#often used to convey power

[i-gave-it-away]

Series 1 poster vs Series 2 poster (part 2)

[askaniritual]

i absolutely do not claim to understand japanese and this is like not a shock because i have made 0 formal effort to learn it ever but a really really annoying thing is that after like 14 years of cultural osmosis i know enough things about japanese that watching the subtitled version rather than the dubbed version of something actually does give me more information and sometimes lets me identify if the subtitles are inaccurate

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT LOKI'S SHOES (ACTUALLY, HIS WHOLE WARDROBE)

Production costs aside, clothes tell the audience about how characters think of themselves.

Loki's shoes in the S2 finale raised a lot eyebrows, but I find them quite fitting: they are comfortable, practical, and most importantly, they are humble. The camera brings this to our attention to communicate his evolution in character.

Loki has always dressed well, often times ostentatiously. Whether he is at war, passing as a Midgardian, or held captive as an Asgardian prisoner, Loki communicates his social class and sense of superiority through clothing. For him, clothing armors his fragile sense of self and against others' opinions of him. He intends to be perceived as deadly charming but ultimately unapproachable.

His attire in the first Thor movie is roughly equal parts green and gold, signifying his royal status. His style is dressed down for his brother's misadventures in Jotenheim, yet overall both silhouettes are lofty, princely, but not hardened or threatening.

In Avengers, Loki's look has more black and leather, with exaggerated emphasis on his shoulders meant to intimidate as he assumes the role of villain. The silhouette is very hard, heavy, and edgy. Gold detailing is prevalent as well. Combined with the goat's helm, this is Loki's most pretentious outfit, which speaks to an undercurrent of low self-esteem and a compulsive need to impress. There's no mistaking he is the main antagonist of the story.

In Thor 2, Loki's attire is similar to Avengers but the overcoat is exchanged for a less bulky version (perhaps conveying he is less guarded now that the effects of the Mind Stone are no longer influencing him). Loki's role likewise pivots from the harsh lines of a villain to the more flexible edges of a reluctant villain-turned-ally. This aligns with his character arc when he protects both Jane and Thor, seemingly sacrificing himself.

In Thor 3, Loki's silhouette is streamlined even further. The overcoat is done away with in favor of what appears to be a leather doublet, pauldrons, and vambraces. Gold accents are minimal. While stylish, Loki's attire is more practical than showy, and his helm serves the dual purpose of protection as well as weaponry. At this point in his arc, Loki has become a full antihero, joining his brother's side in rescuing as many Asgardians as possible, and eventually dying in a vain bid to protect Thor from Thanos.

The TVA does something very fun and interesting in taking away Loki's ability to dress himself. Since Loki cannot use his magic in the TVA, he is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor/advocate, who eventually becomes his best friend and peer.

Perhaps, on a subconscious level, this helped Loki to feel included. We know by his pwn admission that Loki fears being alone and desperately craves a sense of belonging. At the same time, he intentionally dresses to put people at a distance, thereby protecting himself from potential rejection at the cost of isolating himself further.

When Mobius gives him that TVA jacket for the first time, Loki seems uncharacteristically pleased. It is not an attractive jacket by any means, yet he neither scoffs at it nor refuses to wear it. Instead, Loki puts it on and is content when Mobius says it looks "smart" on him. He continues to dress like Mobius and, indeed, mimic some of his mannerisms such as placing his hands on his hips. Without clothing meant to push people away, Loki opens up, has more fun, and makes friends.

Loki's choice of attire as he assumes the mantle of God of Stories (and time) is fascinating. Setting aside the clear design inspiration from the comics, Loki's silhouette is soft, remarkably so. His colors are earthy hues of green, and the only bit of flare are the light gold trimming and crown. The look brings to mind the garb of sages and wise wizards rather than royalty or warriors. He's powerful yet approachable because there is humility in his bearing. And that humility springs from a well of healthy self-worth, self-love, and a deep love for others.

The shoes are not meant to be attractive. They are meant to help him ascend the throne, nothing more.

[luna-azzurra]

Emotionally reserved characters

Instead of openly sharing their emotions with others, they keep their feelings locked inside, letting their inner thoughts do all the talking. You get a glimpse into their mind, where a storm of conflicts, doubts, and desires brews quietly beneath a calm exterior. This internal monologue allows readers to understand what’s going on inside their head, even if they don’t show it on the outside. It’s like seeing the world through their eyes, where every little thing stirs up a wave of emotions that they never express out loud.

For these characters, actions speak louder than words, but even their actions are restrained. They communicate their emotions through the smallest of gestures—a slight tightening of the jaw when they’re angry or hurt, a brief flicker in their eyes when they’re surprised, or a controlled change in posture when something makes them uncomfortable. These tiny, almost imperceptible movements can say so much more than an outburst ever could, hinting at feelings they would never openly share. It’s about what they don’t do as much as what they do.

When they do speak, every word is carefully chosen. Emotionally reserved characters don’t ramble or spill their feelings in a flood of words. Instead, they speak in a measured and controlled manner, always keeping their emotions in check. Their sentences are concise, sometimes even vague or indirect, leaving others guessing about what they’re really thinking. It’s not that they don’t feel deeply, they just prefer to keep those feelings close to the chest, hidden behind a mask of calm and composure.

For these characters, what they do is often more telling than what they say. They might not say “I care about you” outright, but you’ll see it in the way they go out of their way to help, the quiet ways they show up for the people they love. Their actions reveal their emotions—whether it’s a protective gesture, a silent sacrifice, or a kind deed done without expectation of recognition. It’s these unspoken acts of kindness that show their true feelings, even if they never say them out loud.

They often have strong personal boundaries. They keep their private lives just that - private. They don’t open up easily and are cautious about who they let into their inner circle. They might deflect conversations away from themselves or avoid sharing personal details altogether. It’s not that they don’t want to connect, it’s just that they find it hard to lower their walls and let others in, fearing vulnerability or judgment.

When they do show vulnerability, it’s in small, controlled doses. These characters may have moments where they let their guard down, but only in private or with someone they deeply trust.

Sometimes, emotionally reserved characters express their feelings through objects that hold special significance to them. Maybe it’s a worn-out book they keep close, a piece of jewelry they never take off, or an old letter tucked away in a drawer. These symbolic objects are like anchors, holding memories and emotions they can’t express in words. They serve as tangible reminders of their inner world, representing feelings they keep buried deep inside.

When these characters communicate, there’s often more to their words than meets the eye. They speak in subtext, using irony, implication, or ambiguity to convey what they really mean without saying it outright. Their conversations are filled with hidden meanings and unspoken truths, creating layers of depth in their interactions with others. You have to read between the lines to understand what they’re really saying because what they leave unsaid is just as important as what they do say.

Despite their calm demeanor, there are certain things that can break through their emotional reserve. Specific triggers - like a painful memory, a deep-seated fear, or a personal loss - can elicit a strong emotional response, revealing the depth of their feelings. These moments of intensity are rare but powerful, showing that even the most reserved characters have a breaking point.

Over time, emotionally reserved characters can evolve, gradually revealing more about themselves as they grow and change. Maybe they start to trust more, opening up to those around them, or perhaps they experience something that challenges their emotional barriers, forcing them to confront their feelings head-on.

[heartlilith]

Lilith - Becoming Powerful

“Lilith, or "Black Moon Lilith," is a point in your birth chart that reveals your personality's hidden or taboo parts. It indicates where you've kept your true desires secret to avoid criticism or rejection. This hidden side, often called your shadow, represents everything society considers forbidden or unacceptable.”

1st House: This is a powerful placement whether you like it or not. This placement is the embodiment of Lilith; seductive, head turning, taboo, femme fatale. To make Lilith work for you here, you need to remember not to repress your personality, you are who you are. Being yourself attracts the people that are meant to be in your life. Your ability to captivate people with your appearance alone is admirable. You’re intimidating, provocative, raw. Becoming powerful is all about knowing this and using it to your advantage. Making eye contact with others, stating your opinions unapologetically, wearing black and red clothing. Knowing that you’re that bitch!

2nd House: Lilith here is all about that money honey. Using Lilith here to become powerful can look like building up your self worth to become unwavering. You have a natural ability to get things from others if you just focus on building your self worth. You’re naturally sensual. Wearing perfume, black/red clothes (like 1st house), and clothes that compliment your body shape. Becoming powerful with Lilith in the 2nd house is investing in yourself so that others invest in you too. You are naturally a money magnet you just need the skills and confidence to fully unlock your capability.

3rd House: Lilith in the 3rd house can be a very persuasive placement. The way you communicate with others is calculated and strategic. Learning about the laws of suggestion, how to seduce, and reverse psychology would make you extremely powerful. How to talk to people in a way that reaches your desired outcome. Learning what to say and when. I’m not saying to be full on manipulative, just play the game. You’re intelligent and have a unique perspective on the way things work. Use your communication skills to become powerful and look up the laws/reverse psychology that I mentioned previously.

4th House: Lilith in the 4th house is a hard placement to have. Becoming powerful means complete separation from your family. When you leave your childhood home, you’ll become powerful. Working through your trauma and creating separation with unhealthy family members will help you. Your emotional intelligence is another way you can become powerful. Harness your ability to see right through people and use it to your advantage.

5th House: Lilith here is all about self expression. You need to be comfortable with what Lilith brings here to become truly powerful. Being comfortable with your sexual expression and using art to convey your emotions. Lilith in the 5th house is a placement that indicates a heartbreaker, they can look but they can’t touch. I think your power lies in expressing yourself totally and unapologetically. Embracing your creativity and gaining power through arts.

6th House: Unlocking your power with this placement is creating routines focused on the self. Putting yourself first and foremost always, be selfish. Everyday, create a routine that is beneficial to you; a work out routine, skin care routine, say affirmations in the mirror, getting your nails done, having a healthy diet are all things that will unlock your power. Pay no mind to your coworkers; go to work and go home, you are not there to make friends. Before helping others, help yourself - that is how to become powerful.

7th House: Another powerhouse placement. Becoming powerful with your Lilith here is using tactics to get people on your side. You’re naturally very good at persuasion, use this. In love, you can have whoever you want so choose wisely. Becoming powerful means charming others and knowing how to act and when. Using your charm can get you ahead in life, networking and creating contacts to be successful.

8th House: Lilith in the 8th house is a naturally powerful aspect. You have the ability to gain things from other people, people want to help you. Dressing up, even if you’re the slightest bit suggestive is going to help you. You don’t have to dress up like an escort or anything but using a sexy perfume, an off the shoulder outfit, high heels, things that are minimally suggestive are going to amplify your abilities to gain through others.

