#like. i simply think that if you think good writing is good writing by virtue of its surface level character struggles

[normal-thoughts-official]

i get and agree with all the criticism on how fictional characters have been sanitized to never have any real flaws but if you think that flaws like selfishness are inherently more interesting and better written than flaws like low self esteem you're simply not as media literate as the sense of superiority you've developed to cope makes you think you are

[lis-likes-fics]

Delicious

Pairings: demon!Natasha x Reader Word Count: 5.5k words Prompt: Demon AU Warnings: NSFW, corruption kink, fingering, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, strap-on, swearing... A/N: This is late and it's not very good. This would have been so much better but I have ADHD brain and I had to rush this a bit. Sorry, guys. But I hope you still like it! Thank you!

Natasha had never been in this shop before.

Drawn to a strange feeling coming from within, she wanders inside the little cafe and stares at its warm tones, letting her eyes wander the wall of books, the tables and booths, the counter where a beautiful waitress talks to a customer. She lays eyes on you and can feel the mischief twisting in her gut.

You are perfect.

The light that surrounds you is a beacon of…purity. Your tan apron wraps securely around your body, your hair is out of your face, your smile is brighter than the sun and snow outside. She can taste the innocence oozing off your skin like honey from a honey dipper.

You are radiant, and he can’t wait to hold you in her hands and see how dark she can make you.

A dark and charming grin spreads over her red lips as she walks up to the counter, waiting for you to give your warm goodbye to the last customer and offer a warm hello to the next. She steps forward and swears she could get drunk off your virtue.

You give her a bright smile, and she can see it shining in your eyes too. “Hi! What can I get ya?”

Natasha lets her green eyes wander the menu for only a moment, turning her gaze back to you as she speaks slowly, deeply, letting her rasp wash over you like a siren to a sailor. “I’ll have a mocha.”

You nod, picking up your notepad and a permanent marker to write her order as you take in the sight of her face. She’s beautiful. “And what size would you like that in?”

“Grande.”

You pick up the cup, nodding as you do. “Anything else?”

She looks you up and down, drinking you in some more before gauging what it does to you. You seem almost fidgety, flustered. She grins. “What do you recommend?”

“Well,” you chuckle lightly, “I am a sucker for our Christmas special—the gingersnaps. I shape them like little Christmas trees.” You illustrate your words as you pull your hands up to form a triangle, the closest you can get to the tree.

She raises her brows. “Oh, so you make them?”

You nod proudly, smiling widely as you set your hands on the counter. “I do!”

She hums. You’re adorable. “I’ll take it.”

“Alright-y! Will that be all for you?”

“It will,” she nods simply.

You grab her cup size and clutch the permanent marker. “And what’s the name on that order?”

“Natasha,” she purrs, watching you closely and letting her gaze openly drink you in to see how you’ll react. You’re so flustered already, practically melting at the sultry nature of her voice. “But I think Nat will do just fine.”

You start writing the name, “Nat” in pretty script. “Alright, Natasha. A grande mocha and gingersnaps coming right up!” You say her name like warm icing on cinnamon rolls, letting it drip over your skin like melted caramel. You look at her and smile fondly, shyly, your head tilted slightly down but your eyes glancing up at her nervously. “You have…a beautiful name, by the way.”

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head gently. You're hypnotized. “I can't tell if you're flirting or if you're just that nice.”

“O-Oh!” you say, your eyes widening slightly as she catches you by surprise. “Oh, I'm a really bad flirt.” You meet her eyes again and she sees you panic for a moment as you raise your hands. “W-Well, not to say you're not worth flirting with! I think you're very pretty—gorgeous, even. You're very—You're really–!”

She cuts you off with a hearty laugh, reaching a hand out to gently grab your own as she offers you an almost sly grin. “Relax, sweetness,” she bids. “I think you're absolutely delicious, too.”

“O-Oh,” you sigh, smiling as she eases your nerves. Then you realize, “Delicious?”

“Did I say delicious?” She shakes her head gently as if to say “silly me”. She pats your hand lightly before removing her soft fingers from you. She never looks away from your face. “I meant delightful.”

You nod before you speak. Natasha can't help but think how adorable you are, like the purest angel—but how they are in the movies, not the ones stuck up her ass all the time, calling her pest and rodent and vermin.

No. You would never say something so harsh. She can see it in you, the purest diamond. She wants to break you.

“Okay,” you speak softly—and you're so naïve, she thinks for a moment that you heard her thoughts and were offering yourself up to such exploitations.

She licks her bottom lip subtly. She can almost taste your honey. “What was my total?”

You seem to snap out of whatever thoughts run through your mind. “Well…” you clear your throat, “since you're so nice and I own this place… I'll give you the cookies on the house and bring your total down some.” You lean in, and she thinks you'll wink. “Our secret.”

She doesn't know if she thinks you're capable of holding secrets. But she's been around humankind so much, she knows there's always a secret lurking around the corner. You all just can't help yourselves…

“Nonsense,” she shakes her head. “I'd hate to do that to you.”

You smile gently. “Come on. Let me do this. You've been so nice.”

She scoffs gently, not offendedly. “Nice isn't a word people usually associate with me.”

You tilt your head, genuinely curious as to how someone so sweet could never be called “nice”. “What do they usually use?”

With a dark glint in her pretty green eyes, she smiles. “Sinful.”

“Sinful?” you mutter.

She shrugs a shoulder. “I've got a bit of a…mischievous streak.”

You smile sweetly. “And I like giving pretty girls free cookies.”

Natasha sighs, looking you up and down for the sole reason of flustering you again. “Well,” she says, “at least accept this big tip.”

“Tip?” you tilt your head.

“For a beautiful girl like you.”

She's done it. You clear your throat and nod. “O-Oh. Okay,” you say, watching her pull out her wallet. When she pulls out a hefty $50 bill, your eyes widen and you look like you'll have a heart attack. “Oh, this is too much! I can't accept this!”

She makes a pouty face, gazing at you with those pretty green eyes. She leans forward, and you feel yourself crumbling at the sight of her. “Oh, but you would break my heart if you didn't.” She slides the bill over and smiles, still presenting her puppy dog eyes as she lowers her voice. “You don't want to break my heart…do you?”

No. Never. How could you ever break the heart of someone so…her?

“I…” your teeth graze your bottom lip as you think to yourself before ultimately giving in. “Okay.” You slowly reach your hand out and hesitantly grab the bill, clearing your throat and feeling a little clammy for accepting the money as you put it in the pocket of your apron.

She smiles, but it's more like a smirk, a devilish curl of the lips that you don't quite label as dangerous, like you should.

“Good girl,” she purrs.

You don't know why that has such an effect on you. You feel yourself go limp but you stay standing as your eyes flutter and you feel the need to clear your throat again.

“While I'm in the charitable spirit,” Natasha says, satisfied with your obedience, “why don't you go out with me sometime? Got any Christmas plans?”

Your face is warm, the tips of your ears burn with the idea of going out with such a beautiful creature. As you think of your holiday plans, you shake your head. “Uhm, n-no.” Why can't you seem to speak today?

“No?” she says, her face drenched in surprise. “No dinner with family, an outing with friends?” She finds it hard to believe that a sweet girl like you has nothing to do for the biggest holiday season of the year.

But it's hard to have friends when you're all the way in New York and your family is all the way in California and all your friends are visiting their families or have their own friends to be with.

So, no… no plans for you.

“No,” you smile, almost sadly. “Nothing for me this year.”

Natasha almost thinks she's taking pity on you when she asks this, rather than forming her own plan to taint your white ledger.

“Well, I've got no plans. You've got no plans.” She smiles and reaches her hand out to brush your fingers. “Let's fix that.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

She nods, pleased with you. “I'll meet you here, then. Seven o'clock, Christmas day. Dress to impress.”

You smile sweetly. “Always do.”

“I can see that,” she says, looking you up and down with an appreciative glance.

You smile widely, a grand smile that puts the sun to shame. “I'll have your order right out.” You pick up your pen and dot the notepad you have her order written on.

Natasha nods before turning and walking toward a tiny table by the window, the morning light still pouring in, even as the morning slowly dwindles into noon. She watches you as you work, her eyes glued to your body as she follows you everywhere.

You really are just so…pure. She was thinking it may have been a façade to make the customers feel welcome, but one look at you, one sniff of your perfume, one word from your sweet lips and she knew you were sweet as sugar. Pure.

She hasn't met someone this pure in a very long time, if ever.

And you would taste divine.

“Nat.”

Her name said by such honey-tainted lips pulls her from her thoughts. She rises from her seat and makes her way to you once more.

Your smile is already ready, and just so sweet. “I hope you enjoy. Thank you for coming and…” you smile, biting your lip briefly, “I'll see you soon.”

“Thank you…” Her gaze darts down to your nametag, reading the letters one-by-one to savor the taste of it. She says your name like she's making love to it. You shudder. “Beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” you speak, your voice so soft and gracious she could have mistaken it for a whimper.

Natasha grabs the cup and the box of cookies, her fingers intentionally brushing yours as she speaks. “Christmas day. Seven. Don't forget.”

You shake your head. “I won't.”

She smiles. “Goodbye, angel.”

You nod quickly, too excited to see her again. “Bye, Nat.”

She walks out of the little cafe, her treats in hand. She lets the door close behind her, lets the bell ring about her head. Once she's out of the coffee shop but still in your view, she takes a sip of her scorching hot coffee like it's nothing and sighs. Even the coffee is as pure as you, perhaps because it was made by such hands.

She turns her head to see you watching her through the window and just nods. She watches your fluster, nodding proudly back to her before trying to look busy.

She can't wait to devour you.

~

You don't know how you got here, with your back pressed to your bedroom wall, with Natasha's hands smoothing underneath your shirt to touch the bare skin of your waist, with your lips molding perfectly with her own like they were made to fit together.

You'd gotten to the cafe an hour early, pretending—even to yourself—to tidy the place since you were closed for the holiday. Natasha showed up five minutes late, but fashionably so. She was beautiful; a pretty blouse red as blood, dark slacks tight around her waist and loose the rest of the way down, a black coat draped down past her knees.

The air was knocked from your lungs. She was beautiful.

Her eyes examined you, and she was impressed. You wore a short, long-sleeved, cream-colored dress and skin-colored tights to fight the cold. An angel.

She’d taken your hand and kissed the back of it, telling you how beautiful you were—though you swear you heard her say “delicious” again.

Then she took you to dinner. It was a nice restaurant, somewhere cozy with really good food. She paid for your food and for dessert, and you told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then she took you ice skating. She held your hand the whole time and paid for you, and you told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then she took you on a late night walk through the park. She held your hand and kept you close and told you that the moon looked beautiful on your skin. You told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.

Then when she walked you home, telling you how beautiful you were at the doorstep and taking your hands and pulling you in for a gentle kiss, you smiled and kissed her back. Then she kept kissing you, and you kept kissing back.

And it turned into you opening your door and letting her inside, kissing her some more and offering her coffee, only to have her tell you that she had everything she needed right here.

