#i think it's strange but i support true love in most of it's forms

[httpiastri]

have you heard about the ollie and Estelle drama and what do you think about it?

i have…… my take is that it's all just really weird. i hate people for going waaaaaay too far to get information about her just because she's dating an f2 driver, like pls get a hold of yourselves…. but her lying about her age? 🥴 it's one thing if she just never said anything about her age and ppl assumed, but she actually said several times that she's 21… and then she's 24/25? with an 18-year-old? hmmmm

[berryispunk]

What It Feels Like

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: soft! Frankie, supportive! Frankie, insecure reader, unprotected PiV, praise, Frankie talks you through, oral f!receiving (it’s Frankie duh), no cock or pussy pronouns, it’s so soft and sweet it may give you cavities, first time sex with a new partner, no physical description of reader

summary: You've been on a few dates with Frankie, and now you're ready to take things a step further.

word count: ~ 5k (most of it smut, sorry not sorry)

notes: We all need and deserve a man like Francisco Morales. That’s all I have to say.

Frankie Morales is the kind of man you didn’t think actually existed—until he was standing right in front of you. Real. Breathing. In color. Before him, men like this were just stories you heard or dreams you barely dared to entertain: attentive, funny, caring. Too good to be true, you told yourself. No man like that could seriously be interested in you. Not someone who felt like he’d walked out of a Hallmark movie, tailor-made from every woman’s wishlist.

And yet, here he was. Sitting across from you on your fourth date, all the awkward conversations about exes and bad decisions already behind you. And still—he stayed. He looked you in the eyes, held your gaze a second too long, and it did something strange to your stomach.

You’d made an effort tonight, pulling on the one dress your best friend had talked you into buying—despite not being, and likely never becoming, a “dress girl.” You’d thrown on your favorite worn-in denim jacket over it, the one with the LGBTQIA+ pin stuck proudly on the collar. Not because you were part of the community—not really—but because love in every shape and form deserved to be seen. It was about respect.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder about Frankie. Was he straight? Maybe it was instinct. Maybe curiosity. But there was something in the way he moved, how comfortably he carried himself, that made you think he’d at least tested those boundaries. You didn’t mean to ask. Not really.

It had been sitting in the back of your mind like a song you couldn’t quite shake—something about the way Frankie moved, how he held your gaze without flinching, how he seemed so at ease in his skin. It stirred an interest in you that wasn’t just about him, but about yourself too.

You'd only known him for a few weeks, but there was something disarming about him. He made you feel safe and exposed all at once, like you were teetering on the edge of something you didn’t have words for yet. That’s probably why the question slipped out, soft and half-swallowed, as you tucked your hands beneath the table to hide the way your fingers fidgeted.

“Have you ever kissed a guy?”

Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, but it still landed in the air between you with enough weight to make your stomach flip. You immediately regretted it. Not because you thought he’d judge you, but because—God, what if he didn’t answer? Or worse, what if he looked at you like you were too much too soon?

But Frankie didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk, didn’t shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yeah,” he said simply, like you’d asked what his favorite band was. “Once. During training. We were bored, I think. Or curious. I didn’t really like it... but I didn’t mind it either. It just happened.” Then he smiled—not defensive, not cocky. Just honest. “It’s not a big deal.”

You didn’t know what to do with that kind of calm. Your face went warm, embarrassment blooming before you could stop it. You looked down at your lap, suddenly hyper aware of how little you knew about people like him. People who lived in their bodies like they weren’t something to be ashamed of. Frankie’s voice came softer now, like he felt the shift in you. Like he noticed, even if you didn’t want him to.

“Hey,” he said gently, “have you ever kissed a girl?”

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes still fixed on your hands. “Sadly not. But… I think I would. If I had the chance.”

There was a beat of quiet before he said, with a grin just teasing the corner of his mouth, “Something tells me you’d be good at it.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “Frankiiiie.”

His foot brushed yours beneath the table, the tiniest nudge. “I’m just saying,” he murmured, “you don’t have to be sure of everything right now. You get to find out what you like. No pressure.”

And somehow, just like that, the shame eased off your chest. Frankie didn’t make you feel small. He made you feel seen.

You hesitated, teeth pressing into your bottom lip, the words forming before you could decide whether you really wanted to say them.

“I’ve thought about… experimenting,” you admitted quietly, like it was some kind of confession. “But I don’t know. I’m too… in my head. Too uncomfortable in my own body half the time. I mean, I hardly attract men—how am I supposed to let a woman know I’d be interested?”

You laughed under your breath, not because it was funny, but because it was the only way to soften how exposed you suddenly felt. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I don’t say things like this to people, sorry.”

Frankie was quiet for a moment, and you risked a glance at him. He wasn’t looking at you like you’d said too much. He wasn’t looking at you with pity, or amusement. He was just… looking. Present, gentle. The kind of gaze that steadied your shaking breath.

“Maybe that’s just the effect I have on you,” he said softly, a little smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. Then, a beat later, his voice dropped a little lower, became a little warmer. “But I’m pretty much interested in you. Or… did I make you feel otherwise?”

Your whole body reacted like it had been dunked in warm water—your chest, your face, even your fingertips burning with the weight of his words. You tried to breathe, but it came out too fast, too shallow. You couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“No,” you managed, voice small. “You didn’t.”

Frankie didn’t press or tease. He just leaned back a little, like he knew you needed space to feel everything without it swallowing you whole.

“Okay then,” he said simply. “Just making sure.”

You weren’t ready for the evening to end, not really, but the night air had settled into that crisp kind of quiet that made everything feel more intimate—more real. “I’ll walk you home,” Frankie offered as you both stepped out onto the sidewalk. No hesitation, no need to ask if it was okay. Just the kind of thing he did—like it was natural to want to make sure you got home safe. Natural to be near you a little longer.

You nodded, hugging your denim jacket tighter around yourself, hoping the cool air would do something to calm the fire in your chest. It didn’t. You walked in a comfortable silence, the street lamps casting soft gold light across the pavement. Your fingers brushed once. Then again. And then—gently, like he’d done it a thousand times before—Frankie took your hand.

His fingers laced easily through yours, warm and steady. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent your thoughts spiraling in about seventeen directions.You tried to play it cool. Didn’t squeeze back too hard, didn’t let your breath hitch too much. But inside? Absolute chaos. Giddy, flustered, chest-tight chaos.

And of course, because he was Frankie, he noticed.

He glanced at you sideways, a soft little grin tugging at his mouth. Absolutely adorable. Then, he lifted your joined hands slightly and asked, “Is this okay?” His kind eyes searched yours—not teasing, not smug. Just quietly sincere, like he was pointing at something fragile. Like you were.

Your heart practically stumbled over itself.

“Yeah,” you said, a little breathless, a little too fast. “Yeah, it’s… it’s good. I mean—nice. It’s nice.”

Frankie chuckled under his breath, just enough to let you know he heard the slip and didn’t mind one bit. He gave your hand a small, reassuring squeeze, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like you weren’t spiraling inside. Like this wasn’t the first time someone held your hand and actually meant something by it.

And for once, the voice in your head didn’t argue.

The walk home was somehow too long and not long enough. And now here you stood—at your door, under the soft hum of the porch light, trying to figure out how to say goodnight when goodnight was the last thing you wanted.

The quiet wrapped around you both, thick with something unspoken. Frankie hadn’t let go of your hand, his thumb brushing small, absent circles against your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you.

You didn’t want him to leave. That feeling bloomed heavy in your chest and curled low in your stomach—longing, warm and aching. You wondered if he felt it too. If he was thinking about crossing that line the same way you were.

But then—you didn’t have to wonder anymore.

Frankie stepped in closer, slow enough that you could have pulled away, but you didn’t. His other hand came up to cradle the side of your face, calloused fingertips warm against your skin. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes burned, intense and wanting—but his tone was still that same soothing voice that made you feel like you could fall apart in front of him and he wouldn’t flinch.

All you could do was nod.

And then he was kissing you.

Tentative, at first—gentle, like he was giving you time to change your mind. But when you didn’t—when you leaned into him and let your fingers curl into the front of his jacket—something shifted.

He felt it.

You let him in. Really in. And the kiss deepened, slow but electric, like a current running just beneath the surface, waiting to be felt. His hand slid behind your neck, holding you there without holding too tightly, while the other still anchored yours. You could feel it in him—the restraint. The way his body leaned in close, every part of him alive with need, but still careful not to overwhelm you. Like he was chasing the edge of control, but refusing to cross it without you right there with him.

It was intoxicating. When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing was uneven, but his smile was soft. You were breathless, shaken. Lit up from the inside out.

“Been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you,” he muttered, thumb brushing your cheek. “Was it okay?”

You laughed, dazed and a little undone. “More than okay.”

You didn’t mean to say it aloud. You barely even thought about it.

But the words slipped out, barely audible, sounding like a promise wrapped in hesitation.

“Do you… wanna come inside?”

Frankie stilled—not because he was unsure, but because he wanted to be sure you were. His hand was still at your face, and you could feel the warmth of it anchoring you in the moment. His eyes searched yours, that quiet intensity still glowing there, softer now but no less powerful.

“You sure?” he asked gently, like he’d stop everything if you so much as blinked the wrong way. “I’m not in a rush. I don’t want to—”

“I’m sure,” you said, cutting him off—not harshly, just certain.

God only knows where that certainty came from, when everything inside you still felt like a storm. But it was there. True enough to say out loud.

He exhaled through a smile—relief, affection, desire—all layered in that one breath. You fumbled with the keys a little, nerves flaring again, but Frankie didn’t laugh or tease. He just waited behind you, patient and solid. 

Inside, the air felt heavier. Not uncomfortable—just charged. Everything you did suddenly felt magnified. Dropping your keys. Slipping off your shoes. Feeling him close behind you without touching. You turned to find him a few steps away, watching you in that calm, steady way of his—like you had his full attention, without him needing to say a word. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked, voice a little rougher now, but still laced with that impossible sweetness. “Slower, this time?”

You nodded, heart already climbing up your throat. And when he kissed you again, it was exactly that—slower, deeper, almost reverent. Like he wanted to map out every part of you he hadn’t had the chance to yet. Like he wanted you to feel it everywhere.Your hands found their way to his chest, then his shoulders, pulling him closer. And he obliged willingly, wrapping his arms around you, but still holding back the full weight of everything surging between you. And when his lips left yours to trail softly along your jaw, your breath caught in a way you didn’t try to hide. This was happening. And you wanted it to.

