#no more dark academia dream for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

taeyongdoyoung · 5 months ago

Text

that's a warning

summary: your professor's age is not a problem to you. and neither is his dark secret... pairing: professor!chan x uni student!reader genre: dark academia, vampire!au, smut warnings: professor/student dynamic, age gap (unspecified), mentions of toxic friend, descriptions of blood, kissing, biting, eating out, blowjob, daddy kink (who's surprised?), ddlg implied, size kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, insecurities, danger kink author's note: this is based on a dream i had + inspired by railway, obviously. read at your own risk 🥵 too many references to the song's lyrics in bold, sawrryyy word count: 3k

The moment you set your eyes on Professor Bang, you know that you need to have him. You've never felt an attraction so intense, so overpowering, so sinister in its obsession. You are willing to go to any lengths to get close to him. Even if it kills you.

It starts off innocent, almost childlike. The way you stay after his lectures to ask him silly questions (you know the answers to) about the homework. Sometimes you ask him about the location of other lecture halls (even though you've been to them hundreds of times). Sometimes you go to his office hours just to be alone with him (even though you are perfectly confident in understanding the study material).

At first, Chan accepts your incessant flood of questions with an easy-going smile. If he's being honest with himself, he likes the attention. It's been a while since someone's been that interested in talking to him. Especially someone so…young. Most students usually avoid his intense stare. He's been told it's far too intimidating. He tries to be welcoming to everyone but he's not sure he's doing a good job.

But as the semester nears its end, his patience wears thin. You always get full marks on your assignments and quizzes so he doesn't understand why you are constantly asking for his "help". And he's certain you know your way around the university better than any other student. You're always on time and your homework is flawless 100% of the time. So, he really doesn't get it. Are you messing with him? Is it funny to you to joke around with a poor old lonely professor?

Chan's decided he's had enough. And this time, when you catch him alone after the lecture, he's going to confront you.

"Cut the act," Professor Bang scolds you directly. "I know you know the answer to that question. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what, Professor Bang?" you ask innocently, while batting your eyelashes.

"Pretending you're dumb. It's obvious you're a top student, so why are you always asking me stuff?" he grunts and pins you down with his intense gaze you're so addicted to.

Hell, you've never felt more terrified. It excites you.

"Don't you know already?" you mumble quietly. You want to look away but you're trapped in his beautiful dark eyes. So you don't.

"Is it fun, messing with an old man like me, huh? Is it some stupid college dare?" Chan asks, his insecurities getting the worst of him.

"You're not old," you insist passionately. "There's no dare. I just…like you."

"You…like me?" he repeats in disbelief.

You nod furiously, trying to convince him of your sincerity.

"But…why?"

"What do you mean why? You're so smart and handsome and sometimes even cute. I like…how you explain stuff like you don't think anyone is dumb, you're so patient and…warm."

Huh. Warm? It's been a while since someone's used that word to describe him, Chan thought.

"You do realize we could both get in trouble if…" he can't even believe he's even considering this. "If we were to…pursue something outside of the university walls?"

Fuck it, he said it.

"I know. I won't tell anyone, I promise," you are desperately grasping at straws as you find yourself so close to the one thing you've ever wanted more than anything.

Professor Bang shakes his head.

"I'm not asking you to keep it a complete secret. Just…if you choose to share it with people, be careful who you trust."

"I understand, Professor, I'll be careful," you promise.

"And…call me Chris or Chan or something," he shrugs. "When it's just us two."

God. It's really happening.

"Let me take you out to a restaurant," he offers suddenly. "Tomorrow evening?"

"That sounds amazing!" you grin excitedly.

Your first date with Chan arrives and you are so happy you feel like you could die. You don't wanna jinx things so soon and don't tell anyone where you're going.

"You look stunning," he compliments your dress as he pulls a chair out for you.

"Thank you so much, Chris," you smile and take a seat. "You look absolutely dashing, as always."

He chuckles but doesn't respond rightaway.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, it's just…I don't hear that much. Especially not from beautiful young women such as yourself."

"You're surely joking?" you frown. "Anyone would kill to be in my shoes right now."

"You're too kind," Chan replies, not seeming to believe your words and you decide to drop the subject. For now. "What would you like to drink?"

"Hmm…maybe some red wine?"

"Good choice," he smirks. "And food?"

"I'm really into pasta these days!" you squeal with excitement.

Chris orders for the two of you, making your heart flutter for the hundredth time. He's just…so dependable.

Till the food arrives, you busy yourselves with getting to know each other better. Outside of the university walls, it turns out you are both passionate about things other than academic endeavours. And with each glass of red, it becomes easier to share stuff about yourself with him.

As the evening nears its natural conclusion, Chan insists on paying the bill for the food and drinks.

"Now I feel bad," you pout adorably, clinging onto his arm for support, because all the wine made your legs slightly unstable. "Let's go for coffee!"

"I don't…really drink coffee," Chris confesses shyly.

"Tea, then! Please, I don't want to go home just yet. This night is so perfect, I don't want it to end."

"Okay, okay," he agrees easily.

You lead the way to one of your favourite cafés. This time, you excitedly pay for the warm beverages.

"It's snowing outside!" you marvel at the pretty snowflakes falling, illuminated by the street lights.

"Good thing we're all cozy and inside, then," Chan chuckles.

"Yeah…" you smile softly. "I really like you, Chan," you admit.

"I know, you said that a couple of times," he shakes his head, amused.

"Yes, but…you didn't say anything. Do you like me, too?" you inquire self-consciously.

"I do like you. You're very clever and funny and obviously super pretty."

"Really?" you blink furiously to stop yourself from tearing up. You don't get to hear something like that by someone you admire so much. Someone who inspires you to be as diligent and hard-working as him. Scratch that. You don't get to hear words like that very often. It sometimes strikes you how badly you need to be acknowledged for your efforts.

"You must know that."

"No, actually, I don't," you smile sadly. "But it's really nice of you to say it. True or not."

Chan stretches his hand out across the table to hold yours.

"Hey. It's true, okay?"

"Guess I'll stick around to find out, yeah? And maybe I'll help you believe it, too," you suggest.

"Maybe. I'd really like that."

And stick around you do. The next semester, Chan is no longer your Professor, so you don't have to worry so much about getting in trouble with the university's authorities. Eventually, as things start becoming more serious, you decide to share the news about your boyfriend's identity with a few of your closest friends.

Luckily, most of them are super supportive and happy about your relationship. They tell you that you've looked happier recently and are pleased to finally know the reason. There is one friend, however, who is completely against.

"I don't approve. You can't date him," she outright says.

"Can't? Excuse me?" you become aggravated. You've had some fights in the past, situations when she's been jealous of you hanging out with other friends and has done some toxic stuff behind your back. So, her reaction doesn't come as a complete surprise. But still, it sucks that she hasn't outgrown this kind of pettiness.

"He's like…too old for you. And the fact he was your Professor is just…gross."

"How can you say that? You've never even met him."

"Then, let me meet him."

"Why would you meet him if you've already made up your mind?"

"To make sure he's worthy of you, duh."

"That's my call to make. Not yours."

And with that, you leave. This is just…too much. Later, you talk to another friend about this situation to get a second opinion.

"Nah, fuck her. I mean, it's your relationship, she can't dictate how you feel or who you're seeing romantically."

"Right? That's exactly what I've been thinking."

"It sucks that she said those stuff but maybe you're better off," your other friend shrugs.

"Yeah…For the time being, I'll distance myself from her. If she starts acting like an adult, only then will I consider letting her back in."

"That's totally valid," your friend agrees. "Take your time and look after your mental health."

"Thank you so much. I knew you'd get it."

"Always!"

Soon after that, you hang out at Chan's place and you decide to talk talk to him about the falling-out with that toxic friend.

"Well, technically, I am too old for you."

"The fuck you are! Are you taking her side?" you cry out passionately.

"Hell, no! I'm just saying…you could find any college guy your age and…"

"No, shut up, Chris!" you shake your head, refusing to entertain such an idea. "I don't want anyone but you!"

"But I'm dangerous for you," Chan sighs. But you can't believe that. He's been nothing but kind and accepting in the short time you've known each other.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"You'd think I'm crazy if I told you," he grins somewhat devilishly. "It'd be better if I showed you instead. But then, I'd have to kill you."

"W-what?" you stammer, his behaviour totally unlike the gentle guy you're used to seeing.

Suddenly, Chris grabs your wrist and starts pulling you somewhere.

"W-where are we g-going?" you ask helplessly but he doesn't respond. He's too strong to fight him back so you just try to keep up with his speed and follow him down the stairs and into the basement. Where you'll find answers to questions you didn't even know you were supposed to be asking.

When he unlocks the door, you are greeted with red. A lot of it.

"What is all this?"

"Come on, sweetheart, I thought you were smarter than that," Chris chuckles.

"It's…blood banks," you state the obvious, feeling dumber than ever.

"Wow, you don't say," Chris replies sarcastically.

"Why…why do you have all this blood in your basement? Is it like a…kink thing?!" you gasp in shock.

"No, darling, it's not a kink thing," he laughs, the idea incredibly amusing. "Take a guess."

"Are you a serial killer?" you try to think of a logical explanation.

"You're too realistic," Chris sighs. "Think…something you never thought possible."

"You're…a vampire!" you exclaim triumphantly.

"Bingo," he confirms unenthusiastically. "So, your friend was correct to worry. I am too old for you. And bad for you. I never should have let this go so far."

You shake your head.

"N-no, she's not right," you disagree. "I don't care."

"You don't care?" Chris tilts your chin up, facing you directly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to restrain myself from sucking your blood dry?"

You gulp nervously but refuse to believe he'd actually do that. Especially considering he hasn't done so already…

"Why did you become a Professor surrounded by so many humans if self-control is so hard for you?" you push back cleverly.

"It's never been a problem for me to control my thirst. Until you."

"Then, why did you let me get so close?" you inquire.

"Because I was weak…And lonely. I shouldn't have let you in."

Your eyes tear up with emotion.

"Are you saying you'd be happier without me?"

"Happier?" Chris scoffs. "No, I wouldn't be happier. But you would be safer without me."

"Fuck that," you argue. "I am safe when it's just you and me. Knowing you're a vampire changes nothing about how I feel about you."

"Then, you're even more insane than I am," Chris sighs, unable to deny the growing tension between you two.

You kiss him roughly to prove him right, digging your fingers into his soft hair. He kisses you back just as hungrily, incapable of letting you go.

Yes, he may be dangerous for you. But so are you. Willingly pursuing him, not running away from him despite knowing the truth.

He grabs your hair and pulls back, exposing your neck.

"Last chance to get out of here. That's a warning," Chris whispers darkly.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you grin, completely trusting him.

Even if he was your Professor, even if he is way older than you than you initially thought, even if he is a blood-sucking predator, there is no one else you'd trust so unconditionally, so irrevocably.

"What if I hurt you?" he asks, a hint of worry making his dark eyes glow with warmth.

"You couldn't," you insist and close your eyes, tilting your neck. "You can bite me, if you want."

"You're crazy," Chris repeats.

"I trust you," you speak your thoughts out loud.

And this is his breaking point. He attacks your neck with his sharp fangs, not wanting to hold back any longer. The bite stings but in such a sweet way you would be happy to go, if this was your fate…As he drinks from you, you weakly wrap your hands around his neck for support, needing him to ground you. Just as badly as he needed one taste from your delicious blood. If your blood is what Chris needs for survival, then he will surely be your undoing.

Somehow, against all reason, Chan manages to detach his fangs from your neck.

"Fuck," he caresses your neck, smearing the blood all over your porcelain skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you murmur dazedly. "I'm okay."

He holds you close, kissing your cheeks and trying to clean up the mess he made.

"Let's get out of here," Chan suggests and lifts you in his arms, carrying you back to the coziness of his place.

"I don't mind," you reassure him. "You being a vampire, that is. I love every part about you. I love...you."

"You…love me?" Chan gasps in surprise.

"I do, I love you," you say once again for good measure.

He doesn't say anything, just kisses you again in disbelief. You hug him tightly, finding so much comfort in his arms. Whatever you've heard about vampires doesn't apply to Chan. He's radiating so much warmth you feel you could burn.

"Hold on tight," he warns and you grip the headboard top rail for dear life, as Chan makes sure to show you blood is not the only thing he's interested in drinking.

As he laps up your juices greedily, you find yourself on the verge of losing your sanity. Your hands give out and you let go of the bed's railings and opt for burying your fingers into his curls once more for support.

"Chris, please, please," you cry out, not even sure what you're begging for. For him to stop? For sweet release? It doesn't matter, as long as he stays with you.

Soon enough, your prayers are answered and you start seeing stars floating in the middle of the room.

"Did I kill you already?" he laughs upon seeing your reaction.

"Try harder," you tease him, even though you are already so gone.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Chris shrugs.

He takes off his jeans and stuffs your mouth full with his giant cock. You try to babble something but it's no use and your helplessness only turns him on more. You hug the back of his knees and let him fuck your throat as he pleases, even though you don't have much of a choice in the matter. Your vision is cloudy with tears and you can't even ask for mercy as his cum starts flooding your mouth. If you thought him drinking your blood was overwhelming, this is on a whole 'nother level of dizzying.

Once he's done using and abusing your throat, he pulls his cock out, smirking at you from above.

"You okay, sweetheart? Still alive?"

"Y-yes, d-daddy," you manage to croak out weakly.

Chris shakes his head in amusement upon hearing the sudden title.

"Then, I guess Daddy's gonna have to give ya a rough ride so you'll forget your own name, huh? How does that sound?"

"More, please," you plead desperately and he makes good on his promise.

He enters you without another warning and you can't keep your screams inside.

"G-god, y-yes," you moan.

"God isn't in this room, darling," Chris cackles maniacally. "The devil, however…"

You kiss him again because he's talking so much your brain can't keep up.

"S-so b-big," you cry.

"Yeah? Too big for my little girl?" he teases you.

"N-no. P-perfect. You're perfect," you insist stubbornly.

Chris fucks into you with supernatural stamina and you are grateful for that because even though you want to, you aren't able of keeping pace with him. Instead, you are happy to just hold onto him and focusing all your energy into…well, not passing out. You're so wet for him that his enormous size slides in and out easily, satisfying both of you with the intensity of the feeling. At last, you cum together, overwhelmed by the passion and affection you feel for each other.

He collapses on top of you, not wanting to pull out just yet. You welcome his weight like he's a giant blanket, comforting you.

"Don't wanna let go of you," Chan murmurs cutely.

You stroke his hair once more with a gentle touch. How is this man who has so many more years of experience still such a cute boy, desperate for tenderness?

"Then, don't. I'm all yours to keep," you chuckle weakly.

"That wouldn't be very productive to our academic future," Chan complains.

"It's okay. I feel like we've both earned a little break," you point out.

"From university? Sure. But when it comes to us two…I need no break. No brakes."

"Nicely said," you giggle, ready for another round on this train that never sleeps.

The End

#bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan x reader #chan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #stray kids #chan #writing

2K notes · View notes

bananayuyu · 22 days ago

Text

Tell Me No {2}

Pairing: professor!Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, dark academia vibes

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your relationship with Professor Jeong is blooming, but finals are coming and have you stressed beyond belief. Will you be able to survive them, when all you want to do is spend time with your gorgeous professor?

Warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, praise

A/n: I've got part 3 planned out already, lmk if you wanna be tagged!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Read it on ao3

"How's my favorite student doing?"

Professor Jeong's whisper is so soft you can barely hear it, his face not lifting from the stack of papers on his desk. The classroom is quiet, but not silent, and the blanket of soft chatter is hiding your interaction just enough that you decide to respond.

"Fine, I guess," you whisper back, his head raising in concern. His face is serious as he looks deep into your eyes, trying to read why you've just said that.

"After class," is all he says in return, and you know from the nervous shifting of his eyes that it's time to walk away, time to slink back to your desk.

You were nervous, terribly, horribly nervous for finals, that was why your head was spinning and you were barely getting sleep. It was make or break time, the last two weeks of the semester when every bit of work you'd put in would either pay off, or disintegrate in your hands.

You wished you found school easy, but you just never did. As much as you loved to write you found the structure of classes and exams hard to cope with, even though you knew how important it was for your future career.

If you were ever going to make it as a writer, you'd need connections and letters of recommendation and people on your side. You'd never tasted an ounce of support from your family, when it came to these dreams. Being here had helped you understand how important these University relationships were, that your professors or peers might be people many years down the line who helped you succeed. You'd received more positive feedback in the last few weeks that ever in your life; even your annoying classmate liked your work enough to tell you.

"That last story prof read was yours, wasn't it?" Marcus asks as class ends, the room filled with warmth from the wood stove in the corner, winter now upon you.

"How could you tell?" you ask, rolling your eyes as you turn back to face him.

"You always include a cat in your stories, no matter how irrelevant, it's pretty fucking obvious."

