#like some strange last attempt at being relatable

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

CHAPTER II - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapter: [x] Word Count: 3.4k+ words (unedited). Genre/other tags: Angst with some fluff. Jealousy. Fem pronouns used. Warnings: Swearing. Self-deprecation. Manipulation (on Alastor's part).

It had been nearly over a week since you and Lucifer last talked – it had also been a week since Lucifer was last seen around in the hotel. Angel, being the gossiper he was, relayed everything that had transpired between you two to the others the following day. Seeing the sensitive and sad shell of a person you were left in, everyone remained cautious and had started walking on eggshells around you. Of course, you were quick to pick up on that, as embarrassing as it all was (minus Alastor, who continued on with his usual theatrics and mischief). 

Charlie in particular was the most concerned out of them all, since this was her dad we were talking about. She knew with certainty that he was confining himself in the castle to distract himself from what happened – likely something involving his rubber-ducky obsession – instead of facing the problem head on. It was his pride that sometimes got in the way of his better judgement.

Not only that, but Charlie clearly saw the massive toll it took on you. If you weren’t distracting yourself with work or doing something related to the hotel, you would lock yourself away in your room, only coming out to quickly grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Charlie even made efforts to strike many conversations with you from time to time, but was either excused or was only given one-worded responses. She knew not to take your dismissive behaviour to heart, but she couldn’t help but fret over you.  

So it came as an absolute surprise when out of nowhere, Charlie received a call from her father. She messily scrambled for her phone on her desk, fumbling and nearly dropping it in the process before violently tapping on the small screen. “H-Hello?! Dad, hey!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically while nervously combing her hair with a free hand. “Uh, hey Charlie!” Lucifer stiffly greets from the other line, “I just…um, thought I’d give a call to, uh, see how everyone’s going at the hotel!” The Princess noted how much hoarser his voice was than usual, but decided not to comment on it aloud. 

“Well, y’know how it is! It’s been busy and lively as always–everyone’s been working really hard and all,” she answers vaguely, nervously chuckling. “Err, yeah! Right. That’s a–that’s a relief to hear. Yep,” he hums. There was a brief, awkward pause that ensued soon after, the both of them not knowing what to say next. The whole exchange was becoming increasingly painful that Charlie resisted the urge to pull her hair. She then clears her throat. “H-How about you, dad? What’ve you been up to? You’ve been gone for a couple or so days,” Charlie finally musters, “are…are you doing alright?” 

“Me? Oh yeah, psh! I just got, erm…a lot of things going on at the moment. It’s not so easy being the big boss of hell after all! Got a lot of important things to do! Plus, I’ve got heaps of paperwork to do for the hotel. You should know how tedious that is,” He says, adding an exaggerated groan. 

The princess furrows her brows. “Oh, that’s…strange. ’Cause I could’ve sworn you left all the papers here…y’know, the ones you told me to revise over?” Charlie replies, side-eyeing the said documents stacked neatly on her desk. A startled yelp escapes his throat. “O-Oh...did I?” He stammers.

Charlie couldn’t help but wince at the evident panic that began to set in as she listened to her father make incomprehensible noises from the other line. It was a poor attempt in reasoning, which ultimately became useless in the end. Lucifer let out a long sigh, caught red-handed. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding? You guys probably already know what happened–which by the way, Charlie, you shouldn’t be lying to me about!” He pointedly remarks. 

“I-I’m sorry, dad! It’s just…I’m really worried about you,” she reasons, before shortly adding, “...The both of you.” 

There was a small pause. “...How is she, by the way?” He then asks quietly. Charlie nervously tugs her bottom lip with her fangs. “Well, she’s keeping herself busy. Constantly, as a matter of fact. And I know she’s trying hard to convince us all that she’s holding up okay, but…she doesn’t look too good, dad. She seems really upset.”

A shaky exhale sounded from his end. “I…I really am hopeless, aren’t I?” He mumbles defeatedly. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture him burying his face in his hands. The image caused Charlie’s eyes to soften. “Dad, no. It’s not too late. You still have a chance to make things right,” Charlie gently encourages through the speaker, “you just need to talk to each other–”

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a bright, blazing portal manifests from thin air – from it, emerges Lucifer himself who appeared extremely dishevelled, effectively catching Charlie off guard. 

“But, hun, y-you don’t understand! I messed up big time!” He exclaims, tugging on his unkempt hair as he aimlessly paced around her office. “I-I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking mess and a coward! Why would she ever think to take me back after what I did!?” He chuckles humourlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “I-It’s like no matter how many times I try to redeem and convince myself that everything’s finally going right in my life, I just continue to fuck myself over and over again. And it’s just– ugh! It’s pathetic! I’m fucking pathetic!” 

Charlie’s chest tightened considerably as she watched her father self-destruct before her. Strands of his golden hair were sticking out here and there, his dress-shirt tousled, and his eyes were glossed over and red, from both a lack of sleep and crying. He looked utterly devastated. Chucking her phone away, she immediately sped towards and enveloped Lucifer in her arms, who immediately broke down into heavy sobs. Seeing him like this brought tears to her own eyes, but she firmly told herself to be the stronger person in this situation, for his sake. 

“Hey, hey. Dad, listen to me, okay? Everyone deserves a second chance. You of all people should know–you were the one who taught me that, remember?” Charlie rubbed his back soothingly, trying to ease the jumpiness of his shoulders. “And that also applies to you. I…I know you’ve been through a lot, especially with mum…” She couldn’t help the way her frown deepened as she spoke, “...and I miss her too. I miss her a lot. But…I think it’s finally time for you to move on. It’s been years, dad. You deserve to be happy and you’re allowed to be in love again.” 

“[Name]’s an amazing person, and there’s no doubt about that. She’s proved that more than many times already. I’m certain that once things ease over and you guys finally talk things through, everything will turn out okay; she’s very understanding and kind like that. You’ll both be okay.” Charlie gently pulls Lucifer away and with the sleeve of her blazer, she wipes his damp, reddened cheeks. “I know for a fact that she loves and cares about you deeply – we can all see it as clear as day. You…you love her too, don’t you, dad?” 

For a brief moment’s contemplation, Lucifer suddenly recalled the times you spent together, from your initial meeting to now. He had always thought you were a strong and independent soul, with the way you carried yourself. You just had something about you that naturally drew in those around you, including himself. When Lucifer got to know you in a deeper level, he was enthralled by how kind and understanding you were – you were always there to listen to his many tales and endless nonsense; you would always seem genuinely interested in his rubber-duck-esque inventions, offering some input and critiquing his creations; and you would always be so, so supportive of all his plans and ideas, no matter how extraordinary they all seemed.

If he hadn't known any better, Lucifer would've thought you were an actual angel. You were the saviour that wore off the darkness in troubling times, and the one who pulled him out of the void that Lilith had left him in. That and more, as you continuously gave him a real reason to remain hopeful. You were proof personified, that he was able to open his heart once more, and to love again.

“I-I do, I really do,” Lucifer affirms in a heartbeat. Charlie smiles warmly, relieved by his answer, “then that’s all you need to say.” At that moment, Lucifer's chest swelled in overwhelming pride for his daughter, knowing that despite not being as present in her life until recently, she grew up to be the good and strong-willed person he had hoped for.

“O-Oh, jeez. Since when did you grow up so big? I should be the one comforting you,” He tearfully jokes, sniffling whilst returning her smile, “but thank you, Charlie. Really. I’m…I-I really am grateful to call you my daughter.” The two royalties then shared a heart-felt moment and a bone-crushing hug, with the King's heart being filled with a new-found determination. Because, just as he always says: The show must go on. 

Earlier on:

On the other side of the building, you were drowning yourself in your own self-despair as you overlooked the balcony by the front entrance of the hotel. Your eyes lazily scanned the new hotel patrons below, who were engaging in some trust exercises led by Vaggie, who came in to cover you just moments ago. Every once in a while, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone, silently hoping to receive some sort of notification from Lucifer, or even an inkling of his whereabouts. But you received nothing, which only fuelled your growing anxiety.

You felt awful leaving the way you did that night, especially after dumping so much onto Lucifer. You felt like you were being completely selfish, and had cornered him into making a big decision. And because of that, your relationship was on the line. You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing angrily at your face.

Little did you know however, that you had some company lurking nearby, watching you in silent amusement. 

“Now, don’t you look as miserable as ever?” Alastor mockingly chimes in, stepping out from the shadows to make his presence known and joins you by the balcony. You roll your eyes at the deer-demon before turning your head the other direction. “Yeah, and what about it?” You scoff, leaning in to rest your arms against the rails, “Can’t you go bother someone else, Alastor? I’m certainly not in the mood right now.”  

“Why, I wouldn’t be a good hotelier if I left a dear co-worker of mine so down in the slumps!” To your dismay, Alastor reappears in front of you, obstructing your field of view, "And might I add, it's not healthy for you to be all cooped up in your room all the time – stay there any longer, and it can do silly, little things to your head!" He emphasises his point as he spins a finger in a circular motion by his temple. You shot him an irritated look, slowly growing fed up by his prodding. 

"Listen, I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I’m more than capable of deciding that on my own,” you growl, straightening up to cross your arms firmly against your chest. “Hm...no, I don’t think so!” Alastor hums, shaking his head disapprovingly, “The unfortunate affair that took place in your courtship with the King has left you in such a vulnerable, and problematic state. And I’m sure you’ve taken note of how everyone’s been acting around you – constantly walking on their tiptoes in fear of setting you off on a hissy-fit. You’ve caused them to worry a lot about you, dear. Poor ol’ Charlie, especially.” 

You open your mouth to retort back, but nothing came out. A strong pang of guilt struck you as his words began to sink in. Seeing this, Alastor’s grin widened a faction as he stepped forward and levelled himself with you, now facing you eye-to-eye. “And as the executive producer of this fine establishment, might I critique that your behaviour is affecting our team’s morale and performance…and we mustn’t have that now, should we? Especially not since we’ve all been more preoccupied recently with our guests!” He…had a fair point, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…know…” Your voice began to trail off, shoulders slumping in realisation of how selfish and contemptuous you’ve been acting this whole week. You recalled the fretful expressions of your friends and your dismissive attitude towards them. “I-I didn’t mean to make everyone worry…” you quietly say. Alastor’s words only made you feel immensely worse about the whole situation, leaving you sniffling on the spot. 

“Now, now. As long as you realise your mistakes, then you shall be forgiven,” he coos, softly patting the tuft of your head. At that, you couldn’t help but send a doubtful glance his way. “W-wait a minute…why do you care all of a sudden? What exactly are you playing at?” You suspiciously question as you rub at your eyes. 

“Oh, how you wound me, dear! Why must you always question any act of kindness I display? Is it really that hard to believe?” He adverts, evidently feigning hurt. You deadpan. “Yes, it is,” you reply almost instantly. Alastor chortles at your bluntness, “Haha! You’re quite a work of art, aren't you, dear? Now, let’s go out for a walk, shall we?” 

Before you could’ve processed what he had said, Alastor had already spun you around, pulling you with him as you both headed down a flight of stairs. “Wha–Alastor, where are we–where the heck are you taking me?” You asked, trying to keep up with his long strides so as to not trip down the stairs. “Hm? Did I not already specify? It looks like your brooding has impacted your hearing, dear. That’s a shame,” he slyly comments, now dragging you towards the entrance, “We’re both going for a walk around town, it’ll help clear that cloudy head of yours!” 

“Hold on-Stop! Just what makes you think I’d agree to go out with you?” You shoot back, retracting your arm from his hold and stopping metres behind him. Alastor sharply turns around and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper out of thin air. Your eyes dart towards the sheet, seeing a familiar hand-writing across the page. 

“Why, I just knew you were going to question me – you're so predictable. But might I add, we’re not going out without purpose! No, no! Our lovely Charlie has composed a list and requested we fetch a couple items in town!” Stepping forward, you swiftly snatched the paper from his clawed hand and briefly scanned the list, noting that it largely consisted of decorations and party items. “She wanted to organise a heart-warming celebration for the wayward souls here who have accomplished some milestones on their journey to redemption! An anniversary ceremony of sorts, if you will,” Alastor explains, lightly patting the non-existing dust off of his suit.

“But couldn’t you just…I don’t know, teleport the things here?” You blatantly ask, raising a brow at him. You knew he was more than capable of doing such minuscule tasks within a span of seconds. “And waste such a beautiful day outside? Now, why would I even consider doing that?” Alastor states matter-of-factly, “And like I said, the short trip will help clear your troubled mind! Consider it a gesture of compassion from yours truly.” 

There was clearly something off about all this but you couldn’t see any reason for an ulterior motive. It was just…simply a manager looking out for the well-being of his work-colleagues, as uncharacteristic and off-putting as it sounded out loud. Already exhausted, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to question his actions any further.

“You’re really not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” You ask. Seeing the way Alastor’s grin widened had you sighing in defeat. “Shall we then?” Alastor questions, offering an arm out to you. Rolling your eyes, you loop one of your arms through and follow him out the hotel. ‘A small walk wouldn’t hurt…’ you think to yourself as the doors shut behind you. 

Currently:

Lucifer tiredly dragged himself to his designated room in the hotel, to rest for a while and take a much needed bath as per Charlie’s advice. He gave himself a lengthy pep-talk in front of the mirror as he brushed his teeth, deciding to approach you tonight to finally talk and clear things out. Yes, he was absolutely terrified about the possibility of things going south during the confrontation, but he didn’t think he could handle another second being without you. And he needed to make that loud and clear. 

After putting on an outfit and neatly slicking his hair back, Lucifer looked at his reflection once more in the bedside mirror, inspecting himself up and down to flatten any remaining creases of his clothing. But it wasn't until his gaze landed on his left hand that he tensed up. Peering down, he brought his hand into view to inspect the very wedding band that caused it all. With a shaky sigh, Lucifer slowly pulled the ring off of his finger. He took a moment to examine it, eyes filled with sentiment before kneeling down to open his bedside drawer, where its designated ring-box sat. The moment he encased the ring in its box and locked it away in his drawer, it felt like a breath of fresh air. To his own surprise, Lucifer found himself tearfully laughing – he felt...genuinely happy. Proud, even. It was at this very moment that he felt like he was finally ready to move forward.

After patting the stray tears away from his face, Lucifer slowly made his way down to the front lobby. There, Charlie and Vaggie were talking amongst themselves by the lounge area, whilst Angel and Cherri chuckled away by the bar, with Husk tending to their beverages. The King didn’t give an inkling of care as to where Alastor had gone, and he was certain that Nifty was hiding somewhere in the small crevices of the hotel, cleaning away. All in all, there was no sight of you whatsoever, visibly disappointing him. 

Seeing his approaching form, Charlie waved his father over towards them. “Hey, dad. Are you feeling a bit better now?” She asks with a comforting smile. “Yeah, totally. Thanks, dear,” he says, patting her shoulder affectionately before turning his attention towards her partner. “Hey! How’s it going, Maggie? I’ve heard you’ve been working real hard lately, huh? Good on yah!” He commends, playfully nudging the said demon. “Oh, um…it’s–it’s Vaggie, sir. And uh, thanks,” she nervously chuckles, rubbing her arm. “Mhm, yeah…that’s–that’s great,” Lucifer distractedly hums, all the while scanning around the room. Noticing this, Vaggie shared a worried look with Charlie. 

“Erm, dad, she’s not here at the moment if that’s what you’re wondering,” Charlie starts, alerting her father. “Oh? Well, is she up in one of the guest rooms?” Lucifer asked, gesturing upstairs with a thumb. To his confusion, Charlie appeared somewhat nervous, her hands fidgeting with her suit. “Uh, no, she’s actually not in the hotel at the moment,” Vaggie steps in, “she’s been out doing a couple of errands for us.” Lucifer raised a brow at the slight edginess in her tone, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “...Um, alright. What the heck is going on right now?" He asks, pointing an accusatory finger at them both, "You guys are acting sketchy as fuck. Are you...are you guys hiding something from me?" He narrows his eyes. Charlie sucks in a breath, brows pinching together, “Well...dad, t-the thing is–” 

“She’s out with Smiles right now!” Angel suddenly intervened, calling out from the other side of the room, and causing Charlie to cower and duck behind Vaggie. Lucifer felt his shoulders grow rigid. “She’s…what now?” He dangerously asks, glaring at the arachnid. Before Lucifer trudged towards the direction of the bar, the front doors of the hotel abruptly flew open. He felt the vein in his neck nearly burst at the sound of your laughter interlacing itself with that god-awful, irritating radio feedback. What a wild coincidence.

