#made a wager and holy shit

[terramcgarden]

Friends and I have a story about Dinosaur Riders Vs Aliens. Each of our rider character's dino is named after a character from an ancient story. My characters partner is a Raptor and has been for years. But then one day bestie just asks out of the blue:

I personally find this hilarious. Now if the dinosaur really did spit venom and hoots like an owl is irrelevant. My bestfriend saw "VENOMOUS HOOTING OWL DINO!" And thought of me.

And guys....

She commits... now at first it was a simple copy and paste... but as you can see; shes getting a bit creative.

And starting to disolve into madness.... more to come

[fraugwinska]

Since @chefskjssart's artwork that I commissioned was such a BANGER, I felt like I needed to do something to show my gratitude. So, I messaged her and gave her free choice over a little One-Shot I'd gift her. And that's how we ended up here :D Where are my little TV Sluts at? You can thank Chef - and I hope you all have fun ;>

NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content - Minors DNI - 5.7k words

"Gotta say, Val, the revenue of your movies really skyrocketed this quarter, fuck me."

Vox flipped through the quarterly reports, eyebrows raised and a grin on his face while Valentino, very pleased with himself, lounged on the chaise next to Vox's desk, smoking.

"I told you I've made a good investment." He grinned and blew out a puff of smoke. "All the horny bitches out there are eating my movies up."

"It's more than that, you're even making headway into other rings, holy shit! We've even got a foot in the Lust Ring market, which is almost impossible with that kind of competition..."

Valentino hummed approvingly.

"And the best part: I didn't have to do much." He added and let the tip of his cigarette rest against his lips, his grin widening. "My newest author is a kinky little genius."

Vox turned his attention to the papers again, his smile slowly turning into a frown as he scanned the declining sales in Voyeurscopes.

"What are you talking about? All of your authors write pretty much the same shit, what could be so special about-"

Valentino laughed and shook his head. "That one is - believe me, carino. Poor bitch has the mind of a succubus on crack but she can't get off."

Vox looked up, an eyebrow raised in skeptic questioning.

"Can't get off?"

"Can't feel anything. Can't cum for the life of her." He replied, leaning back and spreading his arms. "Numb like a fucking dead fish."

"Or maybe she just hasn't found a good dick." Vox mumbled, returning back to the reports, skimming over the numbers.

"Mh, you be the judge amorcito. Because I tried." Valentino growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

Now that got Vox's full attention. The TV demon stared at his partner for a few seconds of silence, then laughed maniacally, almost falling off his chair while Val rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fucking weird little thing, she is. She can write the craziest shit, the hornier the better. Writes like a damn porn beast, but has no clue what good sex actually feels like."

Vox heaved, wiping his screen as if in tears.

"Ohoho, Christ on a Cracker Val, maybe you've been out of the business too long… are you maybe losing that golden touch?"

Valentino sneered. "Ay, and you think you would've been able to get that bitch to cum? Be my guest, I'll gladly watch you fail."

Vox grinned at the moth, his eyes dangerously teasing. The reports were long forgotten - this was too entertaining, and Vox loved to be challenged, because he loved the feeling of superiority he felt when he succeeded. And that feeling would be so much more satisfying when he'd beat his long time partner and porn prince of pride at his own expertise.

"Wanna up the ante? Make a little wager out of it?"

Valentino scoffed, then chuckled deviously. He took another drag from his long cigarette, his cerise teeth glistening with red saliva as he began to drool in anticipation.

"You know I like to play, Voxxy. Especially if the odds are so much in my favor."

Another script done.

Your best one yet, if anyone asked you. But you knew no one asked ever, so why bother?

You stood up from your desk in your private office - being Val's favorite pen pet had it's perks afterall.

You skipped the stage of employment where you'd be cramped in one of these horrible cubicles together with the other overworked, caffeinated and tired writers, typing another outdated secretary-fuck-fest-plot while the other employees complained about their last bad lay and the shitty pay.

At least you didn't have to deal with any of that. Your room was quiet and peaceful, the door able to be locked shut and the walls soundproof. No distractions, no chit chat, no loud coworkers or malfunctioning printer noises. Just the humming sound of your computer, and the whirring of the A/C Val had granted you - a luxury that most of your colleagues bitched about behind your back.

You stretched, your tired bones popping into place and you sighed. You were done for the day. Finally.

With the deadline looming over you, you had been a bit late with the last part, and the thought of being late with your work made you sick. But Val pressed for another banger (pun intended) like your last one, 'Dante's Infern-Hoe' and you didn't want to risk the benefits you were offered so temptingly by being sloppy.

But the script for 'The Devil wears Nada' sat now, freshly printed, next to your laptop, the file saved locally and in the cloud, with about an hour to spare still. You smiled, content and relieved. An hour of paid slacking off was nice, and you checked with a glance that the electric door still was set on LOCKED before you flopped down at the two-seater by the window, grabbing the remote from the small side table and turned on the TV.

A familiar voice spoke through the speakers, and you relaxed into the pillows with a small sigh, eyes closed.

As shitty as the program in Hell was, one thing it had going for it was Vox. That smooth, hypnotizing voice of the overlord that held pride's media empire in his claws was a delight to your ears, and even the mindless, overplayed commercial jingles were pleasant enough if he was the one narrating them.

For the millionth time, it seemed, your hand wandered under the hem of your pants, fingers rubbing lazily at your cunt, as you listened to him talk, advertising the latest angelic protection device that didn't do what he promised it to do.

It was insanity at this point, doing something over and over again expecting a different outcome. Every night your fingers were cold and wet with your slick and your clit bloody and raw while you felt nothing of even your most violent and feverish touches, trying for minutes to hours to experience a sensation you wrote daily about without the satisfaction of any remarkable buildup or release.

It was no use, you knew it was a fruitless attempt, just like all the others. The most you got out of your endless tries was a slight tingle one time where you were so desperate you fucked yourself with an electric rod on its highest setting, resulting in a power outage in your apartment and a big fat fine from your landlord a few days later.

Still, you craved it. Craved to one day feel at least something. After the disappointing One-Night-cannot-Stand-the-thought-of-it with your boss, the literal porn mogul you were ready to just give up. If the face of pride’s sexdrive couldn’t get you over the edge, was there any chance at all?

Valentino had been the last in a long line of desperate attempts, paartners ranging from incubi, paid whores, porn actors to even sexbots made by Asmodeus, costing you a pretty penny just for the hassle of trying to get through the return hotline to get your money back, explaining No, you don’t know how it was possible that the cock of the ‘Fuckboy 3.0 XXL’ broke into pieces after one time usage. 

You chuckled humorlessly at the memory - It was truly a pathetic time in your eternal existence, filled with you masturbating alone in bed like a sad porn star, yearning to experience sex like you wrote about in your scripts. Maybe this was hells way to punish you for your sins, your personal plan of torture - To never experience the very thing that possessed you on the daily.

The television droned on in the background, Vox advertising his latest technological developments; new features on your phone that you really could not care less about. Despite his unusual appearance, Vox was one of your absolute go-to Stand-in's for your plot protagonists. Charming, suave, depraved when called for and a dominating, thorough lover that took what he wanted, but with so much skill that his partner would cum threefold before he'd even begin to think about finishing. Cocky and yet sensual. Aftercare included. All the things your colleagues were too dumb to include, no wonder their scripts were a bust.

Yes, it was hell and therefore tastes were more... depraved than in the living world, but that didn't mean the populus secret wishes for some sort of common sexual decency was out the window, goddamn.

Your mind wandered away from your depressive ruminations, your hand never stopping its circular pattern around your swollen clit as your thoughts started to wander to its usual place, the only way that came close to what you longed for and what was the source for all of your best-selling porn scripts. Your boundless realm of fantasy.

'Come out, come out, wherever you are...'

Vox is standing in your doorway, his silhouette prominent against the bright white neon light coming from the corridor of the empty floor. His suit, neatly fitted to every curve of his slender body, is showing just how thin his waist really is, but that does not come even remotely close to describe his broad shoulders and firm, wide chest, contrasting it deliciously. His navy blue skin reflects the harsh lighting in the hallway, his screen sharp and clear, digital eyes never leaving you as he closes the door behind him, dipping the room you're in in darkness, the only source of light his brightly illuminated screen where his digital, mismatched eyes are solely fixated on you, hiding behind the long backrest of your couch.

'Found you, babydoll.' he says with that god forsaken sultry voice of his as he reaches for your throat, long fingers wrapping themselves around your neck as your breath hitches and he pulls you up from your crouched position, his long tongue running over your collarbones, the wet trails feeling as cold on your skin as his appendage feels hot. 'Now remember what I said? Ready or not...'

He presses you into a wall, his big, hard erection rubbing teasingly through the layers of fabric on your already wet core as you whimper with want. '... here I cum.'

You moan his name, the imagined feeling so painfully surreal, and you wished once more that your working fingers would elicit some sort of real, bodily response.

A cough makes you freeze in your movements. Your fantasy shatters like a mirror shot with a bullet and your eyes fly open, expecting to see maybe a dumb segment of a rerun of 'Vox2Nite'. Instead, you see the actual, real TV demon overlord, standing live and in color just a few strides away with an expression that was a mixture of confusion, curiosity and slight annoyance.

"I'd ask if I am interrupting, but it seems you already had me on your mind, huh, doll?"

Realizing that you weren't - in fact - hallucinating, you immediately whipped your hand out from under your panties, sitting up, flustered like a child caught with their hands in the cookie jar. How did he get in? Did you forget to lock the door? No. Did he unlock it?! You must have missed his opening and closing of the door over the voice in your fantasy. The same voice that is now echoing in reality. Oh what a shameful ending for a perfectly good fantasy orgasm.

"Um... shit, sorry, Mr. Vox, sir. I was just, you know..." you scrambled, getting nervous under the actual gaze of him as he folded his arms, waiting for you to end that sentence with a pitiful smirk. Jesus Christ, those arms are slender and muscular…

"Thinking! Just thinking, making script... scenarios..."

"Uh-Huh. And how is that coming along?" He asked, seemingly unfazed by the display before him as he took a few steps towards you.

"Oh, uh, haha, I didn't really... finish..."

He stopped directly in front of you, shutting you up with a low chuckle and his hand around your wrist, the one attached to the hand that had been in between your folds just literal seconds ago, lifting them up to look at the still shimmering wet residue on your fingers with a sneer.

"Mhm. Yeah, I've heard you have some problems with that."

Now that was embarrassing as it was alarming, and you ripped your hand out of his grip. Or better, you tried to do so anyway. It was a pointless exercise, his hand had an iron-tight grasp around your wrist as he pulled you up with one swift motion, so fast you stumbled into him, face to chest, breath caught in your throat as you were made suddenly aware how huge he really was compared to you.

"W-wow, my kinda pathetic reputation precedes me it seems. That's..." just great is what you wanted to say, but all words failed you when he lifted the hand in his grasp to his face, his thick, long tongue slithering out of his mouth just to wrap itself around your digits, lapping up the sticky residue of your arousal, watching you as your pupils widen and you squirm in his grip, mortified and turned on at the same time.

"Eh. Not as pathetic as my business partner's failure to provide something he's built his reputation on, sweetheart. Unusually smart of him to get you under contract before you shout it from the rooftops." He hummed as he tasted you, sucking in the pads of your finger hungrily and without hesitation, and all you could think of, frozen stiff like a deer in headlights, was: What the fuck is happening?

"But Val never had the kind of mindset I have... I don't do failure... or better said: I always finish what I start." His low rasp vibrated in the air around him, echoing in your head, and the heat his voice had brought to your skin left your mind racing. You asked yourself panicking if you had written too many dumb porn plots or if he was really implicating what you thought he was implicating.

"So, whaddaya say, doll..." His breath tickled your cheek as he leaned in closer, pulling you flush against him, a soft grunt of content as his hard dick pressed into your soft belly, his mouth right next to your ear, one of his hands running teasingly down your sides as he licked your ear shell. "...care to see if I can end your unlucky streak?"

'Fuck, yeah.' You thought, and almost moaned out loud as you let your head fall back to make room for his waiting mouth, when suddenly you stopped in your tracks. His hands were already groping over you greedily, squeezing your ass, your thighs, your breasts as he looked down on you, surprised to see your conflicted face.

"W...Wait. What's in it... for you?"

"Mh, you're clever. That's a new one." Vox laughed, his hand running up to the side of your face to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles on the corner of your lip. "Me and Val made a little bet, you see, and well... Let's just say: I want this to work out just as much as you do, since my success depends on yours."

"Oh.." So Val was talking about you, that bastard. He had you sign an NDA when he hired you, given that you had been unwilling to make a soul contract with him, but you guessed that that had been naively one-sided. Asshole.

Vox stroked your bottom lip, parting them before you opened them slightly on your own accord, his dark blue tongue languidly tracing the edges, waiting for your decision, coaxing you to decide in his favor. And even though you were kind of pissed at Valentino for running around telling people about your... situation - you couldn't deny it was tempting, turning fantasy into reality. And what was another overlord trying to do the impossible? Worst case - he'd try and fail, just as all the others did before, like the stupid moth pimp. At least you'd have some leverage for maybe another good deal for your silence on it. And in the highly unlikely best case…

With your decision made, you flicked your own tongue against his, humming at the unfamiliar taste and the sizzling static electricity on your tongue. Vox grinned, his sharp teeth pressing onto your lips, nipping at the sensitive flesh and growling with approval when your lips parted.

"Ohoho, baby, this is gonna be fun."

Vox ran his claws through your hair, loosening your already messy bun until your hair fell free with his playful pulls as he explored your mouth, deepening the kiss with every lick, until he could push his whole tongue into your mouth, moaning and grabbing the back of your head tightly as you let him fill you without the slightest hint of protest, fighting a desperate losing battle for air.

"Fuck, don't you need to... breathe?" you whispered after he finally pulled back, a wet trail connecting his tongue to yours, grinning down on you while your lungs burned for oxygen.

"Perks of being state of the art, sweetheart." he watched your swollen, drool covered lips - parted to catch your breath - for a few seconds longer before he inquisitively tilted his head. "Did you feel any of that?"

You contemplated lying, but figured honesty would probably be the best in this situation, shaking your head and giving him your most pitiful attempt at an apologetic smile, already bracing yourself for him to give up or get mad. "My lips tingle a little."

"Mh." He huffed as he pushed you back into the two-seater, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thump, and unceremoniously pulled on your very not-sexy-at-all sweatpants and slightly-more-sexy-but-not-quite panties until they slipped over your legs.

"How about this then?" He pressed his knee in between your legs to nudge them apart. "Can you feel any of this?" He spread your already wet slit open to run a cold claw over your hole, softly dipping first one, then two and lastly three of his fingers inside to stretch you further open and push it back in, repeating the movement slowly while keeping his eye contact trained on your face.