"Okay, sorry for doing that, I guess," you sigh, eyes hitting the ceiling again.

"I'm not tryna be an asshole, seriously, it was good. And prof obviously loved it too, he was smiling the whole time he read."

A jolt of happiness shoots through you at the mention of Professor Jeong's admiration, and it takes every bit of your will to avoid smiling.

"Well, thanks then," you respond, shooting Marcus a quick, tight smile.

"Wow, see, the ice is breaking, you aren't being such a bitch to me anymore," he laughs, grabbing his bag and zipping it closed. "You finally warming up to me?"

"No, absolutely fucking not," you grimace, staring back at his waggling eyebrows.

"Forget I said that, then," he laughs, standing and walking out of the room, your eyes snaking over the empty desks around and the small line of students at the front of the room, asking for extensions or extra credit work to make up their grades before the end of the semester.

"I asked you to rewrite this paper three weeks ago," you hear Professor Jeong telling the boy in front of him, filing the short stories from the day into his bag.

"I know sir, I'm very sorry, I was just too busy with my other classes-"

"I know this is upsetting to hear, but I can't give you more of an extension than I already have. This is a small school, we do not operate with the goal of passing as many students as we can. Other students in this very class have made up work I've requested, within the time I requested it. It simply wouldn't be fair to them to let you get away with this." His eyes raise to meet yours for a moment, before moving down to the boy again. "Listen, you got good grades on your first two papers, and if you do well on the final, you will pass. Just focus on the final, and you will be fine."

The boy shuffles off in frustration, and several students behind follow him too, not bothering to try to convince your professor of giving them second chances. Was it too harsh? You couldn't tell how you felt about it, because a part of you felt so flattered by what he'd said. You were the student who redid work on time, and had worked your ass off since to maintain high grades in all your classes. If you'd neglected work like your classmate had, you'd understand your professor not giving you another chance. You didn't know what the boy's life was like, whether there were legitimate reasons for his inability to rewrite the paper; so much panic, so much worry over a person you didn't know was a clear indication of just how stressed you were.

You could care all day about the plight of everyone around you. But until you secured your independence and stability, you really needed to focus on yourself.

You waited patiently for the last student to exit the room, before gathering your things. You and your handsome professor had tried to not be obvious, to not spend time lingering around each other when other students or faculty were present. But there was something about always being the last to leave class that you liked; even on days when you didn't follow him home, you still got to have at least one private conversation, and even if he hadn't touched you, the few moments alone would leave you tingling with warmth all over.

He hadn't let things escalate any further, in the weeks since. You still made out when you visited his house, still felt his hardness through the thick cotton of his pants, let him touch you and tease you and drive you completely insane. But never had he seemed to want to push it further, and though you should have been laser focused on school, you couldn't help thinking about it. Did he not want you like you wanted him? Was he caught in feeling wrong for liking you the way he did?

Together you exit the building in complete silence, the air still but frigid. You had worn your favorite black leg warmers today, paired with your thickest tights, a white thermal turtle neck, and your warmest navy blue sweater. You even had long socks on, the white contrasting against your dark blue Mary Janes, but you still shivered as you stepped outside. You should have brought your winter coat today, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Usually on clear days like today, the sun warmed the winter air by early afternoon, enough that you wouldn't need so many layers.

You walk fast to help warm yourself, moving through the routine you knew well by now. You wait by the platform as Professor Jeong buys your tickets, and he slips one carefully in your hand as he walks past, only glancing at you a moment before moving to stand ten feet away. Your body aches to follow him and be next to him always, but you know as well as he does that you really shouldn't get caught. As sweet and wholesome as this whole thing felt to you, it wasn't something other people needed to know about. You were sure most wouldn't understand, and those who did might only tease you about it endlessly.

It takes several minutes for the train to arrive, running late due to the freezing weather. Though it'd barely snowed in the morning, enough water froze over on parts of the track to require some last minute maintenance. You both rush to the door with every other waiting passenger, pushing your way close to the front to not miss out on a seat. On days like today no one was walking home, and the trains got uncomfortably full.

You push in behind him, handing your ticket off quickly, and stumble into the seat to his right, pretending like you'd accidentally ended up there and were just thankful to be sitting. People crowd the isle, a pair of legs mere inches from your own. You were thankful they belonged to a girl, one who leaned down and whispered 'sorry!' when a bump in the track knocked her sideways and into you slightly. Most of the students lived just one stop down, and in a few minutes the car is much less chaotic; you finally chance a glance in his direction, taking in his profile, the soft plane of his cheeks and perfect curve of his nose.

His head turns, and suddenly you snap your head away, feeling almost shy. He widens his thighs, leaning forward and sitting more comfortably, but the movement has caused your legs to touch and your whole body burns at the feeling, the opposite of relaxing. You want to mount him, climb into his lap and kiss and ride him until all your problems are forgotten. But you're in public, still several students and other professors littered through the train car, and you have to keep your composure.

Finally, you arrive at his stop. Forthsmith station is as barren as it always is, and as soon as the train is gone his hand is on your back, the two of you making quick work of the small walk to his house. Even he feels cold in his thick wool suit, the late November weather not usually this cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any warmth you can find.

As soon as you're greeted with the warmth of his cozy home, you sigh in relief. He lights the fire under his mantle, and as the wood starts crackling you walk to him, wrapping your arms around his back and squeezing hard. He chuckles, tugging on your arms to release, before turning around and pulling you in, sighing at the perfect feeling of your head tucked in his chest and arms around his back. In a moment you're raising your head to kiss him, and it's warm and sweet and so gentle, making your frigid body melt into him. You hold onto his neck, pulling him in. It's so easy to get lost in each other the moment you're alone, when you have to pretend in all other contexts to barely even notice each other. Soon your kiss is paired with heavy breaths and tongues, and the heat between your thighs is growing fast, your body begging you to find something to grind against.

You pull him to the edge of the couch and push him down on it, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. His cock is obviously hard, and immediately you're grinding against it and kissing him, his hands coming up to grip onto your ass and guide your movements. You've barely spoken a word to each other, because this is all you really wanted to do; to be back in each other's arms after so many days apart, your schedules not allowing for a moment like this in too long.

"How's my pretty girl feeling?" he asks, breaking the kiss and pulling his hands to the sides of your face.

"I'm fine," you whine, frustrated he's not matching your movements anymore. "I'm horny," you whisper.

"I know, angel, I can tell, but you looked upset earlier, I want to know if you're feeling alright."

"I just want you to touch me so I can forget about it all," you sigh, pouting at him.

"That's not how adults deal with their problems, angel," he responds. You roll your eyes, but finally give up your humping, slumping into his chest again. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just very stressed for finals," you say.

"Which final are you most stressed about?" he asks, running a hand down your back.

"Yours," you say, snuggling into him more.

"Mine? Why mine?"

"Cause it's two parts, two separate days, that's really intimidating."

He sighs, taking in a deep breath. "I'm not going to lie to you and say it's easy, but I know you can do it." You just grumble beneath him, not responding with anything coherent. "What always helps me when I'm nervous about something is to do a trial run. I did that with my thesis defense, I performed it to my roommates probably three times in the week leading up to it. It helped a lot."

You nod your head against him, wondering just how hard the rest of your academic career would be, if you'd ever be able to get to the point of defending a doctorate thesis.

"I know what we should do. I will have you do a mock exam tonight, I'll time you and everything, and then you'll get to see that it really isn't so bad."

"What?" you asked, head shooting up. "I don't want to do that, I'm tired..." you whine, looking pathetically frustrated.

"I'll reward you after, how does that sound?" he asks, squeezing your thigh in his hand.

"But the exam is like four hours total," you sigh, pouting.

"We'll just do one section tonight, you get to choose. Which one are you most nervous about?" he asks.

"The- the short story," you stutter. "I think the essay portion will be fine, I've written so many five-paragraph essays in my life. Writing a whole short story by hand in two hours sounds awful though."

"Awful? Like I'm trying to torture you?" he mocks, smirking.

"Shut up," you grumble, turning your head away and making him laugh.

"Okay, short story it is. I'll get you some paper and a pencil and we'll do it in my office, so it feels more like you're at school," he says. "And I promise the reward will be worth it darling, I promise to make you feel so good." His voice is low and sensual as the sentence leaves his lips, and your body shudders with need, your chest flushing. He gives you a quick chaste kiss on the cheek before standing you up, moving to his office to set out the materials you'd need, and pulling out his desk chair for you. In minutes you're sitting at his desk and he's starting his timer, leaving the room to start preparing dinner while you panic internally about what the hell to write about.

It was so hard to come up with something on the spot, no prompt to help you. But like always, the feelings you were having translated right onto the page, and before you knew it a creepy and mysterious story was pouring out of you, atmospheric and unnerving, matching the anxiety you were still feeling about the next two weeks of your life. An hour in he'd brought you a cup of soup, and gingerly you sipped at it without spilling on your pages, careful to dip your roll in the broth and avoid sending crumbs flying in all directions.

"You done?" he asks when he enters again, the timer on his phone beeping. You'd made it the two hours, time flying remarkably fast. Your hand was starting to cramp, but you felt proud of yourself. You'd actually managed to do it, and he was right; you were no longer so fearful of his coming exam.

You nodded at him with a genuine smile, turning your papers around to show him your completed work.

"See, I knew you could do it," he says, leaning down across his desk to place a kiss on your cheek. "Now read it for me, from start to finish."

"Oh, sir, I- I don't know-" You cut yourself off with a sigh, looking away from him.

"I want to hear it," he says, voice low and buttery in that way you love, your insides rolling.

"But it's not very good," you pout, looking back to him.

"I'm sure that's not true," he says, sitting himself on the edge of his desk and crossing his legs. "Come on, read it."

"Okay," you say shakily, letting out a trapped breath.

"'You know what you must do, child,' my mother says. She's staring down the letter I've received, the letter from Lucifer himself, calling upon me. Red ink stains the page, the characters boxy and sharp. 'Come now, or he dies.' And I know exactly who he's referring to. Dahlia is slinking around the side of the room, his rose gold fur shining in the moonlight. My mother tries to resist him, but she's never been able. Who would have ever guessed that a demon lived inside this beautiful cat, cursed for a thousand years to be stuck in this strange form, never knowing who or what will come along next in his life?"

It starts flowing out of you the moment you get over the hurdle of simply starting, and then Professor Jeong's eyes are fixed on you and sparkling with awe, spurring you on further, making your heart sing.

"It was a long trek to the station. The Midnight Train stopped only once in our town, across the river from my family's old stone cottage. As I crossed the bridge the water twinkled, a soft breeze blowing through the tall grass in the valley. It was peaceful and quiet, soft moonlight illuminating the path ahead. Not a soul was out, just the haze of smoke from chimneys. I breathed hard as I neared the station. My body was not up to this sort of journey, but I'd known from the moment I started my letter that I'd be coming here. There was no where else for girls like me to go."

It was easy to speak, easy to feel proud of your work when he looked so pleased. You read through the horrors of the Midnight Train, tried your best to make your voice spooky and haunted, but all it did was make a chuckle escape from deep within him, his beautiful high cheekbones on display. You take in a sharp breath to calm your own laughter, steadying yourself for the last page of your story.

"Through the back door of the dining car, a final room appears to me, and from the shadowy darkness a skeleton comes, creaking in its movements. 'Ms. Delphine, a pleasure,' he says as he bows, his middle ribs clicking together. 'I always appreciate a visit from one of the chosen protectors.' I stare down at my precious companion in my arms, his face soft and tranquil, as if he hadn't noticed the horrors around us. 'It is a true curse, and a true calling,' I nodded, staring into his empty eye sockets. It was clear I had much to learn. The damned see life differently. Of course they do, I thought. How could I have been so short sighted to think otherwise?

The skeleton moves aside, holding a hand out towards the back of the room. With careful steps I glide forward, finally making out the shape of a door. When I open it, the sky is bright and birds are singing, flowers dotting a lush field. In the distance I spot the Unchosen Castle. It is strikingly shiny and bright. I hold a hand up to shade my eyes. 'We'll be seeing you,' the skeleton says. I turn back to him, the room brighter now. Rotting flesh is hanging off his left knee cap. A bullet hole is obvious in the side of his skull.

But as strange as it is, I don't feel panic. When I look down, Dahlia is asleep in my arms. I was called upon, but expected to leave. My old life out of reach, my new life a set of honors. But I had no desire to step out into that field. I close the door instead and breathe in the muskiness. The darkness greets me. For the first time in my life, I feel completely at home."

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Professor Jeong says, shaking his head and clasping his hands together. "Promise me you will write horror books when you're older."

"I want to," you smile, blinking as you look up at him.

"It's a wonderful style, almost a cozy horror, if that makes sense."

You turn your eyes down, overcome with the way he's so perfectly described what you were going for. To know it had translated off the page sent your head spinning. Could you really do this, become a successful author? It was him above anyone else, who was making you believe in that future.

"Come on, let's go back to the living room," he says as he grabs your empty bowl, pushing in his desk chair once you stand out of it.

As soon as you're back in the coziness of the fire-lit room, your hands are on him and his are on you, grabbing for every bit of each other.

"My little genius," he sighs, kissing you soft and tenderly, arms wrapping tightly around you. "You did so good for me, doing exactly what I asked. And you wrote so well."

"I wanna be good for you, that's all I want to do," you sigh, opening your mouth further, relishing in feeling his tongue against yours, the soft warmth tantalizing and true.

"Let me taste you then," he says, and you suddenly can't breathe, jitters snaking their way up through your legs and landing straight in your core. "That sound good?" he chuckles, your shocked face so utterly adorable, and you murmur a soft 'mhm' before kissing him again.

He lets you deepen it, pulling your faces together and relishing in the taste of each other's mouths. Your body is tight against him, on your tiptoes to reach as high as you can, but still he is bent over slightly to meet you, holding onto your low back as you arch into his touch. Your hips press against his, and you can feel how hard he is already; you swear he's yearning to fuck you as much as you're yearning for it too, but he's taking his time, waiting patiently, and something about that is making your brain melt even more.

You'd never been treated so respectfully in your life. It was such a confusing feeling, because you knew he shouldn't be wanting you like this at all. But if anyone was a fly on the wall and could see how he acted, you were sure no one would think negatively of him at all.

Slowly he breaks the kiss, planting a final peck on your nose before leaning down and undoing the strap on each of your shoes, helping you carefully step out of them. Then he pulls off your leg warmers, setting them in a pile beside your shoes. The anticipation of what's coming off next sends shivers through you, and when he looks up he catches sight of the lust in your eyes, his eyes shiny in the yellow light. He takes his time with your tights, pulling gently at the waist to move them over your hips, and his hands feel electric against your bare ass, making your mouth water. As he pulls them down your thighs he relishes the moment, planting soft kisses in your plushness and moving closer and closer to the small nest at your center, making you squirm.

"You smell amazing, angel," he says, his pupils blown at he looks up at you, his eyes darker now than you'd ever seen them. He looks good like this, his cheeks slightly flushed, hair faintly disheveled. You wonder what he'd look like after a good ravishing, how perfect he'd be with swollen lips and completely messy hair. You reach down to mess it up further, the dark black locks soft and lusciously thick in your hand. Soon he's pulled your tights completely down, and you hold onto his shoulders to balance as you step each foot out in quick succession.

"Come here," he says, leading you to the couch and sitting you down as he'd been earlier. When he leans in you grab onto his suit jacket again, pulling him closer and deeper, loving the feeling of the soft, thick wool in your hands. Since winter started he'd been wearing gorgeous suits every day, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't so incredibly distracting during class.

"You like my suit?" he asks, chuckling as he makes his way to your neck and places gentle kisses from your jaw to your shoulder, making you shudder in pleasure.

"Yes," you sigh in response, tipping your head back.

"Does it turn you on?" he jokes further.

"Yeah, it does," you chuckle, lifting your head back up to nip at his ear in retaliation. He just laughs and pulls back, before diving into your plush lips again and devouring you. He's been thinking about this for days, and it's making his head fuzzy that you're half naked in front of him, spread wide on his couch.

Finally he moves down to your thighs, leaving gentle nips and licking along the length of them, making you wetter as your cunt tingles in need. It's agonizing waiting for him to get there, but when he does, when he licks a slow stripe up the entire length of your slit and moans at the taste, it's more than worth it. Your back is already arching, knees pushing themselves even wider so he has all the room he needs. He does it again, before focusing his attention on your clit, licking slow half circles around it, the warmth of his tongue too perfect to comprehend.

He spends his time working you up, holding onto your thighs and whispering praises, 'god you taste so fucking good,' or 'good girl, open up for me.' Your cunt is flushed and pink and wet for him, and finally he brings his right hand to meet his mouth, slipping to finger slowly into you and making you almost scream.