9th House: Your power is being able to detach from things and people. This is great. Study the law of detachment and USE IT. Your ability to detach can actually help you get what you want in life. Detachment is key. You’re not afraid to argue and stand up for your beliefs because to you, pissing people off doesn’t matter. You don’t care - detachment. Stick up for your beliefs without concern, you could very well become revolutionary.

10th House: Power placement. Similar to the 1st house, you embody Lilith. The difference is the 1st house can hide it better, the 10th house not so much. You can use your good looks and mannerisms to climb the corporate ladder. You know how to get people into the palm of your hand. Becoming powerful here is learning the tools; psychology, 48 laws of power, the power of seduction and implementing them as you see fit. Not paying attention to gossip and rumors will also make you powerful.

11th House: This is a tough placement to have. Having Lilith in the 11th house means you were probably outcasted or hurt in some way by friends or peers. Becoming powerful with this placement is working through that trauma and becoming an advocate for others. Embrace what makes you different, embrace standing out from the crowd. Becoming an advocate for others who felt that way will make you powerful, you could become a leader.

12th House: Lilith here is very useful because of your ability to hide it when necessary. Because of this, you could be popular or comfortable to be around. Having the ability to hide Lilith and then pull her out of a hat when you need to is powerful. You can be sneaky, strategic, but also walked on. Using Lilith to become powerful is knowing when you’re being taken advantage of and tricked. Becoming powerful means believing when someone shows you who they are. Pay attention to actions and not words.

🖤SUBSCRIBE TO MY PATREON FOR EXCLUSIVE POSTS AND EARLY ACCESS🖤

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Other Words to Use (Emotions)

Carefully chosen words have the power to bring a person or story to life and impact the readers' impression. If you’re like most people, though, you often use the same words when writing about emotions. Here are some commonly used words to describe emotions and feelings as well as many alternatives that may help your readers better understand what you're trying to convey.

Happy

HIGH excited, thrilled, ecstatic, elated, intoxicated, captivated, euphoric, joyous, jubilant, overjoyed MODERATE cheerful, upbeat, optimistic, enthusiastic, lively, gleeful, joyful, peppy, delighted, tickled, hopeful LOW merry, light, jolly, up, glad, pleased, blissful, chipper, content, perky, playful

Sad

HIGH grieved, crushed, gloomy, hopeless, heartbroken, devastated, despairing, distraught, heavy-hearted, miserable MODERATE dejected, dismayed, hurt, hurting, disillusioned, downcast, forlorn, glum, cheerless, melancholy LOW down, disappointed, blue, discouraged, low, somber, sorry, unhappy

Angry

HIGH furious, raging, irate, hateful, incensed, hostile, outraged, indignant, exasperated MODERATE aggravated, irritated, irked, upset, annoyed, offended, sulky, ticked off, fuming, sullen, provoked LOW perturbed, hassled, bothered, fuss, fret, displeased, peeved

Scared

HIGH: terrified, overwhelmed, panicked, petrified, alarmed, fearful MODERATE: worried, tense, dread, shaken, anxious, afraid, panicky, panicked LOW: startled, surprised, uneasy, edgy, apprehensive, hesitant, uncomfortable

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Master Dialogue Writing Techniques for Engaging Fiction (For Writers)

(Beware, long post!)

As fiction writers, we all know that effective dialogue is essential for bringing our stories and characters to life. After all, the way our protagonists, antagonists, and supporting players speak to one another is one of the primary ways readers get to know them on a deep, intimate level. Dialogue reveals personality, uncovers motivation, and propels the narrative forward in a way that felt narration simply can't match.

But nailing natural, compelling dialogue is easier said than done. It's a craft that takes serious skill to master, requiring writers to have a keen ear for authentic speech patterns, a nimble handle on subtext and implication, and the ability to strike that delicate balance between being true to real-world conversation while also keeping things snappy, dynamic, and laser-focused on the story at hand.

If you're someone who struggles with crafting dialogue that truly sings, never fear. In this in-depth guide, I'm going to dive deep into the techniques and best practices that will help you elevate your dialogue writing to new heights. By the end, you'll have a toolbox full of strategies to ensure that every exchange between your characters is as gripping, revealing, and unforgettable as possible.

The Fundamentals of Effective Dialogue

Before we get into the more advanced nuances of dialogue writing, let's start by covering some of the foundational principles that all great fictional conversations are built upon:

Reveal Character One of the primary functions of dialogue is to give readers a window into who your characters are as people. The way they speak — their word choices, their tone, their body language, their turns of phrase — should provide vivid insight into their personalities, backgrounds, values, quirks, and emotional states.

Think about how much you can glean about someone just from how they communicate in real life. Do they use a lot of slang and shorthand? Are they verbose and flowery with their language? Do they struggle to make eye contact or fail to respond directly to questions? All of these subtle linguistic cues are powerful tools for crafting multi-dimensional characters.

Drive the Plot Forward While revelations about character are crucial, you also want to ensure that your dialogue is constantly pushing the story itself forward. Each exchange should feel purposeful, moving the narrative along by introducing new information, triggering plot points, creating conflict, or prompting characters to make pivotal decisions.

Dialogue that feels aimless or extraneous will ultimately bore readers and detract from the forward momentum of your story. Every line should have a clear intent or function, whether it's uncovering a hidden truth, setting up a future complication, or escalating the tension in a high-stakes moment.

Establish Distinct Voices In a story featuring multiple characters, it's crucial that each person has a clearly defined and differentiated way of speaking. Readers should be able to tell who's talking just from the rhythm, diction, and personality of the dialogue, without any additional context clues.

This doesn't mean every character has to have an over-the-top, hyper-stylized way of communicating. In fact, the most effective character voices often feel grounded and natural. But there should still be distinct markers — whether it's word choice, sentence structure, tone, or speech patterns — that make each person's voice instantly recognizable.

Convey Subtext While the literal words being spoken are important, great dialogue also traffics heavily in subtext — the unspoken emotional undercurrents, power dynamics, and hidden agendas that simmer beneath the surface of a conversation.

The most compelling exchanges happen when characters are communicating on multiple levels simultaneously. Perhaps they're saying one thing out loud while their body language and tone convey a completely different sentiment. Or maybe they're engaged in a subtle war of wits, trading verbal jabs that reveal deeper wells of resentment, attraction, or vulnerability.

Mastering the art of subtext is key to creating dialogue that feels layered, lifelike, and imbued with dramatic tension.

Strategies for Writing Snappy, Realistic Dialogue

Now that we've covered the foundational principles, let's dive into some specific techniques and best practices that will take your dialogue writing to the next level:

Omit Unnecessary Details One of the biggest mistakes many writers make with dialogue is bogging it down with too much extraneous information. In real life, people rarely speak in perfectly composed, grammatically correct full sentences. We stumble over our words, interrupt each other, trail off mid-thought, and pack our speech with filler words like "um," "uh," and "you know."

While you don't want to go overboard with mimicking that messiness, you should aim to strip your dialogue of any overly formal or expository language. Stick to the essentials — the core thoughts, feelings, and information being exchanged — and let the subtext and character voices do the heavy lifting. Your readers will fill in the gaps and appreciate the authenticity.

Master the Art of Subtext As mentioned earlier, crafting dialogue that's rich in subtext is one of the keys to making it feel gripping and lifelike. Think about how much is often left unsaid in real-world conversations, with people dancing around sensitive topics, conveying hidden agendas, or engaging in subtle power struggles.

To layer that sense of unspoken tension into your own dialogue, consider techniques like:

• Having characters contradict themselves or say one thing while their body language says another

• Utilizing loaded pauses, interruptions, and moments of uncomfortable silence

• Injecting subtle sarcasm, skepticism, or implication into a character's word choices

• Allowing characters to talk past each other, missing the unspoken point of what the other person is really saying

The more you can imbue your dialogue with that layered, emotionally-charged subtext, the more it will resonate with readers on a deeper level.

Establish Distinct Voices As mentioned earlier, ensuring that each of your characters has a clearly defined and differentiated speaking voice is crucial for great dialogue. But how exactly do you go about accomplishing that?

One effective strategy is to give each person a unique set of verbal tics, idioms, or speech patterns. Maybe one character is prone to long-winded, flowery metaphors, while another speaks in clipped, efficiency-minded sentences. Perhaps your protagonist has a habit of ending statements with questioning upticks, while the sarcastic best friend always punctuates their barbs with an eye roll.

You can also play with differences in diction, syntax, and even accent/dialect to further distinguish how your characters communicate. The key is to really get to know the unique personality, background, and psychology of each person — then let those elements shine through in how they express themselves.

Lean Into Conflict and Confrontation When it comes to crafting gripping dialogue, conflict is your friend. The most compelling exchanges often arise from characters butting heads, engaging in verbal sparring matches, or working through deep-seated tensions and disagreements.

Conflict allows you to showcase the high stakes, unresolved needs, and deeper emotional currents that are driving your characters. It forces them to make bold choices, reveals aspects of their personalities that might not otherwise surface, and generates the kind of dramatic tension that will really hook your readers.

Of course, you'll want to avoid making every single dialogue scene a full-blown argument. But learning to sprinkle in well-placed moments of friction, confrontation, and clashing agendas is a surefire way to elevate the energy and impact of your character interactions.

Read Your Dialogue Out Loud One of the most valuable tricks for ensuring your dialogue sounds natural and lifelike is to read it aloud as you're writing. Hearing the words out loud will quickly expose any clunky phrasing, overly formal grammar, or inauthentic rhythms that would otherwise go unnoticed on the page.

Pay close attention to how the dialogue rolls off your tongue. Does it have a smooth, conversational flow? Or does it feel stilted and unnatural? Are your characters' unique voices shining through clearly? Are there any spots where the back-and-forth starts to drag or feel repetitive?

Actively listening to your dialogue — and making adjustments based on how it sounds in the real world — is an essential part of the writing process. It's one of the best ways to refine and polish those character interactions until they feel truly alive.

Hopefully, this can help you all!

The key is to always keep your focus on authenticity. Ask yourself: how would real people actually speak?

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[beejunos]

ANIMAL INSTINCTS | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: An unexpected rut makes you and Alastor act upon your feelings. Desperately and intensely.

This story was requested by @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog. The idea for the story is completely theirs; I just had the pleasure of putting it into words, and hopefully, I did a good job. Enjoy, darlings!

Tags: Dom!Alastor, rut, biting, smut, doggy style (the position is actually called prone bone, but that's a weird name if you ask me), creampie

For the most part, life in Hell mirrored life on Earth. There were homes, stores, libraries, work and gyms. Sinners went to restaurants with their friends and bought flowers for their lovers. Life in Hell could be quite pleasant if one could ignore all the violence and chaos.