Hands wandered, then lips wandered, then she pressed you into the wall, and now she's got you laid out on your bed, still fully dressed and so, so hot.

She leans over you, inhaling the scent of your perfume with a sigh as she keeps kissing you. You hold her, your arms wrapped securely around her neck to keep her close.

Her teeth graze your lip, struggling to refrain from biting so hard, she draws the sweet syrup of your blood. You lean into her touch, keening against her and longing to savor the flavor of her name on your lips as you whisper, “Natasha.”

She wraps her hand around your throat as her mouth trails down to your neck, to your collarbone, feeling your pulse beating rapidly under the skin. Her teeth sink into your flesh, and she chuckles deeply when your breath hitches.

She could just as easily crush your windpipe if she wanted to. She could snap her fingers, and you'd be reduced to nothing but a pile of ash and bone.

But where was the fun in that?

No, she would savor you. She would lick your skin and taste the sweet ambrosia you'd create all for her. She would carve her name into your flesh with the bite of her claws. She would sink her sharp teeth to the bone. She would make you scream until the only word you knew were the letters of her name.

Her hand dips low under your dress, gripping your thigh as she slowly moves it up, up, up, her fingers digging into your skin as she does. Your eyes flutter shut, resorting to just feeling her as she touches you any way she likes. She hums deep in her throat as she pulls back to look at you, riding your dress up and pulling your leggings down so she can see the pretty panties you wore for her.

“Mm,” she sighs. “You look delicious, darling.”

Your tiny chuckle comes out as a breathy moan. “Don’t you mean,” you whimper slightly as her sharp nails dig into your skin as they make their way down your leg, the stinging sensations exciting you more than she initially thought. Corrupting you will be easy. “Don’t you mean ‘delightful’?”

Her hand around your throat tightens just a slight, not enough to constrict any airflow, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of her palm against your skin. “No,” she rasps. “I mean delicious.”

She manages to get your tights off, humming appreciatively at your lacey panties before ripping those off your body instead. You gasp lightly but say nothing else, allowing her to do as she wishes as you sit back and enjoy it.

Your hips jerk when her thumb teases the skin of your mound, dipping between your thighs just enough to press it lightly to your clit. Your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling in quick succession as she presses her thumb so lightly, you wonder if she’s actually touching you. She teases you like this for a moment, feather-light touches that make you so desperate for her.

“Tasha,” you whimper. “Please, I need you.”

Her eyes glint at the way you plead for her. Already, you’ve begun to beg. You’re so responsive, so sensitive to her touch. One would think you were untouched, but no… She would be able to smell that off you, and she smells that this is not the first time someone has been between your legs.

How precious you are. Tainted but still so unspoiled.

The pad of her middle finger grazes your slit, teasing you further as your body keens for her touch. “Say it one more time for me, baby,” she whispers in your ear. “Say it. ‘Please, I need you.’ Lemme hear it.”

You whine gently, letting one hand travel to her hair to let your fingers card through the softness of her red locks. You let your bottom lip pass between your teeth before you gladly obey her. “Please,” you whisper, lifting your hips to meet her. “I need you.”

Proud of herself, and of you, she slips her finger inside of you, sheathing it in the warmth and wetness of your body. You hum, closing your eyes. “How is that, angel?” she smiles, watching your eyes dart behind your closed lids.

You nod, parting your lips as a breath passes through them. “Yes.”

She grins devilishly. “Good girl.” She rewards you with another finger in the tightness of your slickening pussy. You reward her with another little whimper. She pumps them slowly, in and out of you, pushing them deep to feel every little part of you before allowing herself to pull out and do it again.

She curls her fingers inside of you, a come hither motion making your lips round into a ‘o’ shape. You whisper her name again, gently begging her for more. More closeness, more pleasure, more her.

She pumps them slowly, massaging your spongy walls as you begin to move your hips to the rhythm. “More?” you whimper, still so polite as you beg her for a request. And how could she say no when you’re as sweet as you are?

“You want more of me, angel?” she smiles. “I’ll give you some more.”

She dips down to kiss your collarbone again before she pulls her fingers out of you and laughs at the way you whimper, a pathetic little sound at the loss of her touch. Before you can begin to protest, you hear her snap and feel the zipper at your back begin to zip down your body. But you have no time to question her, as her lips attack yours between the time it takes to pull the dress over your head and off your body.

You don’t seem shy when you are laid bare to her. You keep holding her and kissing her, forgetting your confusion and shock before in favor of tasting the spice of her lips. She pushes you back onto the bed, abruptly separating you, even as your hands stay attached to her arms just to feel her soft skin.

She leans down over your body and lets her kisses ghost over your flesh, a phantom of herself teasing you. You feel her warm breath at the juncture of your thighs and want nothing more than to feel her tongue next. And it seems your prayers are answered when the hot muscle of her tongue flattens against your wet pussy and licks the arousal she’s pulled from you.

She’s happy to listen to the way you whisper her name under your breath when her lips wrap around you, allowing her tongue to plunge between your folds and fill you with pleasure. You moan and grind your hips against her face. She has to hold you down, chuckling darkly as she continues to lap at your needy core.

She sucks around your clit and swirls around your folds, tasting the sweetness you bear with a deep hum. “You taste just as delicious as you smell,” she rasps, kissing you messily. “This body is so…divine.” You melt under her praise, your hands tangling in her hair as your chest heaves.

Her fingers join her tongue once more, stroking and spreading and slipping in and out of you with the sole goal of tasting more of your sweet, sweet honey. “Natasha,” you moan. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? That’s a new one. Out of all the words in the Urban dictionary that can be used to describe Natasha Romanoff, sweetheart is not among them. Still, it’s sweet, and she thinks you’re adorable for thinking that way.

Natasha devours you, feeding off your moans like they are the essence of her being. Her hands grip your flesh and her tongue delves inside of you. She replaces her tongue with her fingers once more, pumping them in and out of you, curling against that sweet spot hidden deep within you. Your back arches and your moans get sucked up into the walls of your bedroom, pitchy and full of breath and desperation. You need her like you need air.

You moan her name again and she knows you’re close by the way your pussy tightens around her fingers, the way your clit pulses between her lips, by the way your fingers begin to tug at the locks of red hair you have tangled between them. She works harder, so eager to taste your nectar.

You hurdle over the edge with a loud, gasping moan. She holds you securely atop the counter, fingering and licking at your pussy as you gush around her, easing you through your orgasm. You chant her name under your breath, riding out your high against her face as she keeps building you up and prolonging your release just so she can continue to suck on your offerings, like the sap from a maple tree.

The last sparks of pleasure shoot through your limbs, in your belly. Your hips jerk when her fingers curve inside of you just a slight. She pulls them out and pulls away and licks her lips like she’s gotten sugar smeared all over them. “Oh, my angel,” she rasps. “Like heaven on earth.”

And you think she’s done as you will yourself to sit up, offering a sweet smile as you pull her in to kiss again, fully intending on seeing if she tastes just as “delicious” as she keeps telling you that you are.

But she breaks her kiss and stands off the bed and to her feet. You sit back, watching her pull her blouse over her head as her eyes stay glued to your beautiful body. She slips her lacey, only-for-decoration bra from her body to leave herself in nothing but her slacks.

You gaze at her, taking in the perfect hour-glass of her body and gawking when she steps out of her slacks and presents you with the strap-on she’s been hiding all this time. She watches the way you stare at it, smirking to herself as she stalks back over to you, leaning on the bed with her knee. “You like?” she says.

You bring your gaze up to her face, swallowing thickly and feeling embarrassment warming in your face for staring. You just nod. She chuckles, cupping your chin with her hand and shaking her head. She thinks you’re adorable.

She slides the hand around to your neck, cupping you there and pulling you in for a kiss. You moan, leaning into her. “But what about you?” you whisper, pressing your hand to her side and stroking your fingers over the skin.

She shrugs, “Don’t worry.” You miss the small wave of her hand behind her back as she lets her magic wash over her, connecting her own pleasure to that of her strap as she’s done a million times before. But you don’t need to know that. You don’t need to know the extent of her inhumanity. It isn’t important to the pleasure she derives from getting to taint something as pure as you. “It’s double-sided,” she lies.

You don’t get to protest because her lips are already on yours again. She slides her fingers through your folds again, swallowing your moans as she lays you down on your back and spreads you wide open for her.

As you're distracted by her kiss, she thrusts inside of you with a deep moan. You break the kiss, laying your head back and letting out a whimper of your own as she fills you, stretches you open for her as your tight pussy adjusts. You whisper her name like a prayer, and she moans yours like a sin.

She gives you only a moment to adjust to her size before she's moving her hips, a slow and steady in and out as she gets herself used to the feel of you, and oh… You definitely do not disappoint as you squeeze her cock like a vice.

“Fuck, my angel,” she laughs to herself. “You're fucking perfect.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders and savor the strokes of their cock inside you. “Please, Tasha,” you mutter.

She likes the way Tasha sounds. She's never been called Tasha before, her nickname has always been Nat. But the way it sounds falling from your lips, like a spell seeping into her skin and pulling her under your enchantment.

And it's hard to deny you when you look as precious as you do.

Her cock slides in and out of you in long, slow strokes as she fills you to the brim. You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes closing as you breathe long, heavy sighs at the feelings she thrusts into you.

The desire for you, the desire to tear you apart invaded every little crevice of her being as she lost herself to more and more of her urge to fuck you desperate. She wants to hear your angelic voice beg a demon to fuck her nice and deep. She wants to see you fall apart, become a sinner all for her.

She grips your hips tightly, her rough thrusts no longer forgiving as she decides to take you how she wanted. You moan and whimper as your legs climb her waist until they're wrapped around her. She holds your thigh and just keeps thrusting.

You stutter her name, your capacity to remember anything else already slipping. She thrusts into you with all the passion in the world.

And then she pulls out at the pique of your wanton moans. You mewl and uselessly grab at her arms and waist. She separates from you with a sigh and ignores your attempts at bringing her back in, turning you on your stomach instead.

She thrusts inside without another word, filling you up from behind as you let your head hang. “There you go,” she husks. “That's better. Now I can fuck you like a whore.”

You moan, gripping the sheets and letting her do as she pleases. She keeps fucking you, relishing in the building sound of her hips smacking against your slick skin, the sound of you practically crying at the feeling of her fucking you so roughly making it harder to hold back.

“P-Please,” you stutter, clenching harder at the feeling. “Please don't stop. You're…amazing.”

Your gentle praise spurs her on more than she'd intended. She presses her finger to your clit and begins to rub fast, tight circles over it. She wants to feel you come undone. The more you cum on her cock, the more tainted you become with her darkness.

Her cock spears into you, pulling the dirtiest sounds from you as they echoed in the room—skin on skin, wet against wet. Your mouth falls open and you let out breathless cries accompanied with their own pleasured tears as they slip down your cheeks.

It feels so good, and you're going to cum.