The deepness of the feeling is instantly delicious. You reach your hands out to grip onto his hair, groaning in pleasure as he starts sucking harder, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, but with force. He's curling them up in that perfect way, hitting the exact spot that drives you crazy, and the pleasure builds fast, your cunt feeling fiery-hot and utterly amazing. It's taking your breath away, how smooth he is, how each movement seems perfectly controlled and perfectly tailored to you. He looks up once, catching your eye, and you almost fall over the edge in an instant from the sight of him between your legs, his pink cheeks stained with your wetness. You throw your head back, moaning loudly, and he picks up his speed slightly, feeling the walls of cunt starting to shake, knowing what's about to come.

Suddenly your pleasure is growing higher than you expect, but even as it reaches amazing heights, it keeps building, keeps growing. You're almost screaming at the feeling, so intense you're unable to comprehend it at all, and then suddenly you feel it, your legs shaking, your cunt squeezing down on him, and the extreme wetness spilling out of you. You look down to see his face covered in your squirt, a look of pure satisfaction on his face as he milks you through all of it, your high-pitched moans the most beautiful melody. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you've ever had, and by the end you're dumbfounded, slumping back into his couch and breathing uncontrollably, blinking in your confusion.

"That was so hot, fuck," he groans when he finally pulls away from you, moving back up to wipe a hand over your cheek and take a look at your eyes. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes, I definitely am," you chuckle, a small tear escaping from your right eye, and you wipe it away quickly. "That was fucking crazy."

"Have you ever squirted before?" he asks.

"No, I didn't know I could," you answer, smiling shyly.

"Fuck," he sighs, ego doing somersaults at knowing he was the one to help you discover that ability. He chuckles before sitting himself down next to you, wrapping you up in his arms and cradling you, planting soft kisses on your forehead as you come down.

Twenty minutes later you're a yawning mess, your body completely wracked from how hard you came. It was also growing late, the street outside dark and gloomy, the fire crackling in the corner was giving you much needed warmth that was only adding to your sleepiness.

"I don't think I can make it home," you tell him, looking up with upward turned eyebrows, hoping he'll let you stay.

"No staying here until finals are done," he says, shaking his head, and you pout and shove your head in his chest, frustrated. "I want you to stay here with me too, darling, but I can't be the reason you don't make it to your classes tomorrow."

You sigh in knowing he's right, that it's probably not a good idea to stay when you have such important days ahead. It takes all your remaining energy to stand up, redressing in the warmth of his living room, and sliding on your shoes. He brings your bag for you, carrying it as he walks you back to the station, before sending you off with a quick kiss on the cheek.

The train is nearly empty so late, and the air feels colder when you step off, without him by your side. But all you can think about is his mouth and fingers and tongue, and that night you sleep like a baby, completely and totally content.

next part ->

Taglist: @iamalily @atzri @marii1087 @dilfkimhjj @yunyuniverse

Thank you all for the feedback and support <3333333333

#ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #yunho smut #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #ateez #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x y/n #yunho x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #jeong yunho smut

244 notes · View notes

anothermaletfwriter · 3 months ago

Text

Soft and Sweet Macademia

Braydon was your typical jock, he loved to workout with his homies and be with his girl. She was Bethany, a nerd. Not that competitive gamer nerd he dreamed of, but rather a bookish one. They met a party and she instantly fell in love with him as he fulfilled the “nerd x jock” trope she had long yearned for.

Today, he was dragged by her to the bookstore for a special promotional event. In the brightly lit modern store that made him regret not bringing his sunglasses inside, a large bright green banner with low quality black bold typography said “Try An Extrasensory Novel today.” There were brightly green bookshelves of new trending books below it. A scent of macadamia nuts punched his nostrils.

“What the fuck?” He sniffed the air like a weirdo, “Do you smell that?”

“I don’t smell anything. The nearest coffee place is on the other side of the mall,” Bethany said, fixing her freshly dyed red hair. She had painted his white bathroom like a crime screen in an attempt to save hundreds of dollars.

“You must have lost your sense of smell then. It’s so pungent.”

“It’s not a spill. There’d be ants crawling all over this place right now.”

“It’s driving me fucking crazy,” Braydon dug his big hands into his scalp, subtly flexing his bicep, which was tightened by his white compression shirt, “I need to find out where it's coming from.”

“Right,” She rolled her dark eyes and flashed an attempted smile, “While you have your Telltale Nut moment, I’m going to the fantasy section. Wanna join me?”

“No. You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“Are you kidding me?” She looked up at him, only reaching up to his chest. Her eyes ready to kill the muscular jock in front of her. “I play your games with you, watch those movies with you. Is it much to ask wish for my boyfriend to be actually into books I like. Plus dressing in a dark academia style.”

“More like I’m gonna dark macadamia nut in you when we get home after this," From his towering view over the shelf, Bethany walked herself to the other side of the store, her arms crossed. He imagined her annoying grumbling to herself. He knew she wasn’t a perfect fit so why should she assume he was?

The scent intensified as he knelt down on the bottom row of the shelf. His long legs extended far out, acting as a trip hazard for any unfortunate passersby's. While he had expected a spill of someone’s overpriced coffee, the smell lead him to single out a specific book. He swiped it out, brushing through the pages for any soaked spots but he couldn’t find any. The scent seemed to emanate from the entire book itself. He landed back on the cover, which was unappealing and bratty. While the background was a flat color of an obnoxious green, the text was a horror show. It was stretched out and in low quality. It read “Absolute Calculus: Being Open To Changes in Extrema”. It appealed to the jock as he was familiar with the concept of calculus, notably from the math classes he had to take for his finance degree. He believed he was better than the rest of his field as he took harder math classes than them.

Turning to the back, the blurb was soft and easy to the eyes with its soft tropical fruit palette of oranges to greens. It was a self-motivational book. Its main thesis pointed out the ultimate cause of human suffering: simply being unopen to novel things. It included knowledge, lifestyle and even experiences. He needed this

By the time he had flipped to the table of contents, he didn't realize he was getting smaller in height and build. His clothes became oversized on him, resembling more pajamas than a casual attire. While he was repulsed by some of the chapter titles, including accepting your non-het sexuality, he was unable to put the book down. This wasn't him. No matter how hard he pushed on his now dainty fingers, his eyes and hands were glued to the book, turning the multiple pages. He felt himself deflating and shrinking. He noticed that his once mountainous biceps had become nothing but flat plateaus and his impressive set of pecs deflated into a meager chest. He coughed violently as his Adam's apple shrunk, turning his mountainous voice into a soft dainty one.

What the fuck was happening? His soft fingers with nails painted in green flipped to Chapter 4: Self-acceptance is the key to accepting others. He tried to scream for Bethany to help but he didn’t know her. It would be rude to call out a stranger. But that couldn’t be right? That was his girlfriend. No, she was just a random book girl at the same store as him. His experiences of throwing week long benders and sleeping with a carousel of women afterwards faded. They seemed more like videos he had watched online than a lived reality. Visions of conquests of women replaced by men conquering him. The book had converted his heterosexuality into an irreversible total homosexuality. He was no longer the buff jock that sat next to the hot girls so he could be grouped together with them back in college. He was the quiet gay guy that sat in the back of the class, often wooed by the more upfront and passionate gay men that wanted him and his body. His eyes, once clung to women, had shifted its vision to guys. He wasn’t one to be picky, as he liked everything from twinks to hunks and everything in between those two. Even the dad-bod was something that turned him on.

Chapter 12: It’s All Perfect As It Is. With a dizzy head, he finished the book and returned it to the top shelf, struggling to place it even on his tippy toes. Brady felt a quick chill breeze through the room. He dug his hand underneath his oversized fuzzy hoodie and felt the smooth stomach flatten out. His memories of Bethany and her red-hair morphed into a different person. It was another Asian twink, they held their hands together in a cozy apartment and played on their Nintendo Switch. The earthy charcoal cologne he recalled using became sunshine vanilla perfumes that his boyfriend, Jeremy, purchased for his birthday.

The slim twink approached him, hugging him from the behind. Brady was only up to his shoulder. It felt good with his liking to being the little spoon.

“What took you so long, Babe? I looked at ten books while you were just looking at one?” Jeremy chuckled.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. You know I like taking my time with books.”

"Well there's other books in this store, babe," Jeremy teased, bopping Brady's nose.

They checked out the rest of the store, leaving with a few romance books purchased in their pink heart decorated totebag. They bumped into another couple on the way out and briefly apologized to them. He looked at the tall muscular man dressed in his beige jacket and black shirt, wishing that he was also into guys. He whispered to Jeremy about jokingly asking him if he wants to be their 3rd if they see him another time by himself.

Jeremy and Brady cuddled on the couch together, their bag of books untouched on the clean coffee table. Jeremy was always the one to initiate, including a make out session with Brady. Their lips were soft and fruity as they embraced each other with their tongues on their soft couch.

They spent the rest of the day on an impromptu spa night. They applied a green jelly mask, consisting of green tea and aloe vera, to their faces and wore cute soft pink headbands. It was a typical zen they practiced every week. Stress and such can cause more damage than one could imagine. They turned on the TV to watch the adaptation of CardiacPauser, Jeremy and Brady’s favorite series. Before they returned to the couch, they took a picture together in their bathroom, holding each other with their large smiles. It was just them and the rest of the world. This is what he was meant to be and nothing else.

#male tf #male transformation #tf story #twink tf #jock to twink #straight to gay #mental change #reality change #muscle loss

355 notes · View notes

she-who-fights-and-writes · 2 years ago

Text

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

#writing #writers #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #studying #writing playlist #roleplay #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing inspo #writing inspiration #inspo #music #music rec #instrumental music

2K notes · View notes

tiamathh · 5 months ago

Text

Walk Walk Fashion Baby

Hi girlies new year new style ykwim anyway this is a pac that i have been wanting to make for a long time but i was like idk how many ppl will like it etc but now idc about all that i want to have fun so here it is!! Have fun and stay hydrated. muah <33 also my paid readings are open there are a few slots (15) if anyone's interested xx ciao <3 like and rb if you like xx

Masterlist / Paid Readings + FB / Tip jar

Pile 1

Hi pile 1! You need to try that classical, timeless, style, i know it can be annoying to look at all the beige and muted tones but its so much more than that like, picture this, a tailored blazer or high-waisted trousers that fit like a dream. tbh I am also getting pearls for some reason so maybe adding neckklaces as accessories can be something you are interested in to incorporate in your style next year. Start with a simple white shirt, a fitted black dress, or a pair of cut jeans. Then you can accesorise with delicate gold bracelet, a black bag, or a string of pearls again with the pearls they are calling for you right nowww.

Moreover, another style you can incorporate is just as sharp, and elegant so like the whole academia aesthetic, regardless of light or dark that doesn’t matter but what I am trying to say is, clothes with shape. Like cinched wastes and just clothes that create shape for you are like something you really should give thought to. It’s about being comfortable but also looking effortlesss while doing it all, I think basics like camis, just plain shirts/tshirts are something you need more of in your closet because theres so many ways to style them other than just for formal wear. Like one style inspo is literally Proncess Diana cannot get more elgant than her istg, enjoy muah <33

Pile 2

Y’all this is my pile you guys are my PEOPLE ok to begin with you need to stop being afraid of colour and looseness like not everything has to be tight and fitted especially just because the microtrend world says so. Experiment with “loud” colours and different textures, things you may have thought are “odd” and don’t look good, because trust me the way it can all be pulled together is crazy and so much fun!! Layer, the most important part, stack rings and bracelets and go for those colours that lowkey hurt your eyes because fashion is about colour and pattern and texture and taking all of it out of fashion just makes it dull imo.

Start with a bright coloured tshirt, maybe something like yellow, then layer on, very “indie kid” aesthetic like the high saturation stuff. Mixed with that I am also getting maximalism to the MAX layer layer layer, stack stack stack you should look like a walking apparell store (kidding) seriously though if you have been feeling like you want to experiment with something like this and oxidised jewellery and mixing different styles mainly because all of your wardrobe is mismatched (me) then go for it because I promise it will come out looking way better than you may have imagined.

Pile 3:

Ooo I love this, okay so very romanticised, very coquette but not really, this is also the pile which will look so good in pastels in lighter colours. All I am getting in my head are those pictures of people on picnics in their flowy outfits and dresses looking so pretty and at peace, bows and dellicate bangles, just a very dainty aesthetic im thinking light fabrics and romantic fashion like lace-trimmed dresses, pastel skirts and floral prints, very fairytaile-ish. Ruffles or embroidery too and just magical overall. Also the complete opposite of pile 2 here, minimalist aesthetic may suit you a lot so try it out next year!

I am talking about keeping it simple, not too much with the accessorising and maybe a staple or statement accessory piece that goes with everything and anything you wear. Also for some of you with this simplistic style, you may have to be pushed to try on something more glam too like a bold red lip when it comes to makeup, like be bolder with your makeup experiment with more purples, pinks and reds while keeping the outfits simpler.

#tarot reading #tarot readings #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pac reading #pac #pick a card #tarotblr #tarot cards

219 notes · View notes

arvandus · 6 months ago

Text

The Beauty of Broken Things

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Content warnings: SFW; reader with (vague) mental health issues; Reader has self-deprecating thoughts and low self-esteem; hurt/comfort; lots of dialogue; romance; first kiss (cuz I'm a sap 💚)

Author's Note: Not me coming out of hiatus to drop this at 1:20am on a weekday. ANYWAY.... I was going through it a month or so ago and this was very therapeutic and self-indulgent to write. Hopefully you'll find some comfort in it as well. 💚

You creep into the RAD greenhouse under the cover of the Devildom darkness. The warm yellow lights, usually on to allow students to observe and take notes, are turned off for the evening, causing the devildom flora to transform from something familiar to something alien, branches reaching like arms and long, pointed leaves stretched out like grasping fingers.

But despite the sinister threat of danger that is interlaced in the native plant life, it still feels comforting. The gnarled limbs and black leaves feel more protective than threatening, arching over your head to provide a canopy of privacy in the quiet, uninhabited space.

Usually the greenhouse is a bustle of student activity, with botany classes often perusing the aisles with their notebooks and art students lingering with their sketchbooks. But classes had long since ended, the busy chaos of academia ushered away by the sinking of the large Devildom moon, bringing with it night within night.

You need this. You need the silence, the privacy, the darkness. The House of Lamentation doesn’t offer it. The Demon Lord’s castle is also not an option as you don’t want to impose purely for the sake of self-isolation.

No, this is perfect. It is safe, safer than losing yourself in the real forests that press against the outskirts of the Devildom. It is a place for hiding, a place for becoming invisible. It is a place that makes you feel small, from the tightly clustered plants around you to the vast starry sky that slowly rotates high beyond the confines of the glass ceiling. You could almost pretend you’re a bug, an insect, or some other small life form who’s only purpose is to exist in the here and now, moment to moment.

Maybe then you could find peace in your mind; maybe that voice of sickness and lies that whispered louder than any demon would fall silent.

Not all days were this bad. But the added stress, the fatigue.... you knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself dangerously close to that pitch black rock bottom. You felt it encroaching, a shadow teasing the edges of your mind, and you knew... you knew you had to find somewhere to gather yourself, to work through it without interruption or curious eyes.

This helps. A place of quiet, of privacy, of nature, even if the nature isn’t your own. In its own alien way, it’s perfect.

Perfect, but also lonely. You both love and hate it, glad to be unnoticed for once but vulnerable against the rare isolation. Rare, but not unfamiliar. You sit with it; let it soak into your bones. Like putting on old shoes that still fit, worn soles perfectly conformed to your feet, your mind eases into accepting that familiar ache, a feeling not often experienced anymore, but still deeply rooted in old memories and dreams. The old loneliness hollows you out, slows the blood rushing through your veins as your mind eventually quiets to a low hum of white noise. It brings its own twisted kind of peace; not the healthy kind that heals and rejuvenates, but the broken kind that separates you from yourself, an act of cutting rather than mending.

If you could turn to stone in this moment, you would.

But not even this will last forever, your quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of the door to the greenhouse opening and closing. The sound of the click and the creak of the hinge is startling against the endless quiet, and it makes you jolt. You fight the irrational urge to hide within the surrounding shrubbery, as if such an act would truly hide you at all, and instead curl in on yourself with arms and legs crossed on the stone bench where you sit.

Whoever it is, is as silent as a ghost; you hear no footsteps, nor sounds of breath. Whoever it is does not speak, so you know instantly it is not any of the brothers or even Diavolo. But you feel their presence, and you know they feel yours. There is an awareness in the air that wasn’t present before, the atmosphere going from one of empty quiet, to buzzing consciousness.

A moment later, a familiar pair of polished black shoes come into your field of view, attached to a familiar set of legs that stand formally in a way that only a royal butler could accomplish.

You look up and your eyes meet Barbatos, who stares down at you with a calm, curious expression and a slight tilt of his head. He’s still dressed in his RAD uniform, but his white gloves are removed, likely tucked into the interior chest pocket of his tailcoat.