You weren’t sure when the kiss turned into movement, only that somehow you were in your bedroom and the door had clicked shut behind you. The low light made everything feel softer—your skin, your heartbeat, your nerves. Frankie was still kissing you, slower now, like he was savoring each second. Every brush of his lips felt deliberate, like he wanted to show you that none of this was rushed, none of it expected.

Still, your thoughts raced ahead of you. Was your body too soft? Not what he expected ? 

The old insecurities flared quietly in the background, like static. They always did—especially in moments like this, when you wanted something so much it almost hurt and were terrified of messing it up just by being you. All those voices, rising like a choir with one purpose: to make you feel small. To pull you back to high school, where you were always the outsider—unwanted, untouched, watching your peers have their first experiences like it was all happening behind glass. You were miles away, wondering when it would ever be your turn.

And if Frankie had been your crush back then? You wouldn’t have even dared to look at him. He never would’ve known you existed.

But now—somehow, impossibly—he was here. Looking at you like you were the only one in the room. And Frankie, in that quiet, grounding way of his, didn’t give those voices any room to breathe. His hands were warm and steady, touching you like he already knew where you carried your doubt—and wanted to kiss it away. When his mouth dropped to your neck, your breath hitched, and you felt his smile against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, barely above a whisper, fingers splaying across your waist like a question.

“Yeah,” you breathed. Then admitted, more quietly: “Just... nervous.”

He pulled back enough to look at you, and his eyes were soft, searching and serious.

“I get that,” he said, voice low. His thumb brushed your side again, grounding you. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just be here with me.”

A breath passed between you.

“I want you. That’s it.”

He leaned in again, forehead to yours, and let the quiet stretch for a second longer.

“And I feel lucky as hell to be here, just so you know.”

Something in your chest cracked open. Not in a painful way—more like release. Like finally letting yourself breathe. You kissed him again, deeper this time, and something shifted. The fear didn’t vanish completely, but it stopped holding you back.

Clothes came off slowly, carefully. Frankie touched you like there was nothing about you that needed hiding. Nothing too much, nothing not enough. His kisses were patient and solemn, and when his hands explored your body, it was with genuine want, not performance.

At one point, his mouth moved lower, pausing at your collarbone, then your stomach. He looked up at you, one hand still gently holding your thigh.

“Still okay?” he asked like he’d stop in an instant if you so much as shifted.

You nodded. Then—because he deserved more than that—you sighed, “Yeah. I want this.” Even if the thought of being seen like this, touched like this, made your nerves buzz beneath your skin.

Frankie didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t rush either. He kissed the inside of your thighs like they were holy, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. And when he finally leaned in, he did it like a man who adored you—not just your body, but you.

Your fingers found their way into his soft hair, your hand gripping the strands as your body reacted, bucking slightly into his mouth. His gaze stayed fixed on you, his hands on your hips as he felt every movement, every shift, like he was learning you—not just touching you. It didn’t feel practiced. It felt like care. Like he was giving you something real, and in that moment, it felt like you were worthy of every second of it.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your breath quickening, but he kept you close—physically and emotionally. He anchored you, grounded you, making it impossible to feel anything but wanted. And you believed it. You believed him. It was like flying, or free-falling, right at the edge of something thrilling, as you reached your peak with the skilled press of his tongue. He was there, though—right there to catch you. His big hands rested on your outer thighs, guiding you through the waves of your orgasm, solid and gentle as he made sure you felt nothing but safe.

When you finally caught your breath, you found him looking up at you, eyes soft but intense, his lips glistening with you. His chest rose and fell with each inhale, but his hands lingered on your skin, never rushing, not yet moving to undress you further.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he murmured, voice low but thick with need. “But I want more of you.”

His fingertips brushed the edge of your hip, sending a shiver through your spine, but he didn’t move further. Not yet. He waited for you, his gaze never wavering, as if asking permission without words.

You could feel the heat in him, the hunger, but he wasn’t demanding it. He was waiting—for you to give what you were ready for.

Taking a deep breath, you shifted, sitting up slowly, your hands finding the waistband of his jeans. The fabric felt soft beneath your fingertips, but as you undressed him, your hands traced the path of tiny scars and smooth skin, feeling the flex of muscle under your touch. His body responded, every inch of him reacting to you in a way that made your pulse race.

You hesitated for a moment, breath catching in your throat as you looked at him, feeling a strange sense of awe. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

There was a brief pause, and then you saw it—the slightest change in him. That confidence, that unshakable presence he always had, softened just for a moment, like a crack in the armor he wore so easily. His breath caught, and you could see it in the way his jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with something he didn’t always show.

It dawned on you then—Frankie wasn’t used to being praised like this. He was used to being admired for his strength, his charm, his ease—but not like this. Not like he was worthy of your admiration. And it twisted something in your chest, a sudden ache that felt too big for the space in your heart. Because in that moment, you realized—Frankie was everything you’d ever wanted. Everything and more.

He wasn’t just the confident, carefree man you’d seen before. He was so much more than that, and somehow, in this raw, quiet moment, you were the one who was showing him just how deeply you saw him. How much he mattered.

You ran your fingers over his chest, feeling his breath quicken, and he let you, waiting and patient. As you undressed him, your hands trailed over the smoothness of his skin, hesitating at moments, uncertainty creeping in. The closer you got to him, the more that old insecurity creeped up: Am I enough?

When he was finally naked, you paused, unsure, still feeling that rush of vulnerability. But his eyes met yours—calm, trusting.

You reached for him, fingers brushing tentatively against his hardened need, your touch light, uncertain. You wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel, but the fear of messing up lingered.

“You’re good ?” Frankie’s voice was low, gentle, sensing your hesitation. He didn’t rush you, didn’t ask for anything more.

“I want to,” you whispered, voice a little shaky, “but I’m scared I’ll mess it up.”

He cupped your face “You’re not messing anything up,” he murmured, his sincerity making something inside you soften. 

You swallowed the doubt, letting his words settle in, and moved your hand again, more confidently this time. His breath hitched, but you kept going, trusting him, trusting yourself, and pushing through the insecurity to give him the same care he’d given you.

You felt his body tense at your actions. His fingers gripped the sheets, his hips bucking into your hand with a low hiss. The way he reacted, so needy, sent a shock of heat through you. Every movement of his, every sound he made, unraveled something inside you in the best way.

The feel of him—so desperate and affected—made you want to give him everything. His urgent movements, the quiet moans spilling from his lips, pushed you to go faster, but you held back, savoring the power of making him lose control.

As the tension built, Frankie’s voice broke through the haze. “How about you take control for a bit?” he suggested, his hands gently resting on your hips. “You can ride me if you want to. But only if you're ready. No pressure.”

The idea was so tempting, yet the insecurities flooded back. What if I mess it up? What if I’m not good at it? You hesitated, fingers curling into the sheets.

Frankie must’ve sensed the shift in you and his eyes met yours. “Hey,” he said, his voice calm but warm. “It’s fine if you’re not ready. But something tells me you’d love it. I’ll guide you through it—just trust me, alright?”

The wink he gave you would’ve been unbearable coming from anyone else, too playful, too sure of themselves. But from Frankie? It was absolutely endearing. Paired with his smile, warm and reassuring, it all felt less heavy. 

You took a steadying breath, but Frankie’s presence gave you courage. He gently guided you to sit up, his hands holding your waist with such care as if you were something delicate. "Alright, just follow my lead," he said softly. "You’re in control, yeah? Whenever you’re ready."

His eyes never left yours, studying you closely, but with a patience that calmed the storm of doubt in your mind. You nodded and slowly, you straddled him, his hands still on your hips, guiding you gently. The weight of him beneath you was both thrilling and a little intimidating. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of the movement, but Frankie’s touch was grounding—his hands firm but never demanding. His fingers gripped your hips just enough to guide you, a slight pressure as you took him in fully, feeling him inside you. 

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low, a bit more restrained now “You don’t have to chase it. Just feel it, okay?”

The way he spoke was strangely familiar, like he was giving you instructions in the cockpit of his helicopter, his voice calm, authoritative, yet gentle. The thought almost made you smile. It was hot, in a way—so effortlessly commanding, yet it was still him, somehow making the situation feel safe and playful at the same time.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice thick with encouragement and want. “Feel me? Just let go. Trust me.” To emphasize his words, he lifted his hips slightly, sinking deeper against the headboard, and the movement drew a surprised gasp from you. You could feel him everywhere, his heat enveloping you, pressing against your skin.

His touch remained, always making sure you were comfortable, and with each small movement, the confidence in you began to build. He watched you closely, never once pushing, just there, supporting you every step of the way and bask in the sight of you.

His head rested back against the headboard, eyes almost entirely black with desire. He closed them briefly, as if to gather himself, and you could feel his grip on your hips tighten ever so slightly. It was clear—he was holding himself back, letting you take control, giving you the space to move at your own pace.

His breath came deeper now, more labored, but still he didn’t rush you. He was barely holding onto his own control, but never letting it slip, never forcing you to move faster than you were ready. You could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch, and it made your heart flutter. He was letting you lead, but you could tell just how much he wanted you to go further. 

His grip tightened just a little, his eyes still closed, though you could feel the intensity building in him. “Is it okay if you move a little faster?” His voice was low, thick with need, but there was that familiar gentleness too. “I want to feel you. It’ll feel nice for you too, I promise.”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and without hesitation, you gave him the signal. Slowly, you began to move faster, the rhythm shifting, and Frankie gave you an appreciative hum in return.

A low groan escaped him, his eyes flashing open, now completely consumed by desire. The way you moved, the way you gave yourself to him—he couldn’t help but praise you, his voice thick and reverential. “God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his eyes heating as they locked onto yours. "Just like that. You feel so fucking good—don’t stop.”

His grip on your hips tightened once more, but even then, it was all in support, like he wanted you to take control while savoring every moment. The way he looked at you, eyes dark yet full of awe, made your heart race. It wasn’t just the heat—it was the way he saw you and it made everything feel deeper, more intimate.

As you moved above him, he spoke again in a low, breathless murmur: “You look so beautiful, riding me like that.” The words sent heat flooding into your cheeks, making them burn with both embarrassment and something else you didn’t name yet. The heat spreading all through your veins like molten.

You felt the knot inside you tightening with every roll of your hips, every shift of your body. His warm eyes glimmered in the soft light of your bedroom, watching you like you were a masterpiece. His hands gripped your hips, firm and certain, guiding you with just the right amount of pressure. Every movement made you feel more and more connected to him, every inch of your skin alive with the sensation of him beneath you.