You feel your body getting ready for it, building up higher and higher until you can do nothing but moan Natasha's name and shake upon your crashing release.

“Tasha,” you whine, dragging the last syllable out and breaking off into a pathetic moan. She keeps fucking you, groaning roughly as you clench so tightly around her. You gush and moan and she can't help but to fuck you just a little harder.

And when the orgasm melds to a little tremble, she keeps going. One of her hands wraps around your throat, tightening just a bit. She likes to feel her veins thumping under her palm, she likes to feel your life in her hand.

And apparently, so do you as you wrap your hand around hers and hold it securely there. Her eyes close as your pussy tightens, her thrusts become rougher as your moans become louder. She is going to make you cum again, she's set on it.

Your legs are a trembling mess, your arms are slowly dwindling in the strength they need to hold you up. “Please,” you mewl again. “Please don't stop, Tasha. I need you so…fucking bad.”

She feels successful. That's the first time she's heard you curse, and she's so excited to have spoiled your tongue with such a word. She rubs your clit again, wanting to reward you.

“I want you to cum for me again, angel,” she rasps. “All over me. Come on.”

Her thrusts are becoming sloppy, so absorbed in her oncoming release as she readies herself for your own. She pulls you back to meet her thrusts, rough and fast and deep as she continues to build you up.

You moan loudly as the pleasure builds and builds until it snaps. You throw your head back, crying out as you cum with the tight squeeze of your cunt. The warmth and the wetness of your pussy is too much as Natasha follows after you. She moans deeply in her throat as she grinds roughly inside of you, burying her cock in your pussy as if she was cumming in you to give you a deeper taint of your purity.

You allow your arms to give out as you fall forward onto the bed and muffle your moans into the sheets. She keeps gripping your hips tight, still riding out her high as she moans your name and lets out a string of curses.

Your whole body is shuddering by the time both your pleasure is reduced to tiny spasms through your limbs. She thrusts her hips a couple more times before pulling out of you with a long sigh.

You roll onto your side, lazily lying there as you glance up at Natasha with heavy eyelids. She runs a hand through her hair and gathers herself, looking down at you as the pride shimmers in her eyes and her chest.

She watches you, smiling, though she can't help a prickle of confusion when she takes in the sight of you. You lay there, half-asleep and completely spent, bare and vulnerable and exploited by her darkness.

And, yet, you look every bit like an angel as when she first met you. You look just as sweet, smell just as sweet, smile at her just as sweetly.

“Thank you,” you whisper sweetly. She watches you, watches as you pat the spot next to you and cast your innocent eyes on her.

And she's curious, so she lays down where you offer her a spot. Then you cup her cheek with the palm of your hand and kiss her, a long and slow and gentle kiss that Natasha becomes conflicted with as she leans into it.

Then you wrap your arms around her body and pull her in tight so she can't escape—or, she could… but she won't. All that time spent trying to corrupt you, and you're still the virtuous little angel she met at the coffee shop, cradling her in your arms and kissing her forehead and thanking her for the night of passionate fucking she'd just given you.

There is a warmth in your arms that Natasha hasn't felt in a long time. She's not quite sure if she's ever felt a warmth like this. She leans into it, she feels herself succumbing to your purities, despite her best efforts.

Curious, she lets you hold her, even longer after you had fallen asleep as she could safely slip away into the night, never to see you again.

But, no… You intrigue her. She couldn't leave now, especially if there was still so much virtue left in you. She will have to stick around. Yes… she will have to keep you a while longer.

You are a rare delicacy. She couldn't let you go to waste.

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Aegon x Fem reader (y/n)

«The news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.»

Sorry I just watched this gif and I couldn't avoid thinking about a moment like this. Also I want to utilize this short writing to let you know that I also like Game of thrones, House of the dragon, star wars, teen wolf, etc. so, occasionally I will start to post about those characters too.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Part 2 is finally here.

A soft knock on the door echoed in the room, Aegon was sitting, drinking his morning cup of wine.

- Come in.

- My king.

A servant appeared in the meeting room, Aegon was waiting for him anxiously. Since he became king he only wanted one thing. You.

Both were betrothed before Alicent decided to cancel it and marry Aegon with his sister, Helaena.

He really needed you at his side, he wanted you, his mother made a mistake, he always said that, it was unfair not only for him but for Helaena too, so, now he was king, he wanted a new wife, he wanted what a long time ago belonged to him.

Unfortunately, the poor servant's face was not the kind of face that brings good news.

- Speak now, where's she? Where's my betrothed?

- My king... I... The information I obtained, it's maybe just rumours, I do not intend to defile Lady (y/n)'s reputation or her virtue, But...

Before the servant could end, Alicent appeared at the door, the look in her eyes could say there was guilt and fear.

- Get out, I want to talk with my son.

The servant nodded and started to walk out when Aegon stopped him, he wouldn't let him go without knowing the news or rumors about his beloved.

- Stay, you haven't finished yet, What do you know about her?

- Aegon...

- Silence, you Continue.

- Lady y/n got married a few moons ago with the lord of the north, as I said these are maybe just rumors, but it's probably she's pregnant, a wolf is growing inside her, My king.

Aegon stood up and walked around the room, the servant hadn't moved, Alicent closed her eyes, she was standing there like a statue just waiting for Aegon's reaction. Suddenly, Aegon walked directly to the servant, his face was almost purple of Anger, his eyes could burn, certainly, the news of your marriage and pregnancy woke the dragon inside him.

His hot breaths with the smell of the wine he drank before, were now filling the servant's nose and lungs.

The goblet In his hand flew to the other side of the room, tension filled the room, silence was uncomfortable, then, Aegon simply asked.

- What did you just say?!

[heliads]

Ok so I saw how you said you wanted to write for narnia in your request guidelines so, imagine if you will:

Reader and Caspian with a sort of rivals to friends to lovers. Charting the transition from "My prince" (Sarcastic) to "My prince" (playfull, joking) to eventually "MY prince" (loving). Hope this makes sense, lots of love <3

when people check the request guidelines <333 also this request was so good that i had the people vote upon it. soldier reader for the win

masterlist

You’re not sure what makes you more angry, the fact that you broke your sword or that the prince was there to see it. If it were not enough of a ruination to your day to have your blade break in half like a child’s wooden toy, if it were not enough to have to retreat through the storms of other fights and clashing metal and skulk to the background to get another, you were witnessed by the one person you detest most of all.

You should not be hating Prince Caspian. He just makes it rather easy to do so. He is the physical embodiment of this world, the crown on high, the savior of your every waking hour, all because he happened to be born into the right family at the right time. It is not his fault that he is one of the most powerful men in all of Narnia, but it is not the result of his labor, either. He is simply the prince, and there is nothing more to say on the matter.

That is quite different from you, then. You had to claw your way up through the ranks, sacrificing skin and sweat so you could eke out a win time and time again. Your trials served you well, gilding your brow with the title of captain of the guard, but it wasn’t like anything was handed to you. No, not at all. Yet, by virtue of his predestined position, Caspian technically has control over every soldier in Narnia. He outranks all of your efforts by the crown put on his head when he was just an infant.

This is the way of the world, and the way that it has always been. It makes no sense for you to hate him so fervently over something he cannot control. Caspian is an easy scapegoat, though, a figurehead for you to heap your regrets upon like laurels. It is not his fault that he was made prince. It is not his fault that you despise him for being one.

You’ve had time to grow accustomed to your life of blood and sweat, however, and today should have been no different. This morning was an amalgamation of at least a dozen different mistakes, though, and that ruined your day before it hardly even started. You woke up a little too late, you snapped at your friends then regretted it half a second later, and now you’ve gone and broken your blade, too.

It wasn’t your best weapon, at least that counts for something. Your finest sword is your most prized possession, and lies in careful hiding back in your quarters. This was merely your practice weapon, one designed to be battered and beaten all in the means of furthering the skills of you and your men.

Still, it stings to see it lying on the dusty ground of the training yard, shiny metal fragments already beginning to cloud over with grime. You sigh, signaling to your partner that you’ll have to abandon the match for now, and carefully pick up the pieces. When you stand, cradling the shards of your sword like a child, you look up and see Caspian of all people staring at you from across the training yard. Evidently he’s arrived just to see your sword fail.

Wonderful timing as always from him. You have to marvel at how he does it. You half think Caspian carefully plans his excursions into the swordsman's arenas when he believes you to be least ready to see him. You meet his gaze for a moment longer, then turn, heading back towards the rows of equipment on the far side of the yard.

You murmur at least half a dozen curses as you go, running them over your tongue like a prayer. The broken pieces of your sword can be turned into the armorer in the hopes that something will become of them, but you highly doubt that. In the meantime, you’ll have to dig up the coin to buy yourself a new sword, and risk damaging your primary weapon in the meantime. How splendid.

A voice sounds from behind you, one that makes you grit your teeth despite the soothing intonations. “You know, if you’re stabbing our own men so hard your weapon shatters, I’m afraid to see what you’ll do to our enemies.”

You grimace to yourself, then turn around to face Caspian, expression resolute. “Fear not, my prince, your men will be spared from me today. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to break swords when a battle arises.”

Caspian arches a brow, perhaps at the tone you direct towards his title. “If you speak with that much thrill over the thought of war, I’m beginning to fear that you may not be my best advisor regarding the maintenance of peace.” 

As if he’d ever listen to you long enough to consider you an advisor. The two of you snap at each other’s throats every time you get within shouting range. “Perhaps I just like a chance to fight.”

“I think I’ve noticed that,” Caspian murmurs, bemused.

It takes great strength to keep from glaring at him, strength that fails you by the second. “You’ll have to excuse me, I must go to the blacksmith for repairs.”

His face falls. “You won’t be continuing in the ring today? I had hoped to best you yet again.”

His lips quirk up as he says it, making the insult lose some of its barb, but it still makes your temper flare. “I’m afraid not. Blades are not as easily bought by soldiers as princes, I must see if I can salvage this one before going to the trouble of a purchase.”

Caspian seems half a second of self control from rolling his eyes. “There are more swords in the yard, L/N. Simply select another and we can go for a round or two.”

He gestures towards the training yard expectantly, and you feel the weight of your difference in stations come crashing down around you. Caspian will not stop asking until you fight him, that is his birthright. He does not know what it means to be disobeyed. And, as the captain of his guard, you cannot argue. This you know to be true, even if Caspian is unaware of just how he’s wielding his influence. There is nothing you can do to circumvent him.

You force your expression to go icily cold, devoid of any and all emotion. Even the anger, which was sparking through you so readily before, vanishes from your disposition. Caspian blinks in surprise at the sudden change, more so when you abruptly drop the pieces of your broken blade to the ground, where they send up a small storm of dust.

“Of course,” you say, even-syllabled, “how could I ever think to do anything else? Your word is my command, my prince.”

You pack as much loathing as possible into those syllables. Caspian flinches as if you’ve hit him, and then his confidence is gone, his eyes downcast. “If you don’t want to–” He begins in a whisper, but you’re already moving briskly towards the rows of extra blades.