Alastor revelled in the stark contrast between the underworld and Earth. Here, he found that everyone had shed their masks, revealing their true nature without the façade of modesty or fake politeness. The freedom he felt in Hell was unparalleled. Here, he didn't have to suppress his instincts; he could openly embrace them without fear of judgment or reproach. In this realm, he no longer needed to lurk in the shadows or carefully stalk his prey. Instead, he basked in the unbridled power and control he had meticulously crafted for himself, relishing in the unfiltered expression of his true self.

There was just one thing that put a wrench in his otherwise perfect afterlife. His demonic body.

In the depths of Hell, Alastor had encountered a multitude of sinners over the years, each with their own unique and otherworldly appearance. Some exhibited minor demonic features such as pointy ears and sharp teeth, while others had undergone a complete transformation, like the sinner whose very essence had been twisted into a demonic couch. At first, Alastor had felt a pang of sympathy for the unfortunate soul trapped in such an unusual form. However, as time passed, he found himself more amused by the bizarre and often tragic circumstances of the damned. Such encounters became a part of his daily routine in the underworld.

Alastor considered himself among the fortunate few with a body almost identical to a human's. Despite initially struggling with his large and overly sensitive ears, he was still considered quite handsome by demonic standards. However, it was not just the ears that were new to him.

When alive, Alastor quickly realised that while others did not share his murderous instincts, he lacked some of the instincts others seemed to have. For all his life, he never sought to do the devil's tango, as one of his old friends used to call sex. He had tried it a few times, mostly just to see what the fuss was about and because it seemed to be expected of him to want it, but after it all, it just seemed more trouble than it was worth. For most of his short human life, Alastor never desired the human body but the blood that pumped through its veins.

However, this all changed the day he woke up in Hell.

It quickly became apparent to Alastor that he had woken up as some form of demonic deer-man, something he had initially been quite disappointed in since he didn't feel like it conveyed a strong enough message to the other sinners. However, when his shadow had manifested with increased powers, Alastor embraced his new, formidable body with contentment. For years, Alastor revelled in his new body and his new life in Hell.

He was strong. Stronger than his human body had ever been before, he found that he could finally live entirely after his compass with Hell's lack of rules. But Hell is still Hell. Meant to torment the souls of the damned, and torment did strike Alastor after a few years in the afterlife.

As he would later come to name it, the Need crept into Alastor's being like a shadowy predator stalking its prey, stealthy and deliberate. It didn't strike all at once, but rather, it sank its insidious teeth into his tender flesh slowly, so slowly that he barely noticed at first. Like a venomous serpent, it released its poison in measured doses, corrupting his thoughts and warping his desires, turning his own body into an alien battlefield. Once sharp and disciplined, his mind began to fragment under the strain, waging war against the primal urges that had begun to claw their way to the surface.

The first time the Need truly manifested within him was nothing short of a revelation. It started as a faint tremor in his gut, a gnawing sensation that he couldn't quite place. It was an ache, a deep, pulsing hunger that steadily grew, coiling tighter and tighter within him until it felt like a living thing pressing against the confines of his very skin, desperate to break free. The hunger wasn't for food, though; it was something far more dangerous and primal. It was a desire that went beyond the physical, a craving that no amount of flesh could satisfy. This hunger wanted more—to hunt, chase, and devour. It yearned to sink its teeth into the tender skin of another, to drink deeply of their essence, to taste the raw, pulsing vitality that lay beneath.

At first, Alastor was bewildered by these new sensations. He had known hunger before, of course, but this was different, more intense, more consuming. It felt as though a part of him had awakened that he hadn't even known existed—a part that was wild and untamed, a beast that had slumbered deep within him, only now rousing from its ancient sleep. He tried to dismiss it, to ignore the insistent, throbbing ache that had settled into his bones, attributing it to the peculiarities of his demonic form. Perhaps, he thought, it was merely a quirk of his new existence, a strange dietary need that would soon pass.

Driven by this belief, he made his way to Cannibal Town several times, drawn by the tantalising scent of fresh, raw flesh. There, in the beautiful shops, he indulged in every manner of meat, tearing through pounds of it in search of relief. He savoured the rich, iron taste of blood, the texture of muscle and fat, and the crunch of bone between his teeth, but it was all in vain. No matter how much he ate, the hunger remained, gnawing at him from the inside out, growing stronger with each passing day. It was as though the food he consumed simply vanished into a void, leaving him more ravenous than before. The Need was insatiable, a bottomless pit that could not be filled by any earthly sustenance.

As the days turned into weeks, the hunger grew stronger and more demanding until it became a constant, aching presence in his life. It whispered to him in the dead of night, its voice seductive and dark, urging him to give in, to surrender to the primal urges that coursed through his veins. The Need was no longer content to simply lurk in the shadows of his mind; it wanted out. It wanted to take control, to drive him to the brink of madness. Alastor could feel it in every fibre of his being, a relentless, thrumming pulse that matched the beat of his heart, pushing him ever closer to the edge.

The realisation of what the Need truly was hit him like a bolt of lightning on a stormy night, sudden and terrifying in its clarity. It wasn't just a hunger for food, for flesh—it was a hunger for something more profound, more intimate. The Need wasn't just physical; it was carnal, a desperate, all-consuming desire for connection, for the raw, sensual meeting of bodies. It was a hunger for a mate, for the sweet release that could only come from the merging of two beings, from the surrender to the primal dance of desire.

With this revelation came a new kind of fear, one that gripped him tightly and refused to let go. Alastor was a creature of control, a being who prided himself on his ability to remain composed and detached, even in the face of the most extreme temptations. But this…this was different. The Need was something he couldn't control or suppress, no matter how hard he tried. It was a force of nature, a storm that raged within him, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

In his desperation, Alastor withdrew from the world, retreating to the safety of his own home, where he could hide from the prying eyes of others. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing him like this, of anyone witnessing the raw, unbridled Need that had taken hold of him. The isolation was a double-edged sword—it gave him the space he needed to think and regain control, but it also left him alone with his thoughts, with the dark, twisted desires that refused to be ignored.

The Need gnawed at him day and night, a relentless, insistent presence that demanded to be satisfied. It filled his dreams with visions of flesh and heat, of bodies entwined in a desperate, frenzied dance. He could feel it in every touch, every breath, every beat of his heart—a yearning, a craving that consumed him utterly. He was starving, not for food, but for the touch of another, for the sweet, intoxicating release that could only come from the union of two beings.

As the days stretched into weeks, Alastor found himself on the brink of surrender, teetering on the edge of a precipice from which there might be no return. The Need had become a living thing, a beast that demanded to be fed, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could no longer resist its call. The hunger was too strong, too all-encompassing, and he was only a man—demon or not—trying to resist the inexorable pull of nature.

Ultimately, Alastor knew he could only hold out for so long. The Need was a part of him now, a dark and twisted companion that would never leave him, never allow him a moment's peace. It was both a curse and a revelation, a reminder that even in the depths of Hell, even in the heart of a demon, the most primal of instincts could never be wholly denied.

And then, just as it had once been there, the Need disappeared, and he was himself again. However, that did not comfort him, for he now knew that this new existence was just a part of his new body, his new life in Hell—a seasonal rut.

Life at the hotel often teetered on the edge of sheer chaos, like a tightrope walker balancing precariously above a roaring fire. Yet, in its bizarre way, it maintained a strange sense of peace—well, as peaceful as one could hope for in a place that served as a rehabilitation centre for wayward souls in the depths of Hell. The air itself seemed to hum with the constant tension between serenity and madness, as if the very walls of the hotel were alive, listening, and waiting for the next outburst. But despite the madness that swirled around you, you found solace in the routine of it all. You had a roof over your head, work that brought a sense of purpose, and friends who felt like family, albeit an unconventional one. In a realm where despair could easily consume you, in your humble opinion, these small blessings were worth more than all the riches in Heaven.

As a hotel maid, your days were usually filled with mundane housekeeping tasks—dusting off ancient chandeliers that hung like eerie spectres from the ceilings, scrubbing the seemingly endless floors that stretched out in labyrinthine corridors, and changing the sheets on beds that often bore the remnants of restless nights. The hotel itself was a monstrous, sprawling structure, its architecture a twisted blend of grandeur and hellish decay.

Occasionally, a guest or someone connected to the guests would lose control of their composure and attack the hotel. You had witnessed more than one instance where someone's emotional outburst resulted in a massive hole being blasted through the wall, or worse, through the roof. Alastor, the enigmatic and unsettling overseer of the hotel, would then swiftly summon shadowy, spectral figures to repair the damage. These figures moved with a ghostly grace, their forms flickering like candle flames in a drafty room, and they worked with an efficiency that was both mesmerising and unnerving. You had learned early on not to question it. Alastor had an aura of menace about him that made the others shy away from him, but to you, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled you to him. It could, naturally, be that he was a deer type of sinner, just like you, and you had never seen someone else like that before him.

Then there was Nifty, your fellow maid and a whirlwind of energy. She was small in stature but mighty in her work, flitting from room to room like a hyperactive sprite, cleaning with a speed and precision that was almost supernatural. She had a knack for tidying up even the most disastrous of messes in record time, leaving rooms spotless and gleaming as if nothing had ever been amiss. In the beginning, you had tried to keep up with her pace, but it quickly became apparent that this was a futile effort. Instead, you decided to focus on another crucial aspect of the hotel's operations—cooking.

In a place like this, where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were often blurred, food became an anchor, something tangible and comforting in an otherwise unpredictable existence. You took it upon yourself to prepare meals for the staff and guests, finding a strange kind of peace in the rhythmic motions of chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and seasoning dishes. The kitchen became your sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself in the art of cooking and crafting meals that provided a brief respite from the chaos outside. You would experiment with recipes, combining ingredients in ways that were both traditional and wildly unconventional, catering to the eclectic tastes of your infernal clientele.

Each dish was a labour of love, an offering to those who, like you, sought comfort in the small pleasures that life—or the afterlife—could still offer. And when the day was done, the last plate was washed, and the kitchen was quiet, you would sit back with a cup of tea, savouring the calm that settled over the hotel in those rare, precious moments of tranquillity. Ultimately, it wasn't just about surviving in Hell; it was about finding those fleeting moments of peace and holding onto them for as long as possible.

On a day much like any other, you awoke in your bed, the soft rays of early morning light filtering through the gaps in your heavy curtains. The light seemed to dance as it crept into your room, casting delicate patterns on the floorboards and chasing away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. The air was still, with only the faint hum of a distant world waking up beyond the confines of your room. You lingered for a moment, savouring the stillness, before reluctantly pushing back the covers and rising to meet the day.