As Lucifer turned around, his eyes nearly flew out of his head as he saw how close you were with Alastor, arms basically locked together. The radio-demon was quick to meet eyes with the King, and out of spite, Alastor flashed him the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

“Oh, fuck no!”

Chapter III - Finale [x]

Thank you for reading!

[minh907]

Lost Spirit.

Sung Jinwoo x Ghost Reader

« Chapter 1 ✭ Chapter 2

______________________________

Jinwoo returned the next night, and the night after that. Days turned into weeks, and slowly, a routine formed.

Every evening, after completing his dungeon raids, he found himself drawn back to the tree, where you would wait. Sometimes, they would sit in silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Other times, they would talk - about meaningless things, about a past you couldn't remember, about a future Jinwoo wasn't sure he had.

"I think I liked the night," you mused one evening, lying on a branch with your hands behind your head. "It feels familiar... peaceful."

Jinwoo, leaning against the tree, hummed in response. "Makes sense. It's quiet. No one's around to bother you."

You chuckled. "Except you."

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

Through their conversation, Jinwoo slowly pieces together your past. You don't remember much, but you say you probably saw something glowing from within your chest before your world went dark.

But it doesn't help him much.

All he knows now is your name, you're dead, and you're stuck here for some reason. It's probably related to the light you mentioned.

Maybe he can ask the system? Or if he's higher up, he can do something to find out more about you.

But the strange thing is that all his efforts to find out about you seem to be in vain. It looks like your information has been blocked, the system says he doesn't have permission to access it.

This made him frown. Who are you? Why does all information about you seem to have completely covered up?

He wondered if you were really harmless or if you were a potential danger?

But when he looked at your silly face and your attempts to steal his food but couldn't touch it but only passed through it, he immediately dispelled his doubts.

This ghost knows they can't touch objects, but why they are so stubborn?

After your transparent hand pierced through the food for the nth time, you pouted and complained.

"What a bully, delicious food right in front of me but I can't eat it."

"That's not your food either."

"Your food is also my food, we are friends"

Jinwoo's head was full of black streaks, helpless before the idiot next to him.

You lean back. "Damn. Being stuck here is so annoying. I'd rather just disappear."

"...I'll try to help you."

You giggled, "No need to put so much pressure on yourself. I don't have high hopes either. I'm just happy you came to talk to me."

Jinwoo exhaled slowly, raising his head to the dark sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, indifferent to the questions swirling in his mind.

He had faced countless enemies, conquered dungeons that most hunters would not dare enter, but the mystery of you—this stubborn, sarcastic ghost - was something he could not decipher.

But he would try.

Because despite all logic, despite the lack of answers, he found himself looking forward to these quiet nights, your nagging, your teasing, and the way your presence made him feel strangely... comfortable.

You waved a transparent hand in front of him. "Hey, Earth Jinwoo. You seem to be thinking too much. It's dangerous for someone like you."

He instinctively slapped your hand, but his fingers only touched air. His lips twitched. "Someone like me?"

"A fight addict." You sneered. "With the emotional range of a rock."

Jinwoo snorted, shaking his head. "I could leave you here, you know."

"But you won't."

"Unfortunately."

You grinned, triumphant. "See? You do like me."

He refused to answer formally. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sandwich, opening it with practiced ease. Out of habit, he tore off a piece and handed it to you before he realized - that's right. You couldn't eat it.

He glanced at your expectant expression before sighing. "... Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I just took away your last hope."

"Jinwoo." You held your palms together while staring at him with sadness. "You would show true concern for me by helping me resume eating."

He pressed his nose bridge between his fingers. "Since you are already dead you would not need food."

"Ghosts crave food too, you know! I think I used to like sweets... maybe?" You frowned, disappointment flashing across your face. "Ugh, why is my memory so bad?"

Jinwoo looked at you quietly. You rarely showed any cracks, your frustration with your circumstances far exceeded any jokes. But when it did, he felt a strange pressure in his chest - a pressure he couldn't name.

"...I'll find a way," he whispered. "Maybe I can find a way for you to interact with things again."

Your eyes widened a little before you smiled, soft and comforting. "Really!!!?"

He responded with a simple shoulder movement while chewing his sandwich. "Just to stop you whining about it."

You grinned, and for a moment, the city lights behind you seemed a little brighter.

____________________________

That night, after you had faded away with the first light of dawn, Jinwoo opened his system menu. He didn't expect much, but he still tried once more.

[Error. Insufficient authority to access requested information.]

His eyes narrowed.

If he didn't have permission, that meant someone - something - was keeping the truth hidden from him. But why?

Who were you, really?

Jinwoo clenched his fists. No matter what it took, he would find out.

And maybe - just maybe - he could find a way to help you.

Perhaps after waiting until he can change careers, he can access some information.

________________________

To be continue. ________________________

Chapter 3 »

Sorry but I got lazyyyyyyy

[ladyrosemone]

My favorite

We've got all the ingredients, except you needing me - Cake, Melanie Martinez

I'm using Google Translate here! 🗣‼️‼️ Please excuse any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies, I swear I'm studying to improve my written English 😭 This idea came to me thanks to @kiwisandpearls, I loved your take on the abandoned Waynes haha! I'll definitely be making more at some point.

The Waynes, the most powerful and influential family in Gotham City, the diamond that gives it an artificial shine, replacing the forgetful Sun, which never seems to illuminate those lands of darkness.

What makes the Waynes different from other Gotham millionaires is not their humility, nor their sense of duty to their employees and followers, much less their reckless extravagance when it comes to spreading their (according to gossip) infinite wealth.

No, none of that, it's something more private, more intimate.

Love.

At first no one believed that, because come on, Bruce Wayne? The greatest playboy known throughout the world, with adopted children as if they were precious jewels every season, conceited and proud, a philanthropic genius of unfair beauty? In love? Pure gossip that entertained for a while, but was never more than that, gossip for the elite and showbiz for the lower class.

Until a newspaper (one that does not usually produce so many fallacies), revealed its newest scandal.

"Bruce Wayne Spotted With Young Beauty! Has Gotham's Biggest Mogul Finally Settled Down?"

If that wasn't enough, they were right, because the next launch came with Olympic magnitudes!

"Bruce Wayne's Child Finally Revealed! Gives Exclusive Interview About Him Sudden Return"

And how do we get to this?

When a man loves a woman...oh no, that's not how it started.

It was a woman from his youth, one who left when the next day and returned when Batman appeared in Gotham City.

You arrived as a ten-year-old child; small and confused, scared and insecure, longing for you deceased mother and the life you left behind with her. Bruce didn't know how to relate to you at first, and having an angry, newly orphaned child didn't make him any better, but he tried, he really did.

And little by little it worked...only in one child.

You could never get over the loss of your mother, she was your whole world and now you were with this...man who claims to be your father, a father you never had and out of nowhere he gives you things and takes you to his work to meet more boring old men. To make matters worse, that child he adopted out of charity is irritating, one day bothering you for being "spoiled" and the next wanting to spend a sibling afternoon with you.

But you don't have brothers.

You didn't have them when Jason arrived (although you cried for him), you didn't have them when Tim arrived and definitely not when Damian arrived and his arrogant attitude of the legitimate son wanting to hang out with only you. It's frustrating! Every second of the day is a request from someone to go out, to eat together, to...For anything to keep them attached like fleas!

You remember one of Richard's last attempts, before he left Gotham for an exchange, or for you a chance to get away from that family;

You were in the kitchen, eating breakfast that she had prepared herself because it makes you uncomfortable to have an older man serving you, when Richard appears with his hundred-dollar smile and a lot of irritating energy.

"Hello hello!" He greets you with his usual energy "How did my favorite person wake up?"

It's too early for this you think tiredly, taking a sip of coffee.

Your lack of response doesn't discourage him, it motivates him more for some strange reason "I have wonderful news, I got a vacation from work! And guess where we're going?"

"We're going?" Bored questions, annoyed by the new plan that you were not consulted about, again.

"That's the spirit! Let's go to Disneyland!"

"..." you look at him with dead eyes, and with all your heart you wonder how that big boy is a functional adult "I can't today, but ask me tomorrow, I'll surely be free to go"

"Really?"

"No"

Next is Jason, who although he was not as insistent as Richard, was the most energetic in his attempts, then the Joker thing happened and...well, you can't treat him badly, you're not cruel.

But coming back from the dead is his pity card, used so many times that you wonder every day if it became an excuse at some point.

"Hey" he said to you one day when he found you in the library "There's an art and literature exhibition in the downtown library, let's go"

"...I'm already reading"

"You can read with me and shop at the same time, you like shopping don't you?"

"I like my time alone with my book, Jason"

"You didn't used to say the same thing, but that's what makes you die, it leaves you thinking about your past life..."

"..."

"...Are you coming?"

"I hope you get hit by a car"

Tim is a silent pusher, he doesn't come close but you know he's there, and that happens brr brr every minute with a brr brr new message.

"Where are you?"

"Are you really asking me?"

"I give you the benefit of the doubt"

"I'm going to block you"

"Again?"

"The computers of the whole city"

Virtual annoyance has been disconnected

And Damian...OMG Damian.

It's a nuisance, a sharp little nuisance; refusing to leave your side whenever he can, demanding attention, time together, activities and visits to any place he wants.

"Sibling" greets the boy, who doesn't even know where he came from if you're at university right now and he should be at school.

"What are you doing here Damian?" You demanded harshly, looking everywhere so that no one would associate Bruce Wayne's youngest son with you, not when you did your best not to be recognized as a Wayne since you were a child.

"I want to go save wildlife in Africa from hunters and I need an adult to accompany me" he explains as if it were the most normal thing in the world, another Thursday for him.

"Tell Bruce-"

"Father"

"Let me take you, or take Richard, don't bother me"

"And I don't want adopted children, I want my blood accompanying me in this mission to safeguard wildlife"

"If I tell you if you leave?"

"Are you going with me?"

"Yes yes whatever"

You didn't go.

And not to mention the collateral damage; Barbara and her constant moments of togetherness solving cases (you don't answer her messages), Stephenie and her desire for you to teach her how to cook (you never go to the mansion's kitchen), Cassandra wanting to be by your side (years with Bruce allowed you to develop a sixth sense to evade his shadows), and the newest, Duke Thomas.

He is fine...he keeps his distance, and deliberately ignores the fact that not a single light bothers his eyesight all day.

The worst of all, your father, Bruce Wayne.

Money, gifts, trips, clothes, portraits, everything he can give you, he gives it to you, so much so that you feel like drowning sometimes.

It is strict and suffocating, affectionate but distant, present and absent at the same time. It is annoying and contradictory!

He was the reason you went on exchange to Metropolis, until you discovered that the Kents were close friends of your father and that their approach was not of good will, relocating you to Spain until you finished university.

Reluctantly you had to go back, just long enough to finish the paperwork and stop being Wayne once and for all.

But that was your mistake, coming home, and this time they won't let you go, because you can't hate them more and that's an opportunity for them.

[laora-ryn]

Just in case anyone was wondering, I am in fact a federal employee and I am in fact having A Fucking Time Of It

In roughly chronological order, here's all the things that have fucked us over the last two weeks:

Hiring freeze effective immediately, which involved rescinding final offers to people who were about to start their job. A final offer is something you can get a mortgage with btw. It's what you get after months of paperwork. It's something you move cross country for. Eighteen people just at our hospital had a final offer rescinded

A demand for a return to in person work, with no explanation given for why they want this so badly. No explanation on people who have teleworking written into their contracts, or people who have teleworking as a reasonable accommodation

Related to the hiring freeze: no creation of any new jobs in even a preliminary way, even to prep to fill existing vacancies after the 90 days are over

Closing of all DEIA teams groups, webinar series, webpages, department gatherings... Anything you can think of. This included the queer teams based communities that were just a place for people to chat

Related to this: our acting secretary sending out an email that sounds straight out of the fucking Gestapo, where "we are aware of efforts by some in government to deliberately redefine DEIA positions in an attempt to keep their jobs. If you know of this happening, here's an email line we've set up for tips. There won't be adverse consequences for reporting, however, failure to report may have adverse consequences"

What appears to have been trying to be a total freeze on federal spending, which threw literally everything into chaos, I was not able to follow it at all, but the hospital is still running so I'm assuming money is happening somewhere

Two strange emails from OPM.gov, marked EXTERNAL, saying they're testing a new distribution list and to please reply yes. These were considered so universally sus by employees that they had to come down from central office and confirm that yes, these are legit, please reply

A day later, an email from that same external address offering voluntary resignation, which I'm pretty sure is the bit that's been all over the news for (checks notes) being word for word the same email musk sent to Twitter before proceeding to Not Pay Them

A restriction on communication and travel. "No speaking engagements or attendance at public facing events, seminars, or conferences (unless approved by chief of staff) for 6 months. VA only events are excluded." Which was later clarified to mean "well if you're going for continuing Ed, as long as you aren't presenting, it's ok" but then backtracked to "it's probably ok but you still need approval which can take upwards of a month." Why are they restricting speaking at conferences? It's not a money thing because traveling for VA events still costs money. It's like they're looking to prevent staff from interacting with anyone external, for some reason

And today, an email this morning that "leadership has received guidance from the office of personnel management [regarding the EO about "gender ideology extremism and restoring biological truth"] and is working to execute the EO fully, faithfully, and thoughtfully."

This afternoon at 4:30, this began with an all employee email saying that all personal pronouns are being removed from Outlook display names by IT, which was a system implemented several years ago and broadly popular! But nope, we'll need to go back to guessing what genders new coworkers named Quinn, Alex, Morgan, and Taylor are.

(oh I forgot! I can't use the word gender at work anymore. Using Proper Terminology (as interpreted by our ~~~Illustrious President~~~) in all communications at work is now required)

It's been a fucking week and a half and I am so goddamn tired guys. Sorry I haven't been on again but I'm spending most of my energy on Not McFucking Losing It rn

[sockswithsog]

“Just once”

So I’ve like never made a tumblr post let alone written smut before so if this is bad don’t tell me 🙂‍↔️

[edit: fine I’ll finish it]

You wouldn’t have been so okay with this if you intended on the emotions that came along with it. It had been weeks, no, months since you’ve felt any physical contact from any person besides the friendly tap or like shoulder nudge. And you had expected that but JESUS you did NOT expect your labido to be so strong. Being your age and in a job so ‘complicated’ you usually felt that you were able to control yourself pretty well, it’s what landed you a special position in this crew, it’s what got you out in space, now it’s what got you stuck in your room all hot and bothered tossing and turning on the stiff company provided mattress. What made it no better if the fact that you can tell that your co-worker and good friend is having the same problem.

Daisuke, you wouldn’t even attempt at denying the fact that he was attractive, and for the past week you’ve noticed that the previously subtle flirting he’d usually do has turned more desperate, his usually confident demeanor around you has sort of shifted. you were a couple months older than him but you two were by far the closest in age on the crew so his playful comments of your looks or personality came of as more playful than anything, so until now nothing was out of the ordinary. Your position felt like more of a budget cut but the excuse you were given was that they’d appreciate your extra hand, when you found out your long time acquaintance Daisuke would be taking an intern position on the job you appreciated at least one familiar face. Now that familiar face had met yours flushed in the past week more than once, the amount of “intimate” encounters you two have had have happened quite apparent to you. The long looks, the hesitation in his words, the flushed look on his face, something was up and you were getting impatient with this aching feeling.