The pressure in your lower body grew unbearable, the rhythm between you becoming frantic. And then, with one last deep roll of your hips, everything snapped. The coil inside you unraveled as you reached your peak, a broken moan and his name escaped your lips as you felt him spill inside you simultaneously.

The wave of pleasure slowly ebbed, leaving you breathless and tangled in his arms. You rested your head against his shoulder, your chest still heaving, feeling the warmth of him spread through you. Without thinking, your lips found the small freckles scattered across his skin, kissing them softly. A quiet giggle bubbled up from you, a nervous but content sound, as you tried to catch your breath.

Frankie, still holding you close, felt the soft shift in you, the way your body relaxed into his. The sensation of being connected, even now, was strange in the best way—comforting and grounding. He didn’t pull away; instead, he pulled you impossibly closer.

"How do you feel?" His voice was gentle, quiet as his fingertips traced soothing circles on your back. His gaze was tender, but there was still that flicker of desire in his eyes. Like a fire about to dissolve. He wanted to make sure you were good, that everything felt right for you, even now. Especially now. 

You felt incredible, satisfied—something you never thought you’d experience. For once, the insecurities didn’t ruin it. You felt enough. The warmth of him, his patience, everything… It made you feel almost a little emotional.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude. “For making me feel... this.”

Frankie’s hold on you softened as he kissed your temple. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he murmured. “You deserve it.”

—

A few months had passed, and things with Frankie had settled into something solid—something comfortable. But sometimes, in quiet moments, when his hand brushed yours or his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, it hit you all over again. This was your life now. It was almost too easy to forget how you started, to forget that this wasn’t something you’d ever dreamed of having. That the doubts and insecurities that once held you back had melted away in his presence, leaving only the truth: He was here, and this was real.

As you watched him laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners, that smile you loved so much lighting up the room, a thought crossed your mind: Frankie Morales was the kind of man you never thought actually existed—until he was standing right in front of you. And now, somehow, he was yours.

thank you so much for reading <3

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[book-of-forbidden-knowledge]

Magic in Ancient Greece: An Introduction

I have seen some people claim that magic or witchcraft did not exist in Ancient Greece. This is not the case. So, I thought I'd take the opportunity to introduce you all to the strange and wonderful world of Ancient Greek magic!

First, what do we mean by "magic"? Radcliffe Edmonds, one of the leading scholars on Ancient Greek magic, defines "magic" as "non-normative ritual behavior." In short, what makes something magic, and not just normal religion, is that people in a given culture think it's weird. The word "magic" itself refers to the magi, Zoroastrian priests — the Ancient Greeks thought they did magic because to them, Zoroastrianism was foreign and weird. They also thought that Ancient Egyptians could do magic for the same reason — what the Greeks thought was spooky magic was just normal religion in Egypt. Within their own culture, magic was basically heteropraxic religion. Magic was not considered hubristic, at least not inherently.

There are multiple Ancient Greek words that refer to magic. The word μάγος, magos, itself means "magician" or "charlatan." There's also γοητεία, goetia, usually translated as "sorcery." The word most often translated as "witchcraft" is φαρμακεία, pharmakeia, the use of drugs or herbs to transform or influence people. This is what Medea and Circe do.

One of our best sources on Ancient Greek magic is the Greek Magical Papyri, or PGM, a set of magical texts from Hellenistic Egypt. When I first learned about it, I thought it was too good to be true, but here it is: uncorrupted ancient pagan magic! Essentially, the PGM is one of the oldest known grimoires, and the ancestor of the entire Western magical tradition. The papyri contain spells and rituals for almost every purpose: curses, love spells, divination, dream oracles, summoning daimones, necromancy, even full mystical rites. Most of them include invocations to various gods, which are heavily syncretic. Helios/Apollo (treated interchangeably) is invoked the most often. Aphrodite appears pretty often, too. Hekate-Artemis-Selene-Persephone (conflated with a whole bunch of other chthonic goddesses, including Ereshkigal) has her own set of spells. You'll even find the names of Egyptian gods and Hebrew angels in there.

One of the most common features in PGM spells is voces magicae or barbarous names, nonsense words that are supposed to be the secret names of the gods, which give you the authority to call them up. They act almost like a written form of glossolalia. Most are supposed to be spoken or chanted aloud. Some sound like actual names, or are well-known magical epithets like ABRASAX. Some are just strings of Greek vowels. Some of them are palindromic; there's lots of spells that use the "abracadabra" disappearing-letter-triangle format. There's also charakteres, apparently-meaningless magical symbols, the distant ancestor of modern sigils.

Another major source for Ancient Greek magic are defixiones or katadesmoi, curse tablets. They're little lead leafs called lamellae, which are inscribed with curses and then deposited in wells, graves, and other chthonic places. Thousands of them have been found.

Here's the text of a curse tablet that invokes Hekate and Hermes Kthonios (copied from Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World by John G. Gager):

Hermes Khthonios and Hekate Khthonia Let Pherenikos be bound before Hermes Khthonios and Hekate Khthonia. I bind Pherenikos’ [girl] Galene to Hermes Khthonios and to Hekate Khthonia I bind [her]. And just as this lead is worthless and cold, so let that man and his property be worthless and cold, and those who are with him who have spoken and counseled concerning me. Let Thersilochos, Oinophilos, Philotios, and any other supporter of Pherenikos be bound before Hermes Khthonios and Hekate Khthonia. Also Pherenikos’ soul and mind and tongue and plans and the things that he is doing and the things that he is planning concerning me. May everything be contrary for him and for those counseling and acting with…

Another curse tablet, which invokes Hekate to punish thieves, includes a drawing of her and charakteres. This is how she's depicted:

From Curse Tablets and Binding Spells in the Ancient World by John G. Gager

It's supposed to be a woman with three heads and six raised arms, but to me it looks like Cthulhu, which is honestly appropriate.

There was a very fine line between love spells and curses in Ancient Greece. Some love spells in the PGM call upon the spirits of the dead and chthonic gods to torture a poor girl until she submits to the magician. Just as many defixiones attempt to forcefully bind a lover. But there's another, gentler kind of love spell described by Theocritus in Idylls, in which a witch named Simaetha invokes the Moon and Hekate and uses an iynx wheel to make a man love her.

If you want to know how to apply all of this in modern practice, I'm still working that one out. I've found the PGM very hard to adapt, because a lot of its requirements are dangerous or impractical. Many of its spells require gross ingredients worthy of the Scottish play, or plants that scholars can't identify, or procedures that I don't plan on attempting. And if you haven't noticed by now, most of them fly in the face of modern magical ethics. (Don't let anyone tell you that the gods will punish you for doing baneful magic, because that's clearly bullshit.) On the other hand, Crowley adapted his Bornless Ritual almost word-for-word from PGM V. 96—172. So far, the best resource I've found on modernizing Ancient Greek magic is The Hekataeon by Jack Grayle. Its material is clearly historically-inspired, but still doable, and spiritually relevant. I really recommend getting it if you have the means, especially if you have an interest in Hekate specifically. I'm happy to have it as a model for how to adapt ancient magic for myself in the future. To me, it strikes the perfect balance between historically-informed and witchy, which is right where I want to be.

If you can't access that one, here's some other books I recommend:

Drawing Down the Moon: Magic in the Ancient Greco-Roman World by Radcliffe G. Edmonds III: An introduction to Ancient Greek magic, both scholarly and accessible. It covers the definitions and contexts of magic, curses, love spells, divination, theurgy, philosophy, basically everything you need to know.

The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation by Hans Dieter Betz: The definitive English edition of the PGM. A must if you plan to study ancient magic in-depth, especially as a practitioner.

Curse Tablets and Binding Spells in the Ancient World by John G. Gager: An English edition of the texts of many curse tablets.

Magic, Witchcraft, and Ghosts in the Greek and Roman Worlds by Daniel Ogden: a sourcebook of ancient literature concerning magic.

The Golden Ass by Apuleius: A Roman novel about a man who is turned into a donkey by a witch. A very entertaining story, also our source for "Cupid and Psyche" and one of the best sources on the Mysteries of Isis that we have.

Ancient Magic: A Practitioners Guide to the Supernatural in Ancient Greece and Rome by Philip Matyszak: A simple and straightforward introduction to Ancient Greek magic, less scholarly but very easy to follow and directed at practitioners.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Valar Morghulis (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?

Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)

A/N: Now with a Pt 2. For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!

EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.

And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.

It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.

It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.

A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.

So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?

Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.

She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.

“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.

Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.

He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.

“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”

Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.

The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon

is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.

“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.

“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.

Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.

“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”

He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.

“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.

“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”

Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.

“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”

A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.

“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.

“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”

“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?

“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”

“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.

R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.

You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.

You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.

Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.

When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.

Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.

You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.

Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.

By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.

You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.

It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.

Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?

The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.

Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.

The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.

He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.

The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.

You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.

“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”

“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.

She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.

Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.

And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.

As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.

“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.

“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”

The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.

“Let her pass.” He ordered.

“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.

She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.

“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.

The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.

“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.

And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.

Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.

As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.

“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”

This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.

“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”

He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.

Around you, the flames roared.

A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.

He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.

The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.

“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.

Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.

“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.

“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”

And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.

You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.

Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.

You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.

[natsumischwartz]

Re: School Life in a Different World from ZERO

There is a legend at Lugunica Academy. The student at this academy who enjoys their youth the most is promised happiness for life. In spring, the season of new encounters, you become a student at Lugunica Academy, and after some trouble on your first day of school, you are invited to join the school's student council. The quirky student council members take a liking to you, and once you're welcomed into the group, what awaits you is a life of thrilling and fun youth with them. Who will you spend your time with at this academy, and how will you enjoy your time here?

NATSUKI SUBARU

Student Council President

The student council president of Lugnica Academy. Although he is considered to be less capable and attractive than Reinhard and Julius, he was appointed to the position thanks to the mysterious support of those around him. He says that he is not suited for the position, but he is busy with his duties as a student council president, using his dexterity and earnestness as his weapons, and is working hard to gain the support of the students as a famous student council president. He warmly welcomes the protagonist, who joined the student council for some reason, and gets along with her without any hesitation, saying, "It must be hard for two ordinary people to be together." He is so friendly that he often invites her to dinner at his house. He has a long relationship with the student council members, and is a central figure among his friends, having played a part in solving problems at Reinhard's family home, the relationship between Julius' and his brother, and rehabilitating the rebellious Ferris. However, he is not aware of this himself, and complains endlessly, "Isn't it strange that I'm the top with this group?"