Your feet touched the cool wooden floor, the sensation both grounding and invigorating, pulling you further from the grasp of sleep. You moved through the motions of getting dressed, slipping into your familiar work clothes—soft, well-worn fabrics that wrapped around you like an old friend. The final step before heading downstairs was the comforting weight of your apron, slung over your neck and tied at your waist.

The Hazbin Hotel, usually alive with the bustling energy of its residents, was enveloped in a rare, profound silence. With its long, winding corridors and grand, if somewhat faded, décor, the building took on a different character in these early hours. The ornate walls, adorned with tapestries and portraits, stood still as if holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable stirrings of life to resume. Yet in these moments, before the chaos of the day began, you found a certain peace that was otherwise elusive. The quietude of the morning allowed you to appreciate the old hotel's charm—the way the light from the grand windows caught the intricate patterns of the wallpaper, the scent of old wood and polished floors, and the echoes of footsteps long past that seemed to linger in the air.

Descending the grand staircase, your hand brushed along the polished bannister, the cool surface smooth beneath your fingers. The echo of your footfalls on the wooden steps was a comforting, familiar, and constant sound. Each step brought you closer to your favourite part of the day—those first few moments in the kitchen, before anyone else stirred, where you could begin your morning rituals in solitude.

The kitchen was the hotel's heart for you. The dark wooden cabinets stood tall against the walls, their surfaces worn from years of use but still sturdy, holding all the secrets of your culinary endeavours within them. The floor, a classic checkered pattern of black and white tiles, was cool underfoot and always spotlessly clean—a testament to your careful attention. And then there was the range, a magnificent maroon beast that dominated the wall opposite the kitchen entrance. It was more than just an appliance; it was an old friend, a companion that had seen countless loaves of bread, pastries, and roasts emerge from its fiery belly.

You approached the old pantry to the left of the entrance, its door creaking slightly as you pulled it open. Inside, shelves lined with jars and tins, spices and dried herbs greeted you with the promise of a thousand possible dishes. But this morning, as with every other, your hand reached for the small, hand-cranked coffee grinder and the tin of coffee beans. The grinder was a cherished antique, its wooden body smooth from years of use, its metal crank polished to a dull sheen by the countless hands that had turned it. The beans rattled lightly as you poured them into the grinder, their rich aroma already beginning to fill the small space.

With a steady rhythm, you began to turn the crank, the gears inside humming quietly as they crushed the beans into a fine powder. The scent of fresh coffee intensified, mingling with the faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla that still clung to the air from yesterday's baking. You allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the fragrance, the anticipation of that first sip bringing a small smile to your lips.

Once the beans were ground to your satisfaction, you carefully emptied them into the percolator, setting them on the stovetop. As the percolator began to bubble and hiss, filling the room with the comforting sound of coffee brewing, you turned your attention to a small plate on the counter. Nestled on a doily were some cardamom buns—a remnant of yesterday's efforts. The buns were golden brown, its surfaces dusted with sugar, and the scent of cardamom was still strong.

You took one of the buns in your hand, breaking off a piece and savouring the soft, fragrant dough as it melted in your mouth. It was smooth, buttery, spicy and comforting, the perfect balance to the strong coffee that was nearly ready. You knew that starting your day with only coffee on an empty stomach wasn't the wisest choice, but with the cardamom bun in hand, the morning felt just a little more right.

As the last drops of coffee dripped into the pot, you poured yourself a cup, the dark liquid steaming gently. You took a deep breath, savouring the aroma before taking a cautious sip. The warmth spread through you, a quiet joy. This was your moment, a small piece of serenity before the day began. And in this stillness, in the gentle light filtering through the curtains and the soft hum of the hotel around you, you found contentment.

As you sat perched on the kitchen counter, your legs gently swinging back and forth, you sipped your coffee and savoured the last bite of your cardamom bun. The comforting warmth of the cup in your hands and the sweetness of the bun created a perfect start to the morning. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the early light, was a tranquil haven, and you felt a sense of peace that was rare in the Hazbin Hotel. Your thoughts were only on the present moment, relishing the quiet solitude that these early hours afforded you.

But then, the serenity was gently disrupted by the soft creak of the kitchen door swinging open. You glanced up to see Alastor enter the room. His presence, though familiar, always sent a slight thrill through you. Today was no different. Clad in his trademark red and black striped suit, he appeared every bit the dashing and enigmatic figure you had grown to love. His posture was impeccable, as always, with his shoulders square and his back straight, projecting the image of effortless composure. But you noticed something others might not—a slight lethargy in his movements, a subtle delay in his usual brisk steps. Though still glowing with that unnatural red intensity, his eyes seemed to carry the faintest hint of weariness. He looked like he’d had a restless night.

It was a knowledge that only came with time. You had spent countless hours watching him, learning his habits, his idiosyncrasies, how his smile would linger just a fraction longer when he was genuinely amused or how his voice would drop ever so slightly when he was tired. These were the details that no one else noticed, the hidden truths you cherished as a testament to how well you knew him.

"Good morning, Alastor," you greeted him cheerfully, your voice light and melodic, not unlike the chirping of birds heralding the dawn. The words slipped out with ease, a reflection of the joy you felt in these quiet moments alone with him.

Alastor's eyes, as crimson as freshly spilt wine, turned towards you. Though sharp and intense, his gaze softened slightly as it met yours. And then came that smile that never failed to send butterflies tumbling through your stomach. It was a smile that could charm or disarm, depending on his mood, but to you, it was simply Alastor, the man who had somehow captured your heart.

"Good morning, my sweet," he replied, his voice carrying the remnants of sleep, a slight rasp that added an unexpected intimacy to his greeting. The nickname, one he had affectionately bestowed upon you, never failed to make your heart skip a beat. It had originated one evening when he had wandered into the kitchen in search of the bottle of rye Vaggie had hidden. Instead, he had found you, elbows deep in a mixing bowl, powdered sugar dusting your nose and cheeks as you prepared a batch of cookies. The moment had been simple, unremarkable to anyone else, but it had marked the beginning of something special between you.

A faint blush crept across your cheeks as you recalled the memory. The warmth of his words mingled with the warmth of the coffee still cradled in your hands. Alastor's presence always had that effect on you—an intoxicating mix of excitement and comfort, of familiarity and mystery.

"The coffee is ready, just as always," you said with a smile, nodding towards the cup you had thoughtfully placed on the counter beside you. It was a small gesture but one that had become a part of your morning routine, a quiet act of affection that you performed without fail. You knew how much he enjoyed his strong and black coffee, and you took pride in ensuring that it was ready for him the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

Alastor's gaze followed yours to the cup, and his smile widened, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice now smooth and warm, like honey. He reached for the cup, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments—a touch so fleeting yet so charged with meaning that it sent a shiver down your spine. He lifted the cup to his lips, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a slow, deliberate sip. You watched him, your heart swelling with quiet happiness as you observed the way his eyes half-closed in contentment, the weariness in his expression easing ever so slightly.

As you sat there, the two of you cocooned in the quiet of the kitchen; you couldn't help but reflect on how these small moments had come to mean so much to you. It was in the stillness of the morning before the rest of the hotel awoke that you felt closest to him. These were the moments where you could be yourselves without the pretence or bravado that often accompanied life at the Hazbin Hotel.

You had long since discovered that Alastor, for all his flamboyance and charm, was a creature of habit. He liked his routines, and once you realised that he preferred to have his morning coffee around the same time as you, it became a shared ritual—a way to carve out a small piece of the day that belonged to just the two of you. It was a subtle dance, a quiet partnership, and you cherished it more than you could ever express in words.

As he took another sip of his coffee, you found yourself lost in the simple pleasure of being near him, of sharing these unspoken moments. There was a comfort in the routine, in the knowledge that, for this brief time each day, it was just the two of you against the world. And in that thought, you found a sense of contentment that made the early mornings all the more worthwhile.

As you sipped your coffee together, the familiar comfort of Alastor's presence mingled with a growing, unbidden sensation deep within you. The fluttering butterflies in your stomach, which had always been a pleasant reminder of your feelings for him, began to stir with a new intensity. Their delicate wings, once only a source of lightness and joy, now seemed to brush against something more profound and primal. The tingling sensation spread through you, igniting a warmth that travelled lower, coiling deep within your core. You blinked, startled by the sudden realisation—the butterflies had transformed into something else entirely, a throbbing ache that could only be the unmistakable stirrings of arousal.

Startled by the intensity of your own desire, you quickly jumped down from the counter, your feet hitting the cool tiles with a soft thud. In a hurried attempt to mask your flustered state, you downed the remainder of your coffee in one swift gulp, the liquid scalding your throat but distracting you momentarily from the heat pooling in your lower abdomen. The sudden rush of movement seemed to amplify the blood pounding in your ears, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

Desperate to avoid Alastor's gaze, you rushed to the sink, your hands trembling slightly as you fumbled to place your cup and plate inside. The clatter of dishes rang out, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Words tumbled out of your mouth in a clumsy attempt to divert his attention, to keep him from noticing the flush that had crept up your neck and settled on your cheeks.

"Well, this was truly wonderful, Alastor, as always, but now I really must get back to work!" you stammered, your voice higher than usual, betraying your anxiety. Without daring to look back, you spun around, intent on making a hasty retreat from the kitchen and the overwhelming tension that had suddenly thickened the air.

But instead of the open space you expected, you found yourself colliding with a solid chest. You gasped, the breath catching in your throat as you realised that Alastor had moved completely silently and now stood directly behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you tilted your head back to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, usually so playful and full of mischief, were now darkened with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Alastor's right hand was hidden behind his back, his left still holding the coffee cup, though it seemed to have been forgotten. He studied you with an almost unnerving focus, his gaze piercing as if he could see straight into the depths of your soul. Yet, something was distant in his eyes, as if part of him was lost in thought, grappling with something unseen. His breaths came slow and deep; each inhale seemed to draw the air from the room, leaving you breathless in his presence.

You instinctively backed up, the edge of the counter-pressing into the small of your back as you tried to create some distance, though your body betrayed you by leaning forward, drawn inexplicably closer to him. The air between you was thick, charged with a tension that felt almost palpable as if it had a life of its own. You could feel the energy crackling between you, something heavy, potent, and utterly intoxicating.

Alastor's eyes bore into yours, and you could see the flicker of something carnal, something raw and unrestrained, within their crimson depths. The intensity of his gaze sent a wave of heat coursing through you, settling deep in your belly, where the ache from before had grown into a full-fledged hunger. His laboured breathing mirrored your own, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic as you matched his rhythm, each breath filling you with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

For a moment, the world outside the kitchen ceased to exist, the only reality being the charged space between you and Alastor. The very air seemed to hum with the unsaid, the unacknowledged desires that had long been simmering just beneath the surface. The silence stretched out, heavy and loaded, thick with unspoken words and the magnetic pull of mutual attraction.