You hummed non-commitally, closing your eyes and pressing yourself into the cushions, trying to feel for any sensation that should come with every slow drag of his digits pumping inside of you, and not finding any of it was so fucking frustrating. You felt like you were not only disappointing yourself, but him, as stupid as that sounded. But with every added finger and still a lack of response, you saw the progression of frustrations in his face that you knew all too well - eyebrows furrowed, irritated twitches of the corners of his lips that turned into a snarl with the third added digit. You frowned, sighing and bit your lip - nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing, and fucking nothing again, just another wet hole, the clenching of your walls a habit and reflex only, no pleasure whatsoever.

"It's no fucking use..." you whined, pressing your hands to your face in frustration and fear of looking back into his eyes, "I can't feel anything at a-aaAAH...!"

Your back arched at this strange jolt running down your spine, forcing you to grind down on his hand as a strong electric current buzzed from his claw tips right through your cunt, curling in your stomach in a hot wave of wanton need and knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the flash of victorious satisfaction on his screen before his face turned fuzzy as you began to tear up.

"There's some reaction. There we go, sweetheart." He cooed and curled his fingers in that deliciously sinful way again, making your breath catch in your throat. For the first time since you can remember, you FELT. You dropped your hands from your flushed, hot face onto the plush of the couch, fingers desperately digging into the fabric, and stared at Vox with wide eyes. He winked, nudging his head to his buried fingers, and with a shattering gasp you could see neon blue bolts of electric sparks traveling down his slender arm, crackling around the soft flesh inside of your pussy that had never felt so sensitive.

"How are y-aaaa.... aaa-AAah...." he silenced any questions you might have had or possible retort with another shock wave traveling through his hand as he dragged his fingers in and out in an agonizingly slow pace, it had your ears ringing with white noise and your eyes water with unknown, strange pleasure.

You were shaking, and though it should have frightened you a lot more than it did to be electrocuted while doing something that could be considered borderline treason to Valentino (And it still had your cunt dripping on a whim), but there was nothing left for you to think of other than the sharp shocks making every nerve inside of you buzz, your thighs already trembling in anticipation of the possibility of an unknown, but oh-so-wanted climax. Yet it was somehow still out of your reach, out of your range of senses.

"I feel like we are getting closer, babydoll." The TV demon chuckled darkly, his voice over amplified, the electrical buzz reverberating loudly in the soundless room. "How 'bout we kick it up a notch, huh?"

He pulled out his fingers in a quick, cruel movement, making your pussy clench around nothing as you already mourned the feeling. Before you had the time to voice your loss however, he had your thighs already in his hands, pushing them back to almost fold you in half and spread them apart as wide as he could get them without hurting you. With a smirk he stuck out his tongue, inhumanely long, thick on its base and pointed at the end - and let his electric energy visibly spark around it. Holy Shit.

The moment his head dipped down and his appendage swiped through your puffed, red folds, you could feel your insides buzz in sync to his delighted moan. He began eating you out feverously and obscenely, not holding anything back, just like you wrote your most popular protagonists to do - NO, this was so much better than anything you've ever written or fantasized about, his tongue twisting in patterns that felt like nothing you've ever even came close to imagine before. It was like he powered your whole nervous system, overriding every strand of nerve with his own electricity, amplifying any touch, any lick and any suction that would normally not even register a thousand-fold.

"O-Oh my g... F-fffuuuuhhh-ck.. meeee..." you moaned in confusion and amazement, your legs shaking helplessly on either side of Vox's rectangle head as he fucked his tongue into you, switching between the deep, long, thorough thrusts and fast, small, teasing flicks into the wet heat of your cunt, coating his screen in a shining mix of your natural juices and his blue neon saliva. He sucked at the protruding of your swollen bundle of nerves, your sensitive clit twitching under his attention - it was maddeningly unreal. You felt like a complete, utter sham - if this was sex, you've never written it anywhere correctly.

"I'm working on that, sweetheart."

Vox smirked against your pulsing core, humming with satisfaction at your wet, gaping slit begging for him to push back in and fill you up again, making you ache for his tongue deeper and deeper, forcing every shred of sense you had to leave your mind as you bucked into his grip in desperation, chasing another intense jolt he held just out of your reach as he laughed deviously at your hungry reaction to his teasing antics.

You didn't care how pathetic you looked, how undignified or desperate you sounded. This was nothing short of fucking fantastic, this all new, unknown sensation that you deemed impossible to ever experience and an real, tangible orgasm so close you could almost grab it. You felt a violent greed, you needed more of this, more more more, you needed to cum and you knew exactly that only Vox was able to do it - but you needed him inside of you, pushing you into oversensitivity, no matter what was required to get you over the edge. Fuck all dignity, that ship had sailed the moment your back hit the couch.

You shook your head vigorously, choking down sobs of grateful pleasure that racked your body with every curl of his tongue inside of you and a guttural moan, high pitched and broken.

"P-Please... ah, Pl..please..." you panted and Vox felt for your thighs to hold you steady. His claws sank in with such force into the soft meat of your legs he drew blood. "F... Fu..Fuck me.. please." you stammered and he smirked, a look of pure joy in his digital eyes as he stared you down.

"Oh, I will, baby." He smiled against your core, curling the tip of his tongue around your clit with just the right amount of pressure that your entire vision went blank with a broken cry and the strongest wave of static he'd managed to work you up to so far. "Don't worry about that, I'm not nearly done with you."

He fucked his long, slippery tongue back into your quivering pussy, his thumb taking the place on the sensitive bundle of nerves where his pointy tip had been and you cried out again as he found that one spot you've always read (and written) about. You had questioned it's actual existence, believing it to be one of those wishful myths girls dreamt and you by proxy wrote about - Until Vox and his fucking talented mouth and miraculous tongue brushed right up against it with expert accuracy. It made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth open to cry out as your back arched like a bow string.

"Yeah, there? F-Fuuuck..." The overlord growled, watching your blissful face twist with a new kind of overwhelming pleasure. "You gonna cum for me baby? Come on, let go, good girl..."

You knew the reader-pleasing phrase by heart. You used it a hundred times and fantasized about it even more - It shouldn't have that effect on you, but yet it was that comment of his, spoken in a raspy low rumble directly into your cunt that finally pushed you over the edge, leaving you panting helplessly and cumming.

Hard. Harder than you've ever dreamed about. Every nerve ending on overdrive, every hair standing on edge - it felt like getting struck by lightning, the static electricity sizzling through your blood vessels like a thunderstorm as he was still thrusting that goddamn magic tongue into your spasming hole through the clamping of your muscles, taking you through it with small, measured licks to keep you on the edge a little longer, whines and hiccups mixed with breathless laughs leaving your raw throat as you slowly returned to reality.

This was it, what you've always longed for, you realized after your vision came back to you, staring down at the smug looking TV demon who was still settled between your legs, his glowing screen painted with the remains of your climax. You managed to give him an exhausted smile, blowing a stray strand of wild hair from your face with a quick puff before dropping your head back in the pillow, absolutely spent. Vox pressed a toothy kiss on your thigh and pushed himself back to his feet.

"You've got quite the gushy orgasm, doll, damn..." he wiped a thick blotch of your arousal from the corner of his screen, the neon blue stained fingertip disappearing in his mouth as he hummed appreciatively and licked it away. Then he looked over you, slumped lazily on the sofa, your face flushed, your hair all tangled and the exposed pieces of skin covered with a shiny layer of sweat.

"Shit, sweetheart, you look goddamn good when you're all messed up like that..." He eyed you intently and leaned down, his heavy frame caging you in underneath him, one hand trailing a line from your still heaving chest, between your breasts and up to your throat.

"T-That was.. wow. Just... wow." Clearly illiterate and 50 IQ-points dumber post-orgasm, you cleared your throat, trying to compose yourself. While you were a little disappointed that you still hadn't really fucked, he did what he promised to do. Got you off - and how. You were grateful.

Sad that it was over, maybe even sadder that the chances of a repetition were likely zero - Vox was a goddamn overlord, and who were you other than a nobody with a hard-to-please cunt?- but grateful nonetheless. And you felt the need to let him know that.

"I don't know how to than... w-what are you doing?"

You sat yourself up on the elbows with a dumbfounded expression as Vox began to undress himself, his jacket, bow tie and undershirt discarded within seconds onto the ground and he practically pounced you as he began to undo the belt of his slacks, trapping you in between his legs and under the very prominent hard-on he sported.

"What, you really thought that was it? Make you cum once, win my bet and ding-dong-ditch like a fucking amateur?" Vox laughed as he pulled his massive length out of his pants - Words were your bread and butter but they would ever fail you to describe the gloriousness that was his cock.

Almost as thick as your underarm, smooth and almost shiny, glowing with built-in LED lights along the underside of his shaft and practically weeping with precum. He knelt down on the sofa, taking your hand to run it over its full length, smearing the sticky residue along your fingers, his almost bioluminescent cum dripping thick and slowly from the angry swollen tip. "Fuck no, sweetheart. In case you forgot, let me remind you..."

He leaned down to your ear, a violent electric bold jolting from his cock through your hand right into your overwhelmed, disbelieving brain as he guided you to line him up with your still throbbing entrance.

"I always finish what I start."

Vox had never been in a better mood.

His phone - finally surviving for more than just a few days, since his win against Valentino prevented the moth pimp from smashing it, even in one of his many temper tantrums - buzzed again. A notification of another upload into the cloud. He smirked when he saw the name of the user.

The whole conversation after he fucked Val's writing savant into Limbo and back had been a fucking blast for Vox - he reveled in the morbid joy of cashing in his stake while teasing Val that he'd have to wait another eternity for the chance to make Vox star in a double length porn with him - a fantasy of the moth Vox has been always against. Not to mention that Vox had accomplished what Valentino with all his 'mighty dicks and porn mastery'-aura couldn't. Which (rightfully) sent him into his biggest hissy fit yet, so enraged that, in lieu of Vox's phone to throw against the wall, he threw his newest Robo-Assistant Kitty out the window.

Although Vox had been certain he wouldn't lose the little bet against his partner, he still felt a little relief that his ass wasn't on the next new load of crappy porn DVDs. Granted, that would've surely caused sales to skyrocket - but with his revived and improved little star author that was more than just unnecessary.

Val's fears that a good dicking with a Happy End would sort of break the little writers 'Sex-Spell' and her scripts turn into shite like the rest of Val's useless crew produced proved to be the exact opposite. Ever since Vox made her cum - on his fingers, mouth and cock for multiple times that fateful night - her scripts improved even more, resulting in stellar sales reports, a major spike in cashflow and a personal inquiry letter for a meeting from Asmodeus himself (which Vox contemplated to frame and hang over his fucking bed like a medal of honor).

And since Valentino, in his hurt pride and childish, stubborn pettiness refused to speak or fuck with him, Vox had no qualms of paying his little writer a few more visits. Every time he found impish joy in finding new ways to make her cum, and after one shag-date where he actually stayed long enough for an after-sex-cigarette and some smalltalk, he discovered that she wasn't just a kinky, but also an interesting bitch with great taste in whiskey and a crude sense of humor that was just up his alley.

"I'm curious doll." Vox said as he took another drag from the cigarette before he handed her the bud, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her onto his bare chest as he lounged on the new, bigger sofa he got for her office (more space and much more versatility) "What the fuck did you do to end up in hell? You don't seem like the ax-murder type."

She chuckled mischievously. "I was a pretty popular crime author back upstairs. I hit a pretty bad writer's block, and decided to get in some field work to inspire me for more creative ways of murder. No axes, but I did have a fable for knives." She grinned, inhaling the thick smoke as he laughed and the way her tits pressed into his skin had him almost hard again. "You know what's the most ironic part?" She asked, putting the bud out in the ashtray on her side table and glanced back over her naked shoulder to him, a devious glint in her eyes. "I got the electric chair for that." That woke his cock fully up again, and he couldn't help but take her for another round.

His assistant babbled something about his schedule, but Vox didn't listen. Instead, he planned on visiting her office again, maybe he'd even stay after and order sushi for two, who knew? The media Overlord smiled smugly as he opened the database and looked over the newest script you had uploaded to the cloud. It was when he read the title that he burst into ringing laughter.

'Electrocutie - One Big Cock Shock'

[prince-jjae]

Flesh & Rind.

Pairing; watermelon sorbet!yj × cherry jam!male reader

Genre; smut, pwp (porn w plot.) [nsfw, mdni.]

Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.)

Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT.

Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched.

WC; ~7.5k (oof.)

Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays!

[masterlist.] [event materlist.]

It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.

No other reason.

Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.

At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.

Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch- 

He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you. 

So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet. 

He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.

– 

The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue. 

Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.

He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine. 

The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.

On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street. 

You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth. 

“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together. 

“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.

“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.

–

Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.

After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.

He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most. 

Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head. 

Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading. 

His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head. 

He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it. 

A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.

–

It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission. 

You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-

He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand. 

He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs. 

“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-

“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together. 

“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.

“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”

When you put it like that, did he really have a choice? 

That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.

He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle. 

“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place. 

All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test. 

He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-

A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh. 

Oh.

He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.

He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.

All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him. 

“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured. 

You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.

As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed. 

And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-

“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”

Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined. 

With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him. 

Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again. 

“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him. 

Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.

Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was. 

With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged. 

If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-

“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him. 

“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”

His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.” 

Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words. 

“Eager little thing-- nng..”

You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.

Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you. 

It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips. 

“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right. 

“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest. 

“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly. 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?

 “Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry. 

He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago. 

“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.

The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him– 

Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–

“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly. 

His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began. 

He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily. 

“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.

“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so. 

“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid. 

But maybe he liked it like that. 

He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked. 

There.

Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge. 

Something sweeter.

With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more– 

Snap.

Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips. 

“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”

And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.

The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after. 

He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.

When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it. 

If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.

[shadowqueenjude]

This fic is for @hrizantemy , who loves this pairing! Happy New Year fellow Nesta stan ❤️

Part 1 of A Court of Wolves; read here or on Ao3

She sat by the banks of the river Sidra, drawing in the dirt with a stick. She criss-crossed the lines, forming a braid. Then, she gave the little figure a dress and shoes. She drew the hands, one of which was reaching out to somebody else. But who?

She looked across the river, and on the other side, a figure appeared.

Golden was really the only way to describe him. Rich golden-brown skin, long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, and brown-black eyes. He was clad in metallic gold and silver armor with a sword hanging at his hip. His lips were parted slightly as he stared blankly off into space, as though he were waiting for something.

She doesn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she called across the river.

“Hello! Can you hear me?”

The figure jumped in surprise before his eyes fell upon her and his shoulders slumped in relief. Then they widened again as they looked her up and down, taking her in.