Quotes

"Great timing! We were just having fun talking about you! ...Wait, but I wasn't saying anything bad about you!?"

"Ah, you're always there for me when I'm struggling... What if you keep that up and I end up falling for you?"

"You're not a lesser part of the group at all. You're a proud member with us! We love having you!"

REINHARD VAN ASTREA

Student Council Vice President

Vice President of Lugunica Academy's Student Council. Beautiful, athletic, and friendly, he is the superstar of the school, and not only the students but also the teachers are charmed by him. He likes his friends who have strengths that he does not have, and he is the driving force behind making Subaru's joke come true when he said, "If you're the vice president, I'll be the student council president," and forming the student council with his best friends. His family has produced many local notables for generations, and he lived a very controlled life in middle school, but thanks to his friends, he was able to free himself and became the friendly large dog he is today. He welcomes the protagonist into the student council, but because she is not aware of his popularity, the protagonist gets too friendly with him and gets herself into trouble. After school, he usually has dinner at Subaru or Julius' house, goes out at night with Ferris, and then goes home, living up his youth. He is probably the one closest to making the school's legend come true.

Quotes

"Thank you for your support. When you're here, I feel much more energetic than usual. It's a little strange."

"Please don't think about me so seriously. …There's nothing that I've truly embraced that didn't break."

"The student council has changed since you came. I liked it before, but I like the current student council too."

JULIUS JUUKULIUS

Student Council Treasurer

The treasurer of Lugunica Academy's Student Council. Known as "The Best," he is an honor student who is the opposite of Reinhard, but is too serious and has an airheaded temperament. He was against filling the student council positions with family members until the end, but he also brings the most personal belongings to the student council room. There was a time when he struggled with the things that come with being from a wealthy family, but he managed to get through it with the help of his younger brother. He has deep gratitude and respect for the student council members who helped him at the time. He is in the top class of academic performance, and competes with the protagonist over test scores. He can get surprisingly heated during competitions, and the tea and sweets that the protagonist gives him to keep quiet about showing that side of him make for a relaxing tea time. He is equally popular with Reinhard and the girls at school, and is childhood friends with Ferris. When the student council is noisy, it's usually Julius and Subaru arguing.

Quotes

"I apologize. You are a much more attractive woman than I could have ever imagined. I'm grateful for the opportunity to meet you."

"No more borrowed words and longwinded expressions. I just can't take my eyes off you."

"Oh dear, I'm no match for you. Well then, I promise we'll have a special tea time."

FELIX ARGYLE

Student Council Secretary

Lugunica Academy's Student Council secretary. A boyish girl with a cunning and friendly air, affectionately nicknamed "Ferris". While he is very charming, he also has a cat-like disposition, shying away when you approach him. Surprisingly, he used to be a delinquent student, and when he rebelled against his parents, his childhood friend Julius and his friends Subaru and Reinhard brought him back to the light, and that's how he is now. Contrary to his cuteness, he has a two-sided personality, and is actually more manly than any of the student council members. He has a strong sense of territory, and is actually the strictest when it comes to the protagonist. He is always ready to kick her out if something happens, so as a result, they are often together. He specializes in one talent, and his academic performance is inversely proportional to his charm, and he only becomes a secretary because someone told him, "Ferris' handwriting is so pretty." However, he does try to write beautifully.

Quotes

"Yahoo, nyani nyani, is there a fun story? Don't leave Ferri out."

"…I hate you, I hate you! I hate you so much, so please get out of my head..."

"Don't say anything unnecessary. Then you and Ferri will be friends forever, okay?"

Icons & Wallpapers

All images, audio & original text sourced from https://re-zero-anime.jp/

Translation is an edited machine translation per the best of my abilities

Drive link with all images and audio files (couldn't fit all 12 audio clips in one post)

[swissikssswissiks]

We have to talk about Jutty Taylor!

We all know what's going on on the internet right now. i'm talking about the unpleasant incident with Jutty and i want to speak out about it. I have spent a lot of time trying to understand the situation and form a certain point of view based on the information I already have. and I have read a lot of posts by inadequate people in which they try to cancel JT with bullying, sarcasm, insults and even death wishes.What is wrong with you guys? Instead of looking up a little more information and thinking, you say Taylor is a pedophile, use aggression, and spread misinformation. Many people in general stupidly follow the crowd without hearing any facts or evidence. You are so easily fooled, you believe anything and don't even bother to check it out. Have you ever thought that he may not be guilty and you are now literally ruining his life with your despicable behavior? It's easier for you to write a few insults and cancel the person than to start thinking straight. There have been revelations on Grace but you ignored that. Jutty apologized, but you ignored that too. This young lady provided no hard evidence, moreover, she was even turned down by the police, but you still don't care.

Anticipating your negative comments, I'll tell you that I am not saying he is innocent. I simply don't have the right to say so, but neither do you have the right to say that he is guilty, to call him a pedophile, much less insult him?I urge you to stop this madness as soon as possible and come to a neutral side at the very least. You can't imagine the pain your sarcastic and angry remarks are causing. And if one day it turns out that JT is really not at fault, all the responsibility will be on you. Let me say a little about the victim. I would feel sorry for the girl if the incident actually happened, but I am not sure if her words are true. Again, she hasn't provided any evidence. Some people have even found out that the picture she posted doesn't belong to her at all, and her friend who was supposedly with her on the day of the incident and witnessed it is silent. It's a strange situation, but what's most strange is that the fandom believes her without reason. How do you know her account isn't actually a fake? I also want to say that I think the "always believe the victim" rule is flawed, and in some cases, completely wrong. What makes you think a victim can't be prone to lying? Anyone can lie for certain purposes.

I have to mention the other band members who have been hurt by "fans". Who doesn't know, Liv and Per(and Hayden, as I remember) also received condemnation in their direction because they are friends with JT and support him. What is wrong with you guys? Why does the aggression go beyond one conflict and affect innocent people???? This is outrageous. They are friends with him, which means they know a lot more about JT than the rest of us, they know the truth, that's why they support him. And personal lives of band's members are none of your business. Stop being disgusting and don't insult innocent people.

I urge you to refrain from aggression and hatred, which is already too much in the world. Adhere to neutrality in this situation and stop acting like creatures. Be reasonable and kind people, not tactless, stupid, fierce and disgusting freaks.

Peace and love to all!

[zoobus]

Otome Isekai Roundup

With the new year, I feel the need to make some kind of year-in-review list. So even though I've largely stopped reading comics (the desire to read ebbs and flows every six month), here are the otoisekai that stuck out to me the most in 2024

Crimson Lady/Resetting Lady

What can I even say about the GOAT? As we crawl towards a conclusion, the despair only grows. Death is the only answer, death must be avoided at all costs.

The Villainess Who is No Better than an Extra Cross-dresses to Be a Love Interest

I never talked about this one, namely because I'm not sure how to describe it without focusing on its wokeness. But it is woke. It's bizarrely, strangely woke, as well as genuinely enjoyable, but I keep getting fixated on all the genre-unusual progressiveness, like

BELIEVABLE female crossdressing in a shojo manga

her older brother is fat, a good person, and nobody ever comments on his weight (this point is the most shocking to me honestly)

Older brother is loudly supportive of his gnc sister and male cousin

Unclear if MC is gay, transmasc, or just doing this out of survival, but it says something that becoming a love interest was her *first* response

Boy the MC bewitched in girl form as a child is thrown off by her handsome appearance as an adult, yet awkwardly asks if she wants help breaking her engagement with a man

I forgot, originally he was the stock "sexist love interest who dials it back for his one true love" type, but this one shatters the mold not by making her the one girl he isn't mean to, but instead having him step back from his feelings and step UP as a genuine, actual, fr ally and continuing their friendship. Insane upgrade.

And it all feels pretty organic! They'll hint at complicated feelings from the people around her without grandstanding or molding medieval-y types into 21st century values

Like I can't emphasize enough how weird it is to see a child drawn like this and they're not evil

Behind Her Highness's Smile

I never talked about this one for the opposite reasons of the above. Um. Extremely horny ethicsplay* thriller about a mentally-challenged princess forced to marry a duke (who, in turn, was forced to marry a mentally-challenged princess). What if you were the abused sexy sensual prisoner princess forcibly married to a smoldering tall dark-haired duke AND you had brain damage.

Let me say that I enjoy this story sincerely and that her issues are not played lightly, but it is absolutely going for eroticism. Like oh nooo, you're not mentally competent enough to consent 😉😉 the duke could do whatever he wants and you're too dumb and doll-like to do anything about it😉😉😉 also your maids roofied you😉did I mention your sick bastard brother-king made you like this? And that he takes immense pleasure in that fact?🤫

But I know what you're thinking. Because I was thinking it. For chapters and chapters. "Surely this is a ruse. They didn't actually write a mentally handicapped female lead, not when it's already so horny. This is just to add to the fucked up atmosphere that feeds into everything because there's no fucking way anyone would keep to this premise. Wow she's really committing to the bit lol, not giving an inch. If I were gullible, I would believe they're actually going to fuck. Wait. Was that guy supposed to represent the writer talking to the reader? Hey?"

Did they? Read to find out :)

*I've always hated describing stories as problematic (positive). Ethicsplay, like the story is fucked up. They know it's fucked up, YOU know it's fucked up, and that's why you're here reading it.

A Splendid Revenge Story of a Super-Dreadnought Cheat Villainess

I don't have a lot to say about this one other ​than it's a refreshing revenge-centric OI. It's not treading new ground, but it executes the genre's tropes well. The villains are exaggerated caricatures of hubris, brazen leeches who've forgotten whose blood they've been surviving on, each with their own distinctive brand of arrogance introduced at a measured pace to keep the true hero's OPness from getting boring, all with a unique stylistic flair.

Princess revenge stories are frequently derailed by dull romance or the desire to reinvent capitalism, so the fact that Super-Dreadnought commits itself to smiting Lunaria's enemies without straying from the path makes it a high recommend.

Turning the Mad Dog into a Genteel Lord

I realized I don't have enough screenshots to prove my controversial opinion (that this is less puppy dog bf fantasy and more crypto-age reggressor/caretaker right up until they knew it would mess with the overall light and goofy tone), and I can't say those kinds of things without proof. so. I'll save that for another day.

Anyway. Plot: Priestess Diarin, who is so hot I have more screenshots of her than any of the men, has to tame an abused beast-like 6'8 shredded ex-child soldier into a noble. She's the only one who can change him, she's the only one he can be vulnerable with. Middling plot, heavy slapstick/reaction face-based humor, but everyone is sexy and there are mild to moderate sadist-on-the-art-team impies, so. Recommend.