“MC,” he says gently. “I did not expect you to be here. You do know that the RAD campus is closed, yes?”

“I know,” you reply.

Even so, you make no motion to move, your body still curled within itself protectively. It isn’t so much to protect against him, but to hold onto that feeling of smallness that helps to separate you from the ache in your chest and the cacophony of your mind.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Some of the flora require care after school hours, so I tend to them prior to locking up for the evening.”

“Ah.” Your sour mood strips you of your warmth, your words fading away as you retreat back into yourself.

Barbatos stares at you for a moment longer, before gesturing to the bench. “May I?”

You return his stare with your own before moving over just enough to make room for him. The bench is small, comfortable for one, a slight squeeze for two, but he sits nonetheless, seemingly unbothered. The proximity of him is a brand and a blessing, the heat of him surprisingly comforting while your heart thuds harder in your chest. You’re rarely ever this close to him, any prior instances of physical contact occurring out of necessity rather than choice.

You both sit in silence for a long time. You aren’t sure if he is expecting an explanation from you, but you couldn’t give one even if you wanted to, the struggles within yourself too tangled to fully unravel, especially with how weathered you feel.

Finally, after a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence, the smooth richness of his voice breaking the quiet that sits like a bridge between you.

“I often find the Devildom flora more beautiful in the dark.”

It is an olive branch, and you take it, a small smile curling the corners of your lips.

“Me too,” you reply. “It feels more natural this way. When the lights are on, it feels like we’re trying to force the plants and flowers to be something they’re not.”

Barbatos stares at you for a long, quiet moment before returning his gaze ahead of him. “Indeed. Things are more beautiful when they are allowed to be themselves.”

A sentiment you share, and yet it isn’t one you can extend to yourself, and it cuts you.

“I wish that were always true...” you mutter.

It’s a thought whispered past private lips, and you regret them instantly when his keen, green eyes, nearly black in the darkness, flick back to you.

“Why would it not be?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably and swallow the lump that suddenly manifests where your voice is supposed to be.

“I don’t know...” you finally mutter evasively.

You feel his eyes lingering on you, and it feels as if he can read the dark thoughts that live there, shadow where sunlight should be. But if he can read your mind, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t pry further.

Instead, Barbatos does something that you do not expect. His hand covers yours, untangling your fingers from your tightly clasped palms that sit in your lap. His touch is warm, warmer than you thought it’d be, and you can’t help but wonder how different his body really is from yours when it feels so human.

You watch as Barbatos twines his fingers with yours, a simple but shockingly intimate action. It’s surprisingly comforting, fulfilling a longing within you that you didn’t even realize you carried so heavily until just now; an anchor of companionship, unwavering in its simplicity, gentle in its unassuming nature. There’s a lack of expectation in Barbatos’s touch, a quiet acceptance of the here and now, of the you of this moment, rather than the ‘you’ that you always present to others, or the ‘you’ that others expect of you.

It makes something within you surrender. It forces the dissociation from your mind, pulling you instantly back into reality, into your body. Barbatos’s tenderness, given freely without price, carves a space for itself within your chest, and it hurts, the sudden sharpness of vulnerability an open wound. That vulnerability is unfamiliar, raw, terrifying. It calls forth your fears, makes the voices of wrongness sing louder than ever, listing all of the ways you are undeserving of this moment. And you’re angry, angry at their presence, and their ability to ruin even this for you, to taint something peaceful and beautiful with something so ugly.

The tears finally come, blurring your vision and spilling over silently onto your cheeks. More come immediately after, and you sniff, your nose starting to run as you wipe at your face. A handkerchief appears within your view, and you take it, your heart too shy and embarrassed to look at Barbatos properly or even offer him a mumbled thank you. But he shows no discomfort or disdain for your tears or lack of manners. Instead, he sits quietly with you, waiting patiently as he holds your hand securely within his own, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes on the soft skin between your thumb and index finger.

Quietly you cry, and quietly he waits. Each second longer that you cry is a confession of your imperfection, your brokenness, and each second longer that Barbatos stays by your side is an acceptance, a forgiveness. And so, without even speaking to one another, the very act of this shared moment provides a cleansing of your heart that you’d never felt before. Each drop of salty water is a purge, a release. There’s an amusing irony to it; an exorcism of sorts in a place where God isn’t welcome, supported by a creature who’s existence came from darkness.

The catharsis brings release, and the release brings fatigue. The rigidness of your spine gives way to something more pliable, and you lean your head against his shoulder as you continue to weep, albeit gentler now that the worst of it has passed. Barbatos lets you, his thumb barely missing a beat in its strokes against your hand. He makes no effort to increase his physical reassurance; no arm around your shoulder, no leaning of his head against the crown of yours. You’re grateful for it, not quite ready to be touched so completely. Maybe soon... after all, the thought does entice you... but not yet. Not when your heart is still raw and tender.

No, this is perfect. It’s just enough.

Finally, the floodwaters of your heart recede, and you wipe away the last traces of wetness from your cheeks with his silk handkerchief. It’s damp with tears and snot now, and you know you’ll have to wash it before returning it to him. You fiddle with it with your free hand, your thumb tracing along the cursive B that is sewn into its corner with dark thread, the color muted to black in the dark.

Your hands are still intertwined with each other, your head still resting against his shoulder, and you’re grateful for it as you find the courage to finally speak, your eyes still trained on that cursive B.

Your voice is quiet, hushed by hesitancy. “Barbatos...I have a question...”

“Hm?”

“When I die, and my soul leaves my body.... does.... does that mean that the mental illness won’t be there anymore? Does that part get left behind?”

“Ah,” Barbatos says softly, his voice rich with understanding. “I see.”

You sit up, although his hand still holds yours; after all, you haven’t pulled away yet. But your eyes... your eyes are downcast, the shame of your breakdown too heavy regardless of Barbatos’s tenderness.

Now that you’ve finally confessed your fear it becomes easier to speak, and the words come more freely. “I’m just... I’m tired of being this way. Feeling this way, thinking this way. It’s always there, like this big, lurking monster that I can’t escape from. Except it’s a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And I’m—” tears choke your words, but you force yourself to continue even as your eyes once again brim and sting. “I’m just so afraid that it’ll never go away. Even when I die, and my soul is separated from this broken fucking body—”

A long, slender finger covers your lips, halting your impending tirade of self-loathing. It forces you to finally look at him, and you’re surprised to see how deep the concern goes within his dark gaze.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t say such things. It does the richness of all that you are a disservice.”

His words stun you into silence, and you stare at him wide-eyed. He holds your gaze for a moment longer before taking the handkerchief from your clenched fist. You start to protest, embarrassed at the state of it, but he ignores your concerns and uses a relatively clean spot to wipe away your new tears.

You fall silent as he cares for you, and in that silence, he begins to speak.

“You humans so often like to label and categorize things, an attempt at making sense of the world around you when you’re forever doomed to know so little. Lines of comparison drawn on a beach, not realizing that in the end, it’s all made of sand.”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“What you’re speaking of is a sickness of the mind, correct?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it...”

Barbatos takes your palm in his hand and turns it face up. “I’ve heard you humans often use the term ‘mind, body, and soul’ as if they are all separate. Back when I spent time in the human realm, humans treated the soul as synonymous with the heart and the mind as synonymous with the brain, both housed within the body.” With his finger, he draws one large circle, and within it, places two dots vertically spaced from each other.

You stare at your palm as you ponder his words. “Yes,” you say, “that idea still lingers... sort of...”

You take his hand in yours, and draw your own circles – a small, a medium, and a large, all inset within each other like a target.

“I think... I see the soul and mind as synonymous of each other, in way, that they depend on each other. Or...”

You hesitate, your fears surfacing again as you stare at Barbatos’s open palm.

“I think...” you continue slowly, “I think I’m afraid that they’re the same thing. That the soul only exists because of the mind. If that’s true, then if my mind is broken, then so is my soul, and I’ll be carrying that brokenness with me forever. It’s like... trying to forge something using a metal riddled with impurities. The integrity will always be compromised, no matter how beautiful the shape in the end.”

Barbatos’s open hand closes around yours, cradling your fingertips that still rest against his skin. He turns your hand over palm up again.

“Imagine this” – he draws a large circle – “is your body. And this” – he draws a smaller circle within it – “is your mind.”

You wait for the third circle, but it never comes. You frown.

“Where is the soul?”

“Everywhere,” he says.

Your gaze lifts from your open hand to his eyes. He smiles back at you in quiet mirth, then drops his gaze back to your hand. His fingers retrace over the larger circle he’d first drawn into your palm.

“Your soul,” he repeats, “is everywhere.”

Confusion once again surfaces in the contours of your face. Barbatos stares at you for a moment as he searches for the words in a way that you can understand. His eyes sink deep beneath the surface of you, and it makes you shift beneath his gaze. After a moment he blinks, his amusement returning.

“Perhaps it is my choice of words that is unclear,” he says. “Allow me to try again.”

He pokes your forehead with his index finger. “Your mind is not the same as your soul the way you fear. It is simply consciousness, self-awareness provided you by your biology,” he explains.

“You mean my brain.”

“Yes.”

“So my mind is just another part of my body.”

“Precisely. Your body is merely the medium through which you experience this life, whether it’s through your senses, such as sight and touch, or through your consciousness.”

He returns to your hand, his fingers tracing the invisible large circle for a third time.

“Your soul, on the other hand, is a different thing entirely. It isn’t something that can be contained to one organ within you. Not your heart, not your brain. It’s deeper than that, richer,” he says quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His touch travels, his fingertips gliding feather-light across your palm, up your wrist, following the tendons and veins to your forearm where goosebumps begin to awaken across your sensitive skin.

“It’s energy. It’s life,” he continues. “It’s eternal, and it’s woven into every fiber of your being, a golden thread holding you together like the universe’s most exquisite tapestry.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers curve around your forearm until he holds it within his hand, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin where your veins rest beneath. His words enrapture you, his touch enthralls you. If there was ever a moment in your life you could stay trapped in forever, it would be this one.

But the moment is short-lived. Barbatos’s soothing touch halts mid-motion, his expression turning blank, as if he suddenly remembers himself and realizes the growing intimacy of the exchange. He withdraws his hand, and it leaves a cold emptiness where his warmth had been.

You ponder his words, but it only leads to more questions.

“My soul is everywhere...” you mutter. “But Barbatos... if it’s woven into my body, then how...?”

“How does your soul pass on after you die?”

You nod.

Barbatos holds his chin in his fingers thoughtfully. “You are thinking too literally. Perhaps it is my own failure to find the right words. Human speech doesn’t offer enough nuance to fully describe something your kind still struggles to understand.”

He ponders a moment longer, his brow knit together in concentration. Finally his head lifts and his gaze meets yours. “Ah. Perhaps we can describe it as such. Your body is made of matter, correct? And if you look deep enough, you know that all matter is made up of atoms. But not even atoms ever completely touch.” He takes your hand in one of his and holds it up, your palm facing him, as he brings his other hand within a hair’s breadth; close enough to feel the heat emanating off of him, but not actually touching. “There’s a negative space, ever present yet so infinitesimal that you’d never know it’s there.” His hand finally touches yours, his fingers aligned with yours as he splays them out. “It is this space that your soul exists, interwoven, encapsulating every atom of what you are.”

You’re staring at your touching hands, wide-eyed now, as you take in what he’s told you. The scope of it feels nearly too vast to properly comprehend, despite how hard you try.

“It’s all very... complicated...” you mutter as you finally lower your hand back to your lap.

“Hm, is it?” Barbatos replies with a curious tilt of his head. “Here then, another example, but simpler. If you were to lose a limb, would it damage your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re separate.”

And finally, it clicks for you.

Barbatos smiles. “Precisely. So, if a lost limb will not damage your soul, then why should a damaged mind?”

The weightlessness of relief begins to spread from the center of your chest, and you release a long, deep breath.

“I see,” you say. “So when I die...”

“When you die, your soul continues on, transformed, as your body decays.”

The balloon of relief breaks and you do a doubletake. “...transformed?”

Barbatos nods. “Yes, by your experiences and choices in this life.”

Once again that despair rears, the dark void opening beneath your feet as you cling to your dwindling hope. You once again wrap your arms around yourself protectively, as if you are the only one who can keep yourself from falling, despite the presence of the demon directly in front of you.

“But... Barbatos,” you protest, “sometimes mental illnesses can cause people to make bad choices. Wrong choices. Hurtful choices. If those can impact the soul, then wouldn’t that mean the soul does get damaged? Or tainted?”

Barbatos falls silent for a long moment, and you avoid looking into his eyes, your gaze downcast. His hand reaches out and covers your forearm reassuringly, but your arms remain crossed.

“As a demon, I cannot attest to how just the Celestial Realm’s rules are. I, for one, find them to be rather suffocating and arbitrary, lacking in nuance. But even I would be shocked if such things weren’t taken into consideration when it is time for a soul to be set upon the scales of judgment.”

Scales of judgment... the idea makes you nauseous.

Barbatos’s touch to your forearm is replaced by both of his hands on your arms just below the shoulders. You can tell from the way he moves that he is ducking his head lower in an attempt to catch your avoiding eyes, but you keep yourself hidden lest your tears return.

“MC....” he says softly, “are you worried that you will be judged unfairly when your time comes?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, and when you do it’s thicker, heavy under the weight of emotions. “Maybe... or maybe I’m worried I’ll be judged fairly.”

“If you do not go to heaven when your time comes, then the Celestial Realm truly is run by fools.”

His words surprise you, and you finally catch his gaze, amusement beneath a raised, sarcastic brow. Your skin grows hot and you avert your eyes for a different reason, your shoulders lifting slightly in subtle retreat.

“Well,” you continue, “you said yourself that the soul gets transformed during this life. I’ve made some not-so-great choices, so far. I’ve done things I regret; hurt people I’ve loved and even people I didn’t. What if my soul is not as good as I hope?”

Barbatos gives a soft scoff of amusement, his brows pinching up in the center as he stares at you in wry amusement. “My dear, the very idea that your soul is anything but good is quite literally an impossibility.”

Your tension loosens slightly. “How do you know?”

The corner of one side of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Well, to start, I am a demon. And as one of the oldest demons, I have devoured countless souls across my lifetime. If anyone is to be an expert on the quality of a soul it would be me.”

Something about the way he talks so simply about his violence, combined with his intimate kindness, makes you feel lightheaded.

It takes an extra heartbeat for you to find enough air in your lungs to speak. “And, uh...what does a demon such as yourself consider high quality?”

Barbatos stares distantly, and for a moment he feels ancient. When he speaks, his voice seems almost otherworldly, holding a resonance to it that wasn’t there before. “It varies from demon to demon. Some enjoy the flavor of corruption upon a soul, some prefer the sweet, crisp freshness of innocence and purity... but all human souls possess something that ours lack, something that makes us crave. We’re drawn to it, in the way your human realm plants are drawn to sunlight.” He pauses and shakes his head. “No, perhaps that analogy is too mild. It is more how the Devildom’s Succubus’s Kiss lures its victims into its choking vines with the sweet promise of fruit.”

You swallow for a moment, your throat suddenly dry as you stare at your now empty palms where your longing for him sits abandoned.

“You make it sound as if humans are the dangerous ones,” you chide.

A half-hearted attempt at a joke, but Barbatos chuckles nonetheless.

“Yes; perhaps you are.”

You can’t tell in this moment if he’s referring to ‘you’ as in humanity, or ‘you’ as in something far more personal. It only makes the curiosity sharper, honed on the whetstone of your pining.

“And my soul...” you continue, “what do you sense, Barbatos?”

Dread immediately follows your bold and vulnerable question, fearing what he must inevitably see in you. Is Barbatos the type to enjoy the flavor of corruption, to find value in broken things? Or is he more of a purist, always a keen eye for perfection? You fear you already know the answer as you take in his crisp RAD uniform, his perfectly smooth features. Your gaze falls downward, an attempt to hide what you’re sure he already knows.

One heartbeat, two. Then your chin is being tilted up by his thumb and forefinger until your eyes are forced to meet his. There’s a hint of luminescence in them, the green noticeable now where it wasn’t before, pushing against the dark monotone of night that previously washed his irises in near-black. His eyes are searching, seeking, finding, and you can feel the magic, the power that unravels every defense, every barrier. Finally, his gaze settles, the green quiets to a deep, sleeping forest of pine in winter. It’s peaceful; soothing.

If Barbatos’s earlier release of your arm was to provide distance from the growing intimacy between you, then the attempt was in vain. Because now the affection in his gaze is unmistakable, the deep shadowy green cradling you the way his fingers cradle your chin. It weakens you, makes you feel like putty in his touch.

“You glow,” Barbatos whispers, “like sunlight trapped in ripples. It’s blinding, and yet so beautiful I find it impossible to look away. I can feel it in you, emanating like heat from a hearth, and it makes me long for a home I’ve never had.”