“Holy shit, you’re gorgeous,” he said. She looked down at herself. She was in a pale blue nightgown with billowy sleeves that fluttered in the breeze. Her clothes were too thin; it made her ample curves show through the fabric. Feeling exposed, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Who are you?” he challenged. She scowled. “Haven’t you heard? The phrase goes ladies first.”

The golden man laughed. “How do you know I am not a lady?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “Had your looks not given it away, no woman would speak so nonsensically as you.”

The male put a mock hand over his heart. “You wound me, lady.”

She rolled her eyes, then put down her stick. She placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself to a standing position. “You’re already wounded? Pathetic. I haven’t even started yet.”

The man stared at her for several seconds before he burst out laughing, doubling over and slapping his knee. She raised a brow. What the fuck was so funny?

“Oh, my queen would love you,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Your queen?”

He nodded, smiling slightly. And in spite of herself, she found herself smiling back.

Then the river strayed off course and the water rose into the air, headed straight for her.

At that moment in the House of Wind, a lady named Nesta Archeron awoke with a start.

That was a strange dream, she thought. It had felt so real. And she remembered every bit of it.

She tried to forget about it; it was only a dream, after all. But it just seemed so important for some reason.

It was still early in the morning, so Nesta lit a candle and went into the kitchen. She felt hungry, so she poured some oats in a bowl, added some milk, then began to chop some bananas and walnuts. Then, Nesta eyed the chocolate chips in the cupboard above the fridge. It was high enough that even Nesta being a tall woman could not reach it. At least not without some finesse.

She stretched her hands out towards the top of the fridge, her thumbs gripping the side while her other eight fingers dug into the top. With great effort, Nesta pulled herself to the top of the fridge. Lying on her belly, she lifted her neck, opened the cupboard, and grabbed the chips before wiggling to the edge and gracefully descending, bending her knees upon landing.

While the oatmeal heated on the stove, Nesta poured chocolate chips into it and watched in delight as it melted. Finally: her bland ass breakfast smelled good!

When it was finished, she delightfully poured it into a bowl, set it on the table beside the couch, then grabbed a book so that she could read and eat by candlelight.

The book was called The Wallflower Wager, and it had Nesta giggling and kicking her feet. Nesta wasn’t quite so sweet as Penelope, but she wouldn’t mind a house full of animals. And the Duke of Ruin reminded her of Cassian- if Cassian was part of the nobility and was more devoted to her…

Nesta sighed in longing. Cassian was just not what she had dreamed he would be. In that moment when she’d covered his body with her own before the King of Hybern, she had thought he was someone he could spend the rest of her life with. She had wanted it, someone to love her unconditionally. So bad.

They were mates, but Nesta wondered if she was just trying to force it too much.

But she shut down those feelings and tried to focus on her food and the book.

She quickly finished the food, not realizing how hungry she was. There was nothing tasty to eat in the house, so Nesta decided to go out to see if there was anything open yet.

Nesta had always found Velaris a dreadfully boring city, but at this time, it was almost peaceful. The only sound was the soft crunch of snow as Nesta walked over it. Most shops seemed closed, but there was one whose sign had been marked OPEN.

She grinned. It was Emerie’s store. She burst into a little jog, knocking on the door before walking inside.

“Hi, Em,” Nesta said. Emerie perked up upon seeing her, walking out from behind the counter to give her friend a hug. “Hey, Nes! What brings you in this early?”

Nesta shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. She wasn’t used to having it down. “I was hungry, and there’s no food at home.”

Emerie raised a brow. “Normally, I’d say don’t eat anything spicy in the morning, but you eat too healthy as it is,” Emerie said. She gestured for Nesta to follow her to the back. As they got closer to the backroom, the smells of spices and oils got stronger. Nesta closed her eyes, taking in a deep scent. Green chilis and onions and olives and freshly baked bread…

Nesta found herself drooling. Emerie chuckled at her reaction.

“Care for some khara buns?” she asked.

Nesta had never said yes faster in her life. Smirking, Emerie cut from a giant loaf of bread three slices and wrapped them in thin paper. Then, she bent over to open her icebox. She pulled out a small brown cake and handed it to Nesta.

“I made chocolate cheesecake for you,” she said. Nesta felt oddly emotional. Her eyes rapidly began to water, and she sniffled. Emerie’s eyes widened upon seeing this.

“Thank you,” Nesta choked out. Emerie scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, but pulled Nesta into a hug. “You’re welcome.”

After hanging out with Emerie for some time and buying some new clothes, Nesta began to walk home, happily munching her snacks. By now, the sun had come out and people had begun to roam the streets. Valkyrie practice would be starting soon, but Nesta really didn’t want to go. Couldn’t she just skip a day? It would be fine, anyway.

She snuck back into bed with her goodies and wrapped her blanket tightly around herself. She had just flipped the page when she heard footsteps coming towards her. She rapidly shut her book and pulled herself under the covers, pretending to be asleep. She sensed Cassian’s enormous presence as he walked towards her side of the bed. She gripped her blanket tightly, almost protectively. Cassian had ripped the blanket off of her before.

Indeed, the male tugged on her blanket. No matter how much training she had, Cassian was physically stronger, and he used that to his advantage. He ripped the blanket from her hands, causing her to fly halfway up in bed.

“Nesta,” he growled.

“What the fuck, Cas!” Nesta shouted back. Cassian’s hazel eyes were menacing, like they were prepared to go to battle. Suddenly, Nesta was gripped with fear. Her heart began to race. She lifted her hands in what she hoped was a placating gesture.

“I’ll be ready to go soon, just give me a minute,” she said. No response.

Instead, Cassian grabbed a fistful of her hair and began to drag her out of the bed. Nesta shrieked as she felt his tugging at her roots.

“LET ME GO!” she cried. She jabbed the heel of her foot into his privates. When he doubled over, she twisted around and punched him square in the nose.

“NESTA!” he roared. Nesta crossed her arms over her chest. “You know what? I’m not going to practice; I don’t want to.”

“Mor was right,” Cassian hissed, pushing himself off of the ground where he fell. “We should’ve just left you at the human lands’ doorstep.”

Their relationship was so fucking tumultuous. At least with Elain and Feyre, Nesta knew they cared for her, though they had their disagreements. But it seemed that everybody took priority for Cassian over Nesta.

They had arguments all of the time- over Rhysand, over Mor, even over fucking Feyre- and they always made up for it with fervent rutting. But that was just lust; not love. Her relationship with him hadn’t been anything like what she imagined the mating bond would be like. She had heard that in a mating bond, the mates chose each other over everything. It may have been somewhat true for Nesta, but it had never been true for Cassian.

Aside from that one moment where Briallyn told him to kill and he turned the blade on himself. The problem was, Nesta felt that Cassian would’ve done that for Feyre, Rhysand, Mor, and Azriel. So, Nesta wasn’t special in any way.

Nesta was tired. From the moment she had walked into Prythian, she had felt like she was fighting a battle. She thought it would stop when she and Cassian wound up together, but it somehow only became worse. Nesta squeezed her eyes shut as tears escaped them.

“We’re done,” Nesta said quietly.

Cassian stilled. The silence in the room was fraught with tension as they stared at each other, silver to hazel eyes.

“What did you say?” Cassian growled. Nesta steeled her spine and glared up at him. “We. Are. Done.”

“You’re just going to throw it all away?” Cassian demanded. Nesta didn’t want to listen to this. She picked up her skirts and swept out of the room. “Nesta,

you listen to me!”

“I’m done listening,” Nesta answered. She shoved the remaining snacks into the bag with her new clothes and swept out of the house. Cassian chased after her.

“You’re just going to throw our mating bond away like it’s trash?” he snarled.

Nesta debated whether or not to continue to reply. In the end, she opted to leave him in no doubt.

“No bond is worth sacrificing my peace or self-respect,” she said.

Nesta was just able to detect an object sailing through the air by the whistle of the wind and dodge it before it smashed the back of her head. It landed in the snow instead, shards of glass flying onto her, digging into her skin. She felt the sting of cuts all over her body. As she bent over the object and picked up a piece, her heart went cold.

It was her Symphonia. The most thoughtful gift Cassian had ever given her: the gift of music. The day they had consolidated their mating bond. It had been the most perfect day of their relationship, when Nesta had been deeply in love.

Though she knew it would dig into her breasts, she shoved the glass under her bra before speed-walking away from her mate, her tears flying in the wind. She felt so betrayed, like her world was collapsing beneath her feet. She wanted to run away, run and never come back.

She didn’t know if Cassian was still chasing her and she didn’t care; all she knew was the utter conviction that she was not going back to him. Never.

She reached the river Sidra, where her dream had been this morning. She paused there for a moment, putting her hands on her knees to breathe. The day that had started out so well had quickly gone sour. She heard crunching behind her and realized Cassian was still chasing her. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?

Nesta stared across the water and stilled. In the exact spot that the golden man had stood, an enormous white wolf prowled. As she watched, the wolf ran and leapt over the width of the river, landing on her side without so much as a thump.

Nesta leaned forward, stroking the wolf’s head with her hand. Nesta smiled as she saw the wolf’s tail wag in response.

By now, Cassian had reached her. He tugged her arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Nesta,” he hissed. “Come home.”

Nesta felt a tug in her gut as her power rose to the surface. “Let go of me,” she said coldly. She let the fire in her eyes show. She smelled the fear in Cassian’s body as he backed away from her. She turned back towards the wolf. His side now faced her, head bent, as though offering her a ride.

Nesta clambered onto the wolf, twisting his fur into knots to keep a tight hold on him. Once the wolf ensured she was safely on, he leapt into the air.

Nesta only had a glimpse of a golden circle in the air that offered a view to another place before the two of them vanished.

[howlingguardian]

hi hello i just wanted to let you know that i just binge-read your butcher!Taylor story and holy crap. wow. i'm amazed by how relatable you've managed to make the Butcher personalities—many of them, specially Firecracker, Nemean, Anchorage and Tactical, make me feel a bit like "and there, but for the grace of God, go I"—if it weren't for my heaps of sheer dumb luck (and the fact that this is isn't Earth Bet, obviously), that could have been me. it makes the entire story super interesting, and makes me kinda hope for the time Amy manages to get those letters to their destination—i really hope they get some closure, and not just Flinch's family. This last chapter—aside from making me despair about the cliffhanger—was really sweet: i loved the Amy interaction and I agree with Anchorage's Grandmaw that good food heals all, and helps always. I also really loved the Sophia, Taylor and mall guards interaction as well—Taylor was right in calling those fuckers out, and idk whether or not you're white, but you get internet cookies for that. I'm also a fan of Danny and Taylor rebuilding their relationship, Danny visibly getting better, and how despite Taylor gaining a newfound confidence bc of the Butcher's memories & life experiences, she isn't magically over what the Trio did to her—they still affect her, even if she's better equipped to dealing with them. It makes her more believable as a character. I'm also deeply curious about T—I'm hoping for an interlude from his POV eventually. He's been right there through a lot of it, and he's stuck by Taylor, and we don't really know what's up with him—there are some hints about helicopter parents who are overly supportive, but it sure stands out how he hasn't really told them he's a cape, which makes me think they're more overbearing than supportive, but I don't know. The way in which he covers himself in metal sure feels like burrito-ing in a security blanket, times 10. My heart goes to Vicky too—what she's going through sucks, hard. And I really appreciate how you've made an effort to make Brandish come across as a total bitch who has her reasons—she's not totally irrational, just differently rational. Really comes across how she's very obviously talking from a place of trauma and not casual cruelty. Also loving how you humanized Manpower—made it real clear even the "well-adjusted" capes are a lil fucked in the head (/non-pejorative—so am i, frankly). And I *really* love your Assault. I'm kinda hoping he breaks lines and has some words w Elpis, off the record—just because I really like him, and as someone who also has some misgivings abt the Gov, I'd like to see what Assault is thinking—that bit where they referenced Assault's past as Madcap as his "misspent youth" really made me grind my teeth.

This has been enough ranting I wager but anyways, the point is: awesome story, I love it, tahnk you for writing it!!!

Holy shit, this is, by a wide margin, the longest ask or message I've ever got. Thank you so much! I'm working on the next chapter as we speak, and it's going to be a big one!

I did aim to try and make the point that the Butchers, like a lot of villains, did not just decide to turn to a life of crime for shits and giggles. Many of them were forced into it by circumstance and spiralled down to stay alive. In the right environment, they'd have thrived.

The letters too- those will play a part, showing the Butcher's human connections and emphasising that they are human themselves. Even if they are currently disembodied voices in the head of a tenage girl.

Tarquin is... honestly, thinking some things about myself, I think he's got elements of myself in him. My parents aren't so hovering, but I do get the idea of putting up a facade to hide your vulnerabilities.

Characterisation is important in fanfiction, and maintaining nuance can make or break a story. Sometimes it's fun to exaggerate a character's personality, but I wanted to stick close to canon, so it's very encouraging to hear you approve of how I've written Vicky and Brandish and Manpower and a lot of other tricky characters.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoy Here Comes The New Boss! The next chapter's coming out sometime this week, but if you can't wait until then, you can try my spin-off Hostile Takeover for a bit of fun.

[blackjackkent]

Comfort Food for the ship of your choice~?

(Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase)

41. Comfort food

-----

"There." Wyll stalks into camp, lugging a heavy parcel wrapped in brown paper. He sets it down next to the fire and grins brightly at Rakha. "I found us a present."

Rakha walks over to his side and nudges aside the paper. Within is a small box full of little vials, all of which appear to contain thick powdery substances of various colors. Her eyes narrow and some of the tension eases off her face with this new mystery. "What is it?" she asks curiously.

Wyll's grin widens. "Spices," he says. He picks up one of the vials and turns it between his fingers. "I took them from the inn's stores. Jaheira and the Harpers certainly weren't using them. And you-- you've never eaten anything properly spiced, have you?"

Rakha shakes her head with slight bewilderment. Her recollection of food is limited only to what she has experienced on the road since the nautiloid. This is a haphazard affair at best, usually a few mouthfuls of whatever they happened to scrounge during the day's adventures. Sometimes they combine it over the fire into something Gale optimistically calls "stew", but in Rakha's experience, it doesn't really change much; it's the same mouthfuls, only wet.

Karlach, wandering past, does a double-take seeing the box, and her nostrils flare as she leans in. "Holy shit," she says. "Is that garlic?"

Wyll laughs. "Among other things."

"Oh, FUCK yes," Karlach says with deep satisfaction. "Soldier, you are about to have the best night of your life."

Rakha's expectations aren't really that high in spite of Karlach's enthusiasm. But she watches curiously as Wyll takes the day's meat - a cut of venison, magically preserved, from a deer Astarion emptied back in the mountain pass - and liberally sprinkles it with dust from several of the small containers.