On an unrelated note can tappytoons please stop picking up manwha with good art? Their translation choices make me unreasonably mad.

If they draw shoes like this, please let Lezhin handle it? I can't take the comma stutters and obvious tone neutering.

[princesskenny1998]

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy x Potter!Reader ~ Spite

Info: Alternate Universe

Starting at Hogwarts, it was an unspoken certainty that you and Harry were expected to be sorted together. Growing up as twins, the two of you were inseparable, and although you loved him fiercely, being constantly lumped together as “the Potters” could feel stifling. Still, you’d promised each other that you would face Hogwarts together.

But by the time of your sorting ceremony, an argument with Harry about, of all things, a seating arrangement on the train, sparked something fierce between you. All the pressure and expectation came to a head, and your simmering frustration came out. After the bickering subsided, you left feeling frustrated and misunderstood, determined to assert your independence. In that defiant moment, a new, impulsive thought formed: what if you did something different? What if you made a choice that would shock everyone, including Harry?

When it was finally your turn to be sorted, you walked up to the Sorting Hat with your head held high and whispered, "I want Slytherin.”

The hat hesitated, as if it were reading into the motivation behind your words. "Slytherin?" it mused. "A bold choice… the potential is there, true, but you are loyal, clever, and brave, like your brother.”

“I don’t care. I want Slytherin.” Your voice left no room for argument. And with that, the hat’s brim split into a grin.

“Very well… SLYTHERIN!” it announced.

The hall filled with murmurs and surprised looks. You caught a glimpse of Harry, who was already seated at the Gryffindor table, looking at you in shock. Ignoring his gaze, you moved over to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy, with his signature smirk, gestured for you to sit beside him. You met his smirk with one of your own, feeling a spark of satisfaction. This was your choice — your own path.

At first, befriending Draco was a way to add to your new, independent identity. He seemed eager to make friends with you too, given your famous last name and now that you were one of the few who had dared to do something unexpected.

“You know,” Draco drawled one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as you sat together in the library, “I think you might be the smartest Potter after all.”

“Just because I chose Slytherin?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not just that,” he said. “There’s a streak in you that I admire — the courage to do things that nobody else would expect. That’s something most people here lack.”

Draco's confidence, which often came off as arrogance to others, began to feel strangely refreshing. He didn’t spend all his time worrying about what people thought; he simply was who he was. Over time, the friendship that started as a rebellious act became something genuine. You found yourself laughing with him, sharing secrets, and supporting each other through the challenges of Hogwarts. Draco introduced you to the complexities of Slytherin house, and you saw sides of him that others didn’t. Beneath the bravado, there was an honest, loyal friend who valued loyalty and ambition.

Harry and Ron didn’t understand it. They still saw Draco as the arrogant boy from a rival house, and Harry especially could barely hide his frustration whenever he saw the two of you together. He tried talking you out of it multiple times.

“I just don’t understand why you’d be friends with him,” Harry said one day after class, his tone bordering on pleading.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar annoyance bubbling up. “Maybe because he’s not as bad as you think, Harry. Maybe because you’re too busy judging him to see that there’s more to him.”

“Or maybe he’s using you,” Harry retorted. The accusation hurt, especially coming from your twin, and only fueled your resolve to prove him wrong.

Your closeness with Draco only grew, and by your fourth year, there was an undeniable spark between you. You tried to deny it at first, thinking it was simply a close friendship. But one late night, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself alone with him in the common room, talking about everything and nothing, and he took your hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before,” Draco admitted, his usual confidence wavering. You could see a vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely showed to anyone.

You squeezed his hand, your heart racing. “Neither have I,” you whispered.

From that moment on, your relationship shifted. You and Draco were no longer just friends; you were partners, in every sense of the word. Hogwarts could be isolating, especially for a Slytherin Potter, but with Draco, you had someone who understood you, who accepted your choice, and who valued you for who you were, not just your famous last name.

Of course, the news of your relationship spread quickly, and not everyone was pleased. Harry, in particular, found it difficult to accept.

“You’re dating Malfoy?” he asked incredulously one afternoon when you ran into him in the corridors.

“Yes, Harry, I am,” you replied, crossing your arms. You’d expected this reaction but were determined to hold your ground.

“But... he’s always hated us. He’s always hated me.” Harry’s voice was filled with confusion and hurt.

You softened, understanding that it was difficult for him to grasp. “Draco doesn’t hate me, Harry. He’s been there for me in ways you wouldn’t understand. Just because he doesn’t get along with you doesn’t mean he isn’t a good person.”

Harry looked like he wanted to argue, but he sighed instead. “I just… I worry about you.”

“I know you do,” you said, giving him a small smile. “But I can take care of myself. And Draco? He makes me happy.”

Over time, people started to adjust. While some Gryffindors, like Hermione, grew to respect your choice, others remained wary, still viewing Draco through the lens of rivalry. But you didn’t care; you were confident in your relationship.

Draco, too, was evolving. Being with you softened some of his rougher edges and gave him a new perspective on Hogwarts and the people in it. He still had his moments of arrogance, but with you by his side, he was learning to let go of some of the prejudices he’d grown up with.

One snowy afternoon, as the two of you strolled around the courtyard, you watched as he stopped to help a younger Hufflepuff who had dropped her books. The old Draco would have ignored her, but now, he gave her a nod and a small smile.

“You’re changing,” you said softly, watching him as he walked back over to you.

He shrugged, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, grinning up at him. It was moments like these that made you feel truly proud of the choice you’d made.

In your sixth year, Draco took you to the Astronomy Tower after hours, the stars glittering above as he held you close. You had shared countless moments together, but this one felt special.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” he said, his voice low and serious, “but I used to think that love was... a weakness. I thought it made people vulnerable.”

You looked at him, surprised. “And now?”

“Now, I think it’s the bravest thing anyone can do,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. “Loving someone is… well, it’s trusting them completely. And I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you realized that this was exactly where you were meant to be — by Draco’s side, building a future together.

For the first time, Hogwarts didn’t feel like a battleground of family expectations or house rivalries. It felt like home.

[leggerefiore]

Found You!

cw: implied yandere Volo

pairing: Volo/Reader

Readjusting to the modern world had been more difficult than you had expected. It was a strange experience to scare awake from the beeping of an alarm or forget how to work a computer after having gone so many months without it. That was just modern technology, too. The repetition of modern work and life felt so odd compared to the stress and uncertainty of Hisui. The safety and comfort so foreign after being bathed in danger and distress for so long.

Not to mention the strange hurt that you felt when reflecting upon the subtle loss of friends. No more could you spend time with the bumbling Professor Laventon, enjoy a battle and sweet with Adaman, or laugh along with Arezu at whatever her new hairstyle suggestion was to be. A shudder always went down your spine when you considered that they were long gone. Their deaths happening through the centuries you skipped through to return back to the modern era you were born to.

Maybe it was those complicated feelings that brought you to the Jubilife of your day and age. The city was bustling and large; the capital of the Sinnoh region. A shrine to the hard work of those you watched shed both blood and sweat to create this sanctuary during the Hisui era. It was nearly unrecognisable to the small village you had lived in during your time in the past. Everything was the most up-to-date here than the rest of Sinnoh. Towering buildings blocked the sky as people swarmed to walk every which way. You had felt your heart clench.

It was gone – you truly had returned to modern day.

The strange experience of Hisui was something you could put firmly behind you as some delusion the no one but a select few seemed even willing to entertain. It was isolating.

You were back home, surrounded by your friends and family, yet more alone than you had been in Hisui.

A sigh left you as you stopped before a large office building. Clowns danced outside, advertising some new modern tech-gadget that your brain cared little about analysing. You let out a sharp breath. Capturing Arceus after completing the PokeDex that Laventon had sought to make, it truly did feel like a dream. The deity challenged you to a battle and gave you a piece of it upon your victory. The Azure Flute had come with you to the modern day, too. You wondered what would happen if you returned to the Temple of Sinnoh.

The thought of the location sent another pang into your heart.

Volo.

You wondered how he had spent his days in Hisui. He had completely vanished after your confrontation at the temple. His true intentions… His actual plans… His kindness… His smile… Everything blended inside you painfully. The blond had come to you at your lowest point and gave you the support you needed to carry on. Then, he smothered those very flames he lit with his own hand. Had Volo only been using you the entire time? His plan had only changed when you had begun to collect plates, you knew.

A nearby electronic board projecting an image eerily similar to him on it. Champion Cynthia. She was beautiful, bold, and strong. Her love of archaeology and visage evidence that Volo had carried on his lineage. You suppose he found his place somewhere in the world. Somehow, your feet had carried you to a calmer part of the city. Less noise pollution and people wandering about. Where should you go next?

Before the question could be truly contemplated, arms wrapped around your form tightly and pushed you firmly to the body behind you. A cheek came to press against your own as both hair and cloth tickled you. Long, golden streaks broke out of the dark, heavy coat hood. You felt your heart race. What the hell? Hands locked your wrists together. Your breath stalled in your throat.

“The reason I could never collect all the plates, why I was never chosen by Arceus and then abandoned by Giratina…” a terrifyingly familiar voice whispered into your ear, “I could not recreate the world, nor could I think about anything but you… I wandered alone for so many years…” The grip on your wrists became painfully tight. They held you so close to them that you were convinced that they may be trying to fuse your body to their own. “… Found you!” they playfully spoke.

Biting back a scream, you forced yourself from their hold. You managed to turn to face them, but they kept a firm hold on your hand. A coat obscured their face as you swallowed. It could not be. He was long dead. This had to be some awful prank by someone who heard your story. Still, there was a lingering feeling of deja-vu that refused to fade. You could see their hair peaking out from the obscuring shadow of the hood. Blond hair.

“… Are you one of Cynthia's relatives? I didn't realise she had such mean people there,” you shook your head with a nervous smile, “You all seem to look eerily similar, you know.” Hopefully, they would be satisfied with your reaction and leave you alone now. A chuckle you knew all too well came from them.

His other hand came to grasp the hem of his hood as he pulled it back. Your eyes went wide as your mouth hung open.

It…

It could not be.

It simply was impossible.

A stormy eye peered into your own, obvious adoration pouring out from it. Blond strands caught the wind, nearly revealing his other eye. A smile was on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I finally found you…” Volo's voice was the same as it had been centuries ago, “It's been too long.”

His eyes closed to reflect his pure joy. You stood in shock and confusion. He pulled you to him again, forcing you into a proper embrace. His lanky form consumed yours.