The hum of his voice makes you shiver, goosebumps forming across your skin. The adoration in his eyes falters briefly, the lingering green fading to black, giving way to a dark, ancient sorrow.

“I think,” he continues, “it’s a glimpse of what heaven must feel like. A small piece of divinity passed down to you from your ancestor.”

His fingers release your chin, but the vulnerability remains, if not slightly muted due to the distance imposed by the lack of physical contact.

“I am different from Lucifer and his brothers in that I was never an angel. I came into existence exactly as I am, and as such I’ve never known divinity. And yet... despite never knowing it, there is still a strange... hunger for it. It is a peculiar thing to miss something you’ve never known.”

“You... long for Heaven?” you ask him.

Barbatos tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze absent somewhere past your shoulder. “Not so much Heaven the place. It’s more so the purity, the grace, to feel that sense of wholeness that the divine offers. It’s why we are drawn to human souls. Angels, you see, are far too potent. Too much divinity hurts a demon; it can even kill them. But you... you humans have just enough of both worlds within you to allow us a taste. It can be rather addictive, especially for younger demons who have not yet had enough millennia to control their hunger.”

His pupils dilate in the dark as he refocuses his gaze. His eyes meet yours and linger for a moment before slowly drawing down to your parted lips. “You are a rare case indeed. More potent in your divinity than the average human, but not enough to hurt.”

You quirk a smile at him. “Barbatos, are you saying I’m irresistible?”

It is a joke, one you feel comfortable making because of its ridiculousness. But then he gives you a smile you’ve never seen before that makes your stomach drop and your body awash with heat. There’s a directness in it, a challenge presented in a wry upward turn of the lips and the glint of teeth in the faint starlight.

“Perhaps,” he says.

You try to brush him off with a scoff and break eye contact, feigning interest in the shape of the black leaves that arch over the both of you in the darkness.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” you mutter.

“Oh? You don’t believe me,” he comments. “Perhaps there is more I can do to convince you then.”

Your heartbeat falters, tripped by hope, and you keep your eyes above and around lest you combust right in front of him.

“Convince me?” you question.

You’re attempting to feign indifference, to protect yourself from the inevitable rejection you know is coming, because surely he’s not... he doesn’t mean.... he wouldn’t... that look in his eyes earlier... affection yes, but that can mean anything...

Barbatos takes your chin in his fingers and pulls gently until you have nowhere else to look but directly at him. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, into him. There’s a flicker there, a glow of swirling green, like nebulae trapped within his vastness.

“Indeed,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath upon your parted lips. You realize he’s closer than you anticipated, closer than ever before.

Your lightheadedness is returning, and your genuinely afraid you’ll faint, so you force yourself to keep speaking.

“What kind of convincing?” you ask.

He smiles that smile again, the one that turns your insides molten. “The kind that doesn’t require words, since you seem to doubt them so fervently.”

His thumb draws gently across your lower lip, his half-lidded gaze transfixed. “Would you like to be convinced?” he mutters.

You swallow and answer honestly.

“Yes.”

Barbatos’s eyes return to yours and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile. He closes what’s left of the distance, his warm lips capturing yours as his fingers release your chin in favor of gently cupping your jawline.

You close your eyes and reciprocate, your hand resting against his chest.

It’s gentle, soft, and for all of his heavy flirting just a moment ago, it is as unassuming as when he’d first held your hand. It washes away the last dredges of worry, calms the ever-present unease that always lingers. The clouds of your mind finally part, even if just for this moment, and for the first time in a long while, you feel feather-light as a peaceful warmth spreads from head to toe to the tips of your fingers.

When your lips part, Barbatos keeps his hand on your cheek and plants a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Now, believe me when I say you are beautiful. Believe me when I say that you are good. And most importantly, believe me when I say that I am always here for you.”

Your choked by emotion, your eyes once again burning, but this time for a different reason entirely.

“Even when I’m being sad and pathetic?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

Barbatos puts his forehead against yours as his lips curve into a tender smile.

“Especially then.”

#om barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me #obey me fanfiction #barbatos fanfiction #barbatos x mc #barbatos x reader #tw: mental health

207 notes · View notes

libraryraccoon · 1 year ago

Text

The Demon Of Cancellations : A Contract Canceled For Husk

P1 -> P2 <- P3

TW : English isn't my first language, bad english.

Gender of the Reader : Male/GN

Pronouns used : He/They

Husk didn’t believe that a demon, that isn’t an Overlord, can cancel contracts. And, if they can, he didn’t believe they can cancel contracts made by Overlords.

But, when Angel Dust, from all, come at the hotel, happy, and said that The Demon Of Cancellations cancelled his contract with Valentino ?

Yeah. He start to believe that a demon can do that.

Alastor seemed intrigued by the news, probably wondering if the demon could cancel the contract he (Alastor) had made.

But Husk didn’t give him too much attention.

Husk asked for the address of The Demon Of Cancellations before flying to the building.

Yes, flying. He used his wings for a total of five minutes of flying, entering through the demon's window.

It was hard to tell if the demon was shocked or not, a black blindfold covering their eyes. They were as Angel Dust had described them, h/l h/c, black blindfold covering their eyes, dark academia style, a trench coat,... The demon he was looking for !

“You’re The Demon Of Cancellations.” It wasn’t a question. “I need you to cancel a contract I have made years ago with Alastor.”

They had no reaction, seeming, in a way, to expect it.

“Take a sit. Tell me your name, and what have you give to Alastor.” Said the demon, professionally.

Husk take the sit in front of the desk, looking in their black blindfold. “Husker. My soul.”

Husk didn’t care how he act, he just want that double hell that is the contract with Alastor to end. He want to be free.

“That will cost 350$.” Said The Demon Of Cancellations, making appeared his contract before making it disappear, cancelling it.

Husk could feel it, feel his soul being free again after all that years. It feels like a dream, but that wasn’t one. That was the reality. An happy reality, where he is free.

“Finally.. I’m free..” was all Husk could said.

He didn’t know what to do, where to go, now that he’s free.

So he give the 350$ to the demon before leaving, going to the hotel, the only place he had.

_____________

It wasn’t a surprise that Husk act like that.

Y/N have heard some things about him, about him being a calm barman.. And he know how calm people who are stuck for a long-time act when they can be free, and how they act after.

Someone will do all for liberty, even if that mean changing to someone themselves don’t recognized.

Husk was one of them.

Y/N can easily said how this story will continue.

All Y/N had done for him, was starting his story. The best thing he could ever done.

___________

One week after his contract was cancelled, Husk was more smiling.

And by that, I mean that he change his depressed and jaded barman to a free, calm and happy barman. He wasn’t always happy, yeah, but sometimes he is ! It’s a good evolution !

Charlie was happy for his friend, being free and all.

“Hey Vaggie, do you think I should go see that Demon Of Cancellations ?” ask Charlie to her girlfriend.

“No, why ?” ask Vaggie confused.

“Well, they help two of us friends, so maybe we could thanks them for that.” Explained Charlie. “Especially that they cancelled their contracts ! Somethings I never thought possible before !”

The Demon Of Cancellations was the first demon in history that can cancel all contracts, even those that aren’t their.

“Well, we can always meet them if you want.” Said the ex-angel.

What they didn’t know, was that a demon of the radio was listening them behind the door.

________________

The Part 3 will be the end of that little "series". I don't know how to write Husk tbh. Like a lot of Hazbin Hotel.

#hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel #male reader #gn reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #husker hazbin hotel #husk #husker #Raccoon is writing

489 notes · View notes

magnus-marmot · 24 days ago

Text

Unheimlich, Weird, and Mercury

Since it's starting to look very likely that W/U in DPHW/TSHU stands for Weird/Unheimlich, I did some digging and thinking. Full disclosure, I didn't come up with the idea for W/U, and as far as I'm aware it should be credited to @bonzos-number-1-fan.

What is unheimlich?

Gwen translates unheimlich as creepy or weird, but it's not just any type of weird. It's most often translated to uncanny, which people usually associate with the uncanny valley. Something that possesses enough human-like qualities to almost pass as a human but not quite. But the meaning of unheimlich is still a bit more complicated than that. So I turned to Freud, of all people (and promptly ignored every part where he made it unnecessarily sexual). I read his essay on the Uncanny, though the Wikipedia article probably would have sufficed. This is what academia does to a person.

Unheimlich literally translates to "un-homely", or "not at home". It relies quite heavily on it's antonym heimlich, or "homely", to convey its full flavour. If something is unheimlich, it's distinctly lacking the heimlich quality that you would expect. In other words, it's familiar turned unfamiliar. Freud seemed to think that the feeling is caused by a resurgence of the magical thinking of a child, where any inanimate object might come to life (somehow combined with the repression of sexual desires because Freud). He relates it to the belief in the omnipotence of thoughts, or the idea that thoughts alone can be powerful enough to change reality.

Aside from Freud, there's also an entire chapter dedicated to the concept of unheimlich in House of Leaves, where (spoilers that spoil nothing) a family's home starts to shift in dimensions and eventually manifests dark, inhospitable hallways with impossible dimensions. Basically, their heimlich home has taken on the qualities of the unheimlich. This also applies to the wider idea of liminal spaces, especially the uncanny feeling of something feeling familiar and yet unfamiliar and eerie because it's removed from its normal context.

Alright, so we have the Unheimlich broken down. But since the more appropriate translation would be "uncanny", why is it Weird? I like to think it might be an homage to the genre of "weird fiction" (as popularised by H. P. Lovecraft). But there's also the interesting etymology of the word itself. It comes from the Old English word wyrd, meaning "fate". The concept of fate has popped up a few times, particularly in relation to a strange fellow who gifts you a cursed violin or a pair of dice. As in, the guy I strongly suspect might be Heinrich Unheimlich (admittedly without much evidence).

What about the Mercury?

This is the part where I tie it back to alchemy. Based on the quaternity on the OIAR logo and patterns that emerge in the DPHW values, I have already suspected that W might measure Mercury. After everything I just explained, the idea has finally sort of come together.

I won't reiterate everything I've written about Mercury, but in the context of TMAGP I've considered it a force of dissolution, liminality and the intangible collective ideas or concepts, kind of like a collective unconscious. Basically the principle that dissolves limits/boundaries and mediates between thoughts and physical reality.

The concept of unheimlich feels incredibly liminal to me. The uncanny lives at the edge of real/unreal, natural/unnatural, dream/reality, mind/matter, familiar/unfamiliar, life/death. Exactly the way alchemists would describe the duality of Mercury. Liminal spaces are a perfect example of this. They are unquestionably unheimlich, and they are by definition liminal. Some alchemists thought that Mercury is the world soul (anima mundi) or the life force that connects everything together in a unity (this is what Jung associated with the collective unconscious). As such, Mercury holds the infinite potential of everything that has been or could be. And Freud thought that the uncanny is related to the concept of animism (which is literally the same concept) and the belief that a strong enough belief could manifest in reality.

I've also brought up before that Mercury is conceptually related to the Trickster archetype, as the god Mercurius/Hermes was seen as a trickster figure. He was also the god of travelers, merchants, and thieves. And the source of all alchemical knowledge or something (see: Hermeticism). Hits awfully close to this travelling stranger (/strangers if they're different people) who gifts people cursed objects that somehow reflect their desires in a very twisted manner. Admittedly, the cases about these objects have a comparatively low W value, though I suspect that this is because the objects themselves aren't as Mercury-aligned as the guy.

Some case studies

Bonzo (W 8) is the embodiment of unheimlich. He is a familiar and beloved figure twisted into something terrifying. He seems to have coalesced into a well-known concept in the collective unconscious, and we had some minor occurrences of audiences associating him with violent behaviour, which manifested as accidents (back when his W was 5). After the murder (and probably thanks to Menke's delusional reverence) he took an actual, physical manifestation and his W jumped to 8.

The Oxford People's Trust volunteers (W 8) are not people, they are manifestations of an archetypal person coalesced around the phrase "it's all for a good cause". I honestly suspect that the W is so high here because the Hilltop Centre is one big Mercury locus. The reality seems specifically fluid around there, what with the shops appearing and disappearing according to people's needs. Might have something to do with the tear in reality. It's a very liminal location.

The split brain experiment (W 8) is also incredibly Mercury-coded. I've already written a post about the water=Mercury symbolism present in the episode, but I'm too tired to go find it now. This feels less directly applicable to the concept of unheimlich, but the duality aspect is at least very present. Also I guess the emergent consciousness literally not feeling at home in the guy's mind.

That's it

No concluding end bits, because I really do need to sleep now. If you read this far, I thank and commend you. Also, do keep in mind that all of this might end up being completely wrong. But it feels pretty compelling to me right now, and I wanted to get my thoughts out before the next episode.

#written after tmagp38 #the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #tmagp theory #tria prima theory #tmagp mercury #i really do hate freud tho #god forbid a person be afraid of losing their eyes without it meaning they're really afraid of castration

54 notes · View notes

fanged-fanfics · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I was here during the previous lmk era and I love your fics! Would it be okay with you if I requested a ButterRoll cookie and GN! reader fic? Basically how they meet and what causes ButterRoll cookie to look at the reader in a more romantic light over the span of their months working together. I also must say I'm super impressed with how often you post, it feels like an angel sends me a letter from heaven every time I see a notification of a new post from you lol. I wish you the best and once more plead you not to burn yourself out. (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

☆ A New Kind of Experiment — Butter Roll Cookie x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Back in your academia days, you had two main Cookies you called your friends— Butter Roll Cookie and Espresso Cookie. Espresso was a hard worker, and Butter Roll kept things light and fun– you were a grounded force between them, making sure neither went too far in the wrong direction. That is, until Butter Roll Cookie mysteriously disappeared after he got expelled. You and Espresso had no idea what had happened, it was like he disappeared into air. Nevertheless, you put your life into your work, determined to finish what you three had started.

You couldn't pinpoint what exactly happened along the way— when your dreams had turned to dust, and hopes belittled to ashes— but you had been in the care of the Cookies of Darkness for quite a while now, several years after graduating. You'd been beyond surprised to see Butter Roll there, and the two of you became close coworkers in no time. It felt just like how it used to be, right back to his usual jokes and jabs. His unyielding optimism kept you encouraged to keep working as a scientist under his guide. Whilst you were cleaning up another failed experiment, Butter Roll was already preparing more raw dough.

You glanced over, seeing his giant whisk placed to the side. His gloved arm was punching in the dough, making sure it was malleable enough. "That's the fifth we've been doing today" you spoke up. "I know! Isn't it amazing?" Butter Roll asked, looking to you with a joyful shine in his golden eyes. "It is, and there's no one better to conduct these than you" You responded. A short pause hung in the air before you added, "But with how relentless these have been, maybe we're overloading the mixer?". "Hmmm... that could impact the dough, making it too runny to formulate properly" Butter Roll mumbled. He stood up, using his free arm to cup his chin.

You stepped up behind him, fixing his red goggles atop his forehead "Besides, you could stand to take a break". "Come now, you know I can work for much longer than this" the director chuckled. "That may be true, but you've also been working this hard for the past week. We need our director in his best shape" you responded. Butter Roll gave you a wide smile that made his eyes upturn in gratitude. He stepped back from the table, sitting in a nearby chair "Alright, you've convinced me!"

You began cleaning up the materials, getting the raw ingredients all wiped up. You were just about the only one who could make Butter Roll rest like this when it came down to it, if any of his usual subordinates tried he'd just insist that he had more to do. You've always been right by his side, picking him up when he needed it and making work flow as smooth as possible. He watched you clean, seeing your efficiency firsthand impressed him once again. "Shouldn't you be resting too?" He teased. "I haven't been working nearly as hard as you" you responded. "Oh, but you have! Your mind has been hard at work, thinking of all the new concoctions we could try!" Butter Roll countered "And you haven't been feeding it enough! Come, come, we must fix it!"

You almost protested, but Butter Roll was already right behind you, lightly taking your arm. He looked to you for permission, and you dropped your rag while sighing with a little smile "If you insist". Butter Roll led you to a side door attached to the hallway by the laboratory, opening it to reveal a small bedroom. He clicked the light on for you while you walked in to sit on the mattress. Butter Roll went to sit beside you, leaning his head into your lap. "Finally feeling tired, sir?" You asked, petting your hand through his long hair. He smiled, tilting his head into your touch "Not quite, but I can't resist this time with you"

You kept gently scratching his scalp, watching as the tension completely left him. He had his eyes closed, mulling over your proximity. This, above all, is what he came to love about you. The way you kept him so grounded, a comforting reminder of where he came from, and a loyal companion who wanted to see where he was going. Though he's always happy to work for others, his chest feels warm when seeing how deeply you care for his own wellbeing. This, he knows, is why you're such good partners. And he plans to keep you for as long as he can.