“I most certainly want to,” you answer him, the borrowed blade seeming to cut into your hand despite the smooth leather grip, “you have asked, and that is all the motivation I should ever need.”

Caspian swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, but you swing your blade at his head before he can manage it. This is utterly wrong behavior for a soldier towards a prince, but Caspian has never seemed to have a problem with your actions before, no matter how challenging. It’s as if both of your prides are so strong that they could overcome any class barrier set in your way.

Caspian barely parries your sword before it cuts into his head. Grunting with effort, he twists his weapon, forcing you to step back as he disengages, striking towards you in return. Seizing the opportunity, Caspian presses his advantage, taking a few quick steps and maneuvering the two of you further into the training yard and into the designated spaces for fighting.

Words are clearly still clinging to his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud, but this is no longer a place for conversation. It takes everything in you to counter his attacks, to spot when he’s off balance and lunge with piercing precision towards every gap in Caspian’s defense. You may hate the dark-haired prince with every fiber of your being, but you cannot deny that he is skilled. He might be the only one here capable of providing a challenge to you. You might hate him even more for that, or worse, not at all.

Caspian feints to his left, then his right. You ignore both distractions and plunge your weapon straight towards his heart. Expecting your belligerence in regards to his ploys, Caspian parries the strike and returns it with one of his own. You move to take a quick sidestep, but the ground is slick beneath your feet with mud from yesterday’s rain and you stumble. It’s the slightest of missteps, but for someone at Caspian’s level, it is enough.

He lunges forward, and you feel the shadow of the stone wall on your back before he pushes you into it. The rock is cold against your back, driving the air from your lungs. You try to force your way towards the center of the yard again, but Caspian has his sword at your throat, and any movement would lead to you cutting your own neck.

Unwilling to yield quite yet, you stay silent. You and Caspian breathe in and out, the deep gasps for air first discordant and then slowly, steadily, joining in a shared rhythm.

Caspian speaks first, you know he’s been waiting for it. “You hate me.”

You scoff. “You hate me. This is not an exclusive feeling.”

He exhales harshly, exasperated. “Stop deflecting everything onto me. We could have been friends.”

You laugh, tilting your head back to give him a better chance to slit your throat. “You are a prince. I would never have been anything but nothing to you.”

Caspian’s eyes widen. He moves away from you unsteadily, first closer than he’s ever been, then gone, halfway across the yard in what feels like just a second. You let your eyes shudder closed, exhausted from the intensity of the fight but perhaps something more as well. When you open your lids, he is gone. He had just arrived, but he is nowhere to be seen now. That could be no one’s fault but yours. He is not your friend. But. He could be so, so much more. 

Three days later, a gift arrives in your quarters. You unwrap the cloth bindings to reveal a sword nestled within the folds. You can tell at once that it has been perfectly selected for you– the heft is just right for your level of strength, the grip matches your hands exactly, and the edges are razor sharp, ideal for those slashes towards the forearms you’ve been so fond of as of late.

It comes swathed in a rich purple cloth, the sort of color you’ve only ever seen decorating Caspian’s frame as he walks with his troops or speaks to his nobles. An angrier, more bitter part of you wants to reject the gift entirely, to toss it from your room like refuse or return it back to him at once. Still, it is a fine blade, and you know that were you to just pick it up, it would feel exactly right, an extension of your arm into shining metal.

So, the sword joins the rest of your collections, and the purple linen ends up tucked away in your desk, carefully folded into a neat square of color and creases. You cannot explain why you do either, not even to yourself. 

The next time you’re called out with your regiment to guard the prince and some foreign powers on a diplomatic mission, the sword is on your belt, your hand resting on its hilt. Caspian sees and something changes in his expression; a deepening of a smile, a pleased spark in his eyes. For some reason, you cannot hate him for being proud. Not today.

He finds you later, once the crowds have dispersed and he doesn’t have to be a prince, just a man. “What a fine sword that is,” he remarks pleasantly.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even.”

Caspian spreads his hands, the picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about.”

“You had better not,” you grumble.

He nods solemnly. “Of course. Just a random thought, however, it really is a nice blade. It must have been picked out by an exceedingly good swordsman. Perhaps even the best in the castle.”

You should be irritated with him for being so bothersome again. Instead, you find yourself fighting a smile. “It’s a shame, then, that the only swordsman here worth his salt is me.”

Caspian’s mouth drops comically. “That cannot be true.”

“It is,” you reply as casually as you can, “I come to you with only the best information, my prince. Only the best.”

He starts to respond, but something stops him, something that makes him smile quietly. Your stomach flips with the unsettling feeling of having missed out on a joke, but for once, you don’t entirely mind it. Instead, the two of you walk all the way back to the castle, and only when the diplomats arrive again must you be parted. It is not the worst use of your time.

Caspian finds you again two nights later. You’re on a shift guarding a section of the castle walls, which gives you an excellent view of the foreign powers riding away into the darkness. They’ve been here for days now, testing Caspian’s patience like no one else, not even you.

He joins you soon enough, exhaustedly leaning his arms up against the stone battlements. “I think I hate politics,” he murmurs into the night air.

You chuckle, the quiet sound abnormally loud in the darkness. It should make you self conscious, and it does, but not as much as it would for anyone else. The hot prick of awareness in your stomach is both doubly strong and doubly weak because you are next to Caspian; why, you cannot explain, but it is true.

“You are a prince,” you point out, “politics was always something you would have to do.”

Caspian groans. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. That’s why I always envied you, you know. You got to carry the banner and fight the battles without any political conniving.”

You stare at him in shock. “That cannot be true. No future king could ever want to be a mere soldier.”

He laughs derisively. “As if you’ve ever been a mere soldier. Not to me,” he adds on afterthought, and you’re not sure that it was even meant for your ears, “no, not to me.”

You shake your head slowly. “But I thought you hated me. All this time, you’ve merely wanted to join me in fighting without a care?”

Caspian’s brow furrows. “Hate you? No, no. I never hated you. I never could hate you.”

He straightens up, slowly walking over to you. There is no one else on the castle wall to see you, no one below. Even still, your eyes feel like more than enough of an audience to find some reason to stop this before the pounding in your heart blocks out your ability to breathe properly.

“My prince,” you say, a warning. It doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, a blow grown familiar, worn down to the weight of a feather instead of that of a blade.

Caspian sighs, the listless air leaving him and vanishing just as quickly on the wind. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted this. That you’ve never thought about it.”

“I couldn’t,” you whisper, and something in you cracks in half when his face falls, “but you could.”

Caspian’s eyes dart cautiously up to you again. “Are you sure?”

Neither of you have to specify what he means for you to know. “Yes,” you breathe.

You did not anticipate this night to end with you kissing the crown prince of Narnia. That being said, you would not want to have it any other way. There may be foreign dignitaries out there plotting the end of his reign, or political turmoils present to claim most of his time, but tonight, Caspian is yours and yours alone. It makes you smile into him. It makes everything that much better.

narnia tag list: empty for now!

[theemissuniverse]

I love your writing! I saw that your requests were open do to mind doing Johnny Cage x reader? (Gender is your choice) like reader is a god/goddess and somehow falls in love with an earthrealmer?

“TOO CLOSE TO THE HEART” JOHNNY CAGE X GODDESS!READER

A/N : surprisingly this is my first Johnny fic lmao. Also a little bit of info the goddess is of nature and virtue

WARNINGS ; none

MASTERLIST

Johnny was a ladies man. Usually he turned on the charm for every woman. But then he met you and his sole attention was on you.

You’ve told him time and time again that you did not mingle with mortals but he didn’t give up.

Johnny often flirted with you but not like how he usually flirted with women. He still kept it respectful because at the end of the day- you were a goddess.

Usually you were able to not fall for his advances but this time you couldn’t resist.

You were in your garden and helped your pretty flowers blossom. You looked over to your left and saw Johnny looking upset with a flower pot. He was sitting at a picnic table.

The flower pot held a flower that was barley alive.

You were quite concerned for Johnny. He was usually full of light but he looked really upset.

You walked over to him and sat down next to him. “What’s the matter? Someone make fun of one of your films?” You chose to joke.

Johnny sighed. The joke didn’t hit with him. You now were extremely worried. He scratched the back of his neck and he passed you the dying flower. “I know how much you like flowers so I was trying to grow one myself for you but…taking care of a flower is a lot harder than I thought.”

Something about this notion was incredibly thoughtful. You were the Goddess of Nature. Flowers were your everything. So, for Johnny trying to bloom one for you melted your heart. It meant he did care about the things you cared about.

You took the pot. “Lucky for you, I am Goddess of all things nature so…” You used your power and the flower started to regenerate into a healthy golden tone. “It’s all healed.”

Johnny smiled at what you did. “That’s pretty cool that you can do that.”

“Oh really? Because what I heard from Kung Lao, you thought it was pretty lame.”

“Well-that was before I got to know you and now I think it’s kick ass.” Johnny stated. You chuckled a little.

You then thought of something. “Why did you do this or try to do this for me any way?”

Johnny gave you a look like it was obvious. “Come on, doll. Don’t be naive. You know I like you.” He sighed a little. “But you don’t got a thing for mortals so I probably should just leave it be.”

You watched as Johnny was about to stand up from the table. You grabbed his arm and made him sit back down. “You are sweet…when you want to be Johnny and it’s not that I don’t want to but it’s unrealistic to be with you. I am immortal. One day, you’ll die.”

“Hey, I’d be one lucky old man to have you on my death bed and you’ll still look that good.”

You shook your head slightly. “I have a lot of responsibilities. We can’t be together twenty four seven.”

“And I’m a hot shot director now. Same here.” Johnny could see that you were starting to get convinced so he took your hands in his. “Come on! One shot. That’s all I’m asking, babe.”

You thought about it. Johnny had been showing relentless interest in you. And after the flower thing, you couldn’t help but say yes. “Alright. We’ll give it a shot.” Johnny fist pumped the air and you rolled your eyes playfully.

Your eyes glowed a bright green. (Because of your Goddess nature.) Johnny tilted his head as he stared into them. “Say, how do you walk out in public with your eyes like that?”

“I don’t.” You stated simply and your eyes changed to your human eye color. Johnny blinked his eyes in shock as he saw them. “Wow. You should wear your eyes like that more often.”

You return your eyes back to their God like nature. “You don’t like my eyes, Johnny?”

“Nah. You look hot either way, babe.” Johnny leaned in to give you a kiss but you placed a finger on his lips.

“In time I will see if you are worthy of that.”

“You know I like a challenge.”

[ghuleh-recs]

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

recs under the super cute divider from @forlorn-crows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hybrid Slinky - Dewdrop/Swiss - E, 2.8k

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

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

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

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

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

Stoned Edging - Aeon/Swiss - E, 1.4k

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

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

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

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

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

[genericpuff]

I feel mean criticizing an author's old work that they've deliberately buried, but sheesh the dialogue in Rachel's old stuff is really stilted. As awkward as LO's writing is, it honestly does show some improvement, so like...good for Rachel I guess?