His hot breath fanned against your ear as he spoke again.

“I won't let you go this time.”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The art of storytelling Act1

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“For you to pass this class you must tell me a story.”

The class chuckled at the teacher’s words but ceased as they saw the serious look on his face.

Araganath clasped his fingers as he looked at his students; the tips of his talons clicking against each other while his spider like eyes passed over the room. He was the only A’thulion at the institute and he used that to give himself an appearance of mystique. Students parted when he walked across the ceilings of halls even though he was well above them, dropped their discussions to hushed whispers as he approached, and most importantly to him lined up in droves to sign up for his class on “The Structure of Galactic Literature”.

The last bit he was rather fond of as not only did it insure his tenure but also hefted him a small bonus for each student that attended.

“What does the story have to be about?”

Araganath shrugged and waved his hands dismissively. “Any subject or theme is open; your main goal is to make me feel something. Do this and I will give you a passing grade for the entire year and you needn’t show up for another class; fail, and you will attend my class and learn the proper means of literary structure.”

This brought the desired bouts and whoops of excitement from his students as they prepared themselves for the challenge. Araganath smiled at this as he was about to deliver the “curve ball”, as they say.

“One last thing,” Araganath spoke as if just remembering, “you must tell me the story now; without any preparation or planning.”

The joyous smiles quickly faded from the students faces as they realized the trap he had laid. Many could no doubt tell a fantastical tale given enough time, but to give one on the spot? Many lacked the sharp wit and clarity of mind to concoct such a tale.

Motioned forward one at a time, the brave few that tried their luck were founding lacking.

“What good is a story if your character never faces any true peril? My offspring could do far better than that twaddle.”

“A sentient asteroid that loves to eat spaceships? Do I look like a child to you? Is this what you think entertains me?”

“Putting aside the fact you just made a justification for genocide, I will have you stay after class so we can have a word with the school director.”

Attempt after attempt was made and yet none could win over their unenthused teacher. His dozen eyes watched each as they spun their yarn and closed shut with disappointment. He never made them stop their story, he was fair enough to let them finish in their last chance to win him over, yet even with that extra rope all they did was hang themselves with one dimensional characters, painfully simplistic plot lines, and dreadful endings that left more answers than questions.

After about an hour only one potential challenger remained and stepped forward; a human transfer student by the name of Brian Craw.

 “This story is called “The wish and the snail”.” They began.

Araganath stifled a scoff but said nothing else as the student continued.

“In the far of desert of my homeworld called Earth some twenty thousand years ago, a man stumbled upon an ancient tomb filled with but a single treasure; a strange lamp of the purest gold resting atop a lone podium.”  

“The man went to the lamp and picked it up and rubbed it to make it shine when a gout of smoke emerged from the end. Falling backwards in surprise the man saw the smoke take form into the shape of a mighty Genie!”

“What is a Genie?” Araganath inquired.

“A being of immense magical power from my people’s folklore capable of granting any wish but at a terrible and often unforeseen cost.”

Araganath nodded for the student to continue now that his confusion had been dissipated.

“”Name any wish and I shall grant it!” the Genie spoke loudly. The man paused and thought about his options. He could wish to be free from this dessert, but he felt he could find his own way out if given another day. He could wish to be the richest man on the planet, but he could not carry his riches out of the dessert alone and if he brought others back there was no guarantee that they would not betray him.”

“Finally after much deliberating the man said “I wish to be immortal; to never feel pain or harm, to never age or feel the ravages of time, and to be free to live my life as I am now.”

“A great tempest swept into the tomb and surrounded the man in a vortex of thrashing winds. “YOUR WISH IS GRANTED” the genie boomed as an unearthly glow consumed the man. When the winds finally died down the man opened his eyes and felt as if he was a god. “You will be immortal till the end of time itself so long as your conditions are met.” “

“”Conditions?” the man asked.” The student said in a thick accent, ”What conditions?””

  “The genie pointed down to the ground in front of the man and now before him was a small snail. “You will remain immortal so long as this snail does not touch you.” The genie’s voice boomed. “It is immune from harm and like you is immortal. It will forever know where you are at any given time and always be seeking to touch you.””

“”That is all?” the man laughed. “I have nothing to fear then.””

“With that said the man climbed out of the tomb and looked out over the dry dessert. He took a moment look back down but could not see the genie anymore, only the snail slowly following after him.”

“This is your story?” Araganath inquired. “I would hardly call this a tale worthy of a free pass.”

“Because we have only finished act 1.” The student countered and

[ghuleh-recs]

@st-danger is your favorite ghoul writer's favorite ghoul writer and it was their birthday yesterday! I've compiled a list of some of my favorite Saint fics to celebrate. Beyond being an incredible writer, Saint is such a wonderfully supportive member of the fandom here. They always leave a kind word (or sexy addition lbr) in the tags. You know that meme that's like 'I sure hope this doesn't awaken something in me?' That's how I experience most of their fics. So thank you Saint for sharing your writing with us. I don't know that the fandom needed more reasons to be horny but here we are. Go leave Saint some comments and hit up their ko-fi for some birthday appreciation!

recs under the super cute divider from @forlorn-crows

Terrors of the Night - dewdrop/dewdrop - E, 13.5k

“Hi,” he says, to himself. Dew is not by nature a timid or shy thing. He has always been a healthy mix of piss and vinegar. Acerbic wit and energy, and thoughtful tenderness in the right circumstances. A sharp tongue but a gentle touch. Fearful or nervous are not descriptors to be used, nothing he’s ever been accused of…and yet, Dew goes cold and his hand tightens around the fistful of blanket as he pulls it closer to himself. An uncharacteristic movement performed by a hand not under his control. Dewdrop smiles at him, with light eyes and lighter hair, looking exactly how he used to. Or, The past comes back to haunt.

Copia, seeing the ghouls' faces - Copia & Everyone - G, <1k

He once heard Terzo describe looking at Omega's true face as "confusing". He never asked any follow up questions to clarify that statement, but he's always wondered if confusing meant strange to look at, or strange to look at because his human brain couldn't figure out exactly what it was looking at, in an Eldritch horror kind of way. If hellspawn are naturally just beyond what mortal minds can know. "Are you sure?" Copia asks, though his hands are already reaching towards Aether's face. "You want me to see you?" "We want you to know us," Aether replies simply, and carefully, so carefully, Copia slides off Aether's mask, like the metal might turn out to be sugar and splinter and break if he isn't gentle.

Steadfast Love, Not Sacrifice - Aether/Copia/Dewdrop - E, 11k

It’s a bit like a shark smelling blood, he thinks as they follow close behind. It's natural they were going to want to taste it, too. “Well,” Copia says, “some of us need our beauty sleep.” He hesitates, and then proceeds to look nervously between the two of them and continue, “I meant me, of course. You two are already very, erm. I should go to bed.” It’s such a flimsy excuse. The elevator reaches the third floor before any of them speak again. Aether clears his throat. “You don’t want to though.” Copia looks very called out, but can’t do much more than stare, before realizing the two ghouls beside him are waiting for an actual answer of some kind. The elevator beeps as it passes the fourth floor. “No,” Copia says slowly, and Aether’s stomach does a little swoop. “I don’t.” Or, Sometimes the reward is worth the risk.

[REC] - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 1.8k

“Have you thought about Aether watching you like this before?” “Not before you mentioned taking photos.” Swiss stands and Dew watches through narrowed eyes as he spreads Dew’s legs to stand between them, and reaches down to unclip the garter from his left leg. He strokes along the top of the lace teasingly and then begins to work it down Dew’s thigh, pushing his leg up to roll it down and off his calf, his toes. “Let me blindfold you,” he says by way of explanation. (don't miss the sequel 1080P !)

Self Control Takes The City - Terzo/Omega - E, 5.6k

Omega can be endlessly patient. He has existed, in some form, for an unfathomable length of time. Above Ground, years upon years. In the Pit- well, there’s no way to say. No way to measure. But he has been for a very, very long time. He knows good things come to those who wait. Alas, patience is a virtue. Hellspawn such as himself surely couldn’t be found to be practicing that very often. There is, of course, a workaround; practicing said virtue during unvirtuous situations. For unvirtuous reasons. As the saying goes, the devil’s in the details. Or, Omega gives until it hurts.

Hybrid Slinky - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 2.8k

“It got deep,” Rain says, voice quiet and a little husky, and he brings Dew’s hand higher, closer to his mouth. “Let me clean you up?” Dew’s mind goes blank for a moment, before catching up to what Rain’s suggesting, and he feels a frisson of excitement zig-zag its way down his spine. “Yeah,” he grins. “Go ahead and make Papa proud.” _ Dewdrop cuts his finger, Rain and Aether kiss it better, as you do.

Worship, Bow Down - Dewdrop/Sister Imperator - E, 3.4k

“All work and no play’s turned you cruel,” Dew laments, and rises. Places his palms on the heavy desk and leans in, shower-damp hair in a curtain over his shoulders. “Could sweeten you back up. If you wanted.” Imperator takes a quick breath in. “Office hours are over,” she says. “Lock the door.” “Did that on the way in.” He has the cheek to wink. He trails his fingers over the wood as he walks around to her, loving the way her eyes follow him, up until he stands behind her, rests those elegant hands on her shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. “Feeling tingly yet?” Or, the road is fun, but coming home is, too.

Quintessence Control - Aether/Aeon/Dewdrop - E, 1.1k

"Didn't you say you wanted to show me a little something?" Aeon wiggles his fingers and Dew goes still. Against his neck, Aether places a wet, sucking kiss. "Okay?" he whispers against Dew's skin, fingertips stroking over his temple, down the side of his face. "Cool if we play?" Dew chokes out a yes, and Aether takes a slow, deep breath and bleeds magick into him, tangling himself between every neuron in his brain. (You should also read this one actually)

Stoned Edging - Aeon/Swiss - E, 1.4k

"Unholy shit," Aeon breathes, sounding delighted and fucked-out, trying to steady the rise and fall of his chest. "How many are we at now?" Swiss doesn't know. Too many times, and they're both far too high to remember the count. Their little game of how bad they can make it for each other relies on two things: one, the shared love of an exquisite, particular sort of misery, and two, how much of Mountain's greenhouse stash they can get away with pilfering. It's something the others don't have the patience for. Not the way they do, at least. They're over the top with it. Unnecessary. It's delicious.