You wake up, clock in, tend to your work performing little tasks in your field, time passes and you and everyone else begins to wind down, you make it to your room before you hear someone turn the corner, you see Daisuke and you were going to wave and say a quick little hello before turning back to your room but he calls for your attention.

“Hey! I was looking for you, do you have a second?”

You look at him a little strangely, though you two were considerably closer to each other than anyone else you can’t remember the last private conversation you two have had when it’s not work related.

“Yeah what’s up?”

He lets out a huff of a laugh and hesitates before speaking “it’s just a little private”

Your mind begins to wander in places you’re definitely not proud of, but realistically you realize it might just be some small request, though you would definitely make a move you’re not sure if he ever would even if he does treat you the way he does.

“Alright did you wanna like- come in?”

You gesture to your room, the only slight privacy in this massive machine, the only other options being echoey rooms and halls, even the rooms provided have paper thin walls.

You both step into your room and you let yourself plop onto your bed, it’s a bit of a fall but it makes it funner for you. You smile up at Daisuke and tap the space next to you, inviting him to sit and continue what he wanted to ask. He giggles down at you before doing the same thing you did, causing you to bounce a little closer to where he sank down into your mattress. You both giggle a little before you turn to him expectantly and when he realizes what you were expecting he became nervous and hesitant again. His eyes became darting and he started laughing awkwardly before stuttering out the first half of his explanation.

“So, I- Uh- I’ve been having a hard time, um, focusing I guess, I just… I’ve been having… needs?”

So much for some small request you think, you shift where you’re sitting, clenching your thighs a little, finding something to do with your hands that doesn’t put them too close to your crotch. You listen to him because you’re interested now, and you feel the same, but also because you didn’t expect this from him. The blush on his face, how quiet he is, he’s acting very different from the silly guy you’ve been friends with for the past months, but you kinda like it. He continues,

“I don’t mean to sound like a perv and you can totally say no and we can forget I ever asked but I thought it would be worth a shot-”

He’s speaking too fast for his own good now but it’s so cute, he’s thinking a mile a minute and you can tell.

“Please, I just want you to consider it we don’t even have to do anything now and I would do all the work I just really need- our id really love to be umm intimate? With you?”

Now you’re just looking at him, he was definitely brave for asking you just had no clue what to say, he took that for you not being convinced enough.

“Please we don’t even have to go all the way I can just eat you out or we can only do hand stuff you’re just so sexy and it’s been hard to focus on work when you’re all I can think about, please I can just make you feel good-“

You jump on him, your mouth smashing into his stopped him from begging any longer,

“Just once.”

he looked pretty doing it but you had better ideas, and apparently so did he. His hands started moving onto your hips grabbing you and adjusting you on top of him slotting your legs between each others while he lightly squeezed your hips. One of his hands moved up to your chest to feel more of your body, he was kissing you like you were the only woman he’s ever seen and he was gripping you with his hands like he couldn’t afford to let you go. He pulled away and he looked so amazing his face was hot and his breath was heavy, he was looking at you with his eyes mostly trained to your lips. You continue to scan his face before you make eye contact with each other and he gives you a little smile before switching positions with you, laying you down. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, he kiss you in the eyes.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulled your shirt up just over your bra so he can get a good first look, he spends a good minute running his hands up and down your hips and squeezing where he wants before he lowers his head to kiss between your tits. He moved to the left, kissing up to your nipple before lightly taking it in his mouth, testing it, you roll your head back, letting him continue so he does. After a while he moves over to your right, showing it the same amount of attention, and when he’s done he slowly starts to move down, cherishing every second of bliss you allow him. He

Reaches your light happy trail and traces it with his tongue, you couldn’t tell if this was passion of skill but he was doing amazing, his hot breathe left shivers on your body, letting the parts of you he’d left behind long for his touch again.

He looks up to you while fiddling with the button of your pants

“Can i?”

You nod, and he immediately unbuttons your pants, sitting up to yank them off you only to realize he needs to tone down the enthusiasm, but you thought it was cute. As soon as your pants are off and moves back down to the edge of your panties, inhaling your scent through the fabric. He decided it wasn’t enough, he moved his nose closer, his hot breath hitting you in the most sensitive way causing you to let out a sigh, careful not to be too loud.

“Please…” you needed more.

And he gave it to you, he yanked your panties off just to return just as close, breathing you in, getting ready to enjoy your taste. You can only hum in anticipation before he plunges into you, letting his tongue lead his actions. Uncoordinated and sloppy, he’s less focused on technique and more focused on how fucking good you taste. It made him regret wasting his time on sweetener packets. After his first initial taste he settled into a rhythm, one he noticed made you grip the cheap sheets tighter. You began to lose focus on staying quiet and Daisuke noticed, he grabbed your hand and moved it to his hair, letting you guide him where you needed him, making you slightly louder. You grew closer and closer until you reached your breaking point, you hold his head still to make sure he didn’t stop, helping you ride through the amazing orgasm he just gave you. Soon after you let go of his head, letting him pull back and away, only then do you notice his right hand retreating from his length, he’d also finished while pleasing you. He shifts on top of you still holding it, he uses his non-dominant hand to lightly trace your folds before using one to press into you until he’s knuckles deep, after a little bit of that he starts using two. You can’t handle it. You need more.

“Please..”

“Yes?” He asks, he couldn’t help but look up to admire the look on your face when you ask him to please you.

“I need more.”

He already knew that, he’d been waiting longer than you can imagine for this. After you ask him he aligns himself and runs the tip up and down your pussy, teasing you, he wanted to see what you’d you. He’d continued teasing for a second before you wrapped your legs around him, bringing him closer. He giggles at your desperate behavior.

He lines up and slowly presses in,

“H-holy shit..”

He leans down after bottoming out wrapping his arms around you as he does stabling himself. He’s almost whimpering while he tries to remain still,

“You feel go fucking good.. this is better than I’ve ever imagined”

The last part got a little quiet, like he was still embarrassed to say it out loud. You moaned after he said it, the just the way his voice sounded and the way he felt inside you, just the sensation. It was… to die for.

“Please don’t stop…” you don’t even realize what you ask till after you do. Daisuke takes that as the okay to move and he wastes no time being slow. He leans down to your ear.

“I won’t.” It sounded like a promise.

You moan at the feeling, he adjusts to hit the most sensitive part of you, making your legs clench around him and you head rolls back, he takes this chance to kiss your neck. He starts sucking a bit high on your neck you notice, but you don’t care, if your co-workers can’t already hear this they’re bound to find out some other way.

He gets restless with the position, maybe he felt like he wasn’t deep enough, he grabbed both your legs, binding them in just one of his arms and over his shoulder, going deeper into you than you thought possible, and your glad he’s the one to show you. As he moves in and out of you he turns his head to kiss up and down your leg, before spreading them to reach your other leg, kissing up your calf to your heal, before letting both legs rest on his shoulders. His hands resume squeezing into your thighs as he uses them to bring up to meet his thrusts. You love how it feels like your being treated like a slut, but he’s so attentive. Having only had sex once or twice before this you’d never experience this desperate feeling of desire, it felt completely different and you liked it. Loved it even, loving the way Daisuke had you wrapped around his finger right now, you wondered if making you feel this good was always his intention, that made you love it so much more. He’s writhing above you, groaning at the feeling of you pulling him back in the second he pulls out, he’s never felt this good before, he’s never really gotten this far with anyone. Knowing that he can make you feel so good suddenly boosts his ego majorly, inspiring him to do better, go faster. So he does, and as he does he moves one of his hands from your thigh to your clit, beginning to lightly trace circles around it and above it to avoid overstimulating you. After a while both his hands are playing with you, on your chest and continuing the circles he’s doing, pushing you closer the beautiful edge Daisuke has been influencing you to.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he huffs out, and it makes you look at him, you’d been more focused on how you were feeling rather than how you looked, you were a little embarrassed about how silly you must look, before he starts kissing all over your face, you forget it, he seems to like it.

You grab his face and kiss him more, just as passionately, he moans in your mouth and speeds up. Making your moans fall into his, and it encourages him to continue. You can feel the end coming close you and grip him tighter. You pull away from the kiss to breathe but keep him close, he pulls back letting your legs fall off his shoulders so he can wrap his arms around your waist letting his head fall on your chest, using the grip on your sides to keep relentlessly pounding into you.

“Daii-“ you can’t finish what you were saying before you fall into another earth shattering orgasm, causing you to tighten around Daisuke. You both are making the most pathetic noises as you both finish, you remember his noises, you’d be using it later.

“Was.. was that okay?” He said breathlessly collapsing next to you.

“Oh god more than okay” you giggle, catching youre breath as well.

“Heh.. I’m glad, can we do this again then?” He sounds excited, going back to the cute playful Daisuke you love,

“Maybe one more time.”

OKAY I FINISHED IT, i just added more sex bc that’s what I wanted. I hope you like it, and I lied ig please lmk what u think 😩

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Under Your Spell

Vox x Reader

Since childhood, I have been told I look identical to my great-grandmother. Her husband, my great-grandfather, has looked at me like I was the last fragment of her to walk this earth. When he passed, it made me realize how some people lose their first loves and never get to see them again. I decided for this story that Vox should get to see his first love after he thought all was lost. However, it was you, his first lost love's great-granddaughter. You have the same looks and names, just younger. He thought after his first love's father chased him away, that was it, and any part of your life would never be in his hands again—until you were placed in Val's hands, and his protective side came out. Can you two learn to love each other? Will things grow or dissolve since he is close to that horrid Moth man? Tw: MDNI, 18+, Assult, Val being Val, Weird family-like relations, based off my HC Vox

Wow, this one is a long one. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! I don't normally write long pieces like this, so if we like it, I will attempt to do it more! I wanted this posted yesterday but just kept writing and writing and writing. I had to make myself stop and cut off.

“No, Vox! You will never see my daughter again! Do you hear me?” The older man’s voice thundered, his face a deep crimson, veins bulging as fury twisted his features. Spit flew from his mouth with each vehement word, a grotesque display of his rage. “She is a good Christian woman, and she will not fall for your television antics! She deserves a good man—someone who can provide for her, not some reality star scum!”

Vox swallowed hard, the bitter taste of desperation rising in his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay, unwilling to give the man before him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “You can’t do this!” He surged forward, trying to push the door open again, the threshold of your home now a barrier between love and despair. Just moments ago, he had envisioned a simple marriage proposal—an intimate moment filled with promise. But the moment he uttered those words, it felt as if the heavens had opened up to unleash divine wrath upon him. Vox was never a good christian man and now only seemed to further prove that.

“I love her! I have loved her for so long! I will treat her right! You cannot take my Angel from me!” His voice cracked, desperation saturating each syllable as he pleaded with the man who wielded the power to shatter his dreams.

But the door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in his heart. As Vox stumbled back, the world around him blurred, the vibrant colors of love fading into a monochrome nightmare. You were gone, just as quickly as you had entered his life, your father’s iron grip ripping you from his arms. Like a good Christian girl, you obeyed, never looking back.

You married a well-off businessman, someone who could provide in all the ways Vox was deemed incapable. Sundays found you in polished pews, while he languished in the bright glare of daytime TV. You bore children while Vox climbed the ranks to prime time, and as he basked in fleeting fame, you were left to wither under the weight of a dreaded illness. When he was ultimately taken down by his own deceitful schemes, it felt like a cruel twist of fate for you both.

When Vox woke in hell, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he felt a strange sense of contentment; he knew he had courted darkness throughout his life. A con man’s rise to fame was paved with the broken dreams of others, and he’d danced on that line with reckless abandon. Yet, the greatest cost was the loss of you—his little angel, the only light that could have guided him from the shadows. Perhaps, if he had kept you by his side, he might have found redemption instead of ruin.

Years in hell stretched on, dull and monotonous, much like his time as a TV host. He made acquaintances, and he made enemies. He learned from the notorious Radio Demon, their relationship evolving into a rivalry as fierce as it was complex. Valentino entered the picture, a partnership forged in the fires of self-interest, followed by Velvette, who added her own chaotic flair to their strange trio. Despite these new connections, Vox could never fully release you from his heart. How could he let go of his first love, the girl who had filled his world with color?

Vox kept tabs on you long ago when you two still walked among the living, an unyielding shadow lurking in the corners of your life. He was a shady man, after all, so it was no surprise that he employed someone to follow you and your family. He needed to know you were loved and cared for, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. Your life blossomed into something beautiful—a picture-perfect family, Sunday church outings, laughter echoing through the halls of your home. Each glimpse of your happiness twisted the knife in his heart, a reminder of what he had lost. He only wished now here in hell he could have a moment to see you once more.

Yet, you never looked back at him, not once. Even when he learned you were sick, he held onto the hope that your devoted husband would nurse you back to health. Instead, you spent your final years in a realm far brighter than hell, surrounded by family, while Vox remained trapped in the shadows.

Then, one fateful day, the story took an unforeseen turn. You, Y/N L/N, the great-granddaughter of the woman who once bore the same name and likeness, found yourself in a world steeped in piety and predictability. Your family’s life revolved around the church—Sunday services, Bible studies, and summer camps that felt more like shackles than blessings.

Yet you, the wild child among your siblings and the first daughter in generations, danced on the edge of rebellion. Your spirit, a fiery blend of your grandmother’s beauty and the reckless charm of a man she once sought to escape late into the night with, burned brightly. You lived humbly, taking only what you needed in the daylight, but at night that didn’t stop you from indulging in the vices that thrilled your heart—partying, drinking, and seeking freedom in every forbidden encounter.

As you stepped into adulthood, the veil of your misdeeds was ripped away, exposing the wild and reckless girl you had been. On your eighteenth birthday, the news broke like a thunderclap, echoing through your conservative town. Whispers turned to shouts as tales of your high school escapades spread like wildfire—parties, late nights, and indiscretions that painted you as the black sheep of your family.

In a desperate attempt to salvage your reputation, your parents enrolled you in a Christian college, hoping the structure would steer you back to the righteous path. But even there, with the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on you, you found ways to maintain your hedonistic lifestyle. You studied hard, yes, but the allure of nightlife was too intoxicating to resist. By the time you turned twenty-four, your antics had once again come to light, revealing just how unladylike and un-Christian your behavior had truly become.

Disowned by your family, you were cast out like a forgotten relic, but it hardly stung. You had siblings aplenty—golden children who fit the mold your parents desired. While they basked in their parents' approval, you reveled in your newfound freedom, embracing a life unshackled from the burdens of propriety. You danced through life with a wild abandon, each misstep a badge of honor in your quest for self-discovery.

But this exhilarating freedom came crashing down one fateful night. On the eve of your twenty-eighth birthday, you found yourself at a pulsating club, surrounded by friends who matched your energy. Laughter and music melded into a cacophony of joy, and for a moment, the weight of your past felt distant. But as the night wore on, everything blurred. A drink, laced with malice, slipped into your hand, and before you knew it, the world around you faded to black.

When you came to, the vibrant lights and music were replaced by an oppressive stillness. You blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Panic surged through you as you recognized your surroundings—a hellish landscape bathed in a sinister shade of red. The air was thick with a suffocating heat, and the ground beneath you felt like it was pulsating with a malevolent energy.

The reality of your situation crashed down like a wave, and you realized you were no longer in the world you had known. You had crossed an unforgiving threshold, one that led straight into this hellish landscape. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes—your family’s disappointment, your reckless choices, the fleeting moments of joy that now seemed tainted.

As you struggled to rise, the shadows began to shift and swirl around you, whispering secrets of despair and temptation. You knew you were exactly where you belonged, a place you practically through yourself at the minute you were old enough to disobey your family. You were killed and now resting here in the pits of hell.

In those fleeting moments, you understood that you weren’t just a victim of circumstance from one bad drink; you were a participant in your own chaotic narrative. The life you had led and the choices you had made brought you here, and now, in this twisted realm, you had the chance to confront the consequences of your actions. 