And then, as if on some unspoken cue, Alastor took a step closer, closing the small distance between you, his body heat enveloping you like a warm, intoxicating fog. His free hand, the one hidden behind his back, suddenly appeared at your waist, fingers brushing against your side with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible. Yet, it sent a jolt of electricity through your entire being. The delicate caress was enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips, a sound that seemed to hang in the air between you.

His touch lingered, the pressure of his fingers increasing ever so slightly as he held you in place, preventing any thoughts of escape. You could feel the power in his grip, the barely restrained strength that lay beneath the surface, and it thrilled you to no end. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of the sensation, more of him.

Alastor's eyes darkened further as he noticed your reaction, a slow, predatory smile curling at the corners of his lips. His head dipped slightly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, voice low and laced with a dangerous, seductive edge.

"What is it, my dear? You seem… restless." The sound of his voice, so close and intimate, sent a shiver racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, couldn't suppress the desire that was rapidly spiralling out of control.

"Alastor, what are you doing?" Your voice, though quiet, held a steady resolve. Even as your heart raced with the thrill of being this close to him, a flicker of concern danced in the back of your mind. This behaviour was unlike anything you had ever seen from him before. Alastor had always been composed, a master of his emotions and actions, yet now there was something different in how he looked at you, wild and untamed. The intensity in his crimson eyes stirred a mixture of excitement and trepidation within you. You didn't want him to stop, but you needed to understand what was happening and what that look in his eyes truly meant.

As if your words had snapped him out of a trance, Alastor blinked, his expression momentarily softening. He seemed to realise how close he was to you, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he withdrew his hand from your waist. The absence of his touch left a cold void where his warmth had been, and a strange sense of longing settled in its place.

Without a word, he turned slightly, reaching over to place his cup in the sink. But to do so, he had to lean forward, his body brushing against yours most tantalisingly. Your breath hitched as his face came mere centimetres from your neck, and in that moment, you felt his breath warm against your skin. Then, he inhaled sharply, his nose grazing the curve of your neck as he took in your scent. The intimate gesture sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your entire body tingle with awareness.

The soft sound of his inhale, almost a sigh, was filled with a hunger that sent your heart racing, and before you could react, the sharp clatter of the cup hitting the metal sink broke the spell. You flinched slightly at the noise, your startled gaze flying back to his face. But before you could form the words to ask him why he had done it, why he had drawn so close only to retreat, he was already moving away, his form dissolving into the shadows that clung to the edges of the room.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you stared at the space where he had been, your mind reeling from the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air still crackled with the remnants of his presence, heavy with an unspoken desire that had hung between you like a charged storm cloud. You could still feel the ghost of his breath on your neck, the faint warmth of his body against yours, and it left you yearning for more, craving the touch that had been so abruptly withdrawn.

For a moment, you remained frozen in place, your senses still overwhelmed by the lingering traces of his closeness. His scent—a mix of dark spices and something uniquely Alastor—still clung to the air, wrapping around you like an invisible cloak. Your skin tingled where his hand had rested, your neck burning where his breath had touched. The memory of that fleeting moment was enough to set your pulse racing once more, the ache in your core intensifying with every passing second.

You couldn't shake the image of his eyes, the way they had darkened with something raw and primal as he had leaned in. It was as if a dam had cracked within him, and for the briefest of moments, you had glimpsed the depth of his desire—a desire that mirrored your own. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the mere memory of his touch.

But then, just as quickly as it had all begun, it was over, and the kitchen was once again empty, the shadows swallowing him whole. You were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your body still humming with unfulfilled need. You knew that this encounter had changed something between you, and you had opened a door that could never be closed. And even though he had disappeared into the darkness, you couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning, that whatever had ignited between you was far from extinguished.

The hunger in his eyes and the way he had inhaled your scent as if trying to memorise it were not things that could be easily forgotten. And as you stood there, the silence of the kitchen pressing in around you, you realised that you didn't want to ignore them. You wanted more. More of the closeness, more of the heat that had flared so suddenly between you, more of the man who had just vanished into the shadows but who, you knew, would never be far from your thoughts again.

The encounter with Alastor in the kitchen earlier this morning had left you confused, yet you couldn't deny the raw energy that still coursed through your veins. His touch, the way he had leaned in so close, his breath on your neck—it had all been so brief, yet so intense. The memory of it lingered, simmering just beneath your skin, a constant reminder of the hunger that had been awakened within you. It was a sensation you couldn't shake, a burning need that gnawed at your insides and left you restless. You tried to make sense of it, to understand what had transpired between you, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that understanding was not what you craved. What you wanted, what you needed, was to find him again, to confront the tension that had sparked between you and see if he had felt it too.

With a sense of determination, you decided to channel that restless energy into something productive, something that might draw him to you. Alastor had always had a peculiar taste when it came to sweets—he wasn't one for sugary confections. But you knew he had a weakness for rich, decadent chocolate, the kind that was bittersweet, with just the right balance of indulgence and restraint.

The idea struck you then, sudden and insistent. You would bake something for him, something that would carry the weight of your unspoken desires, a message wrapped in layers of dark chocolate and anticipation.

In the quiet of the kitchen, you set to work, your movements purposeful and precise. You gathered the ingredients, each one a piece of the puzzle you were crafting for him: dark cocoa, rich butter, a hint of espresso to deepen the flavour, and just a touch of sweetness—enough to balance the bitterness without overpowering it. As you melted the chocolate and mixed the batter, your mind drifted back to that moment in the kitchen, the heat of his body so close to yours, the intensity in his gaze. The memory only fuelled your determination, adding a particular fervour to your work. You poured the thick, glossy batter into the pan, smoothing it out with a spatula, your hands steady despite the wild beating of your heart.

As the brownies baked, the aroma filled the kitchen, rich and heady, curling around you like a dark, enticing promise. You found yourself imagining how Alastor would react when you presented them to him, how he might lean in close again, his sharp eyes studying you with that same hunger you had seen earlier. Would he be able to sense the emotions you had poured into every step of this creation, the longing that had driven you to seek him out?

Once the brownies had cooled, you carefully cut them into neat squares, arranging them on a plate. The sight of them, so dark and tempting, filled you with a strange sense of satisfaction. You could only hope that they would have the desired effect on Alastor, that he would understand the message hidden within the folds of rich chocolate.

With the plate in hand, you made your way through the winding halls of the Hazbin Hotel, each step bringing you closer to the man who had left you in such a state of turmoil. The hotel was quiet, the usual chaos subdued in these early hours, allowing your thoughts to swirl unchecked. The closer you got to the radio tower, the more your anticipation grew, your heart pounding in time with your footsteps as you climbed the stairs to the roof.

Finally, you reached the door to the radio tower, a place that was as much a part of Alastor as the suit he always wore. You hesitated momentarily, the plate of brownies warm in your hands, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in. But the memory of his closeness, the tension that had crackled between you, pushed you forward. You raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

The door creaked open, and there he stood, Alastor, with that ever-present smile that could be both charming and unsettling. His red eyes glinted in the low light, and for a moment, the two of you stared at each other, the memory of the morning's encounter hanging heavily between you. Then, with a graceful tilt of his head, he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he asked, his voice smooth, with an undertone of amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. He eyed the plate in your hands with interest, his gaze flicking back to you, curiosity—and something else—lingering in his expression.

"I thought you might like something to go with your coffee," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse quickened, ignoring the fact that he’d had his coffee over an hour ago. You stepped into the room, the door closing softly behind you, sealing the two of you in the intimate space. He took the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Chocolate brownies?" he mused, his tone almost teasing. "You do know me well, my sweet." His smile widened, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint in his eyes that spoke of a keen awareness of the game you were playing.

As he placed the plate on the small table near his desk, you couldn't help but notice the way his movements were deliberate and overly controlled. He turned back to you, his gaze once again locking onto yours, and you felt the air between you grow thick with the same tension that had crackled in the kitchen. Only this time, it was more intense, more charged with the unspoken desires that had brought you here.

Alastor stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each measured step. You could feel the heat of him, the magnetic pull that had drawn you to him this morning. His presence was overwhelming, and as he leaned in, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, darling. But I must say, I'm flattered."

There was no mistaking the intent behind his words, the way they wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the web he was weaving. Your pulse raced, your body reacting to his sheer proximity, the dark allure of his presence. You could feel the same simmering heat that had driven you to seek him out, now burning brighter, hotter, in the confines of this small room.

He reached out, his fingers trailing along your arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"What are you really here for?" he asked, his voice a soft purr laden with meaning. The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from your lips.

Your mouth was dry, your thoughts a tangled mess of desire and uncertainty. But as his hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you just that little closer, the answer became clear. You had come here not just to deliver brownies but to confront the tension that had been simmering between you, to see if he felt the same electric pull that you did. And as his eyes bore into yours, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, you knew he did.

The radio tower felt both intimate and suffocating as you stood before Alastor, the heavy air around you thick with the tension that had been building all day. You had come here intending to confront him, to get answers about the strange encounter in the kitchen that morning. But as soon as you stepped inside, you realised that something was terribly wrong. The room was filled with his scent—rich, intoxicating, and overwhelmingly powerful. It invaded your senses, curling around your mind and body, leaving you feeling dizzy and unsteady.

You had heard of this happening before, this surge of uncontrollable desire, but you had never experienced it so intensely. An instinct and power that overwhelmed sinners with certain animalistic traits, and since both you and Alastor were sinners with deer traits, it was only natural what had come to pass. Your heat had begun, and the sudden realisation sent a wave of panic through you. The heat in your body was growing unbearable, every nerve alight with a desperate need you couldn't control. And here you were, standing so close to him, your body betraying you, pulling you toward him as if he were the only thing that could satisfy the fire raging inside you.

You tried to focus on why you were here, trying to form the words that would explain your confusion about what had happened between you this morning. But the scent of him was all-consuming, clouding your thoughts and driving you mad with desire. You could barely speak, your voice catching in your throat as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and need.

"Alastor, I… I need to go," you stammered, your voice shaking as you stepped back. You couldn't let him see you like this, couldn't let him know what was happening. It was too humiliating, too raw. But as you turned to leave, you felt his eyes on you, sharp and intense, and you knew he had already figured it out.

The flicker of understanding in his crimson eyes sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the silent acknowledgement of what was happening. He knew. And worse, he understood because he was feeling it, too. His rut had started, and the primal part of him, the part that thrived on dominance and control, was warring with the more civilised side that knew it wasn't right to keep you here, wasn't right to let the Need within him take over.

