to teasingly asks because the blush on Satoru’s face makes the answer more than obvious.

“You’re so mean to me, making me say it,” Satoru complaints and then he doesn’t actually say anything because instead he leans forward and claims Suguru’s lips in a kiss.

“Answer received,” Suguru says when they part and he properly threads their fingers together.

“You were stopping people from flirting with me before, weren’t you?” Satoru asks with a happy sigh and Suguru shrugs, completely unrepentant.

“Go back to it, I don’t care for the attention.”

“But you were complaining about how popular I was and you weren’t,” Suguru teases him and Satoru melts against his side.

“I have the only one I want paying attention to me, what do I care about others?” he mutters, his head on Suguru’s shoulder and Suguru briefly wonders what sight they must make to the strangers around them.

He just hopes they all understand that Satoru is his.

“Alright then, no more flirting for you.”

“Except when it comes from you,” Satoru immediately replies and Suguru drops a kiss to the top of his head.

“Except when it comes from me,” he agrees and squeezes Satoru’s hand.

Satoru will be able to pick up on his flirting in no time, Suguru will make sure of that by showering him with love, just like Satoru deserves.

[jelloduckie]

I aggressively read and looked over The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde just so I could draw them so hello!!! Here's my take + notes Jekyll ~

Here's all my notes from the book (thank you Mr. Utterson): - a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty - something of a stylish cast - every mark of capacity and kindness - large handsome face His hands brought to you by the man himself: - professional in shape and size - large, firm, white and comely Misc notes: - elderly and discontented doctor - imperfect and divided countenance And that's all we got... we have Hyde's differences that kind of display what he at least isn't. But anyways my dears! With this info I decided his clothes would be well fitted and move with him. Dignified air to him with a soft smile. He's larger in size but fit/tall, lovely big hands too :3c I took the liberty to make his eyes green since the potion he took to turn back into Jekyll was a "watery green." I also thought a dimple would suit him (completely indulgent). He is aged but I assume not many wrinkles, kind of baby faced for his age, whitening hair and wrinkles by the eyes will do (I don't want him to look young). I actually couldn't help myself but have a similar hairstyle to Fredric March (no description of hair in book). Brownish hair since it seems popular with his character but a lighter shade from the "younger" Hyde. Speaking of! Hyde ~

I actually drew him before Jekyll. He is quite easier to envision with so much description in the book. I perceive I'll draw him more accurately to my notes the more I draw the fellows (I couldn't bear to fix this already good sketch).

Physical appearance: - smaller, slighter, younger - lost in stature / shrunken limbs - pale and dwarfish - evil written broadly and plainly on the face - livelier image, more express and single - imprint of deformity and decay - deformity without any nameable malformation - displeasing smile - ugly idol His clothes: - rich and sober fabric - enormysly too large for him in every measurement - trousers hanging off his legs, rolled up to keep them from the ground - waist of the coat below his haunches - collar sprawling wide upon his shoulders - clothes hung formlessly - very plainly dressed His hands: - lean, corded, knuckly - of a dusky pallor - thickly shaded with a swart growth of hair - corded and hairy (again, seems like a hyde trademark) Misc notes: - husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice - comparative youth, the light step - murderous mixture of timidity and boldness - troglodytic

So, Mr. Hyde is definitely not deformed physically, it's more of a personality deformation that people can just "sense." His smile is striking, so the best way to portray his evil would be with how his face contorts when making expressions. His timidness is important, he'd most likely be hunched over, reclusive yet have an air of boldness, which is equally as important. His hair unkempt and wild in comparison to Jekyll for his "livelier" image and darker in color for a youngness. I didn't portray his clothes correctly in my sketch but it's alike. To add a pinch of difference in character I made his pant stripes green, to contrast Jekyll's red. To hammer this in I made Hyde's eyes red instead of green to tie them together completely. His boots have a red shine, Jekyll's would have a green if I had drawn them. Why red? "The mixture, which at first of a reddish hue-", "compound changed to a dark purple, which faded again more slowly to a watery green." To me this clearly demonstrates the change from Hyde to Jekyll (which the potion was for).

I was originally going to draw them side by side for a better comparison, but Hyde is supposed to be considerably short while still being very thin (not lanky). I also would say his boots would be too big for Hyde (which I didn't draw here).

Thank you for reading my observations *bows gayly*

[dramioneasks]

can you recommend anything like "begged and borrowed time" by romanticmisanthrope on ao3 that's completed or at least not abandoned? i have already looked at the tags and read "wait and hope" and most of the other popular memory loss fics btw. i love the idea of d or hr GAINING memories after an accident and the other being their healer. maybe it isn't an idea that's been explored much but if there is anything else like it i would hate to miss it. thanks for any help you can offer!!! ❤️❤️

Link to Me - GirlInPeriwinkleBlue - T, 41 chapters - After an accident occurs that lands Hermione Granger in St. Mungo’s, she sees a face she has not seen in three years and her life is flipped upside down in more ways than one

familiar faces, worn out places by lovesbitca8 - M, one-shot - “You are at St. Mungo’s. You were in a coma.” He looks me over again, taking a pause. “I am a Healer here now,” he says, like it explains something. My fingers stretch, drifting across his sleeve. He looks down, like I’ve thrown mud at him. Forcing my vocal chords together for the first time, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

The Healer’s Guide To Transfiguration - malpal132 - E, one-shot - It happens like this: Hermione is hunched over her desk like some kind of Tolkien goblin, essentially deep-throating three Sambal fish tacos from Del Seoul in a desperate bid to finish a late lunch before her next appointment (she’d rather choke to death than be late) when a light knock on the open door makes her head snap up. “Dr. Granger?” Holy shit. Holy shit. Her previous nonchalance about choking to death vanishes when she sees who’s standing in her door and a piece of fish hunkers down for a long winter in her esophagus. “Are you–shall I perform the Heimlich?” He asks, face familiar and concerned as he moves a step closer. “I don’t think your face should be that shade of purp–” She cuts him off by vomiting into the trash can. Airway finally clear, she gulps a few greedy breaths. Her lungs expand and her face burns, and Hermione genuinely wonders if she’s hallucinating. She’s not prone to fantastical thinking even though she’s well acquainted with the fantastic, but…why else would Draco Malfoy be standing in front of her? Malfoy, on crutches. Malfoy, handing her a tissue? Malfoy, but…not. It’s complicated.

The Girl Without a Face - ironstarkk - M, 66 chapters, Words: 132,889 - A story of heartache, devotion and lost memories. "Not tonight, maybe tomorrow though.“ ___ "Who are you?” Draco asked cautiously as he watched the woman rinse her soapy hands under the lukewarm water. The woman didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder when she scoffed slightly. Draco didn’t know what to think, but he demanded to know what was going on. "You don’t remember me?“ The woman finally spoke, her hands reaching for the faucet as she dried them with a towel. She turned to look at the blonde boy, a curious glint in her soft, brown eyes. "Good. That makes my job so much easier." ___ Draco Malfoy, believed to be murdered during the war, finds himself awakening from a coma seven years later during which all his memories had vanished. Healer Hermione Granger, heartbroken from the betrayal weighted upon her, forces herself to cast her own emotions aside, and former resentment for the blonde wizard, to help him search for his lost memories and return to full recovery.

-Lisa