I mean, it hasn't really improved though? Normally no, I wouldn't criticize someone's older work because by the virtue of something being old, it will naturally be improved upon and shouldn't be judged against what's created in the present (trust me, as someone with work from 10 years ago that hasn't aged well, I get it LOL).

But what's in the present... has all the same issues. I think it's easy to convince ourselves LO's writing is "better" because it relies on Greek myth to piece itself together, but when you aren't filling in the blanks for her based on assumptions made from the source material (which you shouldn't have to do) her writing in LO still doesn't have much to offer. Like, can we really call this an improvement?

If anything the writing in LO got even worse over time because it started to feel like ChatGPT was writing the dialogue and the narrative was crumbling under the weight of Rachel's lack of foresight / planning ahead.

I mean, just to get my point across, let me ask you one simple question: What is the actual theme of LO? What is the conclusion it comes to by its end to contribute to that theme?

This isn't me trying to minimize whatever improvements she may have made between the past and present, I just don't see those improvements, and there's a lot more to suggest that she was a lot more prolific 20 years ago as an artist than she is today. All of that stuff about Persephone / herself being a "workaholic" is based on stuff she went through 20 years ago that she doesn't even put on display now because it's all buried in deactivated Tumblrs and LiveJournals. But that's besides the point.

I think at best the "improvement" simply boils down to "at least she finished this one". But that's not necessarily a good thing because it's clear LO went on longer than it ever should have and that the only reason she even made it this far was because she was bound to a contract through WT. I guarantee you if it weren't for the success that WT's gave her through constantly advertising LO everywhere (and the fact that LO fit a very specific niche that was popular at the time) she would have ended LO ages ago, because just about every series she's done up until this point have been passing fancies that she's bounced between while still retaining a lot of the same tropes and crutches she always has.

LO is about a naive valley girl with mommy issues who goes to school to better herself. This is also the plot of The Doctor Foxglove Show. And while comics like Castle Castle, Woman King, and The Maiden don't involve school settings, they do still center around "girlboss" characters who hate their parents. LO isn't really an "improvement" among these tropes, just another rehashing that's hidden way better because 1.) she put it behind the veil of Greek myth and 2.) she's done everything in her power to hide the fact that she's been writing about the same pink-haired girls with mommy issues and trauma from evil men "except for that one guy who's perfect in every way" for 20+ years now.

And that issue of stilted dialogue goes way beyond even the comics. Read transcripts of her interviews or the Q&A from the end of the series that she did in her Discord and you'll see she has a really hard time finishing the thought she started on. I'm sure a lot of this can be chalked up to her ADHD / dyslexia, which is totally valid, but it just goes to show she hasn't done any work to actually improve her work in spite of her hindrances. She doesn't know how to separate Internet trolls from valid criticism and she seems to absorb any and all criticism as "proof" that she's better than everyone else, actually, and it's not her fault that other people are stupid and don't get her "vision". And I'm not pulling this assertion out of thin air, she's displayed this exact behavior before both within the LO fandom as well as her pre-existing fandoms around her other series.

Like, I can totally get the sentiment that "hate mail is a sign of success" and turning a negative into a positive, but there's a difference between deflecting hate mail from trolls and deflecting genuine criticism that's meant to identify your weaknesses and help you grow. That's what makes it all the more telling that she's built an audience around protecting and enabling her weaknesses rather than celebrating her strengths and empowering her to do better. She can't fall back on Webtoons as the only excuse for why the writing in LO is bad, her writing has always been like this and I feel like that's half the reason she's trying to hide it.

[fellshish]

re: neil I’m a little concerned that most good omens blogs have completely checked out of the conversation and have gone back to business as usual. I feel like you’re one of the only that I see still discussing it.

On the other hand, the blog that did the big podcast write up is still receiving hate messages over the posts, so I get it. They just posted one with someone telling her to k*ll herself.

I guess I just wish there were more blogs not ignoring it so we can drown out the people acting in bad faith. Maybe if everyone who is on the same page as us, that we believe the victims and condemn neil but still engage with his works, was more open to the discussion we wouldn’t have so much vitriol. Or maybe people will just always be shitty idk

I feel like you are making yourself very unhappy worrying about what other people are doing or feeling.

Many fans aren’t posting about the allegations. That might be for a variety of reasons, including being afraid to say the wrong thing, being afraid of getting horrible asks, but also being unsure what to think or how to act, or being shy, not even having heard about the podcast, etc etc

Tumblr is a fan website and there’s nothing wrong with engaging with fan content. I assure you even those with different opinions than you? If you met them in real life you’d probably simply get along. Hang out. Grab a drink together.

I do not wish for it all to become a witch hunt trying to track down who has the “right” opinions and fighting with those who don’t. Nor do i wish for it to become a fest of virtue signaling. I wish for tumblr to stay a largely positive place.

I probably won’t keep blogging about it unless maybe new things happen, actually. And i hope not to get hate for that. Thx

[ao3cassandraic]

I’m wondering about your thoughts on something I’ve been musing on after S2. How good is Aziraphale’s reading comprehension? How much does he understand subtext and metaphor? Because his behavior this season struck me with the impression that he didn’t really understand the books he collects. He’s clever at puzzle solving, and contains vast knowledge; but he always seems to take things at face value (when he’s not willfully misunderstanding), and refuses to give up black-and-white thinking, which would make it very difficult to analyze texts.

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 1

You sure ask the difficult ones. (Which is great, I'm totally jazzed about it!)

I delayed answering this ask because it sent me off in a lot of directions:

What is an angel's starting knowledge base?

In contrast, how and what do we humans learn about our world and one another?

Which of these learning methods is not really available to an angel?

What do humans learn from books, fiction especially?

What kinds of information get left implicit in books because authors are humans writing for other humans?

How would an angel fill in those blanks? How would those blanks distort an angel's notion of How Humans and Human Things Work?

What would angels generally and either Aziraphale or Muriel (because yeah, it's hard to have this discussion without thinking about Muriel too) specifically read human-authored fiction for?

I don't have all the answers to the above questions. Not even CLOSE. I happily invite my fellow meta-ists to weigh in on any or all of them!

But let's see what I can tease out. We'll start with factory settings, so to speak.

Angelic vs. human factory settings

(questions 1 through 3)

Angels have (one) language. They have music -- or, at least, they can sing Her praises (likely by rote). At least some, like our Starmaker, have the knowledge to do specific jobs. Note that Aziraphale not only doesn't know how to make stars and nebulas, he's not even clear on what a nebula is. We can safely assume from that that angels don't all possess the same set of knowledge and skills purely by virtue (heh) of being angels.

We don't see, however, how much of what they know is simply an angel's birthright versus how much of it is somehow educated into them. We also don't know how She divvies up necessary knowledge, though I'd think it safe (given most takes on angelology) to guess that angelic rank and intended function are part of Her calculus, perhaps even the whole of it.

What strikes me hardest is that angels seem to be created either as adults or children (which is what I believe the scareable "cherubs" are), and they may well never change that state. The Starmaker is childlike in some ways, but not a child. Likely never was a child! Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, isn't childlike at all; his personality seems pretty close to fully-formed.

And children learn so very, very much. Babies learn so much as babies, while their neuroplasticity is super super plastic! Especially they learn about relating to other beings! (Which the Starmaker is conspicuously Not Real Great at, honestly -- absorbed in the work of creation, the Starmaker does not pick up the feelings Aziraphale is laying down at all.)

Children also learn one OR MORE languages, and that "more" is rather important, because language shapes how we think to some extent (the extent of that extent, and its nature, are objects of fierce debate among linguists and neuroscientists), and different languages shape us differently. Just as Crowley (as plenty of theologians argue) did humanity a favor with the whole knowledge-of-good-and-evil thing, the Tower of Babel (assuming that was a thing that happened in the GOverse; no reason it wouldn't have, I suppose) added a whole lot of nuance and complexity and competing understandings to humanity's sense of itself and its universe.

Exactly how angels and demons manage to speak all human languages (which Crowley indicates they can) isn't clear. If we accept that the Tower of Babel happened, both Heaven and Hell must have had to figure out a way to deal with it.

We do see, however, that angels and demons can be fluent in human languages without being fluent in human thought or human cultures. Gabriel and Sandalphon speak perfect English yet barely know which end of a book is up. Hastur and Ligur can't disentangle ciao/chow. And, I mean, actual food? Fuhgeddaboudit. So I see their linguistic facility as a sort of Douglas Adams Babel fish: it can translate an angel's or demon's thought into the target language, but it can't help an angel or demon think like an actual speaker of that language.

As an example, Gabriel can tell Job and Sitis about their new children, perfectly fluently. His purely-linguistic fluency does not help him understand that they loved their old children, much less why.

This may explain why Aziraphale studied French under M. Rossignol. He perhaps didn't feel he understood how French speakers think, and was interested enough in that to learn the language (as other meta-ists have noted, the language of love!) the human way.

So yeah, if I have a conclusion here it's that angels and demons can seem as off-center as they often do from a human perspective because they wholly missed out on a key period of human brain development.

What they have in its place appears to be... rules. Which is, I think, where I'll take this next.

[cerastes]

Are you going to give Arknights: endfield a go when it releases?

Yep, but I've been honest on stream about my current impression on it: It doesn't look too good. We talked about it, and basically, Liduke wasn't the best option for art director to be honest. She's really good at what she does but what she does, is lacking in scope: The colors don't look good, too muted, too sterile, designs aren't super good, no design has wowed me the way pre-release Arknights designs wowed me (Specter, Hoshiguma and Skullshatterer made me very hype, to name a few). It's like I'm looking at a slab of dirt. Just... Where's the color? In the maps and the designs of the characters. The moment Angelina showed up in her Bloodline of Combat fit, it was so funny to me, because her bright red jacket instantly became the single most colorful thing in the entire game.

Liduke works very well with pale blacks, whites, reds, yellows, and complimentary winter palettes. Look at Hellagur, Schwarz, (her) W, (her) Ines, etc, they look really good. But that's because we have an overarching cast and world of color to contrast them to. When everything is like that, it doesn't look good. I'm a bit disappointed by Endfield's presentation, to be honest.

The gameplay, or what we've seen of it... Doesn't really look fun. It's plain and simple as that.

It's rather difficult for me to write this because I strongly believe in not doomposting and looking at the virtues of things, but at least from what we've seen, it's just being very difficult to find these virtues in Endfield. The best thing I can say is that I still have faith in it simply because Arknights has really delivered to hell and back in terms of being a game and in terms of sheer raw style. The way it keeps evolving Tower Defense (and Tower Offense, to be honest!) is impressive, so I have no doubt brilliant and passionate minds are working behind Endfield, but it feels bad framing it this way because I'm saying "I like their other work" without being able to find a lot to say about Endfield by itself.

I'll give it a try, because I love Arknights and Hypergryph has been phenomenal in my opinion, but if this was a stand alone game not associated with HG or AK, I really don't think I'd look at it twice, and it saddens me to say. I'm hoping to be proven wrong.