You could see the conflict in his eyes. His muscles tensed as he fought to hold himself back, his breath coming in slow, controlled exhalations. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, that he might allow you to escape before things went too far. But there was a hunger in his gaze, a dark, consuming need that made your heart race even faster. And you knew that if you didn't leave now, you might not be able to at all.

With a burst of adrenaline, you turned on your heel and fled the radio tower, your heart pounding in your chest as you bolted down the stairs. The corridors of the Hazbin Hotel twisted and turned as you ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, that something was stalking you from the shadows.

The presence was palpable, a dark, looming force that seemed to close in around you, even though you couldn't see him. You knew it was Alastor, that he was there, following you, watching you. The knowledge sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, your body reacting to the chase, to the danger of it all. The thought that he was hunting you, that he could catch you at any moment, only heightened your desire, the heat in your core growing unbearable as you neared your room.

You slammed the door behind you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wood, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. But it was no use. The room felt small, the air thick with the remnants of his scent that had clung to your clothes and skin. Your hands shook as you fumbled to lock the door, knowing deep down that it wouldn't matter. If Alastor wanted to get in, no lock would stop him.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that presses in on you from all sides, heavy and oppressive. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, the shadows in the corner of the room began to shift, twisting and writhing as they took form. Your breath hitched as Alastor stepped out from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your knees weak.

He was in front of you instantly, moving with the fluid grace of a predator closing in on its prey. You backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go and hide from the desire radiating from him in waves. His scent was overwhelming now, intoxicating, filling your lungs with every breath you took. It clouded your mind, pushing aside any thoughts of escape, leaving only the raw, primal need that had been driving you since this morning.

Alastor's gaze locked onto yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you. The tension between you crackles like electricity in the air. His hand found your wrist, pulling you closer with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. His touch was searing, his presence overwhelming, and as his other hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward his, you knew there was no turning back. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a dark, consuming fire that threatened to burn you both alive.

You trembled under his touch, the last remnants of your resistance crumbling as you looked up at him, your body screaming for the release that only he could give you. And as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, you knew that you would give in to that need, would surrender to the fire that burned between you, no matter the consequences.

"Tell me to stop. One word and I will, but tell me you desire me as I desire you, and you will be mine for the night and all the nights to come," he whispered his voice a low, dangerous static that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But you couldn't, didn't want to. You were too far gone, too consumed by the lust that had been building inside you since the moment you entered the radio tower. Instead, you leaned into him, your body arching against his as you gave yourself over to the heat, to the need, to him.

"Alastor, don't you dare stop," was all you needed to say.

His lips were warm and soft against yours. The kiss was only gentle for a split second before the desire, the Need, overtook both of you. Hands clawed at your clothing, and it did not take long before you could feel his skin against yours. His body heat felt scolding against your skin, making you wonder if he was leaving marks all over your body. His hand travelled down your back as the bottoms of your shirt were opened and pushed down your body. The feeling of his fingertips against your spine felt almost sinful in nature, and you wondered if you would ever be the same.

Alastor pressed you against the wall of your room as he stopped kissing your swollen lips and turned to rain kisses down your neck. In between every kiss, he would stop and drag his teeth or nibble your flesh, making your skin feel raw and hot. Having enough of his attention directed towards your neck, you buried your hands in his thick hair and pulled him back towards your lips. His ears laid flat for a second against your hand but sprang up again after he realised that you did not pull him back in rejection but to encourage him to kiss you again.

As you continued to make out against the wall, you continued to strip each other clumsily. There was no way of being gentle or structured in the heat of passion, and some clothing pieces could be heard ripping, but none of you cared at that moment. However, everything seemed to stop as you felt Alastors hand sneak into your underwear and drag a finger slowly against your wet pussy. You tried to inhale, but your breath was ragged and hitched at your throat.

"My sweet, sweet little dear, are you desperate?" Alastor teased as the tip of his finger slowly started to circle your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you looked back up at the radio daemon. To someone else who did not know Alastor, it would look like he was unaffected by what was happening, but you knew he was far from untouched. His smile ever so slightly wider, pupils blown wide, his shallow breath hot against your skin, and the feeling of his erection pressing against your hipbone.

"Tell me, do you want it here against the wall," he asked, pressing you closer to the wall, "or do you want us to move to the bed?"

"Bed, please." The words whispered against his cheek, but Alastor heard you clear as day. With strength you didn't know he had, he helped you jump up with your legs around his hips as he carried you to the bed behind him. He softly put you down against the soft and cool navy bedsheets, following closely as he laid down over you, encapsulating you between his arms that leaned against the bed, his pelvis pressing against yours between your legs. The meer pressure from his cock against you made your legs shake, and your body feel all tingly.

His lips, his hands, they are all over you, and it’s almost too much. Every touch leaves a feeling behind, almost like a mark, and you revel in the thought of Alastor leaving something behind on you that’ll show everyone that you are his just as he is yours.

Alastors skin is warm, almost scolding hot, under your fingertips as you help him strip from his clothes. You kiss him with desperation you had never felt before as you buck your hips to put pressure on his cock, making him moan against your swollen lips. He presses you down against the bed as you drag your fingers through his soft hair, pulling his head back as you trail wet kisses down his neck. His breath hitches as you find a sensitive spot where the neck meets the shoulder, and as you suck on his tender skin, leaving a small purple mark, you can’t help but feel pride. You pull back and look up at the man above you with smugness. His cheeks had darkened in a soft blush as he panted above you, red lips swollen and eyes almost black with desire.

As if the final mental blockade fell away and all inhibitions flew out the window, you and Alastor tore away each other's clothes. Leaving only tattered pieces of cloth on the bed and claw marks on your bodies. Later, you would wonder if the pulsing and desperate neediness that had built between the both of you had just enhanced what was already there, but for now, you revelled in the warmth and tingling sensation of arousal. You were wet, and you could feel the slickness of your pussy as Alastor removed your underwear at last. The cool air shilled you at the same time it sent waves of pleasure down your thighs.

“Look at you,” Alastor said, his voice husky and laced with desire as he looked down at you. “Such a sweet delight you are—sweet enough to eat.”

As he said those words, Alastor slowly pushed his finger into your vagina, coating his finger in your essence before slowly pulling out. You could not help the moan you let out turn to a gasp as you looked up at him, who started to lick his slick finger clean. His eyes blazed with uncontrollable heat.

“Truly delicious. Come, my sweet, have a taste of yourself.” Alastor put his other hand behind your head and pulled you up from the bed to meet his lips in a messy kiss. His tongue forced itself between your lips, mingling with yours and effectively leaving the taste of yourself on your own tongue.

“Stop being such a tease, Alastor.” You said against his lips when the kiss ended. Your hot breath merged with his as you dragged your hands down his torso. You could feel every muscle jump underneath your fingertips as if they were shocked with electricity as you pulled your hands lower and lower. His pants, opened and barely hanging off his slim hips, weren’t difficult to pull down and made a soft sound as they hit the floor across the room. You gently pressed your thumbs down between his underwear and skin as you slowly pulled them off him. You could feel the goosebumps covering the man above you as your finger glided over his hot skin.

The first time you felt Alastor’s cock against your heated pussy, it made you believe that there was never going to be anyone else after him who could match the feeling. Hot liquid pooled between your legs as you instantly lifted your hips to get even closer, effectively pulling a low moan out of the man's trembling lips.

“Naughty, naughty little doe of mine. Control yourself,” he chuckled as he pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, but you didn’t want to control yourself. You wanted the passion, the heat, the feeling of Alastor pounding inside you as your legs shock from pleasure. And so, letting the instincts take over, you grabbed his cock gently, making Alastor let out a gasp against your shoulder as he gently moved his hips to make his manhood glide back and forth between your fingers. Desperate for the touch and the pleasure you could give him.

“Alastor, please, my dear, I want you inside me. I can’t wait anymore. I need you so badly,” you mumbled against his ear right beside your head, and with every word you said, you could feel Alastor’s teeth and nails dig a little bit deeper into you.

 With one single thrust, Alastor entered you after you had aligned him right in front of your opening. It has heaven in Hell, this moment when you first felt him inside you, and your legs instinctually closed around his hips to press him as deep within you as he could go. Everything was heightened. Every touch felt electric, every breath a heave, and every thrust sent a feeling of fullness and belonging inside you. The feeling was addicting, like the sweetest of wine, the nectar from the gods, and it begged and begged for more.

“More, more, Alastor, give me more,” you chanted against his skin as your fingernails dragged long red lines along your lover's back.

“Greedy, oh so greedy, my sweet.” you could feel his smirk against your cheek as he kissed your temple. “You deserve the world.” Was the last thing he said before he pulled away to sit up on his knees. His band quickly found your knees as he prided your legs open and started to slowly and agonisingly thrust into you. You could feel everything. His eyes roaming over your body, the cold air against your heated skin, and his thick cock slowly pushing in and out, filling you, teasing you. It was as if Alastor wanted to drag out your pleasure for as long as possible.  

In an instant, Alastor pulled out and flipped you around on your belly with a strength you didn’t know he had. Two strong hands took hold of your trembling hips and lifted them high enough to shove one of the thick pillows underneath. With your hips resting against the pillow and chest against the mattress, Alastor sat up further on his knees, towering over you, as he dressed your legs together with his knees so that your legs were now snuggled together between his thighs. You could feel your cunt flutter in excitement as you bit your lips, waiting for Alastor to enter you again. And he didn’t disappoint.

With one thrust, Alastor buried himself within you again as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what my sweet little doe wanted? To be bent over, used, fucked till there isn’t a single thought in that head of yours? Do you want me, my darling? Do you want to be mine?” Every word he whispered was further emphasised with a slow and deep thrust. Pressing you against the pillow. Your finger dug deep into the bedsheets as you pushed your mouth to the mattresses to disguise your primal moan in desperation. But Alastor would have none of it. Instead, his hand snuck underneath your chin and bent your head back, effectively filling the room with the sound of your moans and the slapping against bodies as Alastor continued to fuck you.

“Don’t hide for me. I want to hear every pathetic little sound you make. I want to hear how good I can make my little mate feel.” Those words were the drop that made the goblet overflow and the last thing you need before an orgasm ripped through your body uncontrollably. Your pleasure seemed to snap something inside Alastor, too, for he quickened his pace. Chasing and intensifying both of your pleasures as you pulsed around his cock.

“Yes, yes, yes, your mate. I want to be your mate,” the words came tumbling out of your mouth as your whole body chook from the orgasm that beat within you like stormy waves against a cliffside. Nothing had felt more right than Alastor within you and the thought of being his as he was yours.