A pass of black powder, and then a sprinkling of white crystals. A handful of the pale beige dust Karlach called garlic. "You can do lots of very complicated things, cooking," Wyll tells her as he works, his fingers moving deftly to coat the meat and then place it onto a stick over the fire. "Father made sure I had lots of practice, even though most of the nobles thought it was rather beneath them. But this is a simple combination that works with just about anything. I wager it'll make for good comfort food out here."

Rakha doesn't answer; her eyes have drifted half-closed and she's focused suddenly on the smell rising from the campfire. It is like nothing she's ever smelled before and seems highly incongruous in the dead blankness of the shadowlands - a thick rich warm scent that does indeed seem to calm something inside her briefly.

Her stomach gives an abrupt, sharp rumble, and Wyll laughs. "That's what I like to hear."

The whole camp gathers around to watch Rakha's reaction when she finally takes a bite. Karlach in particular bounces from foot to foot with open eagerness. "Well, Soldier? What do you think?"

Rakha chews the mouthful of seasoned meat for a long time before swallowing. Her eyes go very wide and her head cocks to one side. "Oh," she says, but the single syllable resonates with wonder which she usually reserves for the machinations of the Weave.

"Right?!" Karlach says enthusiastically. "Shit like that is what makes life worth living." She slaps Wyll on the shoulder. "Great work."

Wyll chuckles, swallowing a bite of his own meal. "I do what I can," he says lightly, but his eyes are fixed on Rakha's, clearly relishing the expression of pleasure in her eyes. When the others have started to drift back to their own business, he leans in close and presses his lips to hers gently; his lips taste of the heat of the spices, gentle and sharp at once.

"I'm glad you like it," he murmurs. "Things like this... you deserve to be able to remember."

[collectingmuses]

// Hello, yes, here's the mentioned shippy drabble I wrote about two OC's set in the late 70s.

Is this purely for myself???....yes. I'm posting it anyways.

Her eyes were drawn to the glint of the coin in the dim light, watching as it flipped effortlessly through the air, blurring into a silver orb as it twirled. The quarter clattered against the bar top, bouncing unsteadily onto it’s edge where it wobbled and spun before finally falling over and settling to a full stop.

“Heads. Fuck!” George Washington’s expressionless face stared off into nothingness as Maggie let out a frustrated groan.

“Holy shit.” Eric murmured, his usual dry monotone tinged with the faintest hint of genuine surprise and enthusiasm. “I won? I never win.”

“We can flip it again.” Maggie offered. “Yeah? Best two outta three?”

“Oh, no. No, no.” Eric’s smirk stretched out into a full blown smile as he picked up the coin, tapping it against the hardwood of the countertop and slowly backed his way towards the jukebox. “The rules are clear. Winner gets jukebox rights for the rest of the shift.”

Maggie cringed. “At least pick something good.”

The only thing close to a reply that came from Eric was the sound of the quarter dropping into the metallic slot on the front of the jukebox. Maggie sighed, frowning in anticipation while watching Eric press a few different buttons, getting his money's worth of music. The jukebox whirred to life, dropping the first 45 onto the spindle.

Buddy Holly began to play, eliciting another exaggerated moan of anguish from his coworker.

“Mate, you’re killin’ me with the grandpa music.”

The duo were opposites in every sense of the word. Maggie, a fish out of water, was stranded a long ways away from her native England. That in itself was enough to make her an oddity in this backwater Louisianan town, but her chopped and dyed hair and DIY clothes, all ripped and torn and sewn and safety pinned, made damn sure that she stood out amongst the locals more so than she ever did back in West London.

Eric was a veteran, a draftee of ‘nam. He never talked much about it, and Maggie never really pried, but she’d gleamed enough to know it was a bad time for him. Real bad. Not that you’d ever know it to look at the guy. His dry, sardonic voice...the little grin tugging at the side of his mouth as he swept the bar floor and grooved along to the music he knew she couldn’t stand...he seemed normal, well adjusted. He was the exact kind of square that Maggie and her friends would snark about in her old life.

‘Funny how that works out?’ Maggie mused to herself, absently polishing the last of the glasses, stacking them up in rows of five behind the bar. ‘Anywhere else, any other time or place on the face of the earth, and we’d never even give one another the time of day.’

She glanced up in time to see Eric twirl the broom around playfully as he began sweeping between the opposite row of tables.

‘Well...I wouldn’t, at least.’ she continued the thought. ‘Eric’s too much of a puppy.”

“What?”

Maggie jumped, Eric’s voice jolting her from her little daydream. Part of her worried she had accidentally uttered the quiet part loud, but the truth was only slightly less mortifying. Eric had caught her staring at him.

“You.” she covered, not missing a beat. “Just watching the show. They teach you those moves in boot camp, soldier boy?”

It was enough to earn a laugh from the young man. “Oh, yeah. First week in basic...how to cut a rug.”

“Too bad your taste in music is shite.” she teased, still somewhat sore over losing the wager. One of the positives about closing the bar alone was having full control over the music. She’d managed to sneak a few records from her personal collection into the machine, and while she’d been able open up Eric’s mind to the new punk sound, he still had a habit of playing tunes that hadn’t been considered cool in well over a decade. She missed nights of endless Sex Pistols, The Damned, and the Stooges.

The song came to an end, the jukebox whirred to life as it switched out the vinyl for the next song. Eric shrugged and set the broom aside.

“You don’t like my music, you don’t like my moves. I just can’t win, can I?” he replied, playfully pouting. “Make you a deal, though. You do me this one little favor and I’ll unplug the jukebox, reset it, let you play what you want for the rest of the night.”

“Mmmh, tempting. What’s the catch?” Maggie asked, arms folded atop the polished countertop as she leaned forward, like she was about to hear some juicy secret. The needle dropped inside the machine, the opening strains of “You’ve Really got a Hold on Me” by Smokey Robinson began to play from the speakers.

“Dance with me?” Eric asked, as casual as can be while threading a hand through his shaggy mop of blonde hair.

Maggie the sarcastic, tough, caustic, young woman that she was hadn’t expected to be caught so off guard by the bluntness of the request. Her face went a faint shade of red, which she tried to hide by tossing up her hands and (accidentally) letting out the most undignified snort/laugh/squeal that either of them had ever heard.

“Are you takin’ the piss?” she asked, all while Eric smirked and began to dance along to the song. Maggie shook her head, trying her damnedest to appear unaffected, which wasn’t doing much to convince either of them. “You must be. You’ve lost it, man.”

Eric didn’t respond, instead he kept dancing, picking up his broom to use once again as a stand in for a dance partner. He moved to the beat...even began to sing along to it while playfully motioning to Maggie to join him.

‘ I don't like you, but I love you...’

“Oh, no. Now the singing. I can’t believe this.”

‘Seems that I'm always thinking of you.’

“Eric, seriously, I’m weighing the pros and cons of committing arson right now.”

“Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly...”

“Ugh, ALRIGHT fine!” She huffed, slapping her hands against the counter, just barely hiding her own bemused smile. Maggie stepped out from behind the bar, dragging her feet while making her way over to the taller man. “...but I get to play what I want for the rest of our shift.”

“Hey, that was the deal, right?” Eric replied, dropping the broom, and offering his hand to the punk rocker. She hesitated, suddenly feeling quite shy. Eric was a friend, about the only one she had since ending up here in Sunny Hollow...he was always kind to her, despite her sarcasm and barbs aimed at his insufferable, loud mouthed brother. He was just goofing around, nothing more...right? No, she wasn’t reading too much into this.

So then why the hell was her heart pounding so hard as she took his hand?  Where was her wit and venom as he gently pulled her closer to his chest and began to slow dance with her? Just like that, her defenses were gone.

Whatever concerns she had about getting back home, about this strange little town, about where exactly her and Eric stood had melted away. Right now all that mattered was the moment. An arm slid around the soldier’s waist, her cheek resting against his chest, letting Eric lead them as the song continued to play. 

It wasn’t a very long song, unfortunately, already more than half over by the time she had finally agreed to the dance. Just as it ended she felt him begin to pull away, no doubt to keep up his end of the promise.

“Ok, Mags...I guess I made you suffer enough. I’ll go unplu-”

Maggie tightened her embrace, keeping him from breaking away just yet. Puzzled, Eric peered down at Maggie who met his gaze.

“One more?” she asked. “Your taste isn’t that bad.”

[peraltasass]

Books (and other stories) read in 2024

Fiction:

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley: ★★★★✩

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy by Maggie Tukoda-Hall: ★★★★★ (I cried so hard)

All Out. The No-Longer-Secret Stories of Queer Teens throughout the Ages by Saundra Mitchell (ed.): ★★★★✩

Galatea by Madeline Miller: ★★★★✩

Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki: ★★★★★ (the feelings I felt omg)

Ministerium der Träume by Hangemeh Yaghoobifarah: ★★★★✩

Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White: ★★★★★ (holy shit holy shit holy shit)

The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Nova: ★★★★★ (absolutely loved it!)

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Nova: ★★★★✩ (this book opened up a discussion between a friend and I if historical fiction can be a utopia) (we have not yet reached a conclusion)

Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi: ★★★★✩

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone: ★★★★✩ (I would be lying if I said I understood it all but I still thoroughly enjoyed it!)

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas: ★★★★½

The Betrayals by Bridget Collins: ★★★✩✩ (amazing writing, but the story could have easily been a novella)

Confessions of the Fox by Jody Rosenberg ★★★★½

Lore by Alexandra Bracken: ★★★✩✩ (oh wow, I was disappointed by this)

Der Spurenfinder by Marc-Uwe Kling: ★★★★✩ (I am not the target audience but if I was, I think this would be a fair rating)

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (re-read): ★★★★✩ (re-reading these for the first time in 12 years and it's a fucking GUT PUNCH)

A Tempest of Tea by Hafzah Faizal: ★★★★½ (omg I need to talk about this book) (they would have made such a hot throuple)

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (re-read): ★★★★½ (I cannot believe I read these at 14)

The Honey Witch by Sydney J. Shields: ★★½✩✩ (good ideas, but clearly a debut)

The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Nova: ★★★★★

So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole: ★★★★✩

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas: ★★★★½

Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea by Rita Chang-Eppig: ★★★½✩

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins: ★★★★✩ (the tears)

Atalanta by Jennifer Saint: ★★★★✩

The Prince's Dearest Guards by Beau van Dalen: ★★★✩✩ (smut)

The Prince's Dreamy Gods by Beau van Dalen: ★★★✩✩ (smut)

The Prince's Loving Guards by Beau van Dalen: ★★★½✩ (smut)

The Spirit Bares its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White: ★★★★★ (holy shit holy shit holy shit)

Spell Bound by F. T. Lukens: ★★★★✩

Lark & Kasim Start a Revolution by Kacen Kallender: ★★★★✩

The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara: ★★★★½ (I cried on the subway)

Otherworldly by F. T. Lukens: ★★★★✩

The Bootlegger's Bounty by Adriana Herrera: ★★½✩✩ (smut)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers: ★★★★★ (lovedlovedloved this)

The Stars and the Stage by D. N. Bryn: ★★★★½ (the hottest scenes I've ever read)

Adas Raum by Sharon Dodua Otoo: ★★★★✩

Vengeance of the Pirate Queen by Tricia Levenseller: ★★★✩✩ (oh wow this was disappointing)

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree: ★★★★✩

Icarus by K. Ancrum: ★★★★½

Days at the Morisaki Bookshop

Prince of Lust by Lucien Burr: ★★★✩✩ (smut)

Celestial Monsters by Aiden Thomas: ★★★★✩

Hell and its Pleasures by Lucien Burr: ★✩✩✩✩ (smut) (absolutely not) (you'll have to be a VERY specific kind of person to be into this)

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers: ★★★★★ (the most delightful book I've ever read)

How to Bite your Neighbor and Win a Wager by D. N. Bryn: ★★★★✩

Out of the Blue by Jason June: ★★★✩✩ (it's always weird when adult authors write explicitly about teenagers having sex)

So This is Ever After by F. T. Lukens: ★★★½✩ (the least good of Lukens' books imo)

Our Bloody Pearl by D. N. Bryn: ★★★★✩

The Dos and Doughnuts of Love by Adiba Jaigirdar: DNF

Ellbogen by Fatma Aydemir: ★★★★✩

How to Sell your Blood and Fall in Love by D. N. Bryn: ★★★★✩

Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White: ★★★★½ (holyshitholyshitholyshit)

How to Bare Your Neck and Save a Wreck by D. N. Bryn: ★★★★½ (t4t powerplay vampire romance hngg)

Lakelore by Anna-Maria McLemore: ★★★★✩

The Flowered Blade by Taylor Hubbard: ★★★½✩

Yield Under Great Persuasion by Alexandra Rowland:★★★★✩ (surprisingly hilarious)

Stupid Cupid by Maeve Black: ★★✩✩✩ (smut) (when you base your whole story on respecting consent and then you don't

We Hunt the Flame by Hafsah Faizal: ★★★★✩

The Palace of Eros by Caro DeRobertis: ★★★✩✩ (I wanted to love this; I really did)

Lost in the Never Woods by Aiden Thomas: ★★★½✩

Open Throat by Henry Hoke:★★★★✩ (a fever dream)

A Bone in His Teeth by Kellen Graves: ★★★★½

This is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender: ★★★✩✩

The Companion by E. E. Ottoman: ★★★★✩

Stone and Steel by Eboni J. Dunbar: ★★★✩✩

A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck: ★★★★✩

The Craft of Love by E. E. Ottoman: ★★★½✩

The Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo: ★★★★✩

Awakenings by Claudie Arsenault: ★★★★✩

The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh: ★★★½✩

How Not to Date a Dragon by Lana Kole: ★★★★✩

Flooded Secrets by Claudie Arsenault: ★★★★✩

Silver in the Woods by Emily Tesh: ★★★½✩

Non-fiction:

Angry Cripples by Alina Buschmann & Luisa L'Audace: ★★★★✩

Ace by Angela Chen: ★★★★½

Clit by Louisa Lorenz: ★★★★★ (the book that got me reading excitedly again after a slump)

Feminismus für die 99% by Cinzia Arruzza, Tithi Bhattacharya, & Nancy Fraser: ★★★½✩ (super good content, but super inaccessibly written)

Versöhnungstheater by Max Czollek: ★★★★½

The Transgender Issue by Shoan Faye: ★★★★★

Das Asexuelle Spectrum by Camilla DeWinter: DNF

Der Tag, an dem ich sterben sollte by Said Etris Hashemi: ★★★★★

Wozu Rassismus? by Aladin El-Mafaalani: ★★★✩✩

Wie ist Jesus weiß geworden? by Sarah Vecera: ★★★★✩

Continuum by Chella Man: ★★★★✩

Inter - Ein Handbuch über Intergeschlechtlichkeit Carolin Fritzsche:★★★✩✩

Why We Matter by Emilia Roig: DNF

Die Zukunft ist Nicht Binär by Lydia Meyer: ★★★★✩

Concrete Kids by Amyra León: ★★★★★

The New Queer Conscience by Adam Eli: ★★★★✩

Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H.: ★★★★★

As audio books:

Süss. Eine feministische Kritik by Ann-Kristin Tlusty: ★★★★✩

Comics & graphic novels:

The Witch Boy by Molly Knox Ostertag (re-read): ★★★★★

Die verlorenen Briefe (orig. Lettres Perdut) by Jim Bishop: (amazing setting & drawing style, but the storytelling...): ★★½✩✩

Paper Girls 1 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★★✩

Paper Girls 2 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★★✩

Paper Girls 3 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★★✩

Paper Girls 4 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★½✩

Paper Girls 5 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★★✩

Paper Girls 6 by Brian K. Vaughan, Cliff Chiang & Matt Wilson: ★★★★✩

The Hidden Witch by Molly Knox Ostertag: ★★★★★

Frauen hinter Stacheldraht (orig. Totální nasazení) by Tomáš Hodan, Ondřej Nezbeda, Petra Soukupová et al.: ★★★★✩

Von unten (orig. Wage slaves: En memoar av en prekär migrantarbetare) by Daria Bogdańska: ★★★★✩

Drachenläufer (orig. Kite Runner) by Khaled Hosseini & Fabio Celoni: ★★★★✩

Verdad by Lorena Canottiere: ★★★✩✩

The Midwinter Witch by Molly Knox Ostertag: ★★★★★

The Tea Dragon Tapestry by Kay O'Neill: ★★★★★ (the coziest of graphic novels)

Avatar. The Last Airbender. The Promise (re-read): ★★★★✩

Lore Olympus 1 by Rachel Smythe: ★★★✩✩

Avatar. The Last Airbender. The Search by : ★★★★✩ (I think the German translation isn't doing any of these any favors)

Gender Queer. A Memoir. by Maia Kobabe: ★★★★✩

Lore Olympus 2 by Rachel Smythe: ★★★✩✩

Lore Olympus 3 by Rachel Smythe: ★★★✩✩ (can't believe it took 3 books for someone to acknowledge that Apollo sexually assaulted Perspehone, but I'm glad it FINALLY happened)

Avatar. The Last Airbender. Katara and the Pirate's Silver: ★★★★✩

Avatar. The Last Airbender. Toph Beifong's Metalebnding Academy: ★★★½✩

Kisses for Jet by Joris Bas Backer: ★★½✩✩

Snapdragon by Kat Leyh: ★★★★★

Lunar Boy by Jes and Cin Wibowo: ★★★★★ (BIG recommend)

The Infinity Particle by Wendy Xu: ★★★★★ (probably the first human x robot romance I ever felt comfortable with)

The Moth Keeper by Kay O'Neill: ★★★★½

Brooms by Jasmine Walls & Teo DuVall: ★★★★★ (BIG recommend)

Aquicorn Cove by Kay O'Neill: ★★★★✩

Doughnuts and Doom by Balazs Lorinczi: ★★★✩✩

The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen: ★★★★✩ (the LAYERS)

Stage Dreams by Melanie Gillman: ★★★✩✩

The Deep and Dark Blue by Niki Smith: ★★★★½

The Well by Jake Wyatt and Choo: ★★★★½

Hockey Girl Loves Drama Boy by Faith Erin Hicks: ★★★★★

Garlic and the Vampire by Bree Paulsen:★★★★★

Garlic and the Witch by Bree Paulsen: ★★★★★

M is for Monster by Talia Dutton: ★★★★½

Cheer Up: Love and Pompoms by Crystal Frasier: ★★★½✩

The Sprite and the Gardener by Rii Abrego:★★★★½

Bingo Love by Tee Franklin: ★★★✩✩

Northranger by Rey Terciero: ★★★★½

Another Kind by Trevor Bream: (fuck, this was SO SWEET but then it hits you with an antisemitic trope? fuck)

Cheat(er) Code by S. A. Foxe: ★★★½✩

The Baker and the Bard by Fern Haught: ★★★½✩

Viscera Objectica by Yugo Limbo: ★★★✩✩

Sheets by Brenna Thummler: ★★★★✩

Tristan and Lancelot: A Tale of Two Knights by James Persichetti: ★★★★✩

Leftstar and the Strange Occurence by Jean Fhilippe: ★★★✩✩

The Chromatic Fantasy by H. A.: ★★★★★

Pumpkin Heads by Rainbow Rowell: ★★★★✩

Enigma by xx: ★★★✩✩

Galaxy: The Prettiest Star by Jadzia Axelrod: ★★★★✩

Liberated: The Radical Art and Life of Claude Cahun by Kaz Rowe: ★★★★✩

Webcomics:

The Moth Prince by Sonderfairy: ★★★★½

The New Recruit by Moscareto & Zec: ★★★✩✩

Semantic Error by J. Soori & Angy: ★½✩✩✩  (why I continued reading this remains a mystery. My best guess is the sunk cost fallacy)

The Fallen Duke & the Knight Who Hated Him by Poisson: ★★★★✩ (probably the best of these online comics I've read so far)

No Love Zone by Danbi: ★★½✩✩

Whispers Through the Willows by Moscareto & Sue: ★★★★✩ (these BL online manga and manhwa just hit different. by which I mean: the bar is on the floor and I appreciate any and every bit of good storytelling and healthy-ish relationship)

Countdown to Love by Wonknown et al.: ★★★½✩

Vampire Beru & Ghost Aki by Humiko: ★★★★½ (I cried) (It's so beautiful)

The Dangerous Convenience Store by : ★★½✩✩

Traces of the Sun by : ★★★½✩ (I thought I was getting into a casual read but then the last chapter emotionally wrecked me)

My Sweet Dear by : ★★★✩✩

Osora by Toni Renea: ★★★★½ (genuinely very good!)

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Season 1 of Promised Neverland is a damn-near masterpiece… The show in season 1, I thought was going to be one of the all-time greats. I thought The Promised Neverland was on the right path to be a staple in anime. A show that anyone could pick up and love because there was so much to like about it.

I feel this quote deep in my soul. (Also the PowerPoint comment is so prophetic holy shit kjdsfldk)

Krone's depiction for a significant portion of her screentime being horrible (although I believe this is the general consensus at this point as opposed to dismissing valid criticism of it/telling people to "get over it") and the whitewashing of characters aside, there was enough merit in the narrative of the series to make it a darling of the Winter 2019 season. Makes it all the more tragic to see it degrade and end up as one of the biggest letdowns in recent memory, and for some this unshakeable sense of unfairness in that due to not necessarily a direct evaluation of that merit on its own, but how it translated into blu-ray and merchandise sales (something I mention here while citing this reddit thread).

I was expecting more of a split between the last two choices, but Goldy Pond ranking so high isn't surprising with how the fandom on tumblr generally seems to skew (in contrast to say, Twitter, and without even getting into any potential differences between the English-speaking and Japanese-speaking fandoms, among others.)

It's interesting for me because I remember having a slight sinking feeling at the genre shift while reading it and the series potentially turning into "another shounen battle manga" after the intricacies in the mental battle of wits and strategy of the earlier arcs, but the fear of them strong arming their way through conflict with guns ended up being more of a worry for the Return to Grace Field arc.

(Referencing the tags on this post) Oh man I cannot imagine the devastation of keeping up with the series and being involved in any capacity with the fandom as it was airing.

With the way they handle Isabella's reintroduction into the series with the explicit wording of her going after the Grace Field escapees, it feels like initially the creative staff had no idea it would end the way it did either. Borrowing from the Mother's Basement video on season 2 @19:52:

I can only speculate, but my previous speculation that the anime would casually cascade into a parallel timeline did prove to be correct. It's just that most of that timeline was condensed into a PowerPoint presentation and shoehorned in after a stripped-down version of the finale that they clearly originally planned for. I'd bet good money that the credits were supposed to role right after that big stone door slammed shut, and I'd further wager that a combination of fan reactions to and dipping ratings for early episodes caused the production committee—who are the ones who actually have final say in this, not CloverWorks or even Shirai—to cut their losses and turn that cliffhanger into a skeleton of a conclusion. My best guess is that call was made in the week they bought themselves by gratuitously recapping seventeen episodes, which would have left the team with only six weeks to rejigger an already half-finished ending.

With how much time it takes to make a single episode of anime, I'm hesitant to say these decisions came in early 2021 as opposed to late 2019 or early 2020—whenever Shirai confirmed he would be concluding the main story before the end of 2020—and the anime's production was delayed due to coronavirus. It gave TPN Committee more time to decide on whether they wanted to embark on a longer venture, even if it was still a truncated one based on episode 4, or cut their shareholders' losses and end it there.

(Also yeees the shared dislike of CEO children 🤝 even if one can understand the reasoning behind that decision.)

#god this was difficult #pretty much all of these things were the main reasons i disliked s2 #in the end I chose that it’s how it’s the way people will remember tpn #because having this catastrophic failure attached to the series pretty much discourages anyone from joining the fandom #i also strongly hated how they butchered emma’s character #they have her keep her ideals but don’t show her fighting for or risking herself for them at all (like what she does in gp and seven walls) #so she just seems so useless and weak #speaking of seven walls: it would’ve looked SO FUCKING COOL if it was animated #demizu’s illustrations are incredible and i love them but i feel like animation would’ve been the best medium for the arc #imagine if they did something similar to spiderverse where it looks all glitchy and abstract at times #obviously that would have wrecked their budget but just think of the possibilities that arc presents if it was ever animated omfg #and i feel like the anime community would’ve loved yugo and lucas; just two besties meeting again against all odds and fathering 50+ kids #also the Goldy Pond crew and all their chaos #even with the manga’s flaws toward the end there was still so much that would’ve adapted beautifully into an anime #the only parts that really needed to be changed imo was after seven walls; everything before (plus some parts after seven walls) was great #just gotta hope tpn will get the fma treatment and will get a remake someday #but even if that ever somehow happened (I doubt it will) it would suck to see s1 get changed (via @swarm-of-rabid-bees)

For me, I feel I would have appreciated Goldy Pond's action more if it had been properly animated because while Demizu doesn't do a horrible job conveying it by any means, it would be nice to see those gaps in movement filled in.

But honestly they could have blown their entire animation budget on just either one of those arcs lol

And going back to these posts from ages ago and again this one, I've become more comfortable with the idea of a reboot of season 1 that would incorporate internal monologues at the potential cost of some suspense, but the things that would gut me would be potentially losing the VAs of the major characters due contracts or scheduling conflicts, and "Isabella's Lullaby" and the rest of Obata's score (even if the majority of it is the same four themes being retooled and repurposed).

#as much as i want to choose emma being treated horribly (it actually really fucked me up in 2021) i have to go with how the series is remembered #because tpn had so much potential in every aspect and it just got thrown away for what #if you go to search tpn on youtube the top 50 results are ''the downfall of tpn'' ''why did this anime turn out so awful'' and its so sad #there will never be a revival because it isnt beloved anymore #this is why i have to be as neurodivergent about it as possible (via @pawphin)

Combating algorithm hell 🤝

Again, wild how there's such a strong shared sense of wrongness for this production. Undoubtedly some of those videos are made to keep up with current topics for views, but still, such intense reactions wouldn't be sparked if the story hadn't, at least at one point in time, gripped people on some level. People love stories, enough to where they're willing to suspend disbelief at technicalities and contrivances if it means they'll receive something by the end that resonates with them, so seeing that unspoken agreement tossed aside by a third party seemingly so indifferently feels like a gross intrusion that's just…demoralizing.

#idc about anime adaptations all that much #smaller fandom is cozy too #but it was disrespectful #singling out this one series while kimetsu and dr.stone comfortably got faithful adaptations even after manga ending #i didn't like how people kept blaming shirai for things he almost certainly didn't do #like 'not liking the manga ending he wrote so he decided to butcher the anime ending too' #if only we had a good adaptations a lot of criticisms re:manga would be overlooked and forgotten #we would've had more official contents and fanarts and edits #maybe we will get reboot in 20 years or so hope it's a great one (via @1000sunnygo)

And you're not one to shy away from critiquing Shirai lol; like, if you're gonna do it, be fair about it.

For a lot of people more casually engaging with a work, it's much easier to look at the author or a production studio as a monolith and use that as a metonym for all the intricacies of the industry they're not privy to, especially on social media where brevity is valued (though I'm also guilty of doing that with TPN Committee). Something that can be irksome in general, but I imagine is even more frustrating for someone so involved in making content of the series more accessible to a wider audience not for financial gain but pure affection for the source material.

*We never got to see the Paradise Hideout in its proper glory, along with all the characters introduced during that arc

**Isabella being reintroduced back into the story differently in S2e04 but still following the same path she took in the manga (minus her dying)

***The special ops team armed with guns being taken out during the bunker raid by a group of kids thirteen and under armed with a chair and a few bows and arrows and none of the finesse used to escape Grace Field

Wish we had ranked poll choices because all of these are terrible, but what hurts you the worst specifically.

[xjoonchildx]

adonis | pjm x reader

🚨 summary: your crackpot of a neighbor will not rest until you throw yourself at the gorgeous paramedic in town. she's nuts, y'all.

🚨 pairing: reader x paramedic!jimin

🚨 genre: meddling neighbors? horny little old ladies with bad-slash-good intentions? awkward OCs who can't find the words to speak in the presence of greatness?

🚨 warnings: one very mouthy senior citizen, sweet/shy jimin, an OC who can't find a clean shirt throughout the entire fic, one very spoiled pomeranian, smoking, sexual innuendo, literally one line of implied smut

🚨 word count: 3.4K (lmao)

🚨 notes: this is my drabble *snort* for the possum anniversary and i am celebrating the wonderful @starlostjimin who is such a cool, funny, amazing, talented person. did you know that 911 is 911 in america AND canada? anyhoo. i hope you like my very first jimin fic ever, and i hope it delivers on the things that you wanted 💕

thank you always to @hobi-gif for being the most amazing beta and person in general.

If you had to wager a guess, you’d say it was Mrs. Choi from the fourth floor who’d dialed 911. That miserable old bat has always struck you as kind of a snitch.

At any rate, that’s how you find yourself standing outside your condo at ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a faded bathrobe and a pair of worn-out house slippers. Lights mounted on top of the fire truck idling at your building’s entrance turn the courtyard into a tragic makeshift disco, everything and everyone splashed in flashes of red and white. 

You mill around on the damp grass with the rest of your neighbors, each of you turned into temporary exiles in mismatched sleepwear. 

Mr. Nam from the sixth floor is yelling into his phone as he paces, giving someone an earful about the disruption. Mrs. Song from the seventh floor was smart enough to grab a lawn chair and she watches the scene unfold like it’s one of her beloved dramas. Mr. Baek from the first floor doesn’t pay any mind to the fuss around him, engrossed in a book good enough to drown out the grumbling and sirens. 