[shalomniscient]

hello sev! there’s so little nox content on tumblr…do you have any nsft/sft headcanons for nox??? by thr way your sevcchino writings are SO GOOD i love self insert stuff its always so fun to read!:7:!27:!:&

hiiii sghshhdhdhd thanks for liking my delusion content !! arle makes me more ill then any character ever has before 😔😔😔 /pos

(someone ask me about sevchino lore. i swear im normal. come into the enclosure i swear i dont bite—)

cw. mentions of sex

anyway as for NOX ur so right anon there is criminally low content for her on this webbed site so i suppose it is time to be the change we want to see in the world 😌😌😌

NOX at maximum compliance and post-interro is just a sweetheart. a dangerous sweetheart to be sure, but still a sweetheart none the less. she very much has puppy energy, in that she’ll always want to please you and follow your orders. if she could, she’d trail you around the bureau while you work—which is both immensely funny and downright terrifing, because that’s the grim reaper why is she acting like a lovesick puppy ?? NOX is your scary dog privileges frfr

anywho, you can mostly find NOX in the gardens or her own cell. if she’s in the gardens then she’s usually crouched near a flowerbed, looking at the blooms but not touching them—they’ll just die, and she doesn’t want that. but you can see the way longing twists her pale features, so you pull hella aside and ask her if she wants a little extra pocket money.

“crochet flowers like i crochet my beanies…? ugh, chief, who do you think i— you’re going to pay me 150 DisCoins per flower? …what colour and when?”

NOX is a little confused when you hand her the bouquet once hella’s completed them. she refuses at first, thinking she’d just damage them, but with some coaxing you manage to get her to take the flowers. she cradles them in her arms, and you see as her expression morphs into surprise as she holds them.

“they smell… nice,” she says slowly, and you’re glad she likes them (making that deal with cassia took several years off your lifespan.) NOX keeps them in a vase in her cell, and you pop by every so often to give them another spritz of perfume, specific to each flower. roses, daisies, tulips—you commission hella to make more until there’s a yarn garden in NOX’s cell.

she loves it. sometimes you’ll find her sitting on her bed and simply looking at the flowers, or gently holding one in her blackened hands. if you decide to come in and sit next to her, she’ll let her head rest on your shoulder, and the both of you just rest in comfortable silence.

NOX doesn’t want for much. her purpose now, as it were, is to follow you. she’d head to the edges of the world, into the deepest, darkest oblivion for you. all she wants is to remain by your side, to feel the warmth of you against her skin.

nsft utc—

due to NOX’s unique physiology she can’t really get aroused in the conventional way. but the shackles are a powerful thing—and sometimes your need is strong enough that it travels down to NOX, and she feels her still heart jump. NOX’s body is generally really cold, but once you get going and by extension her, she starts to warm up.

NOX is definitely the submissive one between you both, but she’ll top if you want. just tell her what to do, how to do it. it’ll take her some time, but she learns eventually. NOX usually cums when you cum, due to the heightened sensitivity of the shackles between you both. but she likes it more when you make her cum with your fingers or your strap.

in general, i’d say NOX is more fond of lovemaking then fucking. she wants to be close to you, always, because you’re the one person she can’t hurt by virtue of existing. you’re so so important to her and she wants you to know with every breathless gasp she lets out of your name or in the way she licks or fingers you with awkward but well-meaning tenderness.

NOX is the first to say i love you, one night after you both wind down from a round of soft sex. to anyone else, it may sound terrifying—powerful words spoken in that echoing, haunting voice of hers, but to you she sounds nothing short of lovely. you run your fingers through her long, pale hair and hold her tightly against you as you return the words to her.

[cakerybakery]

I’d like to write a one shot about Adam being reborn on Earth and becoming a priest. I had a story idea a few months about about a priest that agrees to meetings each week with the devil to save his congregation, that would be a fun premise for getting Adam and Lucifer to fuck. Especially if combined with that temptation war AU I was thinking about the other day.

It’s Lucifer and Lilith’s turn to pick a vice vs virtue and as they lost Lust to Chasity a few rounds ago so they’re going to try it again. Adam and Eve have chosen to born into highly religious families with the goals of becoming members of the cloth once they’re adults again to resist the temptation of lust.

Lucifer and Lilith wait until Adam and Eve have grown up again. Part of the rules. Just as Adam and Eve will only be born with the vague feeling that they’re doing something important, Lucifer and Lilith cannot tempt them as children. Should Adam or Eve die or sin before they’re considered adults with all the rights and responsibilities required to be an adult then it would be a tie for the round and their sins would not count as Lilith and Lucifer aren’t tempting them.

Eve grows up to become a nun. She chose well and resists the temptations of hell her whole life. Much to the frustration of Lilith.

Adam grows up to become a priest but when members of his congregation sell their souls to the devil for things such as wealth, power, or talent and the devil comes a calling Adam is desperate to protect his people.

“Then let’s make a deal. So long as you meet with me I’ll leave your sinners alone. Perhaps one day you’ll convince me to let their souls go. Although I’d rather add a priest to the notches on my bedpost.”

Adam takes a step back from the devil’s out stretched hand. He couldn’t believe people in his congregation had made deals for their souls to this man, nor could he believe he was taller than the devil by a few inches. He always seemed bigger in the stories.

Were a few sinners worth risking his soul? His place in heaven? The devil’s deal said nothing about his soul and he did not plan to have sex until marriage he could be confident that he couldn’t be tempted into the sin. The devil was hardly his type. While he was partial to blonds, but he also liked it when they came with tits. He wasn’t in any danger of finding this guy attractive.

“Deal.” Adam took Lucifer’s hand and they shook on it.

“I will come every Sunday night. From 7 pm until 7 am your time is mine. Play your cards right and you’ll be cumming to.” Lucifer winked and vanished.

Adam’s hand burned. He hoped his congregation was worth it.

Sunday came and he put extra emphasis on people needing to resist the devil and his temptation. Hoping at least to not lose more to the short bastard.

He waited back at his small apartment that evening, wondering how he was going to entertain the king of hell for twelve hours. Did he need to stay up all night? What was the devil even going to do? Should he put on a movie? Adam had been on a few dates before, but he’d never been as nervous about them as he was about this meeting.

A date he could navigate. He planned to be a priest most of his life. He always made that clear and that a date was simply a date and he had no plans to have sex before marriage. Some girls he just never clicked with and they didn’t date for long. One he thought he would marry but she left the church and him. She’s apparently happy with a family of her own on the other side of the country, according to Facebook anyways.

This was unusual to say the least. He prepared a sermon but if the devil couldn’t be swayed by god what chance did he have? What would they discuss? What could they discuss if the devil’s goal was to bed him? Would he have to spend twelve hours trying to push the devil’s hands off him? Telling him no and trying to squirm away?

Adam caught sight of himself in the mirror, his face was turning pink, he hadn’t realized he was biting his own lip. That wasn’t good. Was there a reason things never clicked with women?

His clock began to chime and there was a knock on the door, tearing him from his thoughts.

Opening the door, Adam didn’t know what to expect. Lucifer wore a casual suit for their meeting, the top few buttons undone, hatless, he pressed a small bouquet of flowers into Adam’s hands and carried a bottle of wine.

Adam could feel his face burning red. This was a date. He was on a date with the devil in his apartment.

“Going to invite me in, darling?” Lucifer winked up at him and Adam stumbled back tongue-tied.

“Co-come in.” What had he done? This was bad. This was a bad time to be figuring out that maybe he was more into men than he thought.

He shook his head, no. He wasn’t into guys. He wasn’t interested in men last week. This had to be some trick of the devil. A trick of the rather handsome devil taking off his suit jacket and rolling his shirt sleeves up and talking to him about glasses? He didn’t wear glasses. Why did the devil want to know where his glasses were?

Lucifer held up the bottle looking as confused as Adam was feeling and it clicked.

“I don’t have wine glasses! I-I don’t drink, much.” He had the occasionally beer but never really acquired a taste for it and it was more to be polite than anything.

He also didn’t have a vase. No one had ever given him flowers before and he never bought any for himself. Where should he put this? What did he do?

Almost like he was taking pity on him, Lucifer flashed him a soft smile that made Adam’s heart race, and brushed past Adam to go into the kitchen.

He opened and closed cupboards until he found the glasses and pulled a couple down.

“This will do.” Lucifer poured them some wine, “shall we have dinner? I’m a fantastic cook.”

Adam left the flowers propped up in the sink and filled it with the tap until he could find something else for the flowers to go in.

He hadn’t thought about dinner. For the past couple hours he had been fretting over what to say and skipped his own supper. Adam had been too busy to do much shopping either.

“How about take out?”

“It would give me more time to seduce you.” Lucifer’s hand groped Adam’s ass and Adam jumped.

“You know what,” Adam backed out of the kitchen, “you should cook.”

Lucifer just smiled, “anything you say, dear.”

Adam retreated to the living room while the devil cooked in his kitchen. His classes never prepared him for this. It was always more theoretical and metaphorical. The devil tempting you with the easy path, not by coming to your apartment with flowers and wine, not by cooking you dinner and groping your ass.

He talked to Adam. Asked him questions about his life. Spoke to Adam as though he had known him all his life. Like this wasn’t the first time the devil tried to seduced him.

Adam knew he didn’t have ribs in the fridge but there they were on a plate. He didn’t have apples either, but there was a pie. Adam wasn’t sure he had most of the ingredients used in the meal and wondered if he would be damned if he ate it.

“It’s fine. I conjured what I needed.” Lucifer poured himself another glass, “you’re not Persephone and damned to the under world if you eat my cooking.”

Still, Adam picked at the food, the man telling him this was the prince of lies. He could easily be lying.

“If it was easy cooking you a meal then I wouldn’t need twelve hours.”

Adam supposed that was true. But the truth could be as effective as a lie if told properly. His stomach growled and he took a bite.

Fuck. It was delicious. Adam dug in vaguely aware that Lucifer was watching him.

“You humans have a saying. ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’ And I get the feeling of if I want into your bed it’ll have to be through your heart. So I’m glad you’re enjoying my cooking so much.”

Adam felt a foot run up and down his leg and quickly pushed himself back away from the table. He finished his supper awkwardly far from the table and his plate as quickly as he could. Before slamming back his glass of wine.

“How about we watch a movie?” Without waiting for an answer Adam left the table and dishes. Something he wasn’t prone to doing on his own. He switched on the tv and clicked through some menus and screens to turn on the first movie he found. Adam sat ridged in an armchair. Assuming Lucifer would be unable to touch him if the seat was for one.

He was wrong.

Lucifer sat in his lap. “All you have to do is tell me no.” He sunk his fingers into Adam’s hair and cozied up close.

Adam’s tongue wouldn’t work. He couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to say no. “I’m waiting until marriage!”

Lucifer kissed his neck as Adam clung to the arm rests like a lifeboat in the sea.