With a mixture of fear and defiance, you steeled yourself, ready to navigate this dark new world. You would face whatever challenges awaited you, determined to reclaim your story, even if it meant battling the demons of your past—both literally and figuratively.

You were in hell and you readily accepted this, dressed in a glitzy clubbing dress, your skin transformed to the vibrant hue of a fox’s rich orange, glinted with specks of white and black. Yet, amidst this twisted beauty, your features still bore the unsettling resemblance to your deceased great grandmother.

As the years dragged on, the brutal exterminations became increasingly difficult to evade. The once-familiar landscape of hell morphed into a relentless hunt, where survival was a cruel game of chance. Desperation gnawed at your insides, leading you to a place you had sworn to avoid—a notorious sex house owned by Valentino, a figure whose reputation sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls.

You stepped into that den of sexual sin with a singular purpose: the Vee’s worker bees somehow endured the purges, and you were desperate to escape the clutches of a second death. With a resolve, you signed up to be 'looked at' for a position among his girls, hoping to cling to life a little longer.

What you encountered inside was an atmosphere so charged with depravity it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. The air was thick with the heady scent of desperation and lust, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and smoke. You had pushed boundaries in your past life, but this was another level entirely. As nausea rose in your throat, you instinctively turned to prayer—a futile gesture in this place of darkness.

But in that moment of vulnerability, your fate took a turn. Valentino’s gaze locked onto yours, and you became acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. You were stunning, a rare gem in a world where foxes were coveted for their allure, and you were an easy choice for Val, despite your lack of experience in the kind of intensity he demanded.

Fortune, it seemed, was on your side. Within hours, you found yourself promoted, thrust into the orbit of Angel Dust, a top star in this grim world, and whisked away to Vee's Tower, where the underbelly of the film industry thrived. At first, your work was relatively tame, as Angel had angered Val, bearing the brunt of the wrath while you breathed a sigh of relief. You grew to enjoy the role, finding unexpected camaraderie with Velvette, the costume designer whose creativity brought a splash of color to the otherwise bleak environment. She was a refreshing presence, a stark contrast to the calculating Val.

Yet, the shadows loomed ever closer. Angel’s absence, demanded by the princess of hell, left you standing alone in a spotlight that felt increasingly dangerous. Whispers of Val’s violent tendencies echoed in your mind, tales of how he had ruthlessly eliminated two of Velvette’s models and three of Vox’s interns. Fear coursed through your veins as you perched on a plum-red bed, clad in a navy blue lingerie set, feeling like prey waiting to be devoured.

And then, without warning, the door swung open. You braced yourself, only to find not Val, but a strikingly handsome man with a television for a head. It was Vox, the elusive figure you had only heard whispers about. You leaned forward, captivated by the confrontation unfolding before you, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

But then Val’s eyes landed on you, and his smile widened, a predatory gleam igniting within them. “My dear Voxypoo,” Val purred, “how about we make a deal? I’ll apologize for my misdeeds towards your interns in exchange for Hermosa over here.” 

Your heart raced as Vox’s eyes widened in recognition, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. An unexpected jolt of electricity surged through you, mingling with fear and a spark of something dangerously close to desire. You were caught in a web of fate, and as the stakes rose higher, you realized that your story in this hell was only just beginning.

You had never met this man before a day in your life, yet an inexplicable pull drew you toward him, a magnetic static crackling in the air around him. “Oh Vox, if you don’t want her, that’s fine. I plan on her taking Angel’s role today. The damn spider is off playing games with the princessa bitch,” Valentino sneered, and your heart sank. Fear coursed through your veins like ice water; the realization hit you hard—he intended to use you in one of those scenes, to thrust you into the depths of humiliation and despair.

“She's a high commodity; I’m sure her soul would be mine after—” Val’s voice trailed off, but you couldn’t grasp what was happening next. One moment, you were trembling in fear, and the next, a whirlwind of chaos erupted. Valentino’s eyes swirled with ominous black and red spirals as the shoot was abruptly canceled, the tension snapping like a frayed wire.

A navy blue jacket was draped over your shoulders, and a firm hand helped you to your feet. “Come with me. You will be working in VoxTech from now on. Understood?” Vox’s voice was steady, but you could only nod, relief flooding through you at the thought of escaping Val’s clutches, at least for now.

You were still ensnared in the web of the Vee’s world, but perhaps you could choose the cranky TV man who seemed more enigmatic than predatory. Maybe you could carve out a semblance of a life, away from the chaos that had become your existence.

Following Vox, you traversed the unfamiliar corridors of Vee’s Tower, finally arriving in a room that felt distinctly different from the others. The walls were lined with large screens displaying chaotic scenes from around hell, and a solitary chair sat in the center, casting a shadow like a throne of power. “W-Where are we? Val never brought me here?” you stammered, confusion clouding your mind.

He hesitated, swallowing hard. Was this place a reflection of his past? Did you really resemble someone he had lost? The thought flickered through his mind, but Vox regained his composure and sat down, turning on the myriad of cameras that monitored the chaos outside. “This is my office. You will grow acquainted with it, as you will be my personal assistant.”

A wave of dread washed over you. So you weren’t free from the chains of servitude; you were merely swapping one form of obedience for another. His gaze flicked toward you, and he must have seen the pain etched in your features because he added, “You will do nothing more for me than paperwork, gather intel, and help set up schedules.” He motioned for you to leave, his tone dismissive yet oddly gentle.

“This floor has eight unused apartments. Choose one and message me; I will unlock it for you, and you can create your own secure pin to come and go.” His words felt like a lifeline, yet the way he avoided looking at you left a strange knot in your stomach.

Nodding, you stepped out, still wrapped in his jacket, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. You wandered the floor until you found a room that resonated with you—a sanctuary away from the dirt and grime of your past. After messaging Vox, you entered, marveling at the unexpected upgrade. How had you managed to elevate your circumstances so easily?

Lying back on the bed, you gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of your new life. You were seeking refuge, had become Val’s plaything, narrowly escaped abuse because of a cranky TV man who wouldn’t even look at you. What an absurd turn of events—what the hell was happening?

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you changed into comfortable clothes, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. Just as sleep began to weave its way into your mind, a soft chime from your phone startled you awake. Vox had messaged you, detailing the new daily routine you would follow to assist him. 

Setting an alarm, you nestled into bed, uncertainty swirling in your thoughts like a restless storm. What would the next day bring? Would it be more of the same, or perhaps a glimmer of hope in this hellish landscape? As you drifted off, the questions lingered, weaving through your dreams like shadows, leaving you on the brink of something you couldn’t yet comprehend.

------------------------Time Skip-------------------------

Vox quickly grew to love your company over the last three years, though Vox knew deep down that you weren’t the woman he had loved in his youth. You were almost her replica—a haunting echo of the past—but with a wilder, more untamed spirit. As he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief, he found himself drawn to that wildness even more. It was as if fate had conspired to create you just for him, a masterpiece crafted by your great-grandmother’s whims.

Yet, he never dared to reveal this connection, fearing it might shatter the fragile friendship that had blossomed between you. Yes, friendship—nothing more or less. However, with each passing day, he found himself surrendering to the undeniable truth that he had fallen for you harder than he ever had for your great-grandmother. 

No matter how many times he insisted that he was merely helping an old friend, a beacon of support for someone who had been torn from him, he couldn’t deny the intoxicating pull you had on him. At first, it had been your striking looks that captivated him, but as time wore on, it was your vibrant personality that ensnared his heart. You were everything Vox craved and needed on a biblical level; an irony he chuckled at, considering he hadn’t picked up a Bible since your great-grandmother had left him.

His mind was spiraling, his hypnosis streams were intensifying, and his push for innovative Vox tech was reaching a fever pitch. He even managed to score a narrow victory against Alastor, all thanks to you. How could one person be so perfectly oblivious to the advances he so desperately tried to make?

No one had ever worn his watches, draped themselves in his jackets, or even held his cherished pocket squares—except for you. But a troubling realization swept over him: all the advances he made were rooted in his time period, not yours. Your great-grandmother may have swooned at his charm, but you probably saw him as nothing more than a friend. In that moment, he knew he was utterly doomed.

You genuinely enjoyed working for Vox, relishing the opportunity to utilize your strengths. With a degree in entertainment and public relations, you found it easy to navigate the world of hypnotic persuasion he wielded. You were a wizard at uncovering people’s weak spots, providing Vox with ample ammunition against his personal enemies.

Almost immediately, you had become Vox’s young, gorgeous vixen. You liked the title so much that you gradually stopped using your real name, opting instead for the playful 'V' theme. Yet, Vox never referred to you by that name—always your real name, accompanied by a distant look that gnawed at your insides.

It had taken a year for him to truly see you, another year for him to stop freezing like a computer caught in a loop, and now, in this last year, he finally spoke without those awkward buffering noises. 

You never understood why he had chosen you as his assistant if he struggled to be around you. But you were content, especially since you had escaped Valentino’s grasp. You felt lucky that the exterminations had ceased shortly after you joined Vox. You often reassured yourself that if they ever resumed, you would leave—but the truth was, you were too attached to the enigmatic, awkward TV man.

You couldn’t deny the chemistry crackling between the two of you. He sent sparks racing through your body, igniting your nervous system with a thrilling energy. He was handsome in a classic, old-school way, the type of man your father would approve of—if only they never got to know he was a con artist. 

Every fiber of your being screamed to be with him, to unravel the layers of his soul and understand him in a way that transcended mere friendship. He was smooth-talking, undeniably hot, and invading your dreams more each night, leaving you craving his presence even more. The tension hung thick in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be, if only you dared to cross the line that separated friendship from something infinitely more profound.

It was utterly embarrassing—sneaking down to the old production studio, heart racing, just to rent out some toys that would let you indulge in your fantasies of being with Vox. He had never once hypnotized you, but you were undeniably under his spell, enchanted by his presence in every way.

��Vox, I got you the meeting with Carmilla about the angelic steel and its reproduction,” you announced, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. “I also secured a meeting with the health district to discuss the drug you want to utilize.” You had become extra vigilant lately, making a concerted effort to show him your interest. Your skirts grew shorter, your tops had fewer buttons, and your heels reached dizzying heights, showcasing your legs to their best advantage.

You were the death of him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his composure crumbled completely. You were tantalizingly close, yet he felt he couldn’t take advantage of your affections. The scars from his past ran deep; he didn’t want to go through that kind of heartache again. Even if your father couldn’t steal you away like your great-grandmother had been stolen from him, the odd connection to family made him reluctant to risk your bond.

But the way you presented yourself, dressed to entice, sent a tent of desire straining against the fabric of his pants. It felt as though he was being dragged through heaven, hell, and every place in between. He knew you were in hell in your own way, unlike your great-grandmother, but damn, did you have to be so deliciously tempting?

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be getting off early today due to an issue with Val. If you could make sure the cleaners come in here and do their job properly, I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice calm and cool, eyes never lifting from the screen. 

He was an enigma, nearly impossible to crack, seemingly showing no interest in you at all. Sighing, you nodded and began clearing his schedule; his fights with Val tended to stretch on longer than they should. You made sure to leave a dinner reminder for him and then headed out to retrieve the cleaning staff.

When you returned, you monitored the cleaning process closely. Vox usually preferred his tech to handle the cleaning, but today he insisted that his computers and TVs needed a “Sinners touch” to avoid any mishaps. You settled into his large chair, humming softly, legs crossed, watching as the young, fish-like boy worked diligently.

Out of the corner of your eye, a faint blue glow caught your attention. Vox was typically meticulous about shutting everything down before leaving, yet this one tab remained open. Half of you wanted to close it and move on with your life, but the other half—the curious, daring part—couldn’t resist the temptation. 

With a deep breath, you opened the screen. A Word document sprawled across the display, pages filled with dates and passages that traced the evolution of technology from its inception to the present. Your heart raced as you scrolled through the text, but then you froze, eyes fixated on the most recent passage. 

It was a detailed account of his current hyperfixation – You. As you read on, the implications began to sink in, filling you with a mix of excitement and dread. What had Vox been planning? And how deeply did it truly involve you? 

‘She was a vision of beauty, captivating in a way that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into chaos. I found myself wanting to take her, to make her mine in every way possible—over my bed, on the couch, against the cool surface of the counter, or sprawled across my desk. It was a reckless desire, one that threatened to unravel my composure and resolve with each passing glance. I was trying to court her like a proper gentleman, even though every instinct screamed for me to act on the primal urge that surged within me.’

‘What would she think if I finally confessed the truth? The truth of the connection that shimmered between us, electric and undeniable. If I bared my soul, revealing the reason why every time I looked at her, I felt an insatiable longing to claim her and never let her go—would she recoil in fear, or would she lean in closer? Would she despise me for the dark secrets I harbored?’

‘It was a sin, a tangled web of emotions, that I saved her not just because I had to, but because I had once been in love with her great-grandmother. If only it were simple to tell Y/N that my heart had shifted over the years, that the ghost of the past no longer haunted me as I found myself enchanted by her. I needed to steady my racing heart, but the hope of seeing more of Y/N today filled me with both excitement and dread. She had left a dinner reservation for two—was it meant for us, or was it for Val and me? My heart leaped at the possibility that it was for her and I.’

You were in shock. A torrent of questions flooded your mind, each one more bewildering than the last. How did he know your great-grandmother? How had he concealed this attraction so skillfully? The cleaner’s approach broke your reverie, and the scream that escaped your lips echoed through the building, a cacophony of confusion and fear.

With a heavy sigh, you closed everything down, your thoughts still swirling like leaves caught in a wind tunnel. You gently patted the shorter fish boy’s head, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty mirroring your own. As you made your way back to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you.

He knew her? You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rifling through the foggy memories of your childhood, the faded photographs that lined the walls of your mind. Your great-grandmother had passed away when your grandmother was still a child, but her belongings remained—a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. Vaguely, you recalled a picture that had often sparked your great-grandfather's ire.

Vox was in that picture… Vox, her first love, the man who had been banished by her father, the one your great-grandfather had despised and vowed to protect his family from. He was the specter who haunted your past, a figure you were compared to when you were disowned from the family and stripped of your inheritance.

The realization hit you like a thunderclap, shattering your understanding of everything you thought you knew. How did you feel? The attraction was still there, a flicker of warmth igniting within you as you considered his little habits, the subtle ways he courted you, filling you with butterflies. But could you allow yourself to love him? Would it be wrong to care for him in that way?

You glanced at your tablet, your heart racing as you noticed the dinner reservation was in just forty-five minutes. Swallowing hard, you stood up, a newfound determination coursing through your veins. The only way to truly understand what he made you feel, to unravel this complex web of emotions, was to show up. Normally, these reservations were for Val and him, a ritual of reconciliation, but this time, you would be there for him. For you. 

You moved quickly, the anticipation coursing through your veins as you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you like a refreshing embrace. With each drop, you washed away the remnants of your uncertainties, emerging with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Dressing became an art form; you pulled out all the stops to impress Vox. The deep ruby red pumps clicked against the floor as you slipped them on, a bold statement that added height and confidence to your stature. Black frilled lace-topped stockings clung to your legs, accentuating every curve. The navy blue long-sleeved dress hugged your figure just right, revealing just enough to showcase your best assets without losing an air of elegance. You styled your hair to perfection, cascading waves framing your face, while your makeup highlighted your features, making your eyes sparkle like stars.

It had been ages since you had gone to such lengths, not since the days of trying to impress Val, desperate to avoid his inappropriate advances. With a sigh, you shot a quick message to Vox, sharing the restaurant's destination but omitting any mention of Val. Tonight was about you and Vox, and you were determined to make the most of it.

As you stepped out of your door, your Vox Tech security bot awaited you, its sleek design a reminder of the world you inhabited. Vox had insisted on the device escorting you, and as you arrived at the restaurant, your eyes locked with Vox’s as he just arrived as well. Time seemed to pause as you both stood there, taking each other in.