But you don’t spot the woman who lives in the unit next to yours – not right away – because it takes her an absurdly long time to heed this whole evacuation business. 

When Mrs. Yun finally breezes through the condo’s glass doors, she does so with all the subtlety of a pageant queen. She makes a beeline for you, decked out in a Hawaiian-print muumuu loud enough to wake the dead – accessorized by a full face of makeup, a full set of curlers, and her trusty Pomeranian tucked under one arm.

“What is all this fuss about?” she pouts, giving Chichi an affectionate scratch. You lean over to give the dog your own scratch and she licks your fingers as thanks.

“Hell if I know,” you shrug. “I came outside when I heard the sirens. Which, by the way, was about ten minutes ago.”

“I was busy,” Mrs. Yun sniffs, affronted by your reprimand. She sets Chichi down to pat her curlers and make sure each is still in place. “I have a friend coming over tonight.”

“A friend.”

“Yes honey, a friend,” she echoes, tone haughty. “You should try it some time.”

God, you really should. The only man in your life these days is the Doordash driver and the last time he’d come by, he’d made a clumsy joke about your sodium intake. You’d been embarrassed, sure, but somehow that pales in comparison to this reminder that you’re being outsexed by the little old lady next door.

“You should ask someone when they plan to let us back in,” Mrs. Yun says, tapping her foot impatiently. “You should ask – ” she pauses to look out over the crowd, eyes lighting as she points one fresh gel nail in the direction of the fire truck, “ – him.”

You follow the trajectory of that thin finger with your gaze until your eyes land on Mrs. Yun’s intended target. And then you blink as you take in what is surely the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark eyes and sandy blonde hair and a jawline so sharp, it could have been cut from granite.

Holy shit.

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Yun grins, and your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’ve spoken out loud. It flames even hotter when she raises an arm to wave him over. 

“Sir? Sir!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”  You panic, whispering in the most threatening tone you can muster. “Put your hand down. Don’t – ”

But it’s too late. Mrs. Yun has already caught the attention of this Earth-bound Adonis. He makes his way towards you both without delay, wearing an easy smile so devastating it makes sweat bead at your temples.

“Hi there,” he greets kindly. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mr. – ” Mrs. Yun pauses to squint at the name embroidered on the man’s dark navy uniform, “ – Park. What’s all this uproar about tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckles, and you find yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Someone called 911 because they smelled smoke, so we had to come check it out.” A radio secured to his shoulder crackles with an incoming transmission and he pauses to listen before he speaks again. “Pretty sure they’re almost done checking the building. Old places like this, we’ve always got to put in a bit more attention where the wiring is concerned. Wouldn’t want to leave you ladies in a dangerous situation.”

“Oh, of course not,” Mrs. Yun purrs, making no effort to hide the cheeky once-over she gives him. “We certainly appreciate you being thorough.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – flushes, clearing his throat as the tips of his ears turn pink. You make a mental note to sit Mrs.Yun down later to explain that a few things have changed since her heyday.

The radio crackles again, a garbled voice coming over the line.

“Sounds like they’re almost done,” he explains, looking down at his feet to find Chichi sniffing at his boot. He crouches down to pet her and she curls into the curve of his hand, eager for his touch. 

Somehow you’re willing to bet this man has that kind of effect on everything in his path – men, women, and houseplants alike.

He gives Chichi a few firm scratches before getting back to his feet. The rigid fabric of his uniform pants strains against the lean muscles of his thighs as he moves and Mrs. Yun’s eyes practically bug out of her face. You’d jam an elbow in her side if you thought there was a chance you could pull it off without being caught.

“I’d better get back,” he says, turning to you with one of those debilitating smiles. Your toes curl inside the shabby velvet of your slippers. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Mrs. Yun calls out, appreciating his retreating form with a lifted brow. You wait until the man is well out of earshot before turning on her.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“That – ” she says with her nose in the air, “ – is why you never leave the house without your face on.”

“You were practically undressing that man with your eyes,” you accuse hotly. “You do know what sexual harrassment is, don’t you?”

Mrs. Yun huffs as she bends down to scoop up Chichi. “I wasn’t harassing the man, I was appreciating him. Fine art is meant to be admired.”

“Oh, please,” you grumble. “And don’t think I missed that little detail about the smoke.”

She narrows her eyes at you.

“Mind your business.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

One week later, a knock at the door nearly startles you right off the couch. You frown into your half-eaten carton of ramen and set it down on the coffee table, taking a moment to seriously contemplate pretending not to be home.

But then there’s more knocking – more insistent this time.

You pad across the floor, crack the door open and the ramen in your stomach threatens to come right back up.

“Hi again.”

You blink. 

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that your neighbor suffered a fall and she said you would have a key to get into her place.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – looks a little sheepish as he stands in the doorway, waiting for you to speak like a normal human being with a passable set of social skills. He shoves one hand through his sandy blonde hair and the locks seem to fall back in slow-motion.

“I – y-yes of course,” you stutter, so flustered that you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to scramble for the kitchen. You dig Mrs. Yun’s spare key out of the silverware drawer and rush back to drop it into his waiting palm.

“I hope she’s okay,” you worry, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I’m right here if you guys need anything else.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” another voice promises, and you crane your neck to peer past the stunning Mr. Park to search for the source of it. A second man stands out in the hallway, a heavy duffel bag slung over one muscular arm covered in a myriad of tattoos. His face is boyish and beautiful and soft, a stark contrast to his powerful body.

Jesus. Who’s doing the recruiting in this city?

“We’ll have this back to you right away,” Mr. Park promises, and your neck heats when he rewards you with one of his sweet smiles. 

The second they leave, you make a beeline for the bathroom – and cringe as you stand in the mirror and peel one half-dried ramen noodle off the front of your shirt.

🚨🚨🚨 🚨

15 minutes later, Mr. Park’s picture-perfect partner is knocking at your door.  

“Hey there.”

You might have run a brush through your hair and dabbed on a bit of tinted chapstick in the last five minutes, but he notices that – or the absence of one half-dried ramen noodle, he makes no indication.

“Hi again,” you say. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, for sure. Maybe a little banged up, but otherwise she’s alright. She’s asking for you though, if you can walk over with me.”

“Yes, of course.” You shuffle into the hall and let him lead the way, through the open front door to Mrs. Yun’s unit and the narrow foyer that opens up into her living room. She’s upright on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. The glorious Mr. Park is bent down on one knee at her side.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, looking as pleased as a queen holding court, “I’m grateful every day for the very dedicated public servants in this city. That was terrifying.”

“But you’re okay, right?” you ask.

“Nothing broken, so far as we can tell,” the Adonis says. “She’s probably going to be good and sore tomorrow, but for now she’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks to Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon here,” Mrs.Yun says sweetly. A little too sweetly, in fact. The wheels in your brain start to turn and you eyeball her from across the room. She peeks at you from behind the ice pack and dons an angelic smile.

“Yes, they are certainly appreciated,” you say slowly, the skepticism in your voice vibrating at a frequency only Mrs. Yun can hear. She beams at Mr. Park as he gets to his feet and starts to pack up his things.

Mr. – Jeon, was it? – slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. “Be sure and take those anti-inflammatories tonight, okay? You’ll be all locked up in the morning if you don’t.”

Mrs. Yun practically preens at the personal attention she’s gotten from these two insanely good-looking men. “I will.”

“You’re lucky to have a good neighbor,” the Adonis says to Mrs. Yun, turning to you with a genuine smile. Your heart thuds in response. “If it’s alright with you, keep an eye on her tonight? She might need your help.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, alright,” you say with a tight smile, and Mrs. Yun clears her throat.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

“Promise me – right now – that you really fell.”

“What did I tell you about leaving the house with your face on?”

“Answer the question,” you fire back and Mrs. Yun sighs, tossing the ice pack down on the couch.

“Yes, honey, I did fall. I fell in love with that scrumptious Mr. Park the second I saw him. And if I were a woman thirty – ”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“ – Okay, fifty years younger than I am, I would be taking him for a spin myself. But since I’m not, I’ve decided that you should have him. Did I bend the truth a little? Yes. But for a good cause. I’m a very thoughtful person, you know.”

“You are outrageous,” you hiss, pacing as Mrs.Yun pretends to look for dirt under her fingernails. “This is a waste of public resources! They’re supposed to be responding to emergencies. Real emergencies.”

“First of all – ” Mrs. Yun is defiant, chin in the air, “ – Nothing ever happens in this town. Nothing. And second, there’s dust in your panties, sweetheart. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and Mrs. Yun ignores it, climbing off the couch with ease to cross the room and crack open a window. She pulls a box out of the tiny accent table perched beneath it and proceeds to light an absurdly long cigarette.

“You’re too damned young to be shut away in your house all the time,” she argues, pursing her lacquered lips to blow a stream of smoke out the window. “Work. Couch. Work. Couch. How can you stand it? Let me tell you what I’d be doing right now if I could turn back the clock and have your youth again: Mr. Park. I’d be doing Mr. Park. You should be doing Mr. Park.”

You stifle a disbelieving laugh. The novelty of your neighbor’s loose lips and bad habits wore off a long time ago, but sometimes she still manages to catch you off guard.

“Well, I’ve got an early morning so unless you have any more unsolicited sex advice to share, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Mrs. Yun blows another long stream of smoke out the window. 

“Nope. I’ve got it all off my chest.”

“Good then,” you say, turning on your heels. You make it all the way to the door before you pause and call out to her.

“And put that thing out!”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Three days later, you find yourself struggling with an overloaded paper bag from the grocery store. Yes, you’ve purchased the reusable ones and yes, they’re a hell of a lot stronger – but you never miss an opportunity to leave them hanging in the closet on your way out the door.

Something in the bag is wet – well, moist at the very least. And it’s enough to have you gripping the bottom tight with both hands as you try to maneuver your way through the revolving door at the entrance to your condo. It’s an awkward fit inside the narrow sliver of space and as you’re shuffling forward, the door’s momentum dies. You push at it with one foot and lose an onion from the bag, nearly losing your balance in the process.

You blow out a heavy breath and go to push the door again, only this time it smoothly glides away before you even make contact. The misstep makes you jerk forward, but at least the door keeps moving long enough for you to step out of it.

“Think you lost something back there.”

Most of your hair has slipped out of your ponytail holder by now, the strands matted to your forehead with the sweat you worked up on the walk from the car. But when you turn, you can still make out the glorious Mr. Park quite clearly. He drops the onion back into your bag and smiles at you.

“Please, allow me.”

He lifts the bag out of your arms, carefully securing the bottom like you’d done just moments before. With your hands now free, you push your hair out of your face and silently pray that you don’t look as unfortunate as you suspect you do.

“You don’t have to do that,” you demur. “But I appreciate it anyway. Mr. Park, right?”

“Well, I’d much prefer you call me Jimin,” he laughs, the sound of it making heat bloom inside your chest. “But yeah, it’s me again.”

He’s not wearing his uniform, you realize. And though some small part of you mourns the loss of those fitted shirts and pants, his off-duty look – an oversized sweater, jeans and pair of sharp boots – sure as hell doesn’t disappoint.

“Do you… live here?” you ask stupidly, as though a man this handsome could live anywhere on this entire street without someone taking notice. “Or – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I came by to check on your neighbor. You know, after the fall and all. I told her she could call me if she ever needed anything and she asked me to stop by.”

“You gave – ” you pause, shock forcing your voice at least an octave higher, “ – You gave Mrs. Yun your phone number?”

His cheeks pink at the observation. “She’s in her 70s, you know? Lives alone. I really don’t mind.”

You truly have no idea how your chain-smoking, jazzercising, oversexed hellion of a next-door neighbor has managed to convince this man she’s a frail old woman in need of a hero.

Will wonders never cease?

“Besides,” he says, “She’s kind of...quirky, you know?”

“That’s a very strange way to say unhinged,” you counter.

He laughs.  

“You’re funny. Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: he told me he helped you with your groceries [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: now tell him to help you out of your clothes [ 9:16 PM ]

you: go to bed [ 9:16 PM ] 

Two days later, legs like noodles from spin class, you limp through your front door and sag onto the couch. You might have napped for a second, you’re not entirely sure – but after a knock sounds at your door, you are most definitely alert. Your thighs protest as you force yourself off the couch to answer it.

You crack the door open and it’s him. Adonis. Mr. Park. Jimin. 

And you’re wearing a gray workout shirt with what you are certain is one very sizeable sweat stain down the front. Good God, will there ever be a time when you see this man and don’t look like a complete wreck?

“Oh my gosh, did she call you again?” you ask, incredulous. “You are so sweet to do this for her, really but this is too – ”

“ – She didn’t call,” he interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit bashful.

“Oh.”

“Listen, this is kind of embarrassing and maybe not entirely appropriate given I know where you live, but it’s just that I don’t have your number.”

Your eyes widen and your already distressed legs start to feel a bit more weak. Jimin scrubs a hand down his jaw before he speaks again.

“I was actually wondering if you might let me take you to dinner sometime.”

You blink. 

“Or I could cook you dinner. I make this really great prawn dish? But again, I’m not trying to be a creep or anything and it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with that – ” he’s backpedaling now, his words coming out in a rush.

“– You are not a creep,” you insist, when you’ve finally come to your senses and figure out how to access your words and use them to form sentences. “I just – I was just not expecting that. But yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at the slow smile that comes over him.

“That’s great.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You fling the silverware drawer open and practically rip Mrs. Yun’s key out of it in your mad dash to her apartment. No, you do not feel guilty for letting yourself into her house, the woman has absolutely no boundaries and could use a taste of her own medicine.

You slam the door behind you when you walk in, and Mrs. Yun squints at you from her perch in the window. She blows out a perfect ring of smoke and then raises a brow.

“Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Give me one of those,” you demand. “Right now.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

There’s a knock at your door – again – only this time, you already know who’s on the other side. It’s your beloved Doordash driver, bringing an order of your beloved shio ramen. Two, actually.

You open the door to grab your food and Jimin calls out from the couch.

“Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you say over your shoulder. 

When you turn back to thank the Doordash guy, he’s staring into your living room, eyes wide and trained on Jimin. You clear your throat and he snaps his focus back to you.

“Have a good night,” he says pleasantly.

And then he gives you a thumbs up.

yun: can the two of you keep it DOWN  [ 11:22 PM ]

yun: some of us need our beauty sleep [ 11:22 PM ]

[breelandwalker]

From this post -

dr-auraturatus: This is such a beautiful sentiment. BUT the psychological model (ie that spirits are an extension or projection of the magician's mind) is very much not animist; rather it is quite the opposite. It is hard to validate & assuage someone of their anxieties when you start by telling them their spiritual perspective is fundamentally wrong.