Lucifer’s hands wandered and Adam could only whimper. When they reached Adam’s belt he found his voice. “Marry me!”

Pausing his hands, Lucifer pulled away from Adam’s neck, “what?”

“Marry me. You want to fuck a priest? Then marry me. You can fuck me as much as you want then. But you have to let my congregation go.”

“That! I! Uhh!”

Adam grabbed Lucifer by the waist and kissed him for all he was worth. Lucifer twisted his hands into Adam’s sweater and returned the kiss, “okay.” Was all he could say when Adam pulled away.

Lucifer’s face was flushed and eyes half closed, Adam saw his chance. He continued his assault on the devil’s lips and texted with one hand to John, a fellow priest, to bring his wife and to come over quick.

It didn’t need to be legal. Not in the eyes of the government. It wasn’t like the fucking devil could sign paperwork. But they could make it official in the eyes of the lord.

John held Adam’s spare key and let his wife and himself into Adam’s apartment.

The sight was more horrific than either had imagined. They had thought perhaps Adam had hurt himself and didn’t want to go to the hospital. Mary was a nurse after all. They expected blood and stitches. Not to see a demon pinned to the floor by Adam. Their necks red with hickies, disheveled, and leftover dinner still warm on the table.

“What the fuck, Adam?”

“Marry us. Quickly.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later. I have the-the paper thingy in my desk with,” Adam groaned as the devil rubbed them together. “Words and shit! Just do it!”

John did as he was told. Speeding through to the vows.

“Names! What’s his name?”

“Lucifer Morningstar.” The devil laughed.

John fumbled with the papers. Not a demon but the very king of hell himself.

He finished the vows they said their I do’s and Adam screamed at him to get out.

Mary prayed in the car as they drove home. He didn’t know what unholy deed he had just been apart of but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he had just helped someone or something greater than himself. He couldn’t figure out if it was for the side of good or evil.

The deed was done, Adam let Lucifer go and let himself be ravaged.

His favourite sweater was torn beyond repair in Lucifer’s quest for more flesh to assault with his hands and mouth. His pants would never recover. He let himself be carried to his bed and pressed into it.

Adam briefly realized this was going to be his first time and that the devil was unlikely to let him top. When he pictured this moment, his wedding night, this was nothing like he imagined. At the very least he assumed he would be the one doing the fucking.

Those thoughts vanished as Lucifer’s mouth engulfed his dick whole.

Very suddenly he didn’t care. Not if Lucifer kept doing that thing with his tongue. He could feel himself being worked open and wondered very briefly what his husband was using, then Lucifer did that thing with his tongue and the thought was gone.

Adam didn’t know, Adam didn’t care, Adam just wanted more, Adam was rewarded with it.

He writhed and screamed out, he was sure the neighbours would call the police.

It was only after, as they lay gasping in his bedsheets, that it occurred to Adam what he had done.

“You win.” Lucifer pried himself up from the bed. “This round is yours, Adam.”

Memories flooded back. Eden, heaven, hell, the war they were waging that rested on the shoulder’s of he and Eve.

“I didn’t think flowers and dinner would work that fast.”

“You prick! You fucking bastard! You tricked me!” Adam hit Lucifer with a pillow.

“Well, yeah. That’s my lot in this war.” He let Adam hit him, knowing that Adam was embarrassed. It wasn’t like a pillow could actually harm him and they both knew it.

Adam exhausted himself. He was a bit sore and emotionally drained. “What do you mean I won?”

“This round was lust. I was trying to get you to give into having pre-marital sex. I have to admit, I was so flabbergasted by you actually calling over someone who could marry us that I went with it.”

“Aren’t you already married? Doesn’t that mean we’re not married? Shouldn’t you have won that round?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Kinda. Not on Earth though. And you didn’t know about my marriage to Lilith. But you remember and so long as Eve doesn’t give in before she dies, then this round goes to heaven.”

“It’s weird. To remember while I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, usually I get your whole life to tempt you. If you marry then I tempt you with cheating. Or whatever. This was a loophole I didn’t see coming.”

Adam wasn’t sure what to do now. He should probably explain things to John. But how much? What did this mean for Lucifer and him? Apparently what they did was good enough for God to declare Adam the victor. So he was, in this life and in the eyes of God, married to Lucifer. Oh this life’s father would be pissed if he knew.

He started laughing as ideas came to him. He should go back home to his parent’s place, show up with his husband, the fucking devil. That would be hilarious.

What would his congregation think? Well, seeing as a few of them made deals with the devil he could just leave out the wage between heaven and hell and let them all know their slate had been wiped clean and it was thanks to him bending over.

Fuck it. Adam flopped down onto the bed. He would worry about it later.

Lucifer rolled closer, “sooo, you want to cuddle?”

Adam shoved him off the bed.

“That wasn’t a no!”

—-

For fuck’s sake! I wasn’t trying to write a story! Who keeps letting me have ideas?

[bookwormbynight]

hello! as a huge fan of ur works i was inspired to write something of my own but im struggling to get L & light's voices down, in both exposition and dialogue, theyre so tricky! 😭 would you have any tips youre willing to share? 💖💖

Oh my fucking God I'm so flattered I'm going to crumple up into a little ball and die you let me know the second I can read whatever u got going on my dms are open

Here's the biggest single piece of advice I can offer you: can you hear their voice actors read the line you just wrote in your head. That's the one I always end up harkening back to. To get a good sense of this, make sure you know the material. Interpret the way the characters say things and deduce how this adds to the person they are beneath everything explicitly stated or shown. Watch the series a couple times, maybe focusing on episodes that the character you're struggling with features strongly in. That sort of thing. I use this in every fandom I've been in that has voice acting. This applies to exposition as well, although that's always a bit more nebulous and can really come down to personal style.

Character specific... Let's see...

L - Be an asshole. State everything eloquently, but basically as plainly as possible and do not pull any punches. His vocabulary tends to be a bit higher-class than pretty much everyone else in the anime, aside from maybe Watari. Lots of SAT words and synonyms for common words. ("I understand" instead of "got it" like Ryuk would say. But don't overdo it, he still speaks like a human being.) Do not hold back on the snark, he's a fucking dick and even more so when he doesn't have to watch his words for cooperation purposes. If you can fit the occasional pun or two in there, do it, you KNOW the scene where he shows a penchant for wordplay and I'm inclined to believe that wasn't out of left field for him. He's constantly cracking himself up and no one else, and he doesn't care, because any jokes he makes are for him. If Light's involved in the scene, have L fixate on him. In the anime, he's CONSTANTLY poking Light, asking questions, and trying to get him to engage. If I'm translating this into prose, I usually take his POV as the opportunity for the most fucking detailed obsessive descriptions of Light I possibly could want to do. (If L describes literally nothing else about his surroundings and all you can envision is a white room, HE WILL LET YOU KNOW HOW LIGHT'S EYELASHES ARE LOOKING.) He also tends to notice little details about others, to be fair, but far less frequently lol simply because he doesn't give enough of a shit to catalog them.

Light - He's a lot trickier for me, tbh. I'll do my best. He tends to avoid slang, but I don't think he goes out of his way to, and he's not afraid to cuss for emphasis, but otherwise he keeps his mouth clean. Other than that, his word use is very average and unremarkable (he pays a lot of attention to not being noticeably weird, even though he's super hindered in that goal by virtue of the fact that he's a fucking weirdo 😭 he's got most of the superficial stuff down, tho). His emotional thought process (and thereby descriptions) depends on where exactly he is in his Kira journey, sliding scale of arrogant but legit sweetheart to full on Regina George. He is kind of a bitch regardless, but he'll be very very polite if it's good for him to do that. He's a hardcore rationalizer, and sometimes he's right, but sometimes he's dead wrong and deploying it as a defense mechanism, which can affect the prose.

Hope this helps.

[cheekinpermission]

now, I know you don't ship your oc with anyone, buut- if you did, who'd it be????

I spent way too long on this question LMAO

Like anon pointed out, I don’t really ship Erin with anyone in particular mostly because I didn’t really write her to be with a canon character. She’s just trying not to die, honestly. But I’d be lying if I said I never imagined hypotheticals with her and some of the boys, so here’s the answer I settled on: tier list edition!

I’ll explain it a bit more in detail under the cut but there’s the short answer for anyone who wants to skip my rambling.

Ace x Erin

There is no universe in which Ace is not in love with Yuu, no matter what form they take.

Friends to lovers is a CLASSIC trope that I love dearly. Besides Grim (who is more like family anyways), Ace was Erin’s first friend! Ace and Deuce dropped their vacation plans to come and rescue them from Scarabia. He literally never shuts up about Erin and Grim when they’re separated. Ace has made two very suspicious requests to share a bed with Erin. Dude is down bad. And I love it <3

The reason he is so high up on the list and Deuce isn’t is simply because Ace and Erin have a lot more in common than Deuce and Erin. In fact, I’ve said once that she’s a female version of Ace in a lot of aspects and I still think that’s true. I could definitely see them as having a very fun and playful relationship, but still willing to drop everything to help the other if necessary. 

Realism: 2/10 

Sorry, Ace. You may like Erin, but Erin doesn’t like you. Not like that, anyway. Not now. Cough.

Azul x Erin

IT'S FOR THE MEMES!!!

I love Erin and Azul in much the same way as I love Jamil and Azul. The octopus boy pathetically pining after someone who wants nothing to do with him is so beautiful. Erin and Jamil would eat Azul for breakfast and he’d say THANK YOU. 

This is me rn:

Putting aside the rivals to lovers storyline that everyone loves, I do think they could make an absolute power couple. What does a scheming octopus need? An equally scheming wife at his side, of course! 

Realism: 0/10

Bro Erin hates him-

Kalim x Erin

This couple just makes my heart happy <3 

I’m obsessed with couples that are compliments of one another. They’re different, but different in a way that the other needs. Kalim’s ultimate downfall is his naivete and I think Erin offers a more grounded and rational approach to things. She’s more observant and cunning. Opposite to that, Erin would really benefit from someone as generous and kind hearted as Kalim is. Someone who is forgiving and willing to see the best in people, even when he’s been wronged. 

They’d be a good, healthy couple, and I love that for Erin. She deserves someone to make her happy and would want someone to make happy in return. 

Realism: 6/10

Erin appreciates Kalim’s positivity, especially since she’s surrounded by people who look down on her for not having magic and whatever else the cast rags on Yuu for. I’d certainly consider them friends in canon but not romantic. 

Vil x Erin

Fun fact: Erin canonically has a small crush on Vil. BUT ONLY BECAUSE HE SMOOCHED HER CHEEK IN BOOK 6! Erin is so affection starved that the simple act of a “thank you” kiss on the cheek was enough to make her develop a bit of a crush on him. It was never big enough to motivate her to want to date him or anything like that, but an attraction was there. 

Erin and Vil both have a similar appreciation for beauty. They both emphasize the value of hard work and self-improvement. They’re also both pretty strict on themselves to constantly be better than they were yesterday. Likewise, Erin isn’t too concerned with gender norms so Vil criticizing Epel for considering ballet “girly” won him a lot of points in her book. 