To him, you were radiant, every inch of you exuding beauty and allure. His desires surged within him, overwhelming as he imagined symphonies and angelic choirs serenading your presence in this chaotic world. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire his dashing figure. Though a hard day had worn on him, leaving traces of fatigue etched across his handsome features, he maintained an effortless charm. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, his cuffs slightly askew, and in that moment, you realized something profound: tonight, he would be yours, and you would be his, come what may.

A soft smile danced on your lips as you reached for his outstretched arm, feeling a rush of warmth as you entered the restaurant together. The high-end staff treated you like royalty, ushering you to a table draped in elegant linens. Once seated, you glanced up at Vox through your lashes, your expression teasing as you playfully toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“I know about our family ties…” you said, watching as his eyes widened in surprise, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that you knew, or perhaps flustered by the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you? 

“I want you to know, connection or not, I feel it all too,” you added, punctuating your statement with a sly wink. His composure faltered, and you could see him short-circuiting, lost in the implications of your words.

Once he regained his composure, a soft smile broke across his face, his eyes flickering nervously as he tried to avoid the luxurious curves that had him entranced. “So this means I can finally stop dancing around and court you more publicly?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the stage of courting, Mr. Bed, Couch, Counter, and Desk.” Your cheeks warmed at your own boldness, while his face flamed with embarrassment at your teasing. A soft giggle escaped you as you flagged down the waiter, paying for the wine that would accompany your evening.

“Let’s head back to the tower, Vox… let me help you relax after today’s tiring events.” The confidence that surged within you was intoxicating, fueled by the way he looked at you and the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air. 

You had dreamed of this moment, of nights alone together, your hand tucked beneath you in hopes of relief, but it had never been enough. Each day spent near him only deepened your addiction to the awkward yet captivating man. But with the dark, calculating look in his eyes, you knew that from this moment forward, you would be more than satisfied. 

As the evening unfolded, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—two souls entwined in a dance of desire, ready to explore the depths of your connection, past and present, together. 

A chill raced down your spine as you and he stepped into his work car, the evening air thick with anticipation. He wanted to wait until you were safely hidden away in his condo before his hands roamed your body, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. As the engine purred to life, his fingers found their way to your thigh, gently caressing the soft fabric of your stockings. You could feel his gaze on you, hungry and intense, as you breathed heavily, caught in the electrifying moment. He was eager to claim you as his own, to make you his in every sense.

The drive felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out as his hand danced tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. You were ablaze with desire, the thrill of his touch igniting something deep within you that had lay dormant for far too long. No one had ever made you feel this way—caught between the living and the dead, lost in a whirlwind of longing and need. You were ready to surrender completely to the man beside you, to give him every part of yourself.

When the car finally came to a halt, all semblance of self-control shattered. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the center console and into his lap, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath away. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other gripped your waist, asserting his dominance in a way that sent shivers of pleasure cascading through you.

You mirrored his urgency, your fingers gripping his shoulder and the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Every kiss, every whisper of his breath against your skin, sent jolts of electricity sparking through your nerves, making you whimper into his mouth. You could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you, a reflection of the heated chemistry that crackled between you.

With his patience wearing thin, he pulled away, but only long enough to fling open the car door. He was acutely aware of your head as he stepped out, holding you firmly against him, making his way through the throng of Vee staff and personnel. There was no hesitation in his stride; he made it abundantly clear that you were his and his alone, a declaration that sent a thrill coursing through you.

As you rode the elevator, the air thickened with tension and need. He pressed you against the cool metal wall, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you fervently, over and over again. His hands roamed your body with a glorious sensuality, and you could hear the soft moans and whimpers escaping him, reverberating in your chest like a sweet melody.

When the elevator doors finally opened, it was as if you were stepping into a dream. He swept you up in his arms, never breaking contact with your warmth or your mouth. With a careful grace, he navigated the threshold of his condo, ensuring you never brushed against anything sharp or hard, as if he wanted to preserve this fragile moment forever. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The sensations heightened once you two entered his bedroom as he gently set you on the bed. He was careful to lay you down, slotting himself between your legs. He hummed quietly in the kiss as he enjoyed the feeling and taste of you. You were, finally, his, and he could have you all he wanted here. You offered no protests.

You raked your hands over his arms and chest, slipping behind his back, scratching gently with your nails on any skin you could find. Vox's sounds, the same frequent heat, and need, were identical to yours. Everything begged you to take your clothes off and take him.

Vox pulled away, looking down at you for the first time since tonight's escapades began. A sloppy, lopsided grin was on his face as he moved the hair from your face. "Are you sure you want this doll?"

You gave him one soft nod, and all bets were off. Before you could utter another word, a moan was pulled from your lips as he kissed down your neck and pulled on the base of your hair. Soft pants left you, and you felt the tension pool in your core. How long have you two wanted this?

Sighing softly and pushing into Vox's clothed crotch, he growled low and kissed you roughly. Hands roamed your body, and your dress was slowly unclasped from your body. Your chest became exposed, and the most beautiful red bra he had ever seen was on display upon your delicate body. Even Val's porn stars had nothing on the sight of you half undressed before him.

As if dreams were becoming reality, he shivered as you slowly pushed his jacket off and tugged him down by his dress shirt. Kissing him, you worked on his buttons, running your hands along his torso once it was freed. Both of you shivered in delight and need as the other touched what was finally theirs.

Vox kissed back down your neck, leaving marks all across you, and landed on your breasts. Each one gets a solid mark right on the top where your cleavage sat. His lips teased the sensitive flesh. His arms snaked around you as he lifted you gently to unclasp the bra. Once it was off, he could feel the drool not only on his tongue but his cock head as well.

He hummed in delight as he bowed down and wrapped his blue tongue around one perky bud, the other gaining his talons' attention as he made you mewl for him. He was in heaven—here, right now, was his little heaven with his little angel. He switched between the two buds until they were too sensitive from his menstruation. "V-Vox, please, too much...need more...please..." You didn't mean to sound like a young virgin, but it was all too good to feel any other type of way. Soon, you felt the pressure above you leave as he stood up at the edge of the bed. Gently, he took your leg, resting your foot on his chest. He kissed your ankle and calf, taking your tights from the garter on your thigh. Slowly, he took the garments off and got a perfect sight right up your dress. Your pretty red underwear was stained wet from your need.

"Tell me, Y/N, where do you need me most? What do you need most? Tell me, and I will happily deliver it all to you, doll, whatever you need." He sounded so good saying that. His voice was an octave lower as he was already pussy drunk. You whimpered gently and sighed when he moved on to the next leg, removing the garments

"Need you between my legs Vox, so so many toys...none of them you," Your words sent a spark through him. He now understood today's argument with Val; some toys in the production studio had been missing, and his little Vixen took them. He smiled wide and fell to his knees at the edge of the bed.

"Your wish is my command, doll," He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him. He shoved your dress up higher on your hips, having it bunch up on your stomach. Slowly, he ran a claw down your clothed heat. With each stroke of his claw, his mouth moved closer from your knee to your core. He always managed to miss where you wanted him most, though.

When you went to complain, however, you were interrupted by the cold sting to your cunt as he ripped the panties off completely. You gasped and cried out when Vox's long slender blue tongue licked a deep stripe up your soaking cunt. "Taste so good, doll, like my own apple pie, so fucking delicious," His menstruations didn't stop there, however, as Vox began to devour you like a man starved.

Your legs spread wider for him as he slotted himself against your cunt. His tongue was making circles on your puffy bud. Your head was thrown back as you grasped onto the bed for dear life. You needed him. Each tongue swirls and thrusts, sending you one step closer to your breaking point. At some point, your legs began to close, and all you could feel was a thread snapping. Vox didn't let up, though. If anything, he abused your clit and sucked you dry further.

When you began to cry and beg for relief, he stopped and pulled up, climbing back on top of you and kissing you hungrily. You could taste yourself on him as you felt his need press against your cunt. You needed more. "Please, Vox, take me, please, please; I need to be full and stuffed."

He thought he had heard angels earlier. He was dead wrong. What he heard then and was now hearing were two completely different planes of reality. He made quick work of his pants and boxers as you resituated on the bed. He slowly crawled back over you, kissing you deeply again. When he got between your legs and slotted himself right where you needed him, you moaned quietly.

Slowly, Vox entered you, both holding your breaths and breathing out together. He was so big, filling you to the brim while you were tight on him. He finally opened his eyes when he bottomed out and saw the most beautiful sight. Your tummy bulged out where his cock sat. Groaning in need, he pushed down on the bump and growled. "Oh, look at this baby, look at how deep I am, I will fill you up so full."

You cried, nodding, holding on to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He felt so thick and full as he abused your cunt with his deliberate speed. However, you knew he was coming to an end as well; he was pent up just as long as you were, and as his hips stuttered, you finally felt it, the whole feeling you had wished for since seeing the TV man.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, keeping himself slotted in you. He held your hand close, playing with your hair. "Stay with me, Y/N, let me give you everything after life can offer."

You hummed softly and nodded, your eyes growing heavy. Life with Vox would be perfect, and you couldn't have been happier that you, Y/N L/N, got to live the carefree life your great-grandmama once wished for.

[thesummerestsolstice]

My Headcanon Crafts for the House of Feanor:

Nerdanel: a sculptor; about the best in all of Valinor. Many of her early sculptures were praised, but also seen as a bit strange because they looked so real, but no one could identify any model they'd been based off of. Later, it would be recognized that she'd sculpted several of her own children, long before they were born.

Maedhros: an actor. Back in Valinor, he often played romantic leads in comedies and tragedies alike. He was very dramatic back in the years of trees, but got more subdued in Middle-Earth for... obvious reasons. A few of the posters for plays he was in made their way to Middle-Earth and got passed around Himring like contraband.

Maglor: a bard. While he often composed his own songs, he was also one of those charged with memorizing the old oral history of the Quendi– the elven equivalent of like, being able to memorize and recite the Iliad. Much of this early Elvish history was almost lost by the end of the First Age, and Maglor attempted to preserve it by writing it down. Eventually, those books ended up saved in Rivendell's library.

Celegorm: a hunter in Orome's train. Was famous for his ability to hit quickly moving targets through the thick forests of Valinor, even when mounted. He also enjoyed making various things out of the pelts, teeth, claws, and antlers of his kills. He's made very nice fur coats for several of his siblings and cousins.

Caranthir: a fiber artist; mostly focusing on weaving and embroidery. He's not sure whether to feel flattered or vaguely worried by all the Miriel comparisons. He insisted on making most of his family's formal clothing because all of Feanor's kids can get at least a little craft-related hubris. As a treat.

Curufin: a smith. His father was most famous for his jewelry, but Curufin would come to be known mostly for his weapons. They were so reliable that many of them lasted until the Third Age. There are rumors he poured some of his soul into the weapons he made for his brothers. But those are only rumors.

Amras & Amrod: painters. They specialized in incredibly detailed landscape paintings. I say "they" because all their works were done together; Amrod would make the sketch and darker linework and Amras would add the colors and shading. Their work was often very nostalgic and peaceful, with bright watercolors and gentle shadows.

Bonus! Feanor saved a lot of his kids' work from when they were really young and just starting their crafts. It's all what you'd expect from a small child's art, but Feanor still acts like they're masterpieces. His kids all think it's super embarrassing but he's really proud of them.

Headcanons for Finwe and his Children, the House of Fingolfin, the House of Finarfin, and the rest of the House of Finwe. Thanks for asking about Finwe's grandkids @hyperlexia-1 :)

[incorrectfatui]

okay, more HCs. This one is only Scara, so things might get a lil dark- I'm not normal about him. anywho: Scaramouche: -autistic. I am going to say this about every Harbinger, bc it's the truth. -most traumatized mfer in all of Teyvat. Seriously. someone give this guy a licensed therapist. -as Kabukimono, he's tried to eat several non edible items. This one is inspired by that one researcher who made up a story about him eating a humans arm. The image of little Scara munching on various dangerous items is so cute -related to the above: he still does it sometimes, to fuck with people. Dottore thinks its great. Pierro had to stop him from getting Kuni to eat a delusion. -Eyes (& markings) always glow at least slightly, even if he's not using his powers. Its not really noticeable in the day, but at night you can see it pretty well -hates Pantalone. Not bc he's jealous of him hanging out with Dottore or something (if anything, Pantalone gets jealous), but just because he is an ass. -Went to the Abyss again for a long time, just after Arlecchino became a Harbinger, and kind of forgot that Crucy was replaced. Came back and was like "who the FUCK- oh right". Why? because I think its funny -In general, has a better relationship with most of the female Harbingers than the male ones. -a little self indulgent, but I like to think that he was able to float a lil with electro as well. We see Raiden and Ei do it, and I think it'd be cute if he was able to as well, if to a lesser degree. -has used almost every element at some point, testing delusions with Dotty. Mostly bc I can't really imagine all those researchers just throwing 4 extra elements at shouki no kami and being like "figure it out" -speaking of delusions: I think he didn't use one. His electro is inert and I dont think he used another element. I see people headcanoning his delusion as Anemo, and I get it, but I don't like it all that much -SPEAKING of his electro being inert to his body- I refuse to believe he lost electro completely. The whole "oh he used up his divinity" is lazy. He can still connect to Irminsul, which he only learned while ascending, but he cant use electro anymore, something that he's had since birth? Bullshit. I understand him not using it, but I think it'd be more impactful if that was a voluntary choice. I'd really like to see him recover it over the course of the story -I think Youkai like him. Obviously this excludes Yae Miko, but I think as Kabukimono it wouldn't be strange to see him being followed by some Tanuki or the lesser Kitsune. I would really like to see him interact with the Youkai Children from that one Inazuma event, I think it'd be really cute. -I like seeing people write about him and Kujou Sara, both romantic, platonic and as enemies. The two of them are very similar in some aspects, and then radically different in others. I think it'd be really interesting to see Kujou Sara confronted with her own trauma being reflected onto Ei. I guess this is mostly because I just really like Sara and I want my favs to interact xD -more of a theory, but I think Pierro and Dottore, (will) remember him. He has a lot of foreshadowing in his voiceline about Pierro & Dotty, and other things. He's very clearly endgame/lore relevant, with his story not even being finished. -not a HC, but I wanted to mention it: I'm still stuck in Inversion of Genesis on my main account. I never played past it. I did the Fontaine and Natlan quests for friends/watched them online, but I'm still in IoG on my main, because I never fully decided on a name -last one bc character limit: I really like to imagine him interacting with Neuvilette. I think there could be a lot of interesting discussions had here- Neuvi would absolutely dissaprove of his attempt to overthrow Nahida, but at the same time I think he would, to some degree, understand his obsession with the gnosis. No, the gnosis/authority doesn't belong to Scara (or Ei, for that matter), but I think if you told Neuvi that Scara was quite literally created to hold it, he'd understand, to a degree.

[ametunns]

The secrets of the Machine are a little underestimated.

This is a place for posters, I don't argue. But all these events take place after BATDR, before the start of B3NDY, some kind of last grandiose Meatly project,

after which the Bendy franchise will canonically close and we will be expected... different ways from this story.

Just like in the last time, I want to talk about the"Secrets of the Machine as the outline of the future world". It's more of a discussion about how the game itself reflects how the Bendy game can changing and how priorities can be set.

I don't think I'm saying anything new, but I was just curious to think about it. Enjoy reading!

||| Collecting parts before analyzing "Secrets of the Machine" >>>

Before I go into how Secrets of the Machine relates to all the latest projects, I need to show some of the things that will be reflected in the teaser game.

Remember the post from Meatly about "Bendy is like BATDR but like BATIM, and it will be in B3NDY". I'll add to that:

Some of Meatly's posts that somehow touch on B3NDY,

Announcement of the book "Silver Screams" with the status "non-canonicity of books",

cucumber pickle on April 1st (as strange as it may sound ik I'm fine believe me)

And I'll try to put it all together-

| • The Meatly's posts >>>

*"Either he has difficulties in tying all his desires together, or he is burnt out from the number of projects on his shoulders" - this is the first thing that came to mind at that moment. But now is not the time for this-

----

Bendy will receive new changes in B3NDY, but keeping the atmosphere of BATIM and taking into account the experience from BATDR to create a new approach in the design of the atmosphere.