135 notes · View notes

diebischesther · 3 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍 ⸺ 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑶𝑼 ❛ 𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑶𝑬̈ ❜ 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑬

quick meta yap before i start yapping about milou as the mc for @childrenofcain-if. i need everyone to know how absolutely insane i am about the themes here. milou in her original lore already has close ties to death as she's essentially its embodiment. needless to say, i absolutely adore axel's writing & will be following this project closely !! ૮꒰˶> ᴗ <˶꒱ა ♡ image sources found at the end .

NAME. ⠀ Milou 'Melinoë' Mingate

𝒐' 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉; today i weep for you as i spill my kin's blood, in hope you grant me succor for when my soul departs this [ mortal realm . ]

NICKNAME. ⠀ Mai GENDER. ⠀ Cisgender Female ( she/her ) MAJOR. ⠀Biomedical Engineering¹ HAMARTIA. ⠀Paranoia¹

who can you trust, if not even yourself? you walk this earth as though you are naught but the empty shell of a woman ⸺ you are a ghost, a fever dream. the lines between reality & the figments of your imagination blur with each passing day. your senses betraying you, as though you are your own greatest adversary. would you notice if you'd be living in a dream? it matters not, for you do not know if your nightmares aren't the ones bringing you comfort, as opposed to waking in this dying world.

EXTRACURRICULARS³. ⠀ Ice Skating, Engineering, Manners and Protocol, Public Speaking, Debate Society LANGUAGES⁴. ⠀ Latin, Dutch, French, German, Mandarin², Spanish PLANNED RO. ⠀ Dumitru Constantin Diaconu

[ 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ] ⠀ ⸺ ⠀ ethereal beauty […] you tread with the macabre once more .

Milou is blessed with hair that many would kill for ⸺ thick, jetblack strands that reach down to her waist in gentle waves. She prefers to wear them loose, sometimes curled, though also in a haphazard low bun if need be. She doesn't fret much over her appearance, the beauty of her stemming from effortless confidence. How could she not? Tall, hourglass-shaped body & a face that makes you lose your breath. Amethyst eyes that you could spend hours getting lost in & an warm olive complexion, as though kissed by the sun. As far as aesthetics go, Mingate's choices are as flippant as her character. She's a big fan of jewelry, her ear piercings and tattoos⁵ being the only constant in her daily fashion choices. Her predominant styles lie with biker & dark academia⁶.

[ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 ] ⠀ ⸺ ⠀ fortune favours the bold .

As a woman of many names & faces, trying to figure out what goes on in that pretty little head of hers is a futile task. For those not familiar with her, it's quite the challenge to discern whether she likes you, hates you or simply tolerates you. Her demeanour is a constant pull between being friendly & seeming as though she couldn't care less about you. At first glance, Milou Mingate is the picturesque cliché of an arrogant rich kid ⸺ a brat too spoiled for her own good. Her pragmatic words are often laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm, the woman's lack of genuine consideration acting as a deterrant for those around her. Truth be told, Milou is scared. Terrified of what lay beyond, how could she let another know her when she barely knows herself? Alas, those who dare to take a leap of faith will be greatly rewarded. Behind the pessimistic extrovert's mask lay a woman full of love for those around her. Passionate. Impusilve. Unfettered. Despite what she presents herself as, Mingate sustains herself on the thrills of life. Unapologetic in her way of living ⸺ hard & fast, calculated risks taken in the heat of the moment. Don't tie her down or put a leash around her neck; for then she'll go to unperceived lengths to steal the moon & stars out of the night sky for you. But the matters of a heart are a fickle thing, better hope you discern her elusive nature before she slips out of your grasp for good.

CÉDRIC ARMAND LACROIX. ⠀ thoughts and prayers for poor ceddy bear, everyone ! when he says she is the bane of his existence, he has every right to say so and i will defend him in a court of law on this. for any true rivalry going on between them, it's rather one-sided on c's side. milou doesn't truly hate them, not even really dislike them. however, she's getting an absolute piss out of getting them riled up and has so for years now. truly surprised they haven't suffered an aneurysm yet. they're also taking second place as far as ROs go. who would have thought!

VANCE KASPER NÆSHOLM. ⠀ bro truly pissed off the wrong woman on their first day at yale... of course, milou is pretty pissed following their attempted murder, but that is not why V is gonna be in for one hell of a ride. oh no. she's rather quick to 'forgive' them. milou does hold a slight grudge for a few days, but that dissipates rather quickly. she's also a little shit though, taking advantage of the fact that V is still rather skittish around her at first. playing the hot & cold game, though milou isn't overtly mean. it's more about the anticipation, leaving them hanging & wondering whether she hates them or not. however, given they haven't decided they're better off without milou (V babe you absolutely would be please save urself before its too late), they'll eventually reach a point at which milou will assure them that no. she does not hate them. yes. they are friends. yes. they are now legally obliged to be her partner in crime and get dragged into her bullshit.

WILHELMINE JOHANNA OSTENDORF. ⠀ angsty unrequited love my beloved. yearning and pining for what you know can never be yours my beloved. please dear author i need my angst pleasepleasepleaspelapselapsle (im so normal about their potential dynamics here but need more time with them to figure out the details)

DUMITRU CONSTANTIN DIACONU. ⠀ hold my glass of fruit juice for a moment everyone because im gonna be soooo fucking normal here in a second. i will never. NEVER. shut up about fwb dynamics that turn into "oh shit i have actually fallen in love with you and i'm sorry but now i can't help but love you like a dog until the end of time". it's about the devotion. it's about the yearning. it's about coming to terms that you have found yourself in a love that transcends the capacity of words & yet you don't have to speak a single word because you know your lover understands all of it. it's about bearing the responsibility of a love you never thought could be possible. one you never thought you deserved and yet ... yet it is here. it is yours. and good fucking lord you will do everything to keep it, desperately clining to it like your life depends on it because it does. it's something that you know could reach much greater places beyond your horizon, but you're too selfish to let it go. and i need you to know that this shit goes BOTH WAYS btw. i'm extremely normal about two fucked up people that have endured too much trauma than they should be capable of withstanding, finding each other and becoming their safe haven. goodnight.

MAXINE EDYTHE WHITLOCK-SINGH. ⠀do you know what i love more than women? women who can actually just kill me. idk but that is the vibe these two give me together. i feel as though they'd become unlikely best friends, bringing the untouchable down to their knees, forcing them to walk the mortal realms alongside the other. in a totally normal, platonic and non-sapphic way btw. totally.

✱ ⠀ [ 01 ] ⠀ as far as milou's biggest flaw goes, there are a lot of good options that fit with her character. girl has a lot more vices than she has virtues (D and her are gonna be an absolute mess istg). same goes for majors, although i was more torn between whether she'd go for smth more in pre-med or sciences — so i settled with something in between. simply can't help it as a woman in stem myself .... i love me my women in stem !!

✱ ⠀ [ 02 ] ⠀ my headcanons lean toward milou being partially thai, likely stemming from her mom? although i won't go into this in depth yet bc i want to see the stuff axel has in store for us regarding mc's parents and their heritage 🤭 i'm trying to stick as close to canon as i can though, so mandarin will have to do for now.

✱ ⠀ [ 03 ] ⠀ milou is a YAPPER, which is why so many of her extracurriculars fall into the social category. she knows how to navigate social situations with an effortless ease, though she's definitely got the dramatics to show for it too. dumitru & milou being the drama king / queen of yale anyone ??? i can def see it 😭

✱ ⠀ [ 04 ] ⠀ being a dramatic nihilistic queen struggling with apathy and her place in the world, a lot of her coping mechanisms involve keeping busy all the time, which is why she's taken up trying to learn as many languages as possible (+ in the same vein, take as many extracurriculars as she can). her proficiency is latin > thai mandarin >= german >> french = spanish > dutch.

✱ ⠀ [ 05 ] ⠀ tattoos + jewelry references tba

✱ ⠀ [ 06 ] ⠀ clothing references tba (i got lazy here ok)

✱ ⠀ [ CREDITS ] ⠀ 𝒊. kuroe16370547, via former bird app . ⠀ 𝒊𝒊. louise glück, penelope's song . ⠀ 𝒊𝒊𝒊. meg_mumu, commissioned by me . ⠀ 𝒊𝒗. lu__liu, commissioned by me . ⠀ 𝒗. luca guadagnino, suspiria ( 2018 ) . ⠀ 𝒗𝒊. euripides ( tr. anne carson ), an oresteia; “orestes” .

as a last footnote : canon milou has major daddy / mommy issues and would burn the whole city down before getting within a 10 ft radius of them ..... unless her goal is to drive a knife into their back. so it's nice seeing her have a good relationship with her parents FOR ONCE. don't tell me i'm jinxing myself.

#🌙 : character — milou mingate.#🌙 : endless edits — milou mingate.#⌕ : media — children of cain.#children of cain #children of cain if #the ballad of the young gods #the ballad of the young gods if #tbotyg if #HELP THIS GOT SO MUCH LONGER THAN I WANTED IT TO BE SOBSSS #i just really care a lot about my oc ok #i love oyu miss milou you are my everything #this was interesting to write tho bc i try to make her somewhat normal #but miss milou will unfortunately never escape the freak allegations skdjfgsdkfg

63 notes · View notes

kidspawn · 23 days ago

Note

hi! i see you posting about the raven cycle like, pretty much daily. i’ve Tried to read it but i wasn’t really sure if i was digging the vibes so i moved on to something else. but like dude i keep seeing your posts and it makes me feel left out lmao. i would be most grateful if you gave a few reasons as to why someone should read the raven cycle/why You like it

AHHH THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME. Permission to gush about The Raven Cycle? God, this is like a special little present. I'll do anything to about these books. ANYTHING. That you'd come to me means everything, actually.

Buckle up, get some tea or pop or water or just your attention this will be quite a bit.

The Raven Cycle is a very specific vibe and it isn't everyone's cup of tea, which is unfortunate but it is a matter of discerning what you enjoy about media or what you like to take away from books. I try to stray from just going "oh here's a handful of literary tropes which make this worth reading" cause I could talk about how it's got gorgeous queer rep, or it's found family, or disguises itself as dark academia but it's just identity exploration under the veneer of a magical realism story. But that doesn't do anything to convince someone to read it, imo. So here goes:

So, here's like... my ultimate brainrot in this regard. Starting with tone/structure, which is where people get lost I've noticed. Because I think this series is a slow build to something gorgeous. I'll say the first book is meant to raise questions, introduce conflicts and the overall energy of the series. You'll encounter red herrings, false leads, etc. It's kind of an acclimation to the world. If you're hooked about halfway in, that's the point. The plot takes a minute to kick in, but please remember it's not all about the plot. The plot is here to carry the characters and their themes and magic and journeys. This carries throughout the series. The plot is to transform the characters not the other way around. This is a character driven series. More on that later. The second book (The Dream Thieves) FUCKING BANGS. I would argue it's the best written of the series, even if it isn't my personal favourite (BLLB my beloved) i want whatever Maggie Stiefvater was on writing it. I'd describe the series like having an incredibly vivid dream. You'll wake up and something feels different, you've been affected, but the details might slip by. Which means periodic rereads to immerse yourself again. And as you reread, the more foreshadowing and details you pick up on. So structurally, it's great for annual rereads. You'll see people call it all vibes, little plot. Which... fair.

So here's a breakdown of things I personally enjoy. Because I love organizing my thoughts into structured lists. I'll keep it as spoiler free as possible, because I went into this entirely blind and I was rewarded heavily for it.

1. Plot

I know I just went off about how the real plot is the friends they made along the way but actually I love the plot. The initial conflict you're told to worry about (remember what I said about false leads lmao) is the idea of the MC kissing her true love and killing him. And this informs a huge piece of the story, of course. It's pretty uhhh it's a pretty big deal. But this aspect of the plot, I think, works better for individual characterization and future conflicts. It's touched by the real plot, but not as entwined as you're lead to believe.

The real plot is more of a quest, a venture into a lost king who our ensemble cast (once again, false lead, it's not about one person it's about the entire group) is looking for. They uncover decades of history and magic, and form a beautiful friendship along the way. The plot is not the destination, it's the journey. Don't focus entirely on how they're going to find Glendower, focus on how they get there. Learn WHY they want to find Glendower. What are their motivations? Why do they want to aid Gansey (one of the character)? What is the draw, the appeal? Why is it so important to them? And how does the search shape them as people and shape their relationships with each other? I see people go into The Raven Cycle expecting a typical adventure book and so they hone in on the wrong details - which is not their fault, the book was poorly marketed. Just remember it's less about Glendower, it's the friends they made along the way.

2. Characters

"If the plot isn't important these characters have to be revolutionary to carry seven books" is a statement I'm sure has come across your mind. If it hadn't prior, now it has! I've put it in your head. Because YES. That's the point.

These characters so multidimensional. There are crevices and flaws and beauties and diamonds in the rough. Each character dances with YA tropes but breaks from that mold. A giant piece of the series is how characters present to the world, how they feel about themselves, and who they wish they could be. And as readers, we are tasked with peeling these layers back. Brief overview and its not a proper character analysis because I don't want to go on for 100k words.

So, say, this character who presents himself as very prim, presidential, composed. He is always, to the surface, in control of the room. Yeah, he's actually a ball of anxiety. He is obsessive and probably autistic. He is taken over by this quest, he has honed in with a singleminded focus on this search for Glendower. He seems condescending and pretentious - he doesn't even register he is doing this half the time, and a huge piece of his character is the power of his words and how he uses them. He doesn't mean to hurt with his words, it just spills out. He cares, and he cares so much it inadvertently hurts and offends. He speaks like a grandpa. He was on the rowing team. He builds towns out of cereal boxes. Another character seems like your typical "omg dark and broody he's so cool and mysterious". He's actually like that because he's coping with some intense mental health issues, he is scared of being left behind especially after some very specific familial trauma. He's also very sweet, possibly the most softhearted in the group. He saves a baby bird. He loves with every bone and synapse in his body. He's catholic. He has a nut allergy. He swears every other sentence. He is a pack animal and he snarls because he protects the people who mean the most to him. He doesn't do casual, in friendship or romance or in his day to day. He's a perfectionist. He hates school. He's top of the class in Latin. Our main girl, the one you've probably read about already, looks like a manic pixie dream girl. She could've easily become your stereotypical YA bland female read. She has so much personality it spills over to everyone else. She is teeming with it. She's practical and sensible and wishes she wasn't. She sews her own clothes and has a peculiar haircut. She is a teenage girl. She is very sure of who she is. She has nuanced female relationships with incredible heft and weight. She loves nature and trees and her boys. She meets a cute boy and has a very realistic response to this. She's a feminist and calls out people who mistreat her. She has boundaries and stands by them. She's stubborn and a little judgemental. She is so sixteen year old girl in that beautifully complex and confusing and tumultuous way. Another character is a mess of contradictions. I can't even begin to explain him he's so djsjdjsj. He's an asshole. He's quiet. He's notably off putting. He's not shy he's methodical. He believes in the tactile world but he believes in his friend more. He's honest, but only because he isn't very good at lying. He wishes he could be himself. He feels trapped. He wants to be his own person. He values his autonomy over anything. He'd be a villain if he didn't love his friends so much. He's not an uwu soft boy he's a fucking menace. He has the most moral flexibility in the cast. He has a strong sense of justice but he defines that on his own terms. He is horny. He is pragmatic. He works three jobs. He's top of his class. He hates rich people. He wishes he was one of them. He's unknowable. He's a mechanic. He has boyish hands. I can't talk about the other two because they're spoilers - all I can say is one tells you exactly what the fuck he is from the start, and the other is the MC of another series who got plopped into this one and made it everyone's problem. Also robobee.

These characters are so... they mean everything to me. They are so multifaceted and realistic and raw. They're teenagers and you KNOW they're teenagers. They've all been through unspeakable trauma and trials. This book demands you go on this journey with them and you accept them for their flaws, their delights, their triumphs, their sharp edges. They are the most characters of all time. I am not doing them justice. They are so REAL. There isn't a "fan favourite" because there's something appealing about each of them. There's so many minute details to read too much into. And it's fun to analyze characters with these miniature context clues. I read these books as a high schooler, and to this day Adam Parrish is one of my favourite characters ever point blank. There's a rawness to these people that sticks with you.

We read the books and the more we learn about the characters the more real they become, almost like you're earning their authentic selves. I'd say the characters are the strongest piece of these books, by a LONG shot.

3. Writing Style

Just taking a more technical stance, I think the most appealing part of the series for me is Maggie Stiefvater's writing style. It's, put simply, absolutely breathtaking. I think specifically she has a tremendous ability to make what should be a very mundane sentence feel magical. I think there's a fine line with flowery writing where it can feel pretentious if it doesn't work for what the author is trying to do, or if they don't pull it off. She pulls it off beautifully. So let me just share a few of my favourite (spoiler free!) passages I keep in a notes app on my phone:

My words are unerring tools of destruction, and I’ve come unequipped with the ability to disarm them.