Just by virtue of Erin and Vil having a lot in common, I think they would make a cute couple. She’ll 100% sit down and be pampered and then turn around and do the same for him. Erin is naturally pretty charming and charismatic, so I could see her integrating well into celebrity culture. Erin also values her independence in a relationship and I don’t really see Vil as someone who would mind that too much. They’re both busy people with their own lives who can come together at the end of the day and that’s nice. 

Make room, Rook and Cater. Erin’s joining the Vil fan club. 

Realism: 7/10

They would be the most likely couple to work out, but I have no plans to make anything official.

I could see it 

This category includes characters that I think would either pair well with Erin or make for a fun ship. 

Ruggie and Floyd both give “partners in crime energy” that I think could be fun to play with. 

Malleus and Erin are interesting. Malleyuu is one of my favorite pairings, but for Erin specifically I wanted to deviate. I think it’d be more interesting if Malleus only liked Erin as much as he did simply because she was the first person to really give him the time of day as “Malleus” and not “future king of the briar valley and one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland”. If I were to write them a love story, I’d actually have Erin reject Malleus in Night Raven College. A few years later, they’d reunite after maturing and growing and fall in love as adults post-graduation. I think it’d be neat. 

(That being said, I wrote them as platonic friends LOL) 

Erin and Silver are appealing in the same way that Erin and Kalim are appealing, just to a lesser extent because I don’t see the same chemistry 

Maybe??

Erin and Deuce just give me sibling energy so it’s hard for me to want them to be together, but he’s not the worst option

Trey and Cater have the advantage of being Heartslabyul residents and I just envision Erin as being closer with them than most dorms because of Ace and Deuce

I think Rook could totally win Erin over with passionate displays of love if he was sincere about it. If he takes her hand and they dance in the square Rapunzel style and she’ll be falling fr 

Never really thought about it

Kinda self-explanatory. I never really explored their relationships with Erin in depth so I don’t really have an opinion of where I’d place them? 

Jack and Jamil seem too serious for Erin

Jade is just kinda there and freaks her out tbh

Epel and Erin would have to fight over his narrow view of gender norms

Erin and Idia are just TOO different in terms of extrovert to introvert. Ik some people really like those pairings but I don’t. I think pairings can be different, just not TOO different. (I’m also projecting because I’m an introvert and extroverts exhaust me LOL) 

Sebek is… Sebek

BLEGH 

Ortho is just a baby 

I don’t ever see it happening so i can’t say i ship them but i love him so we’ll call it wish fulfillment <3

It’s no secret that Riddle is my favorite character, so of course a part of me wants to like Erin and Riddle as a couple because then I could have him around more. 

They just don’t work in my head LOL 

I don’t think Erin would mind the rules so much, unless he started trying to make HER follow them. He can be as rule-abiding as he wants, but if he tries to tell her that she can’t put honey in her lemonade after 8 p.m… there’s gonna be a fight. 

On the OTHER hand, I think Riddle having a partner that can help him to enjoy life without the stress of following rules or the guilt of breaking on is super cute. Someone who could ease him into letting go of his need for rules, and who can reassure him when he inevitably slips up. Someone who can encourage him to stand on his own and to be confident in his own decisions outside of what a rule book dictates for him. Or, y’know, his mother. 

Riddle being the more reserved, caretaking one and Erin being the more spontaneous, fun-loving one...

Okay, wait, I might have to revisit them. (My bias may be showing.)

Illegal :)

Erin is 17. Leona is 20 and Lilia is, like, 700. Nope.

[pluckyredhead]

I've been meaning to ask for a while, since you've read so much more Supers books than me, but what are your thoughts on Kon being retconned as Clark and Lex's lab grown love child? Asides from that one mind-controlled-into-shaving-his-head incident, did that ever factor into anything again? Is it even still canon? If it were up to you would you keep it and try to do something interesting with it or just sweep it under the rug and pretend it was never true?

I think it would be a great retcon if they ever did anything with it aside from one (1) incredibly stupid story.

Because the thing is, originally Kon's human donor was Paul Westfield, and genuinely, who the fuck cares about Paul Westfield? He was only relevant for, like, a year. He's a footnote at best.

But Lex? There's so much potential there:

How does Clark feel about it? Does he trust Kon less? Does he feel guilty about that? Does he defend him to people (Batman) who would question him?

What are Lex's plans? You can't tell me he would sic Kon on other heroes once and give up. Lex always plays the long game. He has to have other Machiavellian schemes. What if Kon gets the clone plague again and Lex has the cure? What if he built in a vulnerability other than kryptonite? Most interestingly, what if Lex cares?

And of course, most importantly, how does Kon feel about it? We've seen him ignoring it and then moping about it. And I think it was his Adventure Comics run where we saw him tracking his own behavior to see if he was more like Superman or Lex. But what if a story really interrogated the fact that Kon is a very different person than Clark? (Especially in light of Jon, Clark's mini-me.) Kon likes money; Lex is a billionaire. Kon loves attention; Lex is functionally a supervillain because he's jealous that people like Superman more. Kon is a sweet boy but he's not a shining paragon of virtue. Is that because of Lex's genes? Is everything good about Kon simply Superman's genes? Is Kon is own person with free will that exists beyond picking a donor to emulate? Is a clone a person at all? Let's get into it, DC!

If it was up to me, I would write two stories about it:

First is the story where Kon and Lex actually develop a relationship. Kon and Clark has never been close, and Kon has rarely had a stable home or consistent parental figures (Rex was untrustworthy, Dubbilex got written out a lot, Guardian died and came back as a child, Pa died, Ma lived but Kon died and then got retconned into another dimension...). Kon is primed to fall for lovebombing, especially if Lex is doing one of his regular "no, really, I'm Redemption Arc-ing for real this time!" routines. Especially right now with a trillion Supers Clark likes better hanging around Metropolis, and Lex swearing he's going to be Good...what if he stopped trying to convince Clark, and started trying to convince Kon? What if he spent time with him, and listened to him, and took his side against Clark, and let's be real, probably spent money like water on him? And what if Lex, despite himself, discovered that...he actually cared about his clone son?

Of course, Lex's self-interest would eventually win out. We see this over and over again, where he sacrifices his relationships on the altar of his ambition, where he just can't quite love anyone else as much as he loves being evil. And yes, Kon ends the story hurt, but also with another reminder that validation needs to come from within and not from a billionaire who wants something from you, even if he is your other dad.

(And maybe Clark is reminded that he has failed Kon. Again. Ahem.)

The second story I would write is the one where Lex goes to jail and Kon somehow inherits Lexcorp and many billions of dollars and is cartoonishly irresponsible with all of it. Lex gets out of jail and there's a giraffe in his office and all of his doomsday devices are full of Zesti Cola.

But yeah, instead DC does nothing with it. Literally a few months ago they had Clark and Kon and Lex all having a conversation about a villain Lex created and gave TTK to - so like, talking explicitly about how Lex created Kon, too - and aside from Kon being mildly snide, that was it. That was it! DC WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS. WHAT IS THE POINT OF SETTING UP SOMETHING SO JUICY AND THEN LEAVING THAT JUICE UNSQUOZE.

[baileyblethen]

COMPENDIUM OF A MADMAN

Preface:

Desmos, the Greek name for shackled, is how I have often felt. It is only in writing this tale that I can feel the bonds loosen unto snapping. For, my life has been near to Phaethon’s journey. Emerging from a semi-hedonistic youth entwined with vague Catholic guilt, to eventually arriving on the platform of doubt, a stop before my way to truth. For, as with Iris, the beauty of the rainbow leaves me in wonder, and I can confidently affirm that wonder has given me closure. This tale is the truth, just from one side, mine. I do not attempt to hide any bias, for another’s story is not mine to tell. As with my real life, the story is turbulent, for in the beginning you find a youth disturbed, grasping for what he believes dearest. Pains and joys are found, but from both he does that which Ovid had his cast do, change. To metamorphose as a man is not a quick or easy affair. The trials and tribulations of life often seem to stymie the change, or even more often, sink you back further into your original state. Being twenty-eight at the time of writing this preface may mean that I undergo many more changes in my life, as long as it goes; but while it does I shall strive to align all towards what I truly seek. That is what this tale attempts to tell, a story of grasping beyond the passion driven and intemperate self, to find something sustaining, which not only sustains, but breathes life in return. Yet, ambiguous language is dangerous, so frankly the tale shows Bailey begin to ascertain the truth of life, and realize that there is a worthy life within this sphere. Contrary to Jacques Maritain, I may not have a habitus, and this may detract from the tale and attempt at art, as for especially with the beginning, it tells the story of a life lacking virtue. Yet, as Jacques Maritain, I seek to make perfect that which I create in its own image. And to do so I must be honest. Honesty for me includes creating how I recall my own life into my work, which will riddle or enhance the journey with allusion. However, I seek not to simply give an autobiography, or a dull recounting of my life. For if I were to simply retell it, I, myself would lose attention fast and label myself as an outcast sinner. I do not have the imagination to produce fantasy, but what I lay on these pages satisfies me, for it is as it was, and exacting replications can be left to the naturalists and biographers. It is also vital to emphasize that what is written is not any attempt at a progressive history, or guide in any sort of ethics. No, I believe I would be one of the poorest guides, and what I have poured out in these pages is a plea. A plea to think on the good life, as well as the bad. There is no answer given, only prompts which one may form on his own. I was born into a faith but had never embraced it, and even rebelled in some manner, until I started to become faithful, which to this day I find myself still becoming. This is evident in the writing itself, for answers were waning when I began this novella, yet I still sought to find the best of life. And now at the end of the book, I like to think of myself as a very bad Christian, but I still try. And I do sincerely hope that one day I may in good conscience write a redeeming sequel to this novella, if I am ever held fast by virtue. So Christians, atheists, agnostics, and all, you have every right to find fault with my tale, but I will hold fast to it, for what has been done can not be undone. The uplifting part I find is that what unfolds beyond this page is the chance to reflect, and perhaps there will be others who enjoy, as I do, evaluating actions and beliefs, so as to adopt, or even perfect ones learned. Looking back helps me move forward, and only then am I happy in the present, and perhaps the eternal.

I am now thirty and looking to promote my book. This piece has been for me the most honest introspection I have ever done, which prompts me to wish to share this, and hopefully has some merit to the insights found within.

It is currently free for kindle and the paperback is for sale here: https://www.amazon.com/Compendium-Madman-Bailey-Blethen/dp/B0BT6V58SM/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=54JQN47XBH4Y&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.EixqhUr1p5LCgz7S4bIxPJbiIxd5ox6pLxjG0384pXM.x6U6I6JzYvFo-vkP-C81K3Ae9sriPc52GanSAIhorF4&dib_tag=se&keywords=compendium+of+a+madman&qid=1717697114&sprefix=%2Caps%2C116&sr=8-1