---

---

Considering that the game literally has ink sewers and train tunnels, the Gent Corporation could easily create something like that under their organization. It could be a warehouse, archives, places for experimenting on people or trying to create "their own cycle", as noted in the book by Alan Gray himself...Wilson clearly got help from this book for many things.

I'm not even talking about creating a dictatorship, but I want to note!- do you remember the ritual things in Joey's office FROM THE CYCLE? What stopped him from taking these duplicates to start changing the Cycle from the inside, and not taking the real objects that could be under supervision? He got them only for Audrey and a wonderful coffee break also under the Arch Gate studio and in Wilson's personal lab. Again these repetitions "lower and lower"-

And the shaft... I remembered one small detail from the Cage teaser - something similar to a shovel, while we have a very heavy enemy in armor in front of us.

There will be new characters, but the focus will still be on those who have long been familiar.

---

---

By the end of B3NDY, the future of the franchise may move away from the horror theme, which, as it seems to me, could give new life, new breath to the Bendy games (or they will develop all the April jokes, who knows: a bazooka and dynamite are already lying in BATDR)

---

Now let's turn to "Secrets of the Machine", which showed us the next:

The atmosphere of the game sets a new tone from the very beginning: the emptiness of space, in the middle of which there is only an old house and a metal arch that turns on the light with the sound of cold metal. You just don’t know what this secret is, but you keep going, going deeper into the darkness and you notice the world’s attempts to return its details like coffins, pentagrams, things... You notice that the house is bigger inside than outside; Riley’s story doesn’t look like a monologue of a tape, not like some kind of note, but like really being in the role of this girl. And at the same time preserving the color palette and quite directly, without strong guesses, to understand this story. Nothing prevents them from repeating something like this in B3NDY or The Cage;

Bendy can be summoned, although before that it was necessary to either break the cardboard or just hope for a unexpectedness. Changes in character after talking to Audrey..?/...Gent?

New characters like the old cartoon character and the mannequin. They are minor roles, but it is possible to add some story to them too.

'Silent City' teasers suggest new directions for Bendy

|| • A new book >>>

The cinema in Secrets of the Machine can be considered as a premise for a Bendy movie/book. But let's be honest, that sounds very far-fetched.

It's easier to believe that the screen is simply a part of Bendy's world; an element that will sooner or later become a reality, either in the imagination ("Fade to Black") or in reality, all the while continuing to use technology and scientific advances.

The screen in Secrets of the Machine shows Gent's involvement. Yes, this was already made clear to us by the ending of BATDR, when all the real objects and the Machine were finally transferred to the corporation.

And the teaser itself for B3NDY, as you can see, is connected with the theme of the laboratory and research.

And the appearance of Nightmare Taxi, Riley's voluntary departure to Gent (oh yes, her depressed blood for the entire ink machine at the very beginning) - that't all can only give prerequisites for what the corporation is capable of.

||| • A joke, but I haven't found it funny anymore.

The cucumber pickle again showed colors like green and red. In BATIM, we only saw color in Drew's apartment, but with BATDR colors appeared in general. But you know...

There is a box in the Secrets of the Machine. With a questions. And for many efforts, you just get nothing.-

But in the cucumber joke, the doors are always open. Because at least somewhere there should be a "joke" in a place where there are vegetables and water from words.

And personally, I'm already tired of it.

Just it will BE EASY for newsreel worms to eat quickly spoiling foods. And besides cucumbers, you know who will be the next product...

The human.

Fresh, meatly and canned in tomato sauce

---

Thanks for reading. I hope it was interesting ⭐

[mj-iza-writer]

This is another Russian character story. I am attempting to learn as much of the language as I can. I am also working on something within the SP Special Containment storyline. So this is some much needed practice. -MJ

Whumpee shyly stood outside of Caretaker's office.

They practiced what they were going to ask for internally. They gulped nervously.

"Hello Whumpee", Caretaker had turned already, they reached for their communication tablet to help translate.

Whumpee fidgetted with their fingers awkwardly as they watched the screen turn on.

Caretaker smiled as Whumpee typed what they needed.

"Простите за беспокойство (I'm sorry to bother you)", the computer spoke for Whumpee.

Caretaker smiled, "you're no bother."

"Ты не беспокоишьсг", Whumpee listened to the computer as it spoke what Caretaker had said, Я могу вам помочь?" (can I help you?)

"Можно мне воды?" (May I have water?), Whumpee looked at Caretaker wishfully, "пожалуйста" (please).

Caretaker quickly nodded and stood, "yes, you absolutely can."

Whumpee quickly followed, they fumbled with the communication tablet for a moment before Caretaker realized and took it.

"Izvini" (Извини, sorry), Caretaker sighed. Something they had gotten use to saying to Whumpee.

Whumpee had come from a rescue situation about a month ago. Caretaker was trying to make do with the communication board and other techniques for communication. The language barrier was making it very difficult for both of them.

Caretaker could tell Whumpee appreciated the care they were receiving, but they often felt that they were not giving adequate care to Whumpee. Whumpee was very quiet. Too afraid to ask or bother anyone.

"Would you like a snack? (Хотите перекусить?), Caretaker watched as Whumpee thirstedly sucked down the water.

Whumpee gasped for breath for a moment before nodding, "please", Whumpee whispered.

Caretaker smiled. Once in a while, Whumpee would be able to say a word in English.

Caretaker set a few snack items out for Whumpee to pick what they wanted. They also had pre-written note cards for needs.

They set out a few food related request: "I would like to eat" (Я хотел бы съесть). Breakfast (завтрак), lunch (обед), dinner (ужин), or a meal (еда).

Whumpee smiled widely as they reached for the bars they lovingly called "Syrok".

Caretaker had ordered a shipment of Russian goodies when Whumpee first came into the home. That way Whumpee could have some home comforts to help their recovery.

"It gives them some sense of normalcy", Caretaker told a friend of there's after being questioned about the necessity of ordering international food, "we don't even know what they've gone through yet. They are now in a stranger's house. The last stranger they knew hurt them. This stranger", Caretaker pointed to themself, "doesn't speak their language either. They are living through a strange situation. If I can give them a little comfort, even if it is just food and a few things from their home country... I'm gonna do it."

Whumpee happily chews on their snack.

"Thankyou", they whisper as they watch Caretaker refill their water.

"You're welcome", Caretaker smiles as they sit down at the table, "I'm glad you're here."

Whumpee cocked their head to the side questioningly, then went back to their snack.

Caretaker smiled as they cleaned up the cards from the table.

'I know that you are uncertain of so many things right now. I hope I'm able to settle at least some of your nerves', Caretaker thought to themself, 'you deserve that.'

Ps. I wrote this after 10 pm, while making and eating dinner. I had an itch to write. Of course, halfway though, I got sleepy, which is why this is an extra short story. It is now after 11:30. Mj is sleepy. If you see any mistakes in my English or Russian, please kindly ignore... I'm kidding, I'll fix the mistakes if needed. Just not now... almost sleepy time. Thankyou for reading. You all are awesome. Mj 😴

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

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[dailynoodlezz24]

Ok, i had the thought (since i love werewolves and vampire stuff, liches, all that-- I blame Skyrim and its unhealthy amount of beautiful mods-- and Dungeon Meshi just seems so perfect about it with its races and stuff) what if Marcille's a dhampir, basically a human vampire crossbreed, who seeks to become fully vampiric in order to be able to sire in lieu of the dungeon lord/universal longevity plot. (Spoilers: she still doesn't get it in the end lmao) Falin is a longtime friend of hers through a backstory I still haven't made up yet, and Marcille's introduced as a new addition to the main cast, who are a party of hikers (or for some sort of venturing activity). Month in, Falin's gone and had herself eaten by some weird dog described in only folklore, which Laios would later excitedly incite as a "lycanthrope". (They tried to call emergencies for a missing person, but they came up with nothing. Everyone thinks Laios is going insane when he concludes that the sight they saw after Falin became officially missing, blood trails and offly wolfish tracks fading off to somewhere, was the work of a wolfman, or a werewolf, and suggested going to search for Falin themselves. Namari and Toshiro leave promptly) Chillchuck and Marcille stay with him, one determined with his navigational skills and the other fully believing in this supernatural theory. They decide it's best they start camping in the forest, deeper and closer to the wilderness, prompting them the idea: hunt for their share. Which may or may not be illegal :shrug They meet Senshi, one hell of a wildchef man. (Marcille's total disgust with the idea of eating out in the wild stems from the fact she doesn't want to survive off of squirrels again. But this food is pretty good, and she's eating other animals than small rodents this time. Chillchuck just doesn't want to hear about the weird ass facts about how skinwalkers might be related to humans and their horrific hunting tendencies while eating.) The deeper they go, the more strange and bizarre this forest becomes. First normal, unassuming, then the ravens start speaking and the rabbits have horns. And if you peer into it close enough, your eyes might just find company in where the campfire doesn't reach. So on and so on, they find Falin's bones in the corpse of the creature, and suddenly there's a little guy with white hair and crazed, purple eyes(thistle), who beats them all off with a stick(not actually lmao). Last they see is Falin's remains being reanimated with the dripping blood of the stranger. (Marcille had tried in desperate attempt to revive Falin with her own blood/bite, but to no avail, revealing herself in the process. The only thing she can note is the awful taste of something doglike, aka the lycanthrope disease circulating in Falin's bones-- since they were chomped before she died RIP.) Now they're against a highly aggressive abomination under the servitude of someone out to get them. And the opps are on them(canaries) Now I'm just thinking abt whether or not to make Marcille also a werepyre? Considering it would make sense for her to also get her human-half infected into something "full-fledged" in the way she hadn't intended, and still come up without the ability to sire(she wants to make a cauldron for company, a cauldron being like a vampire made family, due to the same motives of keeping her loved ones). Thank you for reading my ramblings, I am brimming with ideas for this AU.

[s-brant]

Clandestine

After beginning their relationship in secret during the war, Anakin and his Padawan sneak off to have a much-needed moment to themselves. (or teacher’s pet part two)

5k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, choking, breeding kink, degradation/praise, sub anakin, bit of exhibitionism, inappropriate relationships, and strong language.

-

As of late, it's been difficult for her and Anakin to steal a moment alone together.

The war is coming to a close sometime soon, they can sense it, and they think they may come close to catching General Grievous if things continue to go this way. Yet, while the death of Count Dooku and the win they gained at the Battle of Coruscant pleased them, what didn't was the lack of time they had together. Mercifully, they were stationed together throughout the war, but that didn't mean they were able to enjoy one another's company. Anakin acted as a general, meanwhile, she did not possess such a prestigious rank, and he quickly learned he could not show any favoritism toward her. Although they were well known for how well they worked together, it was impossible to avoid the judgmental stares thrown their way when he thoughtlessly defended a mistake she made in front of everyone.

Anakin has a way of being...irrational...when he senses any animosity directed at her.

He often moves into a defensive position on instinct, creeping closer and stepping partway in front of her. It's strange. In every aspect of their relationship besides those relating to sexuality, he maintains such a casual dominance over her, but, when they fall into each other's arms in the dead of night, that dominance is nowhere to be seen.

Like two weeks ago

They managed to sneak away unseen and found a secluded spot to meet at. It was a quick affair, to say the least, but for how brief it had been, it wasn't lacking any passion. Quick, quiet fucks are all they've been able to get away with amidst the responsibilities that burden them during this war. And, right now, she's craving more.

"Why are we going to the hangar?" Anakin asks, keeping his voice down as his Padawan guides him after her by the hand. His flesh hand, he takes note of with a rush of bliss caused by the contact of her bare skin against his. "Someone could see us."

A smirk crosses her face at this, and she turns her head to glance over her shoulder at him.

"Aren't Jedi supposed to feel no fear?" She teases him, "You surely weren't afraid of being caught last time."

The mere mention of the last time they snuck off to spend some time alone together brings a pink flush to his cheeks.

Ah, yes, that.

After days of teasing on her end and relentless flirting on his, they managed to steal a spare couple (more like ten) moments to quickly have sex in an unlocked supply closet. His gloved hand clamped down over her mouth to keep those delightful whines and gasps of pleasure from escaping the closet as he thrusted into her slick cunt.

He must refrain from submitting to her attempts to get a reaction from him. Instead, he falls back into the role he plays in the presence of others—the calm, wise teacher always ready to spout Jedi morals at his apprentice. Those broad shoulders square themselves, allowing her to feel the intimidation of his height advantage as they come to a natural stop beside his starfighter.

"Not necessarily."

And, choosing to play along as the bright-eyed student as if she hasn't known him in the most intimate ways and made him weep while he fucked her, she raises a brow in a silent command for him to elaborate.

Anakin cuts a glance back at the door through which they came, his sole display of hesitancy short of what emotions she can sense coming off of him, then speaks.

"It depends on who you ask. Master Yoda says fear leads us to the dark side. I would say that fear is natural. It's where you allow it to lead you that tends to cause the most problems. At least, that's been the case for me."

If he's interpreting things correctly, he thinks he almost feels her sudden curiosity.

Of course, Y/N takes this as her chance to taunt him, which he anticipated. Her head angles to the side to allow herself a better look at him. The inches between them wane with the little steps she takes to invade his space.

"So," she murmurs, batting her lashes, "Where will you allow it to lead you now?"

This causes him to freeze.

His mouth twitches with the urge to say the first filthy thought that comes to mind, but he manages to restrain himself. Due to his level of trust and comfortability with her, he doesn't bother concealing the perverse nature of his thoughts from her searching mind, but he makes sure not to give her the reaction she hoped for.

Instead of rushing forward to kiss her, he simply says, "Wherever you want me to go."

The tension between them has gone taut, and it feels as though the oxygen has been vacuumed from the surrounding air. There it is again, that needy, obedient side of the otherwise commanding and unrelenting general that, somehow, turns molten beneath her touch. It isn't always this way. There have been instances during which Anakin has taken back control with great enthusiasm, holding her wriggling limbs down with the Force while he fucks her until she's drooling and whining for release like the employees of that bar selling their bodies for a hefty sum of credits. It pleases him, to say the least. He is merely a man, after all. Not even Jedi are immune to such things. At least, he isn't.

In response, Y/N sends him the lewd image that prompted her to lead him out here in the first place, and it doesn't take him longer than a few seconds to walk around the side of his ship to climb up into it. She doesn't have to ask him why. If the image she pushed into his mind is to be fulfilled and proven true, he'll need to be sitting inside.

Once he's standing on one of the wings, he looks down and asks, "Are you coming?"

A feral grin lights up her face.

In the time it takes her to jump up onto the wing of the ship and follow in his footsteps, Anakin has already seated himself behind the controls and waits for her with an excitement that threatens to eat him alive. Obviously, she tortures him, moving as slowly as she can and taking her sweet time before closing the door behind her.

What she sees before her is nothing short of breathtaking.

He sits back against the seat with his thighs spread in expectance of her settling into place on his lap. It makes her stomach flutter to merely look at him like this. His mouth is tilted in a smirk, so arrogant when in his own element. In heated flashes, she can see it. She can see what he'll look like once she's through with him. Pink, kiss-swollen lips shining with a mixture of their spit, cheeks flushed a deep shade of scarlet, brows scrunched as he hits his peak—it overwhelms her mind to an extent that nearly prevents her from moving. But, she manages.

She takes her place astride his lap with nothing said between them, no communication outside of their unbreaking stare and shared thoughts. Her palms slide up from where they brace against his toned abdomen until they hold at his shoulders. After a second, she finally speaks.

"Go on."

What he saw in her projected thought was downright filthy. It immediately caused his cock to stiffen in his trousers, but he isn't going to go along with every little thing she shows him. Despite how he surrenders himself to her in moments like these, that doesn't change his protective nature with her.

"No."