Run Rabbit Run - Rain/Swiss - E, 17.5k

“I want you to show me just how important he is,” Swiss says and Rain doesn’t understand, dazed with the slow slide and massage of lips against his while he speaks. His brain is fogged up, useless. “Will you do that for me, sweetheart?” “How?” The hands on his face remain, though Swiss once again leans away in order to look at him properly, wearing that serene smile that says he knows more than Rain ever will. Or, The hunter strikes it rich.

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

[chromatic-lamina]

2024 Writing Roundup

I think I deleted my round up on the AO3-looking template, so, at the nnntthhhh hour, using it in text form, tagged by @hyperions-light . Thank you very much! I'm taking this from AO3. I've had a few meta on tumblr, but not many. I've got five fics outstanding for 2024, that I guess we'll see in 2025. I also didn't do any secret santas this year (I told myself I was too busy). It was a bit strange! Anyway--

words posted: 28,656 on main, and 12,362 on anon

additional words written: not sure what this means. I didn't have too many meta, so I'd say about 500? Ooh, wait, unpublished zine pieces: about 8000.

fandoms: One Piece

highest kudos: It's been a quiet year (no Bioluminescent Hearts this year!) so Heart Pirates' Week at 47 kudos. 72 on anon, and cumulatively, Dark like the North Blue Sea (aka The Sea-Hill you Die On) drew in 336 kudos. valuta , which was published in late December 2023, 92 kudos.

highest hit one-shot: Decomposers, my fic for the LawZo zine, has 586 hits. Fic on anon, 5,500 hits (but it's not a one-shot!).

new things I tried: I did the Davy Back Fight <- fic here, written with 3 others, and the remix project <- fic here. I was happy to try both!

fic I spent the most time on: Probably Welding, which was written for the KidLaw zine, just because the timeline/schedule on preparation for that zine stretched across almost two years. Also, it had a higher word count, and I really wanted to do it right (as with most pieces!).

fic I spent the least time on: Probably Sunk Cost Fallacy, which is a Heart Pirates fic written for the Davy Back Fight. Mostly because it was written between four people, and we wanted to keep a fairly low word limit. The ficlets I wrote for the Heart Pirates' Week took longer, but not that long.

favourite thing I wrote: It's a draw between three: Welding (6,767 words), my KidLaw fic; Decomposers (3,006 words), my LawZo fic; and water fills the shape of the holder (2,125 words), Law reflection fic, remixing one of @purplehairedwonder's fic.

I also had fun with the Kaidou, Queen, King and Black Maria piece (Remedy for Errors) I wrote for @crowbarsolo in support of Palestine, and Widi's Waddle (about Penguin's penguin), written for the OP Friend-Shaped Zine.

favourite thing(s) I read: Aw, a ton of stuff. I always like @anarchycox's LawZoLaw (also a great SmoLaw, but I'm not sure if it was this year), and all of the stories for the LawZo and KidLaw zines. I especially liked @alpha-hydra's Liminal Space (KidLaw), beautiful story by @/gammacavy from 2022 (The Caravel who Dared the Tempest) about Going Merry, but I just read it this year, and anything @crowbarsolo wrote, but especially the Cavendish/Nico Robin piece The Special Guests. ALSO! must mention home (the gilded lily remix) by @gladdecease who wrote a beautiful story springboarding from an older story of mine (house / yorishiro). Also loved Only You And I Remain (KidLaw) by @betsib and Give it to me, show me what you're feeling (show me that you need me) (LawZo) by @/CursedHoneyB. Maybe just check out my bookmarks (watch out for the kink!). Have been reading the multi-chap Warsong about my favourite rarepair, MarcoLaw, but it might've just gone beyond my word count limit (it's about 100K beyond my limit. Haha). It is beautifully written, though.

Give @hyperions-light's The Road(trip) to Hell Is Paved with Questionable Decision Making a read! It's a lot of fun, but all of their work is good (paying back, but also true!) They write under @flyiing-giraffe

Two more!

I'm really enjoying the Going Merry: A Poor Substitute for Romance series by Springtime4Persephone. Focus is ZoSan, and I'm not a ZoSan shipper, but I enjoy it, and what I enjoy even more is the LawBin, and side servings of ZoLaw and LawSan. Very empathetic, fun and also a good serving of angst. Also, @/TerrifiedAristocat's Somebody Write Down the Recipe (LawSan, vampire and creatures of wonder in a modern day setting) is very good. Ongoing. Last two are E ratings.

Also, there are a dozen things I've read and loved and haven't mentioned here. I read a lot less this year though. All of the stuff for the Heart Pirates' Week was great, and I really enjoyed the beginning of ghosts speak in whispers and lies; can't know what's real 'til you're the one who's died (E rated, LawBin) by @nehswritesstuffs (Nehszriah) on AO3.

writing goals for 2025: None so far. Maybe return to my own work (rather than fanfic). BUT, who knows :D

new works: Again, nothing lined up at the moment. I do have a story in the gorgeous Pigment of Imagination (ophuezine). Pre-sales open now (closing soon). And four ficlets for the upcoming Fate and Fortune, one piece anthology digital zine. Stay-tuned for both! OH, also, I have a piece for the Baltigo Manifesto zine (about one piece revs). Due for publication in 2025.

tagging: only do it if you want to! (and I know there's not much time, and I know you might've already finished!). @purplehairedwonder , @ninhaoma-ya , @anarchycox , @kookoofufu (even if you don't play on tumblr anymore :D), @fowlfics @starlightbelle and anyone, anyone who'd like to play.

[dvilsdesire-a]

Some little Raphael headcanons:

Raphael absolutely detests that he is a cambion. This stems entirely from being half human, which he loathes and is exceptionally insecure about. Once he was able to control his devil shape and form, he embraced it 100% and wanted to be more devil than human. Unfortunately, as a cambion, he will always be reminded that he is half a devil, and it's something he's very insecure about--comment on it and find out.

Raphael still requires food, water, sleep, and the toilet. As a cambion, he still requires food to sate his human hunger, however, cambions are allergic to most foods outside of meats, and he can get very sick if he eats something out of the ordinary. This is something he hates also, because he envies that full devils can eat whatever they wants despite not NEEDING it. Unlike him, he requires food still, but is limited to what he can actually consume without being ill. The nerve!

While he does not need as much sleep as a normal human would, he still requires rest. This makes him feel less efficient as a devil, because devils don't require sleep, and Baator runs off efficiency. One more thing to the whole hating being a cambion, as others look down on him because he requires something as simple as sleep.

As for the toilet... apparently cambions have digestive systems that require purging, which makes sense since they also require food and sleep, etc (the chamber pot in game supports this).

Raphael says he has a wine cellar in game, and I think fannon has pretty much taken on board he's a wine drinker. But he also requires water, because hydration is important! Especially in hot arse Avernus (even though devils are immune to fire).

Raphael is autosexual (sexual attraction to ones self). This is pretty much canon lore if we go off what Haarlep says in game (he stares at his own portraits, he only ever wants to sleep with himself, "Raphael loves only Raphael" etc.). I will absolutely go into a bigger post about Raphael's sexuality when I have the time, I've just been avoiding it because fandom will hate me lol.

Secondly on this note... he is not sexually or romantically interested in Tav and Co. Raphael isn't interested in sex in general unless it's with himself (or Haarlep as himself). This doesn't mean he won't use sex as a lure. He absolutely will, especially if he picks up that Tav/Co is interested in him or flirting. Overall, however, he sees everyone else as beneath him and therefore not worthy of his affections.

I am on the train of Raphael isn't exceptionally good in bed, though this isn't because he's BAD per se, it's because he's selfish. He doesn't care to please Haarlep, he cares about his own end goal and that's it. Once Raphael is done and had his orgasm, he's not about aftercare or pleasuring his sex toy (sorry 'Lep'Lep, I love you but it's true >:).

In saying that, Raphael is exceptionally possessive, and he does see Haarlep as his property. This also stems from Raphael's own feelings of inadequacy in general (re: cambion), and therefore, he becomes jealous and possessive with EASE. If he gets any inclination that he is not good at something, he will rage no thanks to those insecurities and feelings of being inadequate.

Raphael is an extremely firm believer in the laws of Baator. He is Lawful Evil to the T. I believe he fully respects and follows these traditions. His comments about the Oathbreaker Tav shows that he's not willing to deal with someone he knows is going to break a contract, because he finds that despicable. This isn't to say Raphael doesn't TWIST those laws and use loopholes to his convenience (every devil does). However, he does believe in those laws and he will follow them, because to his core, he's very Lawful Evil.

Raphael is a control freak. Living with him would be a nightmare. Everything is under his control. Every room has some strange little code or charm or riddle that requires invitation. You can't just roam around the House of Hope without Raphael knowing. He knows EVERYTHING that goes on in his house, and if he doesn't, he'll punish someone until they have no other choice but to tell him.

Raphael is a sadist. This also stems from the whole re: cambion and feelings of inadequacy. Being in control and seeing others under his command gives him a sense of (sexual) pleasure and satisfaction. This comes from a place where he has felt little and like nothing as a young cambion growing up in the Hells, where others would look down upon him and make him feel insignificant. Now, he has gained the upper hand and he will continue to do so. This is a classic tale of the bullied becoming the bully.

Second to this, he has violent tenancies, though they are generally left for very specific moments. Raphael prides himself in being a calm and collected devil, one that doesn't allow his temper to get the better of him (however, we know this happens if you make fun of him or don't play by his rules). There is a time and a place for such violence, he will not act like some savage beast, after all. It will be calculated (look at how he tortured Hope, he doesn't raise his voice, he uses manipulation, disappointment, likely even forms of psychological torture and Stockholm Syndrome tactics).

Raphael suffers night terrors. This is due to being a cambion, and because his evil nature haunts him and attempts to corrupt his thoughts and soul. Over the years, they have become something less common, but Raphael absolutely dreams (and that's canon since his diary entry). He will often twitch and mumble in his sleep (Haarlep is there to help if he wakes in distress--though Raphael tries to pretend it's nothing worth fussing over).

Speaking of diaries... Raphael is notorious for writing daily reflections. He writes EVERYTHING down. Which is honestly a really dumb thing, because even when he's plotting, someone could just pick his is diary and read every little scheme he has. While some of them are more in depth, others are sort of coded, but Raphael's quill gets away from him, and oftentimes, he is writing more in depth than he realises. For someone who demands to be in control of everything, his pages are quite often filled with restless writing and a clear sign that his thoughts are getting away from him. Poetic, right? XD

Raphael hates children. Hates! They are messy, they smell and they are noisy. Loathes children. But a child he can turn and manipulate into his own mould... he will definitely try and win over (aka Mol).