Hi, I'm Bree and I'm a soft animist who would very much like my friends and neighbors, especially the newer witches that I've dedicated my time to teaching, to understand the difference between "This Seemingly Inanimate Object Can Possess Life / Spirit Energy" and "This Deck Of Cards Has The Same Level Of Sentience And Emotional Intelligence As A Human Being."

I made that particular post in an effort to combat an unfortunate trend (on tiktok, it's almost always on tiktok) whereby newer witches exploring divination are being told that if their tools don't work, it either means that they're just not Gifted enough to do the work, or that their tools are alive and actively sabotaging their efforts because of some unknown faux pas or contrarian whim.

Scare tactics like this are rampant in the witchcraft sector of social media, and it certainly doesn't help practitioners who are inexperienced, anxious, or uncertain to be told that if they don't do things Exactly Right, their tools will rebel against them, demons will invade their home, and random witches on the internet might decide to hex them for shits and giggles.

I also include discussions on mental health quite frequently in my talks on witchcraft, particularly as it applies to ADHD, depression, and anxiety. Something that I emphasize as part of building a healthy practice is understanding where the line is between believing in magic and magical thinking, and recognizing things like confirmation bias and the importance of nuance and putting things into context.

There is a vast yawning chasm of difference between "Please Be Sure To Self-Check For Anxiety, Consider Trying Again Later If Your Reading Isn't Working, Please Don't Buy Into Scare Tactics, Your Cards Don't Actually Hate You" and "Your Beliefs Are Bullshit."

Also, given that the general response to the post has largely been variations on the theme of Holy Shit I Needed To Hear This, I would wager both that my audience understood what I was saying and that it was something that needed to be said.

[yukidragon]

Hello, could I get your thoughts on something? As another fic writer for SDJ (love Sunshine in Hell btw), I’m trying to keep lore straight in writing the first meeting between my OC and Jack. Unlike sweet Alice, she is ready to throw hands with this clown out of fear. XD But wouldn’t that count as rejection and make Jack disappear? Idk if the game will later elaborate on if the MC had a specific reaction to first seeing Jack after watching the tape, but I wonder if it’s important that the MC wasn’t so frightened that it counts as rejection of him. (In my fic, I’m currently taking the approach of “holy shit who are you oh wait you must be a hallucination and oh you’re a nice hallucination i guess you can stay” and that it happens so quickly that Jack doesn’t go away.) What are your thoughts?

Ahhh... I’m so glad you like Sunshine in Hell and Alice! Thank you! 💖

I think your MC being more frightened and having a more violent initial rejection of Jack is the more common interpretation of what happened. Heck, I know I certainly would freak out if suddenly a giant muscular stranger appeared in my home without warning.

In the demo, the reaction MC has to waking up to find Jack there is left ambiguous intentionally so that we can fill in the blanks with how we would have our MCs react, I’d wager. We don’t know how MC and Jack bonded, and I suspect that’s going to be a big reveal later in the plot.

My personal interpretation of what happened was that Jack struck a deal with MC, one that exchanged a bit of each other’s souls to free him from hell. What they would get in return is someone who would never betray or abandon them like Ian did, someone who would love them forever. Maybe there were other things offered too, since I have no doubt Jack would do anything to escape that cold, sleepless hell.

Alice agreed to the bargain because she was in a vulnerable state and because she felt bad for this trapped spirit who was suffering so much pain and was so desperate to escape it. She knows what it’s like to be desperate to escape pain, and she’s a very empathetic person. It was absolutely a reckless decision on her part made from a place of emotion rather than cold logic.

Consent is a huge part of Jack’s character. He needs MC to need them, and if they don’t want him there... he starts to disappear. However, even though his grip on reality slips in the “no” route, MC is downright desperate to keep him. MC wants him around even while they question if he’s even real or if they’re just losing their mind.

This is why I think that Jack being bound to MC was something MC agreed to, but no longer remembers due to the trauma of having a piece of their soul taken and exchanged. Jack simply tolerated the experience better because his soul was being tortured for the past 40 years.

Once they were connected, then they could share feelings. Jack, in the “no” route can pour more good feelings into MC. Despite their resistance, they are lonely and vulnerable due to what Ian did to them, and I think that’s the crack in their armor that he can seep into. He can make them feel good, even when they’re trying to put some distance between them. He can offer them friendship, love, servitude, good feelings... whatever they want, he’ll provide it.

Plus, even if MC doesn’t consciously remember, if they created this sort of supernatural bond between them, a part of them would feel a connection to Jack. He would feel close to them because, well, they have a piece of his soul in him and vice-versa. Even if they forgot the deal, feelings would still play a part... after all, it’s their feelings of wanting him there that keeps him around.

But, again, this is my personal headcanon for what happened. We most likely won’t know what actually happened when the two were bound together until the game’s full release. You might want to go with a different headcanon, or avoid touching on that part of the story entirely until the game’s release. It’s really up to you to decide what feels right for you.

I think you’re free to interpret what’s going on in whatever way makes you feel most comfortable. Focusing on the consent aspects of Jack’s nature is what appeals to me the most, so that’s why I have Alice being an active participant in his presence in her life.

I hope this ramble about my thoughts on this part of the game and my version of the story helps at all. Remember, the fanfic you’re writing is your story, and you’re the one making the lore. You can tweak it as you please into something that makes you happy and makes sense to you. I think that’s one of the most beautiful parts of making our own version of the story when we make fanfiction. 💕

Good luck with writing your story. I’m cheering for you!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore  

[demonicintegrity]

I’m kinda mulling around in my head the options the show has for season 2. From the one article I skimmed the show has completely covered everything that was in the manga. As it stands, it’s a perfectly valid stopping point. We’ve got a complete story here even with room for more adventures and conflict.

That being said, season 1 showed that forcing romance isn’t the way to go about things. Over and over again, whenever Riri intervened it almost always made things worse. They themselves admit they just don’t get it. And that’s because Riri, and I’m sure like others, see love as a formula. Or a path in a game.

Check off encounter, then the awkward intimate closeness, then Bonding Activity, then save or do smth for the other, go on a date, and then boom you got a romance. Riri’s following a checklist that doesn’t work outside of a completely conceptual and fictional environment. (Never mind the fact that Anzu just doesn’t want one)

So if Riri’s mission is showing us that forcing a romance doesn’t build a bond or that a bond isn’t a checklist of things you have to do, I’m thinking Kate’s mission with Kishi could show that love doesn’t fix people.

I can see it now, the company is like “oh okay, her problem was that she was in love with a teen. Set her up with an adult her age and that’ll fix things ^u^ teehee”

(Rip Kate, I truly think she’s just a new(er) employee still in training that was thrown into this because Riri failed.)

Because Kishi clearly has a history of issues. But being in love won’t fix it, if anything it probably made her more delusional. If she ever wants a chance at forming any healthy relationships, Kate would have to get her to be receptive to a lifetime of therapy. Maybe start her off with some friends first if she can do that. One step at a time sorta deal.

Even if Kate miraculously found someone who would cool and into/patient with her obsessive ways, it’s not gonna make things better. In fact, I’d wager she’d hurt someone innocent anyways because of a delusion that they were getting too close to her love. She seems like she’s has zero hobbies, which would be the inverse of Anzu’s problems. She would need to have fun with something first for her own mental health, and then as a bonding point with others.

She’d also need to be surrounded by a support system that didn’t enable or excuse her worst traits. Not to entirely throw her mother and uncle under the bus here. I do think her mother was lied to about the extent of who/what Katzuki was to Kishi, I can’t imagine her being cool with her daughter dating a high schooler. That being said, holy shit her mother’s A+ parenting skills had to have contributed somewhere here.

My point being here: if the show wants to keep following this overarching theme of society’s misconceptions about romance, they absolutely have the room to do so. Keep satirizing and deconstructing everything about romance; that you need it, that it can fix your issues, that it should result in kids, the heteronormativity of it, etc.

Season 2 and onward can still be focused on Anzu of course. Her building relationships with the guys and Saki, but near the end/periodically check in with Kate and Kishi to further highlight that forcing romance is wrong. Especially on someone who isn’t mentally ready for it, and that this meddling could cause worse things. Anzu still gets screen time and development, there’s shenanigans with Katzuki and Junta knowing what Riri is trying to do and disputing them. Hell, let them get serious with them explaining they don’t want their help with their relationship with Anzu.

I really like Romantic Killer because it has a lot of promise in its themes and deconstruction. It’s already done so well with very little complaints. Given the ample chance and opportunity I think it could be a key piece of media to highlight various toxic mentalities in romance and relationships.

[makeste]

BnHA 323: “I Don’t Know How to Explain to You That You Should Care About Other People”

Previously on BnHA: Kacchan was all, “Izuku, I’m sorry.” Bakugou Stans were all, “[sobs for a week straight and tearfully awards him the Nobel Prize for character development].” Deku was all, “[faints in Kacchan’s arms].” Iida was all, “[trying to decide if Ochako genuinely tried to kill him a few minutes ago].” Horikoshi was all, “NO TIME FOR HUGS WE MUST GET BACK TO UA.” The civilians holed up at U.A. were all, “WE TOOK A VOTE AND DECIDED THAT WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE JERKS ABOUT THIS AND MAKE A BIG FUSS ABOUT YOU LETTING DEKU BACK INTO THE SCHOOL.” Deku was all “[stands there looking like he expected nothing less and breaking my heart more and more with each passing moment].” Ochako was all, “that does it, looks like I’m gonna have to do something about this... next chapter, that is.”

Today on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal is all “I just want you all to know that I spent nine million dollars turning U.A. into a giant Battleship-style grid that can burrow underground and zoom around in a giant subway maze because Horikoshi lacks a grounded understanding of both civil engineering and economics.” Back in the present day, Jeanist is all, “EVERYONE TAKE HEED, MY COMRADES AND I HAVE DEEMED IT EXPEDIENT TO CONVEY THIS AUSPICIOUS YOUTH BACK TO THIS STRONGHOLD. WE ANTICIPATE THAT WE MAY DEPEND UPON YOUR GOODWILL AND ACQUIESCENCE TO THESE TERMS.” The civilians were all, “NO.” Ochako was all, “EMPATHY, MOTHERFUCKERS, DO YOU SPEAK IT?!” The civilians were all, “oh shit.” Anyway so Ochako is a giant badass, but I’m a little worried that she’s going to get struck by lightning. Please come down from there.

so before we start this chapter, I would just like to apologize for having not posted the ch 321 recap yet, and would like to reassure everyone, and especially Iida who is staring at me with Sad Wobbly Guilt Trip Eyes, that I will get to that as soon as I can

OMG FLASHBACK??

yes please Horikoshi please show us more of class 1-A and their Deku intervention strategy jam sessions

oh dear

Iida you are too pure and good for this cruel world. [sprays the U.A. civilians with a water bottle] NO. BAD CIVILIANS! NO OSTRACIZING SCARED AND EXHAUSTED CHILDREN IN THE HOUSE

EXCUSE ME RAT PRINCIPAL WHAT’S WITH THESE MIXED MESSAGES

???

RAT PRINCIPAL: he’s free to return to us at any time!!

ALSO RAT PRINCIPAL: but it’s too risky for him to return to us

?? ??????? ?????????????????????

so now he’s going on about how strong the U.A. Barrier is, and how it’s comparable to the defensive capabilities of Tartarus. this would have sounded a lot more impressive before chapter 297 lol

OH!!!! HELLO, WHAT’S THIS!!!

A TIMELY CALLBACK TO A CERTAIN MYSTERIOUS EVENT WHICH HASN’T BEEN REFERENCED SINCE USJ? [U.A. TRAITOR MUSIC INTENSIFIES]

so now Rat Principal says he upgraded U.A.’s security systems with his own “modifications”, whatever the fuck that means. I mean look, I’ve been saying for a long time now that U.A. is the best place for everyone to hole up, don’t get me wrong. but that was mostly on account of there not being any other practical alternatives. but you’re making it sound like you figured out a way to actually make it Decay-proof or some wild shit like that

-- hold up, DID YOU ADD A FORCE FIELD. DID YOU TRICK THIS SCHOOL OUT WAKANDA-STYLE YOU CRAZY MARSUPIAL. HOLY SHIT. because that would actually be perfect

LMAO

WHAT KIND OF GALAXY BRAIN BULLSHIT. “NAH THERE’S NO NEED FOR A FORCE FIELD, LET’S JUST PUT WHEELS ON IT”

oh okay so the whole campus is basically capable of burrowing itself underground. that’s insane lol I wonder how they pulled that off. probably got poor Cementoss working overtime

blah blah blah so basically the entire campus is split into a grid and each section of the grid is capable of its own independent movement. lol this is just the Merone Base from KHR. you thought no one would notice this casual plagiarism ten years after the fact, but YOU UNDERESTIMATED YOUR AUDIENCE, HORIKOSHI

“joke’s on you imma just lampshade it” WELL ALL RIGHT THEN

“look at me I’m so fucking self-aware” fucking swear to god. I can’t believe this man is my favorite mangaka of all time smdh

“excuse me, I wasn’t finished describing all the rest of this bullshit yet,” Rat Principal breaks in impatiently. “we also added a steel wall all around the underground of the campus that’s 3000 steel plates thick. that’s fifteen fucking meters of solid fucking steel just fyi. and if anyone fucks around with any part of it the defense system will activate immediately! and also all of the plates are independently motorized, whatever the fuck that means!! in conclusion you’re gonna need a fucking tower crane to suspend all of your disbelief by the time I’m through with this paragraph”

“also Shiketsu is almost as reinforced as U.A. but not quite because we still had to make sure we were better.” but of course. and apparently the two schools are connected via a secret tunnel as Hagakure mentioned earlier

LSDKFJLSDKJFLK

“WAIT WHAT” LMAO YOU HEARD HIM, NOW INASA CAN VISIT YOU BOTH IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND TELL YOU ALL ABOUT THE WEIRD DREAM HE HAD. GOD BLESS YOU HORIKOSHI

(ETA: moment of appreciation for Shouto and Katsuki having the same thought at the same time and making Knowing Eye Contact and saying the exact same thing out loud in perfect unison like the best friends they are. what a blessed day.)

so Tokoyami is all “but wait if you engineered all this shit all the way back during the Band arc how did you even know that Tomura’s quirk awakening would become a thing, Horikoshi -- uh, I mean, Principal Nezu”

and Rat Principal is all “lol idk”

“basically I just woke up one morning and was all ‘say, you know what this school really needs? a fifteen-meter-thick underground steel wall, and the ability to break up into little pieces that individually zoom around wherever the fuck they want.’ jesus christ. lol if money and common sense were apparently no obstacle why didn’t you just teleport U.A. to the fucking moon or something. maybe I should shut up before I given him any ideas

dsfaelkjldkjgl

you heard it here first, folks, all of this cost a grand total of nine million U.S. dollars. well technically it cost “more than” nine million dollars. never has that distinction been more important lmao. are we sure this barrier was really made of steel and not cardboard? who the hell sold it to them, Ea-Nasir??