Y/N frowns at him, and she makes sure to exaggerate how she always does when trying to get what she wants from her master. Although, she doesn't call him that much anymore. As of late, it's always "Anakin" or "Ani". It's only "Master" in the presence of others who may look too closely and pass judgment should they show signs of their frequent intimacy.

"Please?" she begs and shifts in place to "accidentally" brush up against his growing erection.

The thing is, he is a lucky man. What she imagined them doing is lifted straight from the pages of fantasies he had back when he was a hormonal young man with no outlet for it.

Anakin's features harden, but his eyes remain softened when he shakes his head at her. As much as he once would've died to know that a girl wants to fuck him while he pilots his ship he can't say yes.

"We can't," he says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're far too dear to me. I won't risk it."

Deep down past the inkling of disappointment, this warms her heart. At the beginning of whatever this is, she didn't think it to be anything more than a sexual relationship of convenience, but the things he says sometimes...Sometimes, he says stuff like that, and she has no other choice but to refrain from asking him to marry her right then and there. As of late, the lines have been to flirt for her to distinguish what they are to each other. It began with them as strangers, then master and padawan, friends, and now...this.

"Well, at least in this scenario we'd be going out together. Kind of romantic if you ask me."

His face shifts at this, and, though it's silly, it makes him feel so loved.

"Or foolish."

"Or tragic and beautiful."

He huffs a laugh.

"Well, even if you're right, I'd like to keep you for a little while longer if that's alright with you."

In answer to his sweet rejection, she offers a shy smile and murmurs, "Okay," before leaning forward to connect their mouths in a kiss.

It begins slowly, a tender brush of her lips on his, then, after they get a taste of one another, it transforms into something urgent and primal. The hands perched on his shoulders dip back down to feel their way along the length of his torso as he reaches up to cup her face in one hand. The tips of his fingers curl around the back of her neck and dig in to pull her as close as possible. He's found that kissing her is quite an addictive thing. The more he does it, the more disconnected he becomes with reality. She has a way of erasing everything else that exists in the galaxy whenever she's near.

From her relentless, shifting a moment ago, she can now feel him pressing up against her between her parted thighs, and she is quick to move her hips on him. The pressure of the contact made on his cock draws a sharp breath through his teeth, and he feels her smile into his mouth.

She whispers, "You're so sensitive."

The embarrassment radiates from him, but, even if she couldn't sense it, she can hear it in the words he says next.

"Don't make me pull rank on you."

This pulls a giggle from her, and he'd be annoyed if the light, melodic sound weren't the prettiest laugh he's ever heard. It is moments like these that convince him that this—choosing to cross this line with her—was the right decision, no matter what anyone may have to say about it should they be discovered.

Y/N pulls back just enough to see his face in the dim light and raises her brows.

"You can't pull rank on me."

He scoffs.

"Of course, I can," he says, "Not only am I your master, I'm a general."

She gives him a pointed look, then reaches for the skirt of her plain night dress to pull it up her thighs. The sight of her bare skin makes his mouth water, but he gets more than he anticipated when she pulls the fabric up around her hips to reveal herself to him. No underwear.

She makes quick work of his belt, allowing the lightsaber attached to slip away to the floor. Her hand is already wrapped around him and pumping at a lazy pace by the time she talks back to him.

"How can you keep up the big strong general act?" she asks and dips her head down to kiss him, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. "How do you think they'd feel if they knew their general let his Padawan order him around?"

There's a slight shift in her weight that lifts her hips up enough for her to guide the leaking tip of him to her entrance, and she presses her forehead to his to watch his face as she sinks down onto his thick cock. The second he bottoms out inside of her, he has already lost whatever game they were playing together. The heat of his exhales cloud against her face, warning her skin from the cold air that flooded in before she closed the door.

It takes a moment for them both to adjust.

Feeling the walls of her cunt squeezing around him almost sends him over the edge immediately, and he has to concentrate on keeping himself together with his eyes shut and open mouth hovering over hers. It amazes him that it never gets old with her. Even after all the times they've done this together, he can't stop coming back for more. How could he ever refrain from this, from her?

"Ani," she says through a sigh, her voice nothing more than a soft push of air.

His brows furrow from the pleasure of having her merely sitting like this on him, and he nudges his nose with hers, leaning in to offer her a sensual kiss as he murmurs, "I know, I know." One hand comes up to wrap her hair up around his fist and uses it to tilt her head back a little to allow his lips to meet her neck. It's a tender kiss. The kind that says all of the words he can't seem to whenever they're together, but, of course, she must get him back for it.

She clenches down around him as she rocks her hips back and forth slowly, oh so slowly, for the sake of torturing him. The hand that isn't wrapped up in her hair grips her hip hard enough to bruise the soft skin like a ripe peach.

He shakes his head.

"No," Anakin says, and she halts, fearing that he no longer wants this. In response to that insecure thought, he chuckles. "No, it's my turn to have my way with you. I think it's time you learn your place, Padawan."

To his shock, Y/N laughs in his face.

The hand gripping her hip is ripped away and pinned to the seat by the invisible hands of the Force. They both know that he could stop her from pinning him down if he pleased, but he doesn't dare to. Not when she's looking down at him like that, moving her hips back and forth on him at a steadier pace now, and he's powerless to do anything but enjoy the sight of her above him.

She says, breathless, "I think we both know that won't be happening."

For emphasis, she starts to ride him harder, faster, and pulls his face into her hands to keep him at a distance just far enough to allow her to see him, yet close enough to make him try to lean forward against her touch for a kiss. It's needless to say that she doesn't allow him to. Instead, she lets one of her hands slip down from his face to collar his throat the way he had done to her the first time they were intimate together in that rundown bar on Coruscant.

Fuck. He wasn't prepared for that. No, no, no, he thinks, breaking the hold she had on his hands and gripping her hips to slow them down, but—

Anakin's eyes clamp shut as he buries his face in her neck and spills into her with a groan, not wanting to meet her gaze in his embarrassment. All he can think in the seconds after the mind-numbing bliss of his orgasm is that he ruined it. She had crafted the perfect fantasy in her head, and he couldn't keep it together long enough to allow her to enjoy it for longer than a moment or so. His eyes are already flooding with tears that hang on his lashes, threatening to fall at a constant rate and wet her delicate skin beneath.

At first, she almost doesn't understand—the way his hand broke free and grasped her hips, his groan, and the pulsating sense of warmth that filled her in the seconds following—but after a second, it clicks with her what's happening, and she can't help how her lips curve into a little smirk.

Oh, she thinks to herself, this is too good to be true.

Despite his increased degree of sensitivity in the aftermath of his orgasm, she doesn't stop. It isn't uncommon for him to be able to keep going after he comes sometimes, so it doesn't take her by surprise that he remains hard inside of her. And this is what truly breaks him. This is what reduces him to a clingy, teary-eyed mess with his arms closing in around her waist as she moves on his cock, taking what she wants from him with the knowledge that he's always belonged to her tucked safely away in her heart.

The hand around his neck squeezes tighter as if for the sake of taunting him, and she brushes the tip of his nose with hers. So close to connecting their mouths yet too far.

"So needy," she says amidst the harsh bouncing of her hips. "You hardly lasted a minute, it's pathetic."

Hearing those words lights a fire in the distance pit of his abdomen, pleasure sparking like the light of a fire once more. A matter of seconds was all it took, and the degrading words spoken to him couldn't be more true. Despite the fact that he likes being talked to like this and treated like he's lower than her. That paired with the feeling of her tight walls clamped down around him pushes him right back to where he had been when they started, albeit much more sensitive in the wake of his orgasm.

His hands leave her hips grapple for purchase on her waist to pull her body closer to his, never satisfied with the degree of closeness. Not even when he's inside of her.

"M'sorry," he whispers with tears shining in his eyes and tries to jut his face forward for a kiss to no avail. "I'll be good this time, I swear..."

The fingers digging into the sides of his neck loosen slightly at this, and she can't help but soften at the sound of him pleading with her. Seeing the tears in his eyes, although not from anything but a strange mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, plays a part in it as well. This is what he likes—being broken down into pieces by her, used and degraded, then built back up again with hushed words of praise and soft touches. At last, her hand slides up from its home around his throat and holds his face by the chin, keeping his head tilted back against the headrest to allow her a better look at him.

Anakin is and has always been, devastatingly beautiful. Beautiful in a statuesque way that only art can be. Yet, somehow, like everything with him from his strength in the force to his immaculate conception, he defies the rules and offers the artists of the universe a face, a body, a mind to challenge that of their meticulous creations. To capture his likeness would be impossible. Even she has trouble reining him in during these moments. He is simply too much in every conceivable way—too much power, too much beauty, too much ambition—to ever be confined to the prison of a painted canvas or sculpture. The only entity he will allow to confine him is her. Not even the Force may take precedence over the deity sitting astride his lap.

The scar cutting through his brow down past the edge of his eye is slightly raised beneath the thumb she allows to drag down the length of it. Using the hand that isn't grasping his chin, she inspects it carefully and cups his cheek. Now, the motion of her bouncing on him shifts into more of a sensual grinding—something far more intimate and slow.

"Mmm," she hums a quiet moan and keeps his head pinned back against the headrest under the doting guidance of her hands as she fucks him. "You really are trying to please me, aren't you?" There's a heavy sigh that sinks her chest, and he feels her tighten up around him at the familiar feeling budding within her. The thumb that caressed his scar now brushes the swell of his bottom lip as she says, breathless and breaking character for a second, "Ani.."

He begs, not even fully sure what for, "Please."

To this, her lips curl upward in a soft smile, and she decides to give him what he wants. After all, he's gotten himself so worked up over it, she might as well take care of her beloved, sensitive master. The hand holding his face drop and wrap around his wrists to guide them from her waist back down to her hips. That way he will have a better hold and leverage on her.

Finally, she grants him the opportunity to kiss her, and he engages with an enthusiasm that puts their previous kisses to shame. But before he can allow his tongue to push past her parted lips, she pulls back a hairs width of space to whisper, "If you get me off in less than a minute, I'll let you come again." The air they breathe in and out runs hot from both their exhales and the words she speaks. After a pause, she reminds him, "You better hurry."

The hands on her hips squeeze hard as he shifts beneath her and plants his feet firmly on the floor of the aircraft to anchor himself in place before he starts to thrust up into her. Her body jolts hard against his from the strength of him fucking her, holding her there over top of him and looking into her eyes as he diligently works to bring her pleasure.

As their mouths fall apart from a heated kiss, he murmurs, "Touch yourself," to her, knowing she needs the added stimulation to be pushed over the precipice that his cock alone has brought her to.

She giggles, apparently not fucked out enough to drop her domineering attitude much to Anakin's dismay, and asks, "You can't make me come on your own?"

By the darkness that stirs in his irises, she can tell that she has awoken a sleeping monster with these words, and in spite of his lust for her controlling him in every way, he has never been able to back down from a challenge. Especially not one against her. He thinks he scolds her, muttering something about her being a brat, but that could easily be in his head. At this point, he isn't sure which urges have been acted in and which remain a blissful fantasy. With how easily the power shifts between them, a constant game of tug of war, it wouldn't surprise him if he said it aloud. His cybernetic arm wraps around her waist and pulls tight to imprison her against him so closely, she could not move or squirm away if she wanted to. Which, she doesn't. His flesh hand, however, disappears between their bodies to allow the rough pads of his middle and ring finger to make contact with her aching clit.

Y/N's body turns molten in his grasp in response. What little handle she had left on her composure now crumbles as he fucks her hard and deep enough for his tip to hit her cervix each time. The heady blend of pain and pleasure reduces her to hysterics, falling over until her body is fully braced against his with her forehead resting on his shoulder. It renders her useless. All she can do is moan and gasp and cling to him as he ruins her. If she were to pull away to look into his eyes, she'd find a man possessed by lust and obsession. All directed at her, of course.

Every brush of his fingers on her clit brings her closer and closer until the tight thread of tension within her finally snaps, pushing her over the edge with her mouth falling open in pleasure. Even as she shakes in his arms and digs her fingernails into his arms with enough force to break the skin beneath his clothing, Anakin doesn't let up. He keeps pushing her further throughout the aftermath of her climax and forces her to ride it out without any mercy shown for her obvious sensitivity.

It isn't until the intense pulsating waves of bliss recede that she can regain her senses and withdraw her face from where it had been buried in his shoulder.

She drapes her arms over his broad shoulders, keeping him equally as trapped in her embrace as she was in his, and allows her forehead to press against his as he continues to fuck her. The arm around her waist squeezes like a vice, and she can tell how close he is by the erratic nature of his thrusts. It almost makes her wince in sensitivity to feel him pounding into her harder than he had been seconds ago, reckless and blind to any harm he may be doing to his precious Padawan as a result of his lust, but she stifles the sound. A part of her likes this aspect of it. The idea of him using her like she's nothing more than a toy for him to play with once she's had her fun.

Her lips smear a wet kiss against the top of his head where his skin meets his hairline, murmuring, "Good boy," under her breath. A fraction of a second later, she says, "I want you to come inside me."

This sends him into a frenzy—his hand slips out from between their bodies to take hold of her hip and stabilize himself as he chases his release. Now, she can't help but wince at the ache he causes inside of her, but he knows better than to stop at the sound of it. The last time he did, she punished him for it, so now he never stops when he's fucking her. Not unless she tells him to.

Anakin pulls her hips down to him one last time before he stills inside of her, barely moving at a slow pace to grind into her. She's so fucking tight like this—with her legs on either side of his lap—and he can tell that she's purposefully squeezing down around him to intensify the sensation, drinking in the sight of him coming undone beneath her with an awestruck expression. The warm, pulsating presence of him inside of her is intoxicating. She can't help but grind down against him, keeping him as deep as possible. Every hot spurt of his release fills her to the brim until she can feel the sticky fluid dripping around where the base of his cock keeps it trapped inside of her hole.

The thought of the consequences this could have is scandalous enough to bring an added flush to his cheeks. Nothing would please him more than to see her marked so publicly by him, her belly swollen beneath her clothing from growing his child, but it would never work. At least not right now. Not unless they changed their circumstances to allow them to experience the joys of parenthood together. Seeing that they are both devoted to the order, however, it seems impossible.

"That's it," she whispers, allowing him to hug her close and place a series of wet kisses across her neck in the time it takes him to come down from his orgasm. Her fingers card through his overgrown hair and pull it taut from his scalp just for the sake of torturing him. "Did so well."

All she gets in response is a sound she can only categorize as a mix between a whine and a hum. Seeing that he's still inside of her, every time she does so much as shift her weight around, he is reeling from overstimulation. And because she knows him so well, better than she knows herself, she takes it as her chance to show him mercy and lifts her hips up to help him pull out before it becomes too much.

Once she helps him pull his underwear back up his hips along with his pants, Y/N falls forward into him with a sigh.

Their faces are so close, any slight movement could make their mouths meet in a kiss, but neither of them does so. They sit like this, his hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders, and catch their breath in comfortable silence. If anyone were to visit the hangar and look inside, it would be easy to assume what has happened. They both appear properly fucked out with their hair in disarray from having each other's hands in it, their clothing hanging from their bodies, and their cheeks tinted pink.

The only sound that can be heard over the silence is that of their heavy breathing as it gradually evens out again in the aftermath of their exertions.

A moment passes, then Anakin breaks the silence with the last thing she expected to hear from him, "We shouldn't even go back." His hand cups the back of her neck to allow him to pull her face away enough for their eyes to meet. At first, she assumed he was kidding. But, once she saw his face, she knew he wasn't. "Not tonight, I mean."

She keeps brushing through his sweat-damp hair with her fingers to tame it into a more presentable style. Those pretty lips of hers pull back from her teeth in a smile.

"And where would you have us go instead, Ani?"

There's a second of hesitation, just one, before his face lights up with a mischievous smirk.

He shrugs, feigning innocence, then says as though it's as casual of an activity as going for a late-night walk together to clear their heads, "I would have us fly somewhere far away, somewhere no one would recognize us..." His eyes soften at the words that will leave him next, and he traces the slope of her waist a few times with his fingertips in a soothing pattern."Somewhere we could get married without any of them knowing."