Raphael's contracts are all written in rhyme, he also has the ability to make contracts in verbal format (like with Yurgir).

Raphael waxes. He also plucks his brows. While he keeps his chest, arm, leg and pubic hair, his back and butt is always waxed. He maintains his pubic hair as well, just very neatly, as well as any other body hair he keeps. You won't catch him dead with a beard (too much like daddy).

Raphael's human form isn't overly tall. I hc him to be the average height, which is around 5'7. Honestly, I'd hc him shorter if I could, because he has short king syndrome and i love it. :) But going off game models, he seems pretty average. In cambion form, he's taller, but still average for a cambion imo. His height is nothing special, and that likely bothers him.

[mikeywayarchive]

Photo: Jawn Rocha

Mikey Way debuts his Dark Horse Comics series, Christmas 365

Anna Zanes | July 24, 2024

Full article under the cut:

It might still be sunny out, but Mikey Way is stuck on Christmas. Alongside co-writer Jonathan Rivera and illustrator Piotr Kowalski, with Brad Simpson on colors, the My Chem guitarist-cum-graphic novelist (Electric Century, Collapser) has announced Christmas 365, an upcoming series with Dark Horse Comics, also home to Gerard Way’s Paranoid Gardens and The Umbrella Academy. This oddly feel-good story, bizarre and magical as it is loaded with gallows humor, follows the arc of Peter Rockwell and his family as they navigate the treacherous holiday season, aided by some words of wisdom from a strip mall Santa. Way describes the surreal satire astutely: “Like most kids growing up, I would often fantasize, ‘What if [Christmas] never had to end?’ That very thought was what sparked this story.” Though it's got the spirit of The Nightmare Before Christmas and the kooky suburban charm of Better Off Dead — this team has created a series that’s fresh, surprising, a bit spooky, and entirely their own. 

In speaking to their process, AP connected with co-writers Way and Rivera. “Finally being able to tell this story is a real dream come true! The idea came about a decade ago, and there were plenty of starts and stops in the process,” Way shares. “Putting it in comic form felt like the perfect way to tell the story exactly how we envisioned it after so many years of wanting to share it with the world. Let's be honest, I don't think there's a kid alive who hasn't wished Christmas would never end. Haven't we all fantasized about it being something we got to live day after day?” He continues, “I saw this as an opportunity to tell a funny but heartfelt story, in the vein of all of the classic ’80s and ’90s Christmas movies that I loved so much. I remember watching Home Alone and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation back to back one night and wondering, ‘What story is left to tell?’ An hour or two later, the framework for Christmas 365 was born.”

The connection between co-writers has been an ongoing one, though this project sees it come to fruition. “It's been really fulfilling getting to finally write a story with Jonathan Rivera, who is one of my best friends — I think we've known each other over 20 years now,” Way says. As for the rest of the highly experienced team, “Piotr Kowalski and Brad Simpson brought the story to life exactly as we imagined, giving it the feel and imagery of a ’90s Christmas movie through and through. Daniel Chabon has been a terrific editor to work with and really helped us keep the story focused. I am sure this goes without saying, but it has been a real honor to be able to put out a comic under the Dark Horse banner. The folks over there have always been super kind and supportive to me, and have a rich history with my brother. So to be joining the ‘family’ with my own story to tell is pretty surreal!” 

Rivera, also known for Cave Carson Has a Cybernetic Eye, adds, “Mikey and I had been talking about this story for a while, but it really started to come together as a comic during the pandemic. We’re living in stressful times, so it felt so cathartic to work on such a sweet and strange story about forgiveness and spending time with the people we love. It’s also the type of story we rarely see in comics, and that made me really excited as well.” 

For the writer, a goal has been achieved with this project. Dark Horse has long been a northern star in the industry for Rivera, who caps the chat off with, “I’ve been a fan of Dark Horse comics since I picked up their first Aliens vs. Predator miniseries as a kid. I later worked with them when I ran the official Myspace for The Umbrella Academy back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. So it brings me great joy to come home again with a book that means so much to me!”

Dark Horse Comics

Dark Horse Comics

[liamket]

okay finally the most waited post (of mine (maybe)) since yesterday!!! me rambling in a weird/deep way!!!!

first of all we start strong

the Wolfie thing was something that i've been wondering when will be adressed, and when i read the word "wolf" i got nuts

I felt weird here cuz Four just mentioned Time and himself??? im crackling at Leg's face "my guy you forgot someone" now thinking better abt it Legend didn't tell anyone abt the bunny thing appart of Twi and Sky, so it makes sense they not knowing he already found out

It makes sense that he didn't wanted to show his wolf form to them at the start, he can't just go "hey guys look i can turn into a wolf *cool shadow transformation* AUUUUUUUUUU-" and not freak them out.

and i find a little amusing Wind wanting a confirmation, he wants to make sure that now there's not fractures between each other's trust. They still got their secrets, yeah, but he still wanted to at least hear that theyre cool about this one

Twi almost died, and the only reason that he's still breathing is because of them, obviously he will trust them now.

my poor guy has been working so hard, being the emotional support dog in the group together with big brother duty is exhausting

still makes me laugh that nobody really made 2+2 and realised that it was a little suspicious that every time Wolfie was there Twi was patrolling. They really share the name Link huh

Wolves are beautiful but dangerous animals, they are strong and usually agressive to invasors, makes sense to hide something that makes people run away from you. You might be able to defend them, but they will only pay back with scared glances

ohhh i would really love to see this! Wild already knew Twilight, well, future Twilight. He saw the giant dog wandering around and thought "hey i know him thats the strange wolf! hey hiii buddyyy" this guy really

love them trying to explain time shenanigans. keep it up buddy. you know basic math you can do this.

the rest of them talking abt the wolf thing while here my man fighting with the gps

Wild you already established your point calm down

Something that i and a lot of people noticed: Wars seems more relaxed, the past updates he was at the verge of screaming at the void. Now here he is, bothering his brother. Happy Warriors is back!

See the only thing he needed was his emotional support scarf back

if i had a coin every time a character hide their true identity in the zelda series i would have 16 coins, which is a lot considering that i thought it would be just 5 or 6 times what the hell

oh i know that look. He has already an idea of what wars menat with that, he has already experienced the same situation

Four doesn't fully approve the use of shadow magic yet. He remembers someone that because of that lost himself in the power. What if this happends too with Twi? How will they handle that situation? His mind is already too noisy just with thinking it a little

He hopes they will not have to confront the consecuences of dark magic's abuse

i remember that someone said Wolfie looks weaker, and honestly i agree

im not sure if this is the case, but if it is i wouldn't be surprised. He looks thinner, his fur more tangled and less flat

Still fluffy boy, tho

AND NOW. the panels that made me laugh for some weird reason/i liked a lot without any comments of why

art at its peak as always

(art credits goes towards @linkeduniverse as always!)

[phishstyxart]

Hey im back.

Anyways here's my long as hell headcannon thingy for the goofy ass DJs.

Ps: Still a work in progress so some stuff might change.

In my headcanon the DJ school is more like a DJ college since I believe the DJs are around adult age (the official comics support that since DJ Blue is moving by himself)

And yes I call him DJ Blue even though his cannon name is Student. Student just doesn't have that same ring to it.

Also most of my headcanons revolve around the Rhythm Tengoku Gold Comics, which you can read here, here, here and here, as long as you understand Japanese. There are also some translated pages that will pop up in this text that was translated by @farey8336!

Ok, first a timeline of events.

1. DJ Yellow and the Red Rapman started a band together and eventually started dating after that.

2. Eventually they broke up because the Yellow Rapman came into the picture or something like that. (Still have not worked out exactly why the broke up, whoops)

3. The Red Rapman and the Yellow Rapman form RAPMEN

4. DJ Yellow moves on and starts going to the DJ school with some solo stuff here and there. (Fun fact in the canon of the games the DJ school is not actually a school that teaches you how to DJ, it's just a school that makes you seem like a DJ since the school can't take people who are actually DJs.) I wrote a little explanation as to why DJ Yellow is in this School since he is shown to actually be able to DJ and has won contests.

I added his in since would seem strange if DJ Yellow was just lying about his ability to DJ, especially since his DJ skills is how DJ Blue and DJ Yellow get to know each other. Also I don't wanna retcon the comics since my headcanons mostly hinge on that since there is not much to go on in the games. (But i don't know how to explain away to fact that DJ Yellow is mentioned on the flier. Uhhhhh... See, this is why this is still a WIP.)

5. RAPMEN get really big and the RAPWOMAN form right as they get popular.

6. DJ Yellow gets really good and beats the RAPMEN in contests, leaving the Red Rapman bitter.

I headcanon this because the RAPMEN hand DJ Blue a flier for the same battle of the bands that DJ Yellow is leading champion of. I can also assume that RAPMEN are competing in this battle of the bands as well so I think a bit of jealousy has formed on the part of the Red Rapman. Similar to how he's bitter towards the RAPWOMAN.

7. DJ Blue moves to the big city to go to DJ school after his own solo career flops. DJ Blue has also accidentally goes to the fake DJ school since I think he does actually want to learn but went to the wrong school.

8: The RAPMEN give DJ Blue a flier for the battle of the bands, where DJ Blue meets DJ Yellow.

Ok, now here's the gayest/pos page in this comic, like DJ Yellow has a fucking rainbow behind him in one panel and DJ Blue blushes THEY ARE GAY IM TELLING YOU

9: DJ Blue walks up to DJ Yellow and he says how he was amazing <3, and they get drinks.

10: While getting a drink together, DJ Blue learns that DJ Yellow is helping to assist some of the other students at the DJ school for extra credit and DJ Yellow offers to personally teach him there.

11: After quite some time, DJ Blue eventually goes to the Love Lab to find some advice on how to confess to DJ Yellow, but comes up fruitless. I put this here since there's a frame of DJ Blue in the Love Lab comic and I think it would be cute if he was there to actually get information on love since this is the lab where they literally make love.

11. DJ Blue eventually confesses by just being himself, they DJ together and the rest is history. 💛💙

I think about this too much.

Anyways some character bios. There's a few others I plan on making but have not finshed yet, whoops.

Some facts are true, (DJ Blue is taller then DJ Yellow, Loud sounds bother DJ Blue, and DJ Blue works selling fish) but most are just my headcanons.

Anyways that's all, I know this is a bit different then what I usually do, I'll go back to drawing I PROMISE! And if you actually read all of this, thanks so much! I'm just glad I can share my insane ramblings. 💛💙💛💙