this is my favorite manga series of all time. yes I am ashamed

“in conclusion please do your best to reach Deku-kun” SO WHAT WAS ALL THAT NONSENSE ABOUT IT BEING TOO RISKY THEN. anyway thank you for this super informative and edifying flashback, Horikoshi. I will cherish it always. I don’t even want to read another translation of this absurdity lmao, there’s something special about it just the way it is. pretty sure Horikoshi just had a cracked out fever dream one night and transferred it to the pages of the manga verbatim

anyway so back to the unruly mob

not their finest moment. please excuse me while I cover poor Deku’s ears and give him a good shoosh pap

oh wow the parents are out here too

is Mitsuki trying to hold Inko back?? that’s the last thing this fandom needs right now is more Mitsuki discourse fffwlkjs. and even Jiroudad, scientifically proven to be the best dad in all of BnHA, is just standing there silently looking vaguely unhappy. way to rise to the moment you guys

MONOMA

so this settles it for me that Aizawa is not at UA. I know a lot of people have been wondering about his whereabouts, and if I had to wager a guess it would be that something happened with Shirakumo/Kurogiri. I can’t think of anything else -- even the loss of an eye and a limb -- that would keep him from his kids at a time like this

anyway but this is excellent Monoma content right here though. I love that he apparently adopted Eri after a single interaction with her. also WHERE IS SHINSOU DAMMIT. THE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW

and Kouta’s there too looking like he wants to run over to Deku but Ragdoll won’t let him :/

it’s gotta be pretty upsetting for him to see his hero like this and not having anyone stand up for him. [taps megaphone] IS THIS THING ON. OKAY YEAH IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING. AHEM. PAGING URARAKA OCHAKO. GONNA NEED YOU TO GET OVER HERE ALREADY AND MAKE THAT BIG DRAMATIC SPEECH WHICH YOU ARE CLEARLY DYING TO MAKE. IF YOU DON’T DO IT SOON I’M GONNA HAVE TO STEP IN, AND YOU REALLY DON’T WANT ME TO DO THAT SINCE MY SPEECH WILL NOT BE VERY GOOD OR INSPIRING, AND WILL PROBABLY JUST CONSIST OF “HELLO, YOU ARE ALL STUPID, PLEASE SHUT UP AND GO AWAY”

so now Mic is telling them to calm down. at least someone’s speaking up here, geez

OH MY GOD

MY MAN JEANIST OUT HERE DOING WHAT HE DOES BEST: MAKING EVERYONE FEEL GUILTY AND JUDGED

OH MY GOD HE IS GIVING SUCH A LONG AND BORING SPEECH LMAO IS YOUR STRATEGY TO PUT THEM ALL TO SLEEP OR WHAT

truly in awe of this man’s ability to take messages which could easily be conveyed in ELI5-speak, and stubbornly convert them into incomprehensible language the likes of which you need a graduate degree in order to understand

“hey guys, so originally our plan was to use Deku as bait for the villains, but that didn’t really work and also we realized it was kinda dumb and was probably gonna get him killed, so we brought him back here instead.” was that really so hard, Jeanist. also are we all really just gonna sit back here and watch Jeanist take full credit for Bakugou’s plan just like that lmao

(ETA:

WHERE DID ENDEAVOR GO AND WHO IS THIS DIABOLICAL MASTER OF DISGUISE. lol I genuinely didn’t notice this because I was too busy digging through thesauruses trying to rewrite Jeanist’s speech; many thanks to @class1akids​ for pointing it out and making my day immeasurably better. take it easy there Dick Tracy.)

“anyway so please stop being dicks and let him fucking rest so he can save all your ungrateful asses” what an impassioned and inspiring plea. time to see if the masses will listen to reason

narrator: they did not listen to reason

oh my god finally Ochako is doing something. YEAH OCHAKO WOOOO SHOW THEM HOW IT’S DONE

hmm

this entire chapter is truly and utterly nonsensical to me lol

(ETA: on my second readthrough I’m fucking dying at how she stole the megaphone right out of Mic’s hand lmao. and how Kacchan is all “fuck yeah nothing I appreciate more than some quality fucking larceny.”)

oh I see she was jumping on top of the main building so as to scream down at them all more impressively

“ANYWAY DEKU IS PRETTY COOL ACTUALLY, YOU GUYS ARE JUST MEAN” couldn’t have said it better myself Ochako

lol uh

gotta say I did not have “Ochako reveals the secret of OFA to the entire U.A. Citizen Clown Parade” on my bingo card for this week. it’s a bold strategy cotton let’s see if it pays off

SDLFKJSL

“NO, SERIOUSLY, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT HIM YOU GUYS. YOU THINK HE LIKES RUNNING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A RUSTED OIL DRUM?? HE DID THAT FOR YOU YOU UNGRATEFUL SLOBS”

so she is basically explaining the entire Deku Angst arc to them and explaining what a good and selfless protagonist Deku is, YES, PREACH

OMG IT’S THE GIGANTIC FOX LADY

not to insinuate anything, but what exactly were you doing standing out here with the hysterical mob, Gigantic Fox Lady? you’re better than that

-- KACCHAN SIGHTING!!

sdlkfjl. thanks for weighing in with that helpful and important observation. where have you been for the last five minutes. were you asleep. was it Jeanist’s speech

never mind, now he’s yelling at the civilians so I instantly forgive him

THE FUTURE NUMBER ONE HERO, EVERYONE. THANK YOU, THANK YOU. HE’LL BE HERE ALL WEEK

“anyway so I’m just going to end the chapter here” lmao seventeen pages truly do go by so fast. at least he didn’t try to force in a cliffhanger at the end this time. dare I say, growth

so I guess the civilians are either gonna have a Kamino and/or Fukuoka-esque moment where they remember how to be decent people and apologize to this poor young man, or else they’ll remain unpersuaded, and so Kacchan will have to knock a few of their heads around until they become more inclined to be reasonable. either option is fine by me lol

[anotherghoul666]

I want to know the answer to so many of those questions for the ao3 wrapped. I'll settle for these though: 3, 9 and 28

Buddy, please, you could ask all of them and I'd jump for joy and answer every single one. Engagement is author food and I hunger like nobody's business XD If you want to know the answer to anything else, please send them over. Never hesitate to engage with me. I'd wager most authors would also love the engagement but I don't want to speak for everyone, so maybe check in first, but I LOVE it. I don't find it cringe, I don't find spam likes or reblogs annoying, I love asks, do your worst!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

This Could All Be Yours! Because this beast was an ORDEAL to make. I actually pushed through and produced something that I can legit enjoy now that I've stepped away from it. So much shit happened while I was actively writing the stripper!AU. I wrote it through an insane work rush where I'd do 10 days in a row no breaks spent between my two jobs because of the stupid holiday season, have a day off to recover, then get shoved back in it again. I wrote it through a covid outbreak in my residents at job 1 from which we were not properly protected. I wrote it under the threat and stress of maybe catching covid again, maybe giving covid to my partner, maybe ruining the holidays for everybody cause both our families have immunocompromised members so we had to isolate preventively besides going to work. I wrote it through a good ol' bout of the Spicy Sad. I somehow managed to write Rain to a satisfying standard where I love how I wrote him now but while I was doing it? Holy shit did this cryptid stump me and made want to pull my hair out xD Every scene with him did not flow while I wrote, it was slow and painful and like pulling teeth. Many people have had me in their DMs complaining about why is our water boy so fucking hard to write XD And in the end it worked out so good and I love himmmmm but my god, I had another Rain fic planned right after this and NOPE XD I need a Rain break, I can't put myself through that again so soon hahaha. I can write him well but he's the ghoul I struggle with the most. So yeah. Through all that shit, I wrote almost 20k of what I find to be a very well build verse I'm excited to go back inside of, and I'm proud I managed to get it out in these circumstances!

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Besides the obvious answer of polyghouls because I ship them all as a poly unit, my favorite dynamic is Swiss/Dew. These two together are magic. They're a fucking forest fire. They are so much fun to write, they're natural, they flow so well, they're painless, and I can push shit with them. Swiss is my go-to sadist, Dew is my go-to masochist (even if I 100% plan to make them switch, because all my ghouls are switches, and Dew has a mean sadistic streak too). I'm a fervent follower of the Hurt Dew 2k22 agenda and I shall pursue some version of Hurt Dew 2k23 too, honestly. It's just, right on target for what I love to write the most, these two. The banter, the back and forth, the meanness, the issues, the humiliation and shame sweet spot, the pain and shared delight, that manic electric energy they get into, on a backdrop of so much love and care and trust. They're the pair I realistically see pushing their kink the furthest in terms of edge play and real heavy shit that teeters lines and limits and I love that vibe. I cannot wait to write more of their brand of tender violence. I want to see see how much I can push with these two in the future, how far I'll take them in terms of the more niche or "extreme" kinks and edge play. That's the kind of exploration that really gets my experimentalist kinkster mind going!

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

Drought or Euphoria probably. It's the most self-indulgent work I wrote for sure, in terms of saying fuck it, this will not be for everybody, but it's what gets me off, and I will write something I'd get off to if I found it in the wild. Turns out, more people than I had expected have suddenly found themselves with an sudden new interest for leather boots hahaha. Yall are welcome for the sexual awakening btw ;) But yeah. Most of the key elements in this fic are self indulgent. It's me pressing my own buttons. The gratuitous descriptions of Swiss and his salt and pepper facial hair that makes me weak in the knees. The whole "consensually twisting someone's arm and tricking them to make them do what you want" dynamic Swiss enacts on Dew. The descriptions of the smell and taste of leather, that's for me to have the scent in my nose and the taste in my mouth while I write. The boot worship. The obedience. The devotion. The humiliation. The shameless projection of my own oral fixation and enthusiasm for blow jobs on Dew, which is now something I've kept on his character for good and will write more of. The monstrous tongue which is me displaying my inner monster fucker. The denial ending. This shit is like, my own kryptonite. I will happily write for kinks that aren't my favs or aren't even kinks I have, for requests or exploration's sake. But oooh boy, when I get to just make an entire fic to be a collection of *my* shit, it's pure fun and it goes to the top of the favorite list real fast hahaha.

[dmwrites]

Bedraggled and smelling of smoke constantly. That’s how Techno would describe the man at his door. The man he was currently watching stumble back and fourth across the decks of his and Phil’s houses. The man had a bottle of something in one hand, something that sloshed out occasionally and splattered all over the nice wood decking. Phil wouldn’t like that.

The door of Phil’s house creaked open, and the man himself emerged, bow and arrow trained on the guy. Phil saw Techno standing at his own door and raised an eyebrow. Techno shrugged. Phil raised the bow back into position and aimed. The man didn’t seem to notice either of them. Too much staggering. Probably drunk.

Techno made a wager with himself that if the arrow missed, he’d bring the dude in. If it hit, well, eh, he probably had it coming. Phil moved the bow with the man, then fired. It missed, narrowly, and stuck into the siding of Techno’s house. It did, however, get the man’s attention.

“Holy fucking shit! The fuck was that for, huh? Bitch?” The man swayed towards Phil, but Techno stepped outside and grabbed him under the arms and picked him up.

“L dance, old man, you missed, he lived.

I’m taking him inside.” Techno snorted with laughter.

“Oh fuck off, Techno.” Phil replied in good nature. “You want to nurse some drunk back to health? Have fun with that, and don’t come crying to me when he throws up on your couch.” With a cackle, Phil shut his door again.

Techno chuckled and carried the man inside and placed him down on the couch. “Don’t listen to Phil, he’s a grumpy old man. Don’t throw up on my couch though. Or I will have to finish what Phil started.”

“Fuckin- Technoblade?” The man stood up, wobbling, and now that they were inside, Techno could smell the stale alcohol and general grime the man reeked of. He was holding a dirty knife, and it was pointed right at Techno’s stomach.

“Yup, that’s me. And I’m guessing you’re new around here, because most people know better then to threaten me with a dirty toothpick.” Techno said, plucking the knife out of his hand and tossing it into the sink.

“New? You motherfucker, I’ve been around longer then you’ve been here! I’m fucking Jack Manifold!”

“Jack Manifold… Jack Manifold…” Techno clicked his tongue and squinted his eyes, thinking. “Oh my god, yeah! The bald dude! Didn’t I kill you one time? LMAO.” Techno looked him up and down. “You’ve looked better.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You fucker.”

“Well, no matter what I am or what I do, I can’t have you stinking up my house. Bath time.” Techno picked the man up again and brought him to a small tub. “Here. Water. Soap. Don’t try to drown yourself because I will know and will stop you. There’s some clean clothes on that stool there.”

Jack muttered some curses under his breath, but Techno ignored him and closed the door. He sat down in the living room, picked up a book, and started to read. There was more muttering, then silence, then, after a long while, a deep sigh and water splashing. More muttering. Techno chuckled.

Eventually, the door opened. Techno looked over the top of his book at the man, and snorted. He was wearing some of Techno’s old clothes, and it looked like someone had thrown his clothes on a broom handle or something. Some soft brown pants with patches all over them and a thermal shirt, all bunched together in the middle with some rope.

“Happy?” Jack raised his arms in defeat.

“Not until I don’t have to talk to you anymore. You need to sleep off the booze, man.” Techno stood up and offered the couch to Jack. Jack stumbled over and sat down. Techno moved to his armchair and opened the book again.

“Are you gonna fucking watch me sleep or something, bitch?” Even after a bath, Jack was still full of bristling anger.

“Please, Bitch was my fathers name, call me Techno.” Techno said deadpan. “And yes, because I don’t want you choking on your own vomit in your sleep or something. Having a dead body in my house is bad mojo.”

“And that’s all I am to you, huh? Just a person whose death you don’t want to deal with?”

Techno raised an eyebrow at him. “Care to elaborate? Or are you just too drunk to make sense.”

Jack put the heels of his hands to his head, pressing hard. “You fuck- you killed me! I died, I crawled out of hell, and no one cared! No one! I remember, although you clearly don’t, how you laughed so fucking hard because you killed me for no good reason! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Techno snorted and put down the book. “Well, I’m sure whatever reason I had was a good one.” Techno said, and he grabbed a blanket and lay it over Jack’s bristling form. “Go to sleep, Jack. I’ll wash your knife, and you can threaten me all you want in the morning, if it makes you feel better. It’s whatever.”

Jack looked at him as Techno settled back down in the chair. “You’re not even going to say sorry.” It wasn’t a question.

Techno ruffled the pages of his book and began to read again. He read until Jack lay down, and his fake snoring became real. Then he got up, and, true to his word, washed the knife. It wasn’t much of a knife, but, Techno thought, if it’s all Jack has in the world, it should at least be clean.