He was full of so many wants, too many to prioritize, and so they all felt so desperate

He'd chosen his weapon well: only the truth, untempered by kindness.

Being Adam Parrish was a complicated thing, a wonder of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves. He was a miracle of moving parts, a study in survival. The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master.

Because I am overfull on secrets and underfull on friends.

Consider this a sampler platter. She has a way with words i can't even begin to describe, one that has influenced my writing style substantially and I imagine many others. Saying a phone "fussed for attention" is such a unique way to turn a common phrase on its head. This series was MADE to be annotated.

(For reference, these are my annotation copies)

She's so deliberate with her word choice, she cycles through and repeats phrases to make a point. When I call a writing style something like poetry, this is what I mean. She changes her narration structure to illustrate how characters comprehend the world. She does a very specific thing that i can't say without spoiling you, unfortunately, but involves the repeating of a word or phrase or concept to drive a point home. There's a turn of phrase that gets used in the beginning of first book involving the days of the week and gets used again at the end of the seventh book (third book in the second series).

What's more is it makes sense for the themes and tone of the series. Remember how I said it feels like a disturbingly vivid dream? Yes, it's largely because of how she writes. There is something enchanting about this world, this intimate and focused story.

4. Relationships

In my brief introduction, I mentioned found family. I think codependent queer friend group would be more accurate, but however you describe it this series is about friendship. Famously, the author kept a sticky note that the worst thing that could happen is them not being friends. And this is crucial to the series. I'd say after the individual characters, the relationships are the biggest draw.

Notice, of course, that I'm not separating romance and friendship. Half because all the romances START as friendships, and half because the relationships are all put on equal ground in that aspect. The Raven Cycle takes great care to show all forms of love as equal and necessary for each character. It was marketed as a romance, but I think describing it as a more general love story would work. These characters, who shouldn't work together, fall in love with each other throughout the series. In all forms. Platonic, brotherly, romantic.

Each character has a unique dynamic individually with another, even the ones who don't interact very much. Whether that's from brotherhood, divorced parents core, attempts at dating, belligerent friends who encourage one another to commit crime, etc. Take any character, pair them with another for a chapter, and it will work. It will make sense. I think in a lot of ensembles certain duos get neglected, but the series balances this issue very well. They all love each other, obsessively and with such devotion that the only reason they get through all the horrid things they do is because they love each other. Their faith and dedication to one another fills so much of the heart of the series.

Additionally, (and if you follow me you know but I'll be vague just in case?) the romance is... w o w. Just wow. If you're into shipping, then welcome this is... wow. I wouldn't classify the series as a romance, because the romance is so intertwined with the friendships and it's very subtle buildup. It's more of a backdrop, right? It's definitely there, but it isn't the only thing going on. Once again, an aspect I enjoy. The romances take up just as much time and weight as the friendships. You essentially get three romantic arcs (with the situationship that shan't be named bc its a walking warning [redacted] you will always be famous i need to put him in a jar) and each serves a crucial purpose. An initial romance which serves as a sort of catalyst for the others, where both those characters separate and find romantic relationships that fulfill their needs and help their character arcs. The series is very into soulmates and fantastical pining and hand holding and friends to lovers and falling in love in the little moments. Also there's a very religious element to one of the romances, which I've always eaten up and I think it's beautifully done. I'm not describing it well, because frankly it's spoiler heavy to discuss the romance too extensively. But once again, these relationships and friendships have consumed me for YEARS now, if that's an indication of how much I adore their relationships. And don't be misled, the relationships are very different. It's not copy pasted. If i had to assign like... specific tropes I'd say one is kind of a doomed soulmates and secret relationship and the other is a slow burn with some batshit fucking pining also cunt4cunt. And yes, there is queer romance. More on that later.

To round out this aspect here's two quotes that make me absolutely batshit, with the names redacted to avoid spoilers:

Why do we breathe air? Because we love air? Because we don’t want to suffocate. Why do we eat? Because we don’t want to starve. How do I know I love her? Because I can sleep after I talk to her.

[Redacted] lived in an apartment located above the office of St. Agnes Catholic Church, a fortuitous combination that focused most of the objects of [Other Redacted]'s worship into one downtown block

In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.

Yeah, have you ever been sixteen and reading this for the first time? Yeah, I could've been doing crack but it wouldn't have the same high i got reading all these for the first time.

Anyway.

5. Humour

I mean. Listen, I'm a funny person. I'm hilarious. I like to think I'm a great metric for what is or isn't funny, and not to brag but I'm good at making people laugh. Trust my metric, if there is one thing I have in this world it is that I am funny and I know funny material.

So trust me when I say this series' sense of humour is so utterly bizarre and wild and delightfully funny. Maggie Stiefvater has a weird ass sense of humour and I love it. She'll string together the most heartwrenching sentence about feeling like an empty hole with nothing inside and the most beautiful metaphor for depression and mental health I've ever seen, then bust out "WAKE UP FUCKWEASEL" and you cant even be fazed at this point because it's book two and you've read almost 500 pages of this bullshit. Ronan Lynch is owed royalties for saying some of the most off-the-rail bullshit i have ever seen.

"With a sigh, Ronan took a photo of his elbow bent to look like a butt, texted it over, and got up." "the sea of clusterfuck" "never-never land of space time fuckery" "yeehaw" (multiple accounts! btw!) "'What the fresh hell is this' Gansey said pleasantly'" and I'm not even going to touch the whole heaven-usurper meltdown because hey what the fuck that was insane. This all sounds like nonsense but the fact that all of these are bracketed by something like "if you never saw the stars candles were enough" or "people shout when they don't have the vocabulary to whisper" is fucking insane.

These books are so delightfully weird kid core. Like hell yeah. It makes me laugh. There is something wrong with Kavinsky especially but damn it he's so funny. A solid character moment involves two characters faking an argument in public to preserve the others reputation for hating rich boys and this is like a legitimate solid moment for this relationship and it's so she'll get in the damn car. That's it. I love these books. One character wears boat shoes and we should probably ridicule him for it but he's also very cute so he gets a pass. There is a toga party. Copious discussions of a fake song used to torment the entire crew. Robobee.

6. Sexuality and Queer Themes

This series is inherently very queer. Not even talking about the canonically queer couple that I sold my soul to in tenth grade. No, I mean tonally. The second trilogy explicitly describes this friend group as delightfully queer, and i think that warrants pointing out. All the characters are either implied to be some brand of fruit or fruit adjacent. Like artificial banana, at least. I digress, it's part of the gay bird book trio for a reason. Found family is a queer trope and one of the characters was literally raised in an all female witch commune. Also like... a lot of genderqueer coding occurs. And I think one of the characters all but describes himself as aroace, which this series doesn't quite use labels so I take it as confirmation but I digress.

Besides the obvious as stated above, and the confirmed queer characters, the series has a very nuanced and refreshing perspective on queer relationships. One of the characters grapples with his queer identity in the second book, is battling a lot of internalized self hatred which happens to intertwine with sexuality - and its not exactly gayngst (though it's not... not gayngst) but tied into an aspect of his personality that I can't really speak on without spoiling. But his acceptance, almost, of his identity and who he is happens to include being gay. It's not so much a realization but a "Ok i am good with myself and by extension I am comfortable admitting my sexuality because I am working on accepting myself." This gets juxtaposed with a character who IS struggling extensively with his sexuality, is horrid and vile (and so fucking fascinating) and disrespectful of boundaries and its made very clear struggling with being gay is a part of this. I worry I am not explaining this well but the two bounce off each other in this regard and it was actually oddly refreshing to see how this was executed. They're foils, in this way, and it solidifies the first characters acceptance of who he is. It's orchestrated beautifully. And while I won't disregard religious guilt, I don't think the religious aspect is so entwined in the internalized homophobia so much as it's tied into all this characters self loathing. It's intentionally a vague storyline in these regards, because a lot of it is up to interpretation - but the character being gay is NOT. You as the reader can decide what his precise relationship was with it and what this journey means, but it does tie into self loathing.

And not to harp on further, but there is a very lovely bout of bisexual rep. Once again, it's not explicitly stated as bisexuality but like... that is a bisexual. Trust me. Shows attraction to men and women equally (though in different brands, which doesn't always happen with bisexual characters! He's allowed to have types, to experience attraction to different genders in different ways. I really really like that.) His sexuality is quieter (as is the character), in my opinion, not so much in its not there, but it's not a hefty part of his individual arc. And this character could have easily had a queer angst arc. He doesn't. He has a romantic crisis, yes. But his bisexuality is a part of himself he doesn't gripe and stress over, at least to my interpretation. His sexuality is one part of many things that represent him - being quiet but also quite loud, embracing yourself and your potential. I cannot stress enough that it is important to who he is, but it's really really refreshing as a bisexual person to see a character just... be bisexual. He hides a lot about himself, and he comes across more as a "no one asks me so I don't offer it but I'd be open if someone did." Not the point, but I have a very special place in my heart for bisexual representation that breaks the typical mold. He goes on to be very open and comfortable in it.

Some more subtle aspects of sexuality: a character describes himself in a way that insinuates he is aroace, and considering how little labeling occurs in the books, I think it's safe to see this character is likely aroace. But we spend very little time with him, as he's only with us for one book. Still, a win is a win. Also the second series has sapphic characters (MANY actually) but let me convince you to get through the first. The second series is somehow even more flagrantly queer than the other. Gays everywhere. I sound ridiculous, I know, but queer rep is very important to me, so ofc I highlight this as important.

7. Trauma, Grief and Healing

I'll keep this brief because this definitely veers into spoiler territory.

I could keep this in a bulleted list, but I think this point is one of the reasons I especially appreciate this series. I've alluded to a lot of particular traumas the characters have dealt with, many parental, and I want to take a minute to say that the series handles the arc of growing and healing in a very nuanced and realistic way.

Its very common, i think, to sand down the ugly aspects of undoing years of abuse, the aftermath of losing parents, how a near death experience warps you, how death affects you. And the series doesn't shy away from that - it's actually a main focus for several of their arcs, and the focus on the healing process is so so incredible. Like I said, I'll kept it as spoiler free as possible. How does it look to move forward when you've left an abusive home? As you undo years of repression and toxic masculinity? How does that affect your relationships with your friends? Do you get mean? Short tempered? Do you learn that your body and your life is your own, that you will never be owned by another person like you fear? How does losing a parent, a home, a brotherly relationship in the span of a week change you? Do you become depressed? Angry? Closed off and flippantly sarcastic as a mask? Does it destroy the relationships you had with your other family members? How does one grapple with having died? Being alive? Do you find out why? Do you fear dying again? Do you worry about bothering others or inconveniencing them? Do you, after finding out you'll die, spend months trying to keep your friends afloat? What does trauma look like for each of these individuals with differing experiences? How does it inform their journeys and who they are? It is beautiful and raw and honest and ugly all in equal measure. We are so used to seeing characters suffer, it's nice to see them heal and to see characters heal in ways we as an audience may not always see as palatable.

NOW! Rapid fire! Because these are other things I enjoy but not enough to have a gratuitous paragraph:

- awkward teens and awkward teen dynamics.

- growing pains, growing up and growing away from your family and friends and yourself

- themes of classism and money, poverty and how that tension can influence relationships ("rags to riches isn't a story anyone wants to hear until it's done")

- themes of privilege, especially white privilege, and how that informs your worldview and perspective

- seeing how to be loved is to be known

- familial relationships, as someone with parental issues i can safely call this the daddy issues (and mommy issues) book. every character has a fascinating (or horrific) dynamic with their parents

- I cannot stress how much the book acknowledges these are teenagers who respond to things like teenagers

- cars cars cars i love cars and this book is a large reason why

- ART! this book (especially the sequel trilogy) really emphasizes the point of art! the beauty of it!)

- the magic system is genuinely really cool! the second series expands on it, but there's witches and magic and ley lines oh my!

- the series feels like summer; August specifically but it feels like a wild and enjoyable little summer tucked away in time

- murder squash song

- latin. I actually taught myself latin bc of these books

- religious motifs and themes but acknowledges how religion matters to one specific character he has a beautiful relationship with his religion and queer characters aren't granted that often

Now, to get snappy.

8. The Community

I have been in fandom for around fifteen years, and I can safely say that TRC fans are some of the loveliest individuals I've ever met. Every interaction i have had has been with an incredibly intelligent, skilled, and intuitive individual. I cannot express enough how lovely the fans are. I know saying "hey fans are the reason to read this" sounds a little goofy, but i can safely say the books are worth it for the community. I enjoy critical analysis and debate and dissecting creative writing and philosphizing and this is one of the few fandom communities who listens and engages and challenges my thoughts. I've grown tremendously engaging in both the text and others interpretations of it. I constantly find myself thinking and evolving and processing new information.

So, yes. The Raven Cycle. It's incredible. I cannot express that enough. I know this was a lot, but rest assured it's simply because I have such a love and special place in me for this series. It's been a part of my worst moments in love. I reread it this year during a particularly difficult time with my health (mental and physical) and it was a large part of why I made it through some truly dark moments in life. Not to sound melodramatic. It got me writing again, actually. And painting. And creating. Living my life again, to be frank. I acknowledge it's because the series has its claws in me and I have a great nostalgia for it but I don't find that bad. I think it's a miraculous and criminally underrated series of books. It is not perfect, by any means, but there is so much love and heart and home and safety in its pages. I cannot recommend it enough. Please, please consider reading it.

Also, now is a perfect time to get into it! The graphic novel comes out in July, and there's been a huge resurgence in attention to the series! People have been live blogging reading the series for the first time and it's so enthralling to reread vicariously through them. It's a perfect time to buckle down and work through the books. I am propaganda-ing you. You are being propaganda'd.

For your consideration:

also here's a meme I made in tenth grade, for nostalgia sake:

#this is so long im not even sorry #the raven cycle #gansey #blue sargent #ronan lynch #adam parrish #pynch #bluesey #henry cheng #noah czerny #my posts #its six am i spent... over twelve hours on this #tbh your fault asking an autistic to express why they love a book series (jk) ask me more things about the raven cycle it heals me

38 notes · View notes

zeebee3 · 4 months ago

Note

Mother!! Your last fic slapped so hard? Omg. You're genius.

I wanted to ask you for some recommendations.👀 I love everything you've ever written, so I'm sure I'll love what you've enjoyed reading too.

If/when you have time, of course.💙

Ahhhhh okay this is going to be a long list, I can already tell 😂 I've tried to limit myself but there are SO MANY fics out there that I eat up again and again, and there will never be a comprehensive list of stuff I've enjoyed because so far, it's truly endless.

That said, here are the first handful that jumped to mind which I've read at least twice (that's got to be a metric of something, right?). I'm going to do the absolute barest summary for them because really, the author's summary and tags do more good than I ever will.

It also goes without saying that every fic by any of these writers is a 10/10 slam dunk, so make a cup of tea and scroll their work lists for more gems. I hope you enjoy!

Note: all of them are rated E

In no particular order...

Dramione

While They Were Sleeping by Dizzle00. The sexual tension in this one!!!!!! pls. I die, even on rereads. Mind the tags as it's an infidelity fic (dating not married).

Full Tilt by Khakis. BDD and a Hermione who is determined to take it. You're welcome in advance.

I Won't Kiss a Death Eater by Orolin. Wartime, forbidden love, clandestine meetings, THE SPICE, the moody vibes!! The podfic of this (linked at the bottom) is also insanely good.

A Healer's Guide to Mating with a Werewolf by sad_millennial. The build up and storytelling is so wonderful, it's truly mind boggling that this clocks in under 8k words for how rich and full of life it is!

The Horny Virgin Chronicles by SilverDragonGemini. 8th year, Hermione asks Draco to help her learn what she likes in bed. Every chapter is amazing, I read it in a single sitting and will be rereading for sure!

Serpents & Skulls by Wanderingfair. Muggle uni AU, secret society, mystery and romance! The moody, dark academia vibes are exceptional.

horny devil by SultryNuns. Draco grows horns, and they are sensitive. I know, I know--say less.

Mount by molivier. Brazilian Ju Jitsu as foreplay. AGAIN, say less.

I was just thinking about it, I'm not gonna do it by malfoyesque. Draco pulls out every time...until now. This is the Draco POV of our dreams.

The Wandmaker by Charingfae. Draco makes magical sex toys; Hermione buys one 🙃

A Marriage of Inconvenience by Beforetherealbook. The title says it all--add in virgin!Draco, pining!Draco, and baby we're cookin'

The Summer After by youhavemyswordandbow. Set in the summer before 8th year, Draco is sent to live with the Grangers. I have a crush on this whole story.

Triads

The Cock Tongue Incident by neilistic. (Hermione/Draco/Astoria). Hermione is summoned to Draco and Astoria's home to help with something. I'm full-on on my knees for this Astoria, and the premise is so unique and so so well done!

Tarnished by westxnorthwest. (Draco/Theo/Hermione). 8th year, the start of a triad, no prior Dreo (which is very very fun to see bloom).