The smile drops from her face, and with it so does his heart.

No, no, that was to much, wasn't it? Even though she surely must know by now, he has never actually said he loves her out of fear of her not reciprocating. It didn't seem wrong in his head, but now that he's suggested it aloud and she is looking at him like that, he isn't sure. This is always what he does. He is too rash, emotion-driven, and consumed by his urges to ignore them. It was part of what made him such a difficult Padawan for Obi-Wan, and now it's proving to be a conflict in his relationship with her as well.

He's about to take it back, to apologize and tell her they should go back downstairs, when she speaks. But it isn't what he expected to hear. In fact, it warms a place deep inside of him that he thought was hardened from years of hardship and grief. And he knows now that she feels the same way as him, even if neither of them has said it.

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

[iamumbra195]

If the Graveyard kids were demigods, which Greek god would they be the child of? (Riodanverse AU)

For Ashlyn, I believe she would just be another of Apollo's kids, keeping to herself most of the time. Nobody really paid her any mind because out of the dozens of Apollo kids, there wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her. She wasn't the Head Counsellor or anything. She liked it that way. Ashlyn discovered she was a demigod when she was young and spent two full years at the camp to fully prepare for living as a demigod in the mortal world before becoming a summer-only kid. Her sensitivity to sound is one of the strange abilities she inherited but isn't fully able to control, which is why she wears enchanted earplugs that keep sounds at a more tolerable level. Beyond that, she was a pretty average Apollo kid. She was good at the basics like Archery and Music but not beyond that of a normal Apollo kid. The only thing that really stood out was her dancing. It was her special interest, incorporating it into her daily life as a demi-god as often as she could. Her fighting style was based on ballet in canon and she preferred fighting with her legs over her hands--even going as far as putting a weapon in her shoes so she could still use her legs to attack. So she is an average demigod overall. Until one day she discovers that she was one of the few to inherit Apollo's nosokinesis, the ability to create and control diseases (like her ability to open rifts and trap people in them in canon). There's also the fact that her name literally means 'dream' or 'vision', so considering the fact that Apollo is literally the god of prophecy, I think being a child of Apollo fits her very well.

For Logan, I feel that for a long time, he would just be another unclaimed kid. He didn't know anything about his real parents and his grandparents were always super cagey about it until he was older and got attacked by a monster and they finally took him to the camp. He still doesn't know who his biological mother was. Then one day after being pushed too far by bullies, he snapped just like in canon, and was claimed by Ares, the god of war. Much to his and Barron's (another child of Ares) dismay because what the fuck do you mean this dickhead is my half-brother?! He had initially believed that his parent was related to his love for space and astronomy or maybe even his intelligence and love for math but Ares?!

For Aiden, I think being a child of Hermes suits him best. I've done some tests and got answers like Ares or the Big Three, which I don't think those really fit him. But for some reason, I like the idea that he has the favour of/is a legacy of Hades or Hecate from his dad's side while being completely unaware of it until much later (the unexplained connection his dad has to Maverick). Children of Hermes tend to be more hyperactive than other demigods and are often referred to as a jack of all trades and I think those things really suit Aiden. When he was younger, his parents sent him to camp year round in hopes that it would help him and he came back with dyed blond hair, red eye contacts and a reckless streak a mile wide.

For Ben, I believe that this kid is and always will be a child of Apollo. His deep love and talent for singing and music, his rage and hurt at having this taken away from him. His knack for medicine despite only having experience through taking care of Aiden. He only discovered he was a demigod after his voice was destroyed so he never learned that he could heal people with his voice/singing until one of the others, maybe Taylor, were fatally injured and he had no supplies to save them so as one last attempt to comfort them, he breaks his years of silence and sings for them. To his complete astonishment, they started healing and were able to stay alive long enough to get the medical help they needed. He felt pressued to sing and use his voice after that because it could heal people but Aiden or one of the others nipped that in the bud and told him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. The idea of him also having premonitions when something bad is going to happen is cool, especially if it's the reason why he ends up catching little details the others fail to notice (a little nod to Canvas Ben for being so goddamn observant). His relationship with Aiden is also cute because children of Apollo and children of Hermes tend to get along, although not all of them do (Aiden and Ashlyn lol).

For Taylor and Tyler, I believe the twins would be children of Hephaestus. In some cultures, identical twins are treated as one entity/soul that was separated into two people and the same could be said about the Hernandez twins in this AU. Although they are different people with different interests and goals, that is how they are perceived as mortals. On the divine side of things, however, they are seen as a single soul split into two. That's why their connection goes far beyond that of regular mortal twins. Their abilities also reflect this. Taylor is a brilliant craftswoman and has a way with technology that separates her from the rest. She's also extremely fire-resistant, which proves to be useful considering her brother has the ability to manipulate fire. Tyler, on the other hand, has the basic skills needed to be a mechanic due to growing up with Taylor but it isn't instinctive in the same it is for Taylor. He is one of the few children of Hephaestus to have pyrokinesis, something he had to learn to master on his own because there wasn't anyone to teach him. They complete each other.

Although Aiden and Ashlyn spent a year or two in the camp, their paths never crossed and they were just another faceless person in the crowd of campers until they officially met when Ben and Aiden began to go to her high school in her sophomore year. Aiden clocked her as a demigod as soon as they met at the bus and was excited to meet another one of them outside of camp. He was also curious to know if she figured out what she was yet and if not, he could protect her from monsters and lead her to camp! Ashlyn recognized both Aiden and Ben as demigods but preferred to avoid mixing her mortal life with her mythological one so she avoided Aiden's needling to the best of her ability. When Ben finally told Aiden that she was another child of Apollo at camp, Aiden doubled down on the pestering which irritated Ashlyn beyond belief. Unfortunately for her, this wasn't the last she was going to see of him.

Mid-way through the first semester, Ashlyn received a prophecy from the Oracle stating that she and five others were to go on a quest. It was a shock to her and everyone in the camp because she was pretty unremarkable yet she was the one that had to go on the quest? It was ridiculously vague beyond the fact that she specifically had to go to Savannah with a group of five others. So she had to pick five other members for her team.

Nearly everyone tried to volunteer and because Ashlyn didn't particularly care who went along, names were drawn out of a bowl. With her luck, Aiden and Ben's names were both drawn out of the bowl, along with the Hernandez twins and Logan. She wasn't particularly happy with those chosen but she supposed it could be worse. Especially when she considered the fact she could've been going with him.

Barron was throwing a fit about how an unclaimed coward like Logan couldn't have possibly been picked but Tyler told him that no one would even want to go on a quest with him considering the only thing he cared about was glory and honour for himself.

And so, the six of them packed their things and started their journey to Savannah, Georgia where it all went to hell.

[ebrofour]

Ebro4 Character Sheet!

Name: _ (Father didn't name it)

Titles: EbroFour.

Nicknames: Ebro, Edro, Euro, Pedro, and any other misspelling of "Ebro"

Age as of 2024: late 50's

Age as of when his story takes place (2005): 40.

Pronouns: HE is HIM. (He/Him)

Sexuality: "Hell if I know at this point, I only like attractive people anyways"

Gender: Male.

Species: Human.

Disorders: Narcissistic personality disorder. (He doesn't believe anything is wrong with him).

Religion: Athiest (Yes, he has met gods and is still an atheist out of spite)

Job: Running his Militia Group. Will take up most job positions to maintain cover.

Lives in: Colorado, America, 2024.

Languages: English and French. Attempting to learn demonic for no reason.

Height: 5'9.

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Accent: He talks casually in an Cockney British accent, however when he's trying to speak in more preachy or rude tone, he speaks with a more Shakespearean British Accent.

Voice Claim: Hoxton from Payday 2/3 for his casual, Victor Saltspyre from Vermintide 2 for when he's being a stuck up jackass.

Strengths: He'll play along with your games if they don't directly hurt him or his plans. He's also wealthy with a fair bit of connections.

Weaknesses: His ego is the size of Kansas. He won't keep his mouth shut, and frankly he enjoys watching people suffer.

Weapons: He always makes sure to pack a handgun. He's also been dabbling in some...other types of weapons.

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral.

Main Hobbies: Cards, horse racing, really any type of gambling.

Favorite Food: Peaches, Wine, and toast.

Favorite Flower: Mimosa pudica.

Scent: Smoke, peaches.

Handedness: Right Handed.

Blood Color: Red.

Birthday: September 1st, 1965

Theme:

Combat Theme:

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/619ir588dsWsqAfpxIzQT3?si=04f537447f28426a

Fun Facts: The title of "ebro" is simply given to who ever is the leader of the Militia. Only Ebro4's father and son (Ebrothree and Ebrofive) are related to him.

Comfort Objects: The only objects that bring him comfort are substances and a small plush bear.

Family:

Zachary Crest (Father)

Random Runaway (Mother) (Dead)

Bobby Montague. (Son) Daisy Bell (Adoptive Daughter) Star (Ebro4 see's himself in Star a bit and wants to mentor him)

Friends: The Specialists, Lancia, Zandeeee, Zailyn, Jumper,

Allies: Sleuth (Uneasy Alliance). Romance:

Elizabeth Montague (Wife)

Grat (Boy Wife) Enemies: Just about anyone who's every spited him in any way, Specifically Kriston Bell and Radio Bell, Along with Cultivator, Lil Uzi, and Evil Ebro4 (that last ones kinda obvious though). He doesn't like Pancakepieman or Pixy either but their non issues to him.

Brief Personality: Egotistical with a capital E. Always has to be either the best or one of the best at whatever he does, if he can't he downplays the achievement. Finds enjoyment out of others failing or feeling bad, which has resulted in him being very alone.

Brief Backstory: He was born because his father wanted somebody fit to run the Militia. No other reason. Zachary hired some random runaway girl to carry the child, and after tying up loose ends raised the child to be a manipulator and a con artist who would do anything to win. This would result in Ebro4 taking control, but after years of neglect and abuse from his father, starting with the fact he wasn't even given a name till his title of Ebrofour, Ebrofour would kill his father and take over. He vowed not to raise his child the same. He would later accidentally kill his wife because neither of them realized back blast on rocket launchers exist, resulting in him losing on of the last few people who actually cared for him. His relationship with his son has been strained too, given the whole being a criminal thing. One day, Ebro4 found a strange looking book outside his estate. Upon opening it up, he was met with confusion. It appeared to be the exact details of his life up to this point. Curious, he wrote in the book...and it comes true. Ebro4 posses the power to re-write reality. As long as he keeps the book of course. He then promptly lost said magically book cause he's a fucking idiot and now craves that power he once held.

[ayeforscotland]

Ah wait, I've got something for you in relation to white American fetishisation of Scotland and other European countries (because unfortunately it's not just Scottland, it's everyone.)

(And this is just an opinion, I have no science to back this up. That must be stated first and foremost.)

To achieve American Whiteness ment that many Europeans immigrating to the states had to shed their cultures in order to be accepted by Anglo European decendents. If you weren't the 'right' type of white then you weren't good enough and were often pushed out.

As such, these people, too, were forced to shed their cultural identity in order to make a living here.

Now, these diverse cultures are celebrated (to a point.) There's celebrations that come from these iterations of faith, foods and dress that come from these homelands, but they're strange derivatives of themselves. Xerox of a xerox of a xerox, made only by a cultural machine that doesn't really understand or want you, but loves the aesthetic of some small component of you, so it takes that, all while simultaneously craving it could be more.

And so NOW that it is no longer 'bad' to be decended from these places, NOW people try to claw their way back, like they're attempting to undo the damage the previous generations did to themselves in order to fit into White American Society, but they have no idea how and so it becomes a crass and ugly thing, often monetized by the same origional Anglo European sphere of influence that put them in this predicament anyway, and then further pits them against NEW people trying to make it here in the states.

(And to that last point, I have to recommend reading an amazing comic in the Nib by Dawson, Why Did They Come, in order to touch on how fucked up that whole thing is (not that we don't already know.) https://thenib.com/why-did-they-come/

But yeah... to summarize- immigrants now seen as acceptably white in the states originally WASN'T and so these people bleached themselves culturally to achieve the Anglo vibe, and now generations later, their decendents cling to fabrications of a culture they were denied in the most grotesque ways imaginable because they know nothing else.

It's like white bread trying to reintroduce culture to itself to become whole wheat again, only to end up giving itself mold.

Some great points there, particularly around the bastardisation of forgotten traditions etc.

I'd be keen to see some evidence of Scottish immigrants to the US being perceived the same way as, for example, Irish or Italian immigrants who eventually became accepted into 'American Whiteness'. Also while many Scottish immigrants who moved to America were poorer, I've never heard of them facing the same challenges as other European immigrants who were perceived as non-white. I expect a large part of that was being part of the British Empire. There was also a disproportionate number of Scots were plantation owners who owned slaves in the south. And while some historians dispute it's origins, I think it's mostly accepted the KKK was founded by descendants of Scottish immigrants , or at the very least, founded by people who drew heavily on that aesthetic. So even if modern Americans who fetishise Scotland are saying they can finally start celebrating their "native homeland's" traditions again - I think there's an element of 'wanting to be seen as victims with a rich history' about it.

[rodger-eyeballis]

Mr.Rodger.

What your opinion on the twisted version of Glisten? Considering it's the only twisted with half of own mind and that really similar with your best friend, also i will be interested to just hear what research you made on him and your opinion.

-

” Wait a minute.. ‘Twisted’? I don't want to lie, but I've really never heard of such a term. I mean, I've heard it, but it's a completely different context than the one you're describing to me.. And yet, how does this even relate to Glisten? I can only say that the word sounds extremely unpleasant, especially when prescribing it to a living being. For this reason, I ask you not to attribute it to the mirror, please.

But in order not to completely upset you with my ignorance, I could tell you a little about other investigations that I am conducting at this point in time. Right now I'm interested in three problems: The first and most important is the problem with the Managers (or, more simply, our creators), who, after their stunning failure (which I'm still trying to figure out), left us in a huge building without access to any exit to the outside. Moreover, there is no way out, at least on the floor of the Gardenview Center. Due to the limited supply of food, this situation is getting even worse. That's why I'm always rummaging through various papers scattered throughout the complex: to find a solution to the mystery of our "uselessness." I didn't learn much, because I usually came across bills for communal payments and other various unnecessary things. However, I did find some interesting specimens, but I prefer to keep silent about them. I'm sure the main characters know about this situation better than I do, but it's like they've had their mouths sewn shut. They avoid the subject, no matter how hard I try to get them to talk.

The second secret is the Ichor mining or the ichor operation itself, created by Dandy. I don't know why he needs so much liquid, but it looks extremely strange. Previously, as I learned from one classified entry, Ichor was the ‘ink for creating live cartoons,’ which MAY have been the reason toons appeared in this world. I'm not exactly sure, but it seems that we all consist of Ichor to some extent (our blood is really black. But I can't explain our birth. As I said, most of the toons memories are fake, so people could just erase some of the ‘scary’ parts of the story from our heads so that there would be fewer problems). However, what we are mining now looks more like "something spoiled", as if it has long since exhausted its usefulness due to poor conditions of detention. Even the smell of the current Ichor causes some "hallucinogenic effects" and dizziness, which prevents us from being on some floors. The flower assures us that ichor will help us in the future (however, it avoids answering how), which I am beginning to doubt, especially after personal attempts to study the liquid.

And one last thing.. The abrupt loss of Astro. We didn't want to offload this topic, hoping to somehow determine the location of this toon, but all to no avail. Since everyone knows that the star boy only leaves his room at night because of his drowsiness, no one has noticed the loss yet, which plays into my hands - we don't need unnecessary panic. The only one who knows about this is Brigtney, as Astro is the second leader of the Literary Club, managing the library at night.. I would talk about this in more detail, but the topic is not suitable right now. That's why I'm overwhelmed with work. ”

[Key event: Blog story update. Added new information in the profile post.]