Alastor kept thrusting at a quick pace as your orgasm started to subside, but a new pleasure hummed with pride within you as you felt him come inside you. With every throbbing of his cock, Alastor’s nails dug deeper and deeper within the mattresses until he tore them apart.

Shaking, sweaty and tired, you let out one last moan as Alastor put all his weight against you as he lay above you, pressing you against the mattresses. You could feel his hot lips against your neck as he said,

“Well, aren’t my sweet little mate full of surprises?”

Well, would you look at that! I'm back! Did you miss me?

Jokes aside, I hope you enjoyed this smutty little story!

Hazbin gen. taglist: @reath-solia @everwolf-20 @alastorthirsty1

[yoonavii]

Kissing you

Context: Zoro kissing you Headcanons!

Zoro isn’t one to announce his intentions. His kisses often come as surprising, spontaneous acts that catch you off guard but leave you pleasantly surprised.

Whether it’s a gentle peck or a more intense kiss, Zoro always puts a certain level of intensity into it. There’s a fervor in the way he expresses his feelings through physical touch.

He might not be vocal about his emotions, but his kisses speak volumes. It’s his way of saying what words often fail to convey, and he uses it as a powerful tool of communication.

After a tough battle or a challenging situation, Zoro may pull you into a quiet corner for a reassuring kiss. It’s his way of checking in, ensuring you’re okay without needing to say a word.

Zoro respects your boundaries. If he senses you’re not in the mood for a kiss, he won’t push it. He’s perceptive and understands the importance of consent.

His kisses can escalate quickly, especially in moments of heightened emotions. A heated argument might transition into a passionate kiss, showcasing the complexity of your relationship.

In more tender moments, Zoro might opt for a sweet forehead kiss. It’s a gesture that reflects care and affection, a silent promise that he’s there for you.

He really has a playful side, and sometimes his kisses come with a hint of teasing. It’s his way of injecting humor and lightness into your interactions.

Zoro’s kissing style is adaptable. Whether it’s a soft, lingering kiss or a more intense, demanding one, he gauges the mood and adjusts his approach accordingly.

After a particularly stubborn argument, Zoro might use a kiss as a way to apologize without uttering a single word. It’s his way of acknowledging his faults and seeking reconciliation.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[linkspooky]

Are You Satisfied?

As you might have heard chapter 236 of Jujutsu Kaisen ends with the death of Gojo Satoru. The fandom is making a pretty big deal about it. As someone who predicted from the beginning that Gojo was going to lose against Sukuna, the reaction is fascinating to me. This is perhaps the most controversial chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen I've ever seen. So I've decided to throw my hat into the ring.

The central theme of Jujutsu Kaisen is death, so the death of one of the main characters isn't too surprising, but what does Gojo's death mean for the story? What does it say about his character?

As I said above I am a little bit shocked by the extreme controversy over Gojo's death. Gojo was never going to win the fight in the first place, because Jujutsu Kaisen is a story and the story would be over if he defeated Sukuna. He'd easily be able to take care of Kenjaku afterwards and the main conflcit would be resolved. Would it really be an interesting story if Gojo one shotted the villains while the kids just wathced on Television?

The story is also not about Gojo, it's about the students. Gojo may think he's the protagonist of reality but he's not the protagonist of the story.

Once again, Jujutsu Kaisen is a story and stories have themes. We may grow personally attached to characters, but characters are just narrative tools to convey the themes of a story, no different from prose, dialogue, and art. Characters are a tool to be used well or used poorly, and sometimes yes that means killing them. Whether Gojo's death was naratively satisfying though isn't the purpose of this post though we're only asking what does it mean?

Finally, Jujutsu Kaisen is not only a fictional story, it's specifically a tragedy. Full disclosure, it's a manga about death.

The Protagonist of a Tragedy

So, number one shout out to me for making this post 4 months ago where I called the way Gojo would end the fight.

Excuse me while I fist pump for calling it!

The question on everyone's minds is why does one of the most powerful characters in the manga die offscreen in a pretty humiliating way, cut in half and helpless on the ground just like Kaneki. The reason Gojo didn't get a more heroic (or cooler) death is because we're not reading My Hero Academia, this is not a story about heroes or even a typical Shonen manga it is a tragedy.

In poetics Aristotle defines tragedy as:

"an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions" (51).

To paraphrase a tragedy is about human action, actions characters make in a tragedy often have dire consequences. One of the most common consequences if the reversal of a hero's fortune, a hero of a tragedy usually starts out on top and ends up on the bottom because of the bad choices they make. If in normal shonen manga characters overcome their flaws through effort and persistence, in Jujutsu Kaisen we see characters more often than not lose to their flaws.

The reason I posted that Kaneki panel specifically is because it was a brilliant moment of narrative punishment for Kaneki's central character flaw. Kaneki the hero's main flaw is that he always fights alone, and he constantly makes that same choice over and over again to fight alone. One of the characters helpfully explains it as well.

Stories are primarily about change. If a character doesn't change they're not serving the plot, unless that specifically is the point. People have pointed out how abrupt it is for Gojo to get sealed in Shibuya, get let out, and then immediately die afterwards but that's kind of the point. Gojo made more or less the exact same choice (he asked for Utahime's help for a buff but otherwise fought the entire battle himself). The definition of insanity and what not, why would doing the same thing over and over again net him a different result?

Not only did Gojo choose to fight alone, but as I've been hammering on and on about in previous meta the entire fight Gojo cared more about fighting a strong opponent then he did saving Megumi, the child he was responsible for.

Jujutsu Kaisen is not a typical shonen manga where everything is resolved by beating a strong villain in a fight. That's specifically why I used the Tokyo Ghoul reference, because the reason Kaneki is defeated offscreen like that is because he thought the world worked like a shonen manga. He has a fantasy sequence where he's fighting Juzo in a shonen battle tournament like this is Yu Yu Hakusho right before it snaps back to reality and he's limbless on the ground.

Gojo is a major character in the manga Jujutsu Kaisen, literally "Sorcery Fight" and he is the best sorcerer in the whole world. His entire identity revolves around being a sorcerer. Since he is so good and beloved at what he does, he thinks that everything is resolved by exorcising a curse or defeating a strong opponent. He has basically no identity outside of that. Which is why when he's fighting the possessed body of his student, a person he's been mentoring since childhood his priority is not to save Megumi but to beat a strong opponent. Gojo is a sorcerer, before a human being. That's who he is, that's who he always has been since day one.

I think part of the negative fan reaction comes from fans being really attached to this scene in the manga and deciding Gojo's entire character revolves around being a good mentor figure to children.

Which is just incorrect, Gojo's entire character revolves around being the strongest. On top of that though, Gojo can care about children and also care about being the strongest he can care about multiple things at once and have those things contradict each other because humans are complicated. I'd point out even in this panel where he's stating motivation he's not trying to raise these kids up into being healthy adults, he wants them to be strong Jujutsu Sorcerers. Even when he's raising kids, his intention is to turn them into Jujutsu Sorcerers because everything in Gojo's mind revolves around Jujutsu Sorcery. Gojo does not exist outside of the world of sorcerers. Gojo may be the chosen one but he'd never be able to hold down a job at Mcdonalds.

I think in general readers put more investment in the things characters say out loud, rather than their actions. You can say one thing and do another. I can say "I should never eat sweets again I'm going to improve my diet", and then go and eat ice cream five hours later. Gojo can state out loud his intention to foster children and protect their youths, but then fail to properly do that in the story. Characters are not always what they say they are, that's why they're interesting to interpret. This isn't me calling the readers stupid, just pointing out that Gojo is made up of contradictions. He wants to get rid of the old guard and replace them with something new, but Gojo IS THE OLD GUARD.

If the culling games arc has shown us one thing, it's that ancient sorcerers brought to the modern age do not care that much about human life on an individual level, they are all of them egoists. There's a reason Gojo resembles someone like Sukuna more than he does any other character in the manga. I'm not saying Gojo is exactly like Sukuna, he's far more altruistic and uses his genuinely noble ideals but at the same time Sukuna is a shadow archetype to Gojo he represents Gojo's flaws. The flaws that Gojo succumbs to in tragic fashion.

Which if you believe that Gojo genuinely does love his students, and the ideal he's fighting for is to raise up a better generation and allow them to live out their youths, then Gojo throughout the entire Sukuna fight is acting against those ideals. He cares far more about fighting Sukuna then he does saving Megumi, it's shown over and over again in the battle, Megumi is an afterthought to him. If Gojo care moredefeating the big bad and saving the world is more important than helping a child that Gojo is responsible for then Gojo is acting against his stated principles. Why should Gojo win the fight when he's fighting for all the wrong reasons?

Tragedies are like visual novels, if you make the wrong choice the novel will give you a red flag. If you ignore the red flag then you get locked into the route with the bad ending. Gojo always fights alone. Gojo only ever fights for himself, even if he's using that selfishness in support of a more noble ideal like creating a better generation of sorcerers. If Gojo consecutively makes the same changes then in a tragedy he's not going to be rewarded for it.

Gojo wants the old generation out and the new generation in, but Gojo resembles the old generation too much. Old sorcerers like Hajime and Sukuna respect him, Hajime argues that Gojo being able to fight for his pride is far more important than him living to the end of the battle when Yuta wanted to interfere and help him.

Gojo's death isn't a surprise curve ball that Gege is throwing us for shock value, it's a result of his choices throughout the manga. A manga about change, and the change between generations is not going to punish a character for remaining roughly the same. Of course you might find it disappointing that Gege didn't give Gojo the chance to grow and change and experience a character arc like Megumi or Yuji, but Jujutsu Kaisen is a tragedy, and the way Gojo's arc ended is consistent with what Gege wrote.

Jujutsu Kaisen is not just a tragedy though, it's a manga about death. The manga begins with Yuji's grandfather warning him not to die alone the way that he did. His grandfather's dying words are what motivate Yuji throughout the beginning of the manga as he's searching for a "proper" death.

One of the major themes of Yuji's character is a contemplation of death. He accepts that death is inevitable, so he wants to save them from the gruesome deaths they'd experience if they became victims to curses and allow them to have a more satisfying death. Yuji's grandpa died an unsatisfying death because he died alone in a hospital room. Yuji even tries to make his own death a satisfying one because he believes by dying to seal away Sukuna he'll reduce the total number of casualties to curses.

Jujutsu Kaisen keeps investigating the theme of death and what exactly would make for a satisfying death. At one point it's all but stated that death is the mirror that makes humans analyze their lives.