Drarry

Only for October by DodgerKedavra. Every chapter is written based on the 2023 HP Cocktober prompt. Every chapter is also FANTASTIC 🫠

Former Things Come to Mind by DodgerKedavra. Okay I'm cheating on my self-imposed "one fic per author" rule but I simply can't not suggest everyone read this one. The prose. THE CHARACTERIZATIONS. I tear up every reread.

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1. God-tier marriage law fic. This is the one that got me into that trope to begin with. PHEW.

Lumos by birdsofshore. Another classic Drarry but hey, if you haven't read it, let this be your cue!

OKAY that's it for now, but I am curating a list of my favorite other/rare pair fics as well so once I get that together, I'll do a follow up post.

Annddddd now I want to go reread half of these AGAIN 😅

#fic rec #ao3 fanfic #dramione #hp fic #hp fanfiction #hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #read on ao3 #drarry #drarry fanfiction #harry x draco

59 notes · View notes

urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

you oughta know: part I

Spring Break

series masterlist

foreword: since Eddie Munson is our collective Ken doll to dress up as we please I present to you my new and improved: dirtbag!college!Eddie. now with 50% more tattoos and a splash of 90s grunge college academia aesthetic.

cw: drinking, intoxication, R has breasts, R and Eddie are slut4slut in this

___

The bass on this houseparty’s stereo pumps through the floorboards, rattling every wall of the building. Hiding out in the less-stimulating kitchen seems like a good option for tonight.

Apparently, this other guy thinks so, too, ‘cuz soon it’s just you and him across the counter from another. He’s handsome, actually. Moonlight from a window above the sink highlights strong cheekbones and a sharp cupid’s bow as he helps himself to a glass from the cupboard.

Slinking out from elbow-rolled shirtsleeves are thick, dark vine tattoos; they wind around his forearms, smattered with hair and freckles, the ink trailing to end at his wrists.

You lean forward onto the counter separating you two (well aware that you’re spilling out of your top), then tip the neck of your beer bottle at him- “Eddie?”

He spins to face you, raises a pretty brow, long lashes sweeping over auburn eyes- “Uh- maybe? Who wants to know, dollface.”

A scrunch of distaste with your nose at the nickname, you barrel through the discomfort- “Oh, I thought it might be you. I’m Robin’s roommate. She said her weed guy had cool tattoos.”

The guy’s face lights up with a lopsided smile, dimples peeking out as he preens, “So you think they’re cool?”

You roll your eyes, take an unamused sip of beer, press a bit further into your hands on the counter. A little thrill at your small victory- his eyes flicking down once, twice, to your cleavage- you ride the alcohol-gifted looseness and adrenaline. “Psst. Hey. My eyes are up here, perv.”

It’s a tease. A goad masked as chiding. Eddie sets his glass of water down, doe eyes fixed on yours, not falling for the trap of your quick inhale- “You seriously sayin’ that to me, when you’re the one with your tits out?”

He tsks, walks those big boots over, leanin’ in to your counter space, close enough to smell the spice of his cologne- “Would almost think you like the attention.”

You swallow hard. Hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, bust still on display- “Yeah, and you’d probably like to be the one to give it to me. In your dreams, pal.”

It’s getting harder to play hard-to-get as Eddie bumps his hip against yours. The whites of his eyes are slightly bloodshot (you can smell the heady undercurrent of weed wafting from his clothes), while the black of his pupils are already blown out with feverish lust. “C’mon, have a heart, angel. Can’t fault a boy for dreamin’.”

And goddammit if you don’t melt for that line. (He really is a rather great lyricist, as you’ll come to find out this upcoming semester.)

In retrospect, you’ll never admit it, but you did make the first move- pressed him right up against Linda Satler’s kitchen counter and kissed him, with tongue. Robin walked in on the two of you and got in a full shriek before either of you realized someone else had come in, jumping apart like two children caught arms-deep in a cookie jar.

“God, gross,” she gags, louder than the wave of sound flooding in from the open door. She crosses the room in a few swift strides and plucks at your elbow, a reproachful whisper- “I sent you to get weed, not to make out with the dealer!”

“I am getting weed, Robin,” you insist, patient but firm, pulling from her grasp to turn back to Eddie, teeth worrying at your bottom lip that shimmers with mixed saliva as you ask, sweet and simply- “Can I please have some weed?”

It wasn’t actually your plan to butter Eddie up for a better price (another fact you’d remain stoically opposed to, later), but he gave it to you, all the same- a laughably low amount for a bundle of pre-rolls.

Robin’s eyes bug out at the amount he hands it over- then she smoothly pockets the goods and pats you on the shoulder. “Okay. My mistake. I actually love that you’re both getting acquainted in this manner. You have my blessing to do it a bunch more, just- not when I’m in the room. M’kay?”

She grins cheekily at Eddie before looping her arm in yours, pulling you with her towards the door- you call out before it closes behind you both, “Robin’s number is our landline! You can call me there, if you want!”

Eddie stands still for a few moments after you’re swallowed up by the noise of the party, palm flat to the twinge in his chest. Cupid’s arrow, he can feel it sinking in.

He’s an RA, this semester. Really can’t afford to be seeing cute girls and selling them weed- at least, not at the same time. Gotta straighten up a bit over Spring Break, he thinks.

Then he cracks the window open. Lights up a joint. Smokes out into the fresh night air and tries really hard to think of anything other than your tits. (A game of mostly losses.)

#upcoming fic #dirtbag!Eddie #college au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut

189 notes · View notes

saranilssonbooks · 7 months ago

Text

100 Moby-Dick covers ranked by your's truly. Thank you so much to all those of you who sent in contributions and helped make this completely out of proportion project a thing. Jars of angelic spermaceti for everyone! 🤍

As for the ranking, it is purely the result of my own personal taste in aesthetics and heavily influenced by my perception of the story. Add to that a generous amount of sentimentality, as shall be apparent.

What I have been mainly looking at in judging the designs is as follows...

- General appearance; is it attractive? 💕

- Does it help sufficiantly communicate the nature of the story (theme, genre, mood, plot)? ⚰️

- Is it canon? (Meaningful creative licence perfectly allowed!) ✅️

As for the tiers themselves, we have...

Topmost Greatness: this is something out of the ordinary, possibly genius and also I neeeeed it for my collection!

A: Good, good stuff, but might lack that very extra special something

B: Gets the job done, agreeable, totally okay.

C: It's not exactly bad and I'll let that oopsie over there slide, but I probably wouldn't pay much for this one.

You Had One Job: Yeah, you did.

Should Never Have Surfaced: Makes the Pequod tragedy look like a merry holiday.

Art thou ready?

TOPMOST GREATNESS

1. The most beautiful Moby-Dick cover I've ever seen. I was almost tempted to create a tier higher than Topmost Greatness only so that I could place it there.

2. Brilliant composition and color choice, despite its simplicity it hits me straight in the soul.

3. I remember drooling over this in the book store back in the day and considered reading it only because it was so gorgeous. Manages to be both crowded and clean at the same time. Story instantly recognizable.

4. The classiest of all time? Forever a winner!

5. I show the image of this one to people to make them understand the creative brilliancy that thrives within the Moby-Dick community.

6. Captures the mood in a fittingly crooked, awkward way that makes my heart beat faster. (Also reminds me of my copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest for some reason.)

7. Another sort of awkward one, but I love the style, I love the surreal combination of drama and stiffness, pretty fitting the story itself. Makes 'Hab look a bit like the Grim Reaper.

8. The erratic painting technique gives me the perfect kind of crazy vibes.

9. Moby-Dick, a bibliophile's dream, topmost mood nailing, superior dark academia accessory... what more could anyone wish for in a book?

10. So well thought out and the claustrophobic feel helps to create an unsettling mood despite the otherwise quite cheery colors. Sorry, Madagascar.

11. Look, my two main areas of Moby-Dick interest is Ahab and rhe psychology, so... y'know.

12. Mood certainly set.

13. Guess I have a thing for harpoon/eye symbolism. Again that claustrophobic feel by leaving only a sliver of crowded surface.

14. First physical Moby-Dick copy I ever bought. All the books in this Penguin series are gorgeous, but to me this is one of the design winners regardless of the contents.

15. Unsettled in all this tropical serenity yet?

16. The boldness in color choice and to focus on the fire theme is as unusual as it is exciting, and the very modern touch makes it even more interesting!

17. Not normally a style I'm drawn to, but somehow this manages to capture my interest. A successful nod to the painting at the Spouter Inn, lovely line work. My sibling got me this one as a locket for my last b-day.

18. My beloved companion, by now containing almost as much tape as paper. The 19th century poster design is irresistable to me. A white tail would've been even cooler though.

19. It's not that unique looking, yet the worn feel and harpooned Moby Dick simply gets to me somehow.

20. All the crucial elements skillfully and effectivly forged (no pun intended) together.

21. The way the psychology has been captured and the missing leg detail is yum!

22. Kind of busy but so unique and interesting! Yes plz.

23. Another classic! How could Kent's iconic whale ever fail?

24. Aiming for the adventure theme, it appears, and successfully so. Unusual color choice which I happen to be all about. Total vintage feel!

25. Again, not that much is happening, but the ropes, the character design, the inking... I love you, cover, and I need you in my life!

26. An often used scene, but the style gets to me so, so bad.

27. I'm not that much about the washed out color, but the rest is love.

28. Very basic, but also very nice and display friendly and I enjoy the vibe so much.

29. Almost made it to Topmost, but the positioning of the illustration gives off a cheap feel to me. Why couldn't you have used that gorgeous theme depiction to better advantage? Can one order a remake? Or a cropped poster?

30. Love the composition so much but the technique simply doesn't do it quite enough for me to move up one full notch. Still want it so bad for the collection though.

31. Runny ink on pure white is something I associate with Moby-Dick, don't know why. The blotchiness is a really great touch.

32. The design doesn't say much concerning the content, but nevertheless it is so pretty and am I correct when I say there's harpoon vibes?

33. Had that been a white whale, it would've ended up under Topmost!

34. My first reaction to this was that it's a really interesting piece of art, but I wasn't so sure I liked it as much in book cover form. The more I look at it, the more intrigued and enamoured I get. I want more of this.

35. Ahab and Moby Dick from Ahab's POV? Love the distorted psychedelic atmosphere, but another one with missed full illustration use potential.

36. Brings back the menory of cigarettes and fear. Granny the Gregory Peck fan owned one of these and it freaked me out where she kept it on display ever after I'd been forced to watch the movie at age 6. Now I want one just for the hell of it.

37. Okay, so hear me out. I know it's a children's book, but the illustrator obviously knew the story. Love the tangling rope and that Ahab's prosthetic leg seems made out of whale bone rather than wood for once.

38. Nice modern touch, but that's straight up the New Bedford whaler statue, which kinda ruins it for me.

39. Lovely, lovely design, but I simply don't associate it with a story about suicidal tendencies, gore, and mass death.

40. A somewhat unusual character choice to pose on a cover, but hey, I'll take it! :D

41. Doesn't pop, but I do like me some traditional Japanese art vibes!

42. Elegant, but the huge M obscures the title text and the harpoon looks as if crossed with a sewing needle.

43. Basic, but the feel is there and I like the color combination for this story.

44. Love the art and it's impossible not to identify which story this is, but I have several Ahab design choice questions which won't leave me.

45. This whole thing is odd and busy, but I also really like it!

46. Speaking of Japanese traditional art. The lines and the moodiness is much to my liking.

47. Simple, spot on, nothing that extra.

48. If only he hadn't looked so damn happy about it as if Ahab was about to throw that harpoon like a stick for him to fetch. Untold plot line??

49. There is this whole sub genre of Moby Dick balancing the Pequod, a concept that certainly works, but by now it has to have that little extra something to seem truly special.

50. We have a less erroneous whale, folks! It may be a stock image, but Ishmael gave this one thumbs up, and so how could I possibly do differently? Nicely done!

51. First, I get strong The Old Man and the Sea impressions. Second, what kind of whale do you intend to kill with that thing, my dude? Points for canonical end game beard though.

52. I assume this is meant as a traditional Polynesian art style nod in honor of our dear Queequeg. The sports wear lining texture in the title letters confuses me though.

53. There certainly are plenty of canon here, but also, this is some odd mayhem and where are you aiming, Captain? Yay, ivory leg again!

54. Basic, works perfectly fine.

55. This is a really odd scene choice to pick for a cover, but I love this edition and its illustrations to bits. In fact, I'm planning on posting a review of it soon.

56. I haven't peeked into Melville's mind, but I'm pretty sure the Pequod looked quite different. The story is unmistakable though.

57. Nothing wrong with it, I guess, but way too messy for me to be comfortable with.

58. Not much to say here, but a perfectly nice-looking cover for any book.

59. Gets the job done, but not that inspiring.

60. Despite seemingly little effort behind it, this design based on a 19th century (erroneous) whale drawing could have gone straight up to A. You see, in the original image the (erroneous) whale has his penis (erroneous?) in full view, but on this cover it has been erased. How could I not have given a Moby-Dick book cover depicting dozens of (erroneous) whale dicks A? Alas.

61. Good, professional-looking cover, but judging by the illustration only, I would have guessed this was a children's book about the adventures of a jolly porpoise named Toni.

62. No spoilers to see here or anything. Is that a gold prosthetics??

63. This looks so much like a academic book on psychology. Not too far off, I suppose, but I wouldn't be able to figure out which famous story it is.

64. The Temple toggle harpoon was invented in 1848. Do with this information what you will.

65. Hey! That other cover from before! Have to say that the color alterations and helm sihouette wasn't an improvement.

66. A bit extreme for me.

67. I call this excessive simplicity. If you need a copy of Moby-Dick, you will recognize it at once, but it might not attract new readers merely in itself.

68. Just because it's a children's book doesn't mean the vibe has to be off, but I think it is in this case. Recently posted an example of this illustrator's adorable Ishmael here.

69. Where's the title? Confusing for a cover, but I would love this for a poster of mug! Also, the biggest words are Ahab, Queequeg, and Pequod, which I find mildly insulting towards a certain someone. What was he called again?

70. Cool whale picture which I really like, but the accuracy for Moby-Dick isn't really there.

71. It's blue.

72. I understand the idea and the illustration is awesome, but for me, the vibe is strangely all off and I get almost a comedic feel. Again, that's just me.

73. I often feel like an Ahab apologist and can often be somewhat harsh on the whale, but holy shit! A sort of red herring situation meant to make the reader think Ahab will be the winner?

74. It looks full of action and Scrooge's Ahab cosplay look is really neat, but I have... concerns.

75. I don't remember the scene playing out like this and Ahab is clearly not having it.

YOU HAD ONE JOB

76. The exact face I made the first time I saw this kind of cover.

77. After all the people I've heard at the museum mistaking the sperm whale skeleton for an orca, I'm honestly surprised these fails aren't more common. The snowy setting is a nice touch.

78. Hast seen the white beluga?!

79. First shark Moby-Dick I ever saw and during my first week on Tumblr even. The nostalgia is real, shipmates.

80. Cool scene. Where is it from?

81. Come on! This is a fucking Wordsworth's edition!

82. My sentiments exactly.

83. No, it isn't.

84. At first I seriously thought this was some interesting modern sci-fi/fantasy take on Moby-Dick. Nope.

85. At least the person who did this one bothered to give it a traditional nautical flair.

86. The ocean is canon.

87. *screaming shark mode*

SHOULD NEVER HAVE SURFACED

88. Someone's dad is balancing on top of a fire breathing eel whilst ravens are flying around and a poor guy has dark thoughts in the bottom right corner and... I dunno, man. "Whaling voyage turns fatal obsession" apparently. Moby-Dick the Prequel?

89. Whoa, dude!! I know you're angry, but holy shit!

90. "Captain Ahab? He went that way. Me? Just your average cliché 18th century pirate. If you don't mind me asking, sir, what sort of creature are you?"

91. By "annotated" they mean the truth about Wild Bill Hickok's one time side gig as a whaler. There's a fan fiction idea for ya.

92. What in the everloving AI fuck is happening here?

93. Friends, your guesses are as good as mine.

94. In the early 2020s, the ghost of Melville Herman set out to find the ghost of Moby Dick.

95. I guess we never learned what Ahab's dad died from back in the 18th century. Runs in the family and all that.

96. ?????????

97. If you download a public domain work to sell on Amazon for a possible extra buck, taking one minute to check the basic plot before slapping a stock image on it for a cover will be an actual long term investment.

98. "Lol! U overbite!"

99. Well, he is clearly a zombie whale, so maybe this is the sequel then?

100. And thus endeth MOBY D CK.

#moby dick #herman melville #literature #classic literature #ishmael #captain ahab #queequeg #moby dick spoilers #whale weekly #book tier list #tier list #moby dick tier list #moby dick projects #for fun #ranking #i'm dead

87 notes · View notes