When Yuji fails to save Junpei from the "unnatural death" it calls into question whether or not his goal of saving people from unsatisfying deaths and the gruesome deaths caused by curses is even feasible. Nanami even says that Yuji might not be able to accomplish his goal and warns him away from the path.

We see repeated unsatifying deaths in the manga, each time someone reflecting on their deaths that they weren't able to get what they wanted out of life. This list comes via @kaibutsushidousha by the way I'm quoting them.

Nanami's a character who chose to work as a sorcerer because he didn't want to evade the responsibility of doing all you can to help people, he wanted to believe he's somewhere where he's needed. He never runs away from responsibility like Mei Mei does so he quite literally works himself to death, living and dying as a sorcerer. Nanami or Gojo's dying hallucination of Nanami even says as much, his death is the result of him choosing to go south and returning to be a sorcerer.

Maki chose revenge against the Zen'in over her sister, and as a result Mai is dead. Maki has all the power in the world now, her revenge complete but she's left with a sense of "now what?" She's as strong as Toji now but she failed to protect her sister, and it's the result of the choices she made. Maki's reflection isn't triumph, it's "I should have chosen to die with her."

Even Yuji himself is robbed of his narrative purpose. The manga began with Yuji saying he wants to choose how he's going to die and he'll die taking out Sukuna with him so he can reduce the number of people killed by curses in the world. Both of those things are thrown in Sukuna's face. Number one the amount of people Yuji can save by permanently killing Sukuna is now a moot point because he let Sukuna rampage in Shibuya.

Number two, Sukuna isn't even in Yuji anymore. To build on what Comun said though, this repeated tragedy has a purpose to it and understanding requires understanding that Jujutsu Kaisen is an existentialist manga. Existentialism is basically a school of philosophy centered around the question of "Why do I exist?"

There's nothing about the invetability of death to make you question why you're alive in the first place. In the myth of Sispyhus, Albert Camus boils down all of philosophy to one question.

"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. "

All of philosophy is should I shoot myself in the head or should I keep living? Everything comes after that question, which is why in Jujutsu Kaisen a lot of the characters motivations revolve around them contemplating death. Sorcerers exist in a world where they can die any moment, and as Gojo says most of them die alone. It might be the nature of sorcery itself that causes so many people to die, not only are they dying because they are trapped in an uncaring system, but the characters themselves aren't really attempting to live outside of it. They live and die as sorcerers, replaceable cogs in the machine.

All of these unsatisfying deaths may just be the result of all these characters making one choice, to live as sorcerers rather than people. Because to exist means to live in the world.

Even in Mechamaru's case, his goal is deeply existentialist by what I defined, all he wants to do is live in the world with everyone else rather than be stuck in his hospital room but his actions contradict that goal. Instead of letting his friends come and visit he's obsessed with the idea of getting a normal body because he feels that's the only way he can exist with everyone else, he makes a deal with the devil, he lies and goes behind their backs. He wasn't living with everyone else in the world and he could have chosen to, he chose wrong and his death is the result of that choice.

Jujutsu Sorcerers aren't living in the world. They're living in a little snowglobe far removed from the world with its own rules, most of them regressive and disconnected from the rest of society. If you define existentialism as just "living in the world' then a lot of these characters aren't, because they only exist in the world of sorcery.

INVISIBLE BUFFY: What are you talking ab- SPIKE: The only reason you're here, is that you're not here. (drinking) INVISIBLE BUFFY: Right. Of course, as usual there's something wrong with Buffy. She came back all wrong. (moving around on the bed) You know, I didn't ask for this to happen to me. SPIKE: Not too put off by it though, are you? (drinking) INVISIBLE BUFFY: No! Maybe because for the first time since ... I'm free. She tosses the sheet aside. Spike looks around, trying to figure out where she's going. INVISIBLE BUFFY: Free of rules and reports ... free of this life. SPIKE: Free of life? Got another name for that. Dead.

Not living in the world with everyone else is the same as being dead.

A lot of these characters either make the choice to act alone, or be a jujutsu sorcerer rather than a person and because of that they die as sorcerers, b/c sorcerers die that's what they do. Mai didn't want to keep living as a hindrance to Maki so she kills herself. Maki didn't want to be anything other than a sorcerer, so her little sister dies and she's not a big sister anymore. Nanami chose to leave his job behind and become a sorcerer again, he dies as one.

Of course I don't think the manga is punishing characters for being too egotistical, but rather too unbalanced. If anything Mai is too selfless and that is why she died, she didn't want to live for herself and chooses self sacrifice for her sister. An unbalance between selfishness or selflessness results in an underdeveloped ego. Jujutsu Kaisen doesn't punish individualism per se, moreso if you're not a fully developed individual you won't last long. Because it's also a manga about growing up in the world, and a person who doesn't have a healthy, mature, well-balanced sense of self is not a grown up.

This twitter user det_critics points out that Gojo (and also Yuki + Yuji's) failures in the manga can be attributed to the fact they don't have real senses of self.

Gojo has an identity crisis as outlined by Geto, "are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest, or are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo?"

It's a challenge for him to find some reason to live outside of being the strongest, and in tragic fashion Gojo just doesn't find it in time. Gojo lived for fighting others, and proving to himself that he's the strongest, and that's how he dies.

There's something I like to say about narrative punishment in stories. There are two ways to punish a character, you either don't give them what they want, or you give them exactly what they want. This is the latter, Gojo wanted to find someone stronger than him because deep down he believed that nobody could understand him unless they were on his level. He wanted to be surpassed, and that's why he focused on creating stronger young sorcerers, but he never shook himself of the belief that only someone as strong or even stronger than he was could ever be emotionally attached to him so he made a deliberate choice to draw a line between himself and others.

Gojo's essentially gotten what he wanted from that choice in the worst way possible. The student he picked to succeed him Megumi, has his body stolen and kills him. Gojo is surpassed, but it's not by one of his own students it's by an enemy that's not only trying to kill Gojo but is going to massacre his students afterwards.

Gojo's spent his entire life believing that because he's more powerful that makes him inherently different and above others, and being lonely because he himself believed he couldn't relate to ordinary people and he dies like an ordinary person, an unsatisfying death where he wasn't able to bring out Sukuna's best, where he gets unceremoniously cut in half offscreen but yay he's no longer the strongest. He's gotten exactly what he wanted. Megumi is still not saved, Sukuna's probably going to kill more people because Gojo failed to stop him here, but hey at least he stopped to compliment Gojo.

It's empty, but it's empty because of the choices Gojo made in life to just not bother connecting to people or develop any kind of identity besides being a sorcerer. Gojo lives and dies as a sorcerer, and his dying dream is returning to a teenager being surrounded by everyone he was with during his school days, because that's the happiest time in his life. Ironically he was happier before he became the strongest, because that was the only time in his life that he allowed himself to connect to people.

However in the eyes of others, he is someone who has it all. That's why he is always alone. There was no one who could hold the same sentiments and mutually understand him. Geto was the only one who could understand what he was trying to say, and the only one who could communicate well with him.

It's no coincidence Gojo and Geto die exactly a year apart on the same day, if anything I'd say the reasons they die are similiar to at least thematically. They both die because they don't want to live in the world. Geto thinks the world is too corrupt and GOjo doesn't want to be anything other than a sorcerer, both of them fail to adapt.

「 'It's just. . .' It's just that it was what Geto had to do. [...] To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel. '. . .that in a world like this, I couldn't truly be happy from the bottom of my heart.'」

They can't be happy in a world like this from the bottom of their hearts, so narratively they both die. The things they chose to live for at the end of their life they fail to accomplish, Gojo is no longer the stronget, Geto fails to wipe out mankind or make major changes to the world and they die as normal people unsatisfied because they weren't trying to live in the world and make connections to others. They die almost karmically a year apart because their main connection for both of them, the thing which made them feel connected to the world and other people was each other.

Which is why this panel breaks my heart and is so narratively satisfying because of how unsatisfying it is...

"If you were among those patting my back... then I might've been satisfied."

Gojo reflects that he's not satisfied dying against Sukuna, not because he failed to give him a good enough challenge but because Geto wasn't there to pat him on the back. The one thing that would have satisfied him he couldn't have, because he didn't live to connect to people he lived to be the strongest and he died alone as the strongest. There's just something deeply upsetting about Gojo's dying dream fantasy just him being there talking with all of his dead friends who he never appreciated or connected to properly when he was alive. Knowing that if something had just gone a little differently, that even if he had to die no matter what he could have died happier if Geto was among the people saying goodbye to him because that connection with Geto is what gave his life meaning.

Dazai Osamu: "A life with someone you can say good-bye to is a good life, especially when it hurts so much to say it to them. Am I wrong?" -Bungou Stray Dogs Beast

[kpop]

K-Pop Spotlight: DAY6

Come one, come all to a K-Pop Spotlight that is sure to dazzle and delight ’til the final curtain. This week, all eyes are on DAY6 following the release of their eighth mini-album, Fourever, and brand new title track, "Welcome to the Show." We caught up with the band to discuss their goals as they approach their 10th anniversary and their ever-growing connection to their fans through their music. Check out our full interview below!

Tracks like “Welcome to the Show,” “The Power of Love,” and “Get The Hell Out” seem to have very different themes. Can you tell us a little about how these songs relate to each other and what aspects make this album cohesive?

SUNGJIN: As we pursue the idea of being a 'band that sings every moment,' it seems like our albums, including the recent one, prioritize diversity in songs and situations rather than unity. Consequently, our albums contain various genres and narratives. However, there seems to be a commonality in most songs, depicting situations that everyone has either gone through or might experience.

Young K: First and foremost, I would say this album is a compilation of the best songs we could create. There's definitely a theme of love running through it. "Welcome to the Show," "The Power of Love," and "Get The Hell Out" all talk about the concept of love.

What goes into creating titles for DAY6 songs and albums, especially those that don’t come directly from your lyrics? Do you find it hard to condense the intentions and themes of a song into a title?

Young K: While there have been cases like that, all the songs on this album came from the lyrics. Sometimes, when choosing a title, we select the one that best describes the song—other times, we choose to give it a twist or make it more intriguing.

WONPIL: Naming songs involves a lot of deliberation. We often contemplate which title will catch the eye and capture the song's essence. Usually, we try to take it from a verse in the chorus. This can be a challenging part of the songwriting process.

Is there a creative project you’ve always wanted to work on but haven’t gotten the chance/found the time?

SUNGJIN: I'm very curious, and have a principle of "trying to experience as much as possible." There are so many things I want to try musically and personally, especially among the things I know but haven't tried yet.

DOWOON: I hope we can have a song that we can collaborate on with My Day, like a choir.

What does your work/studio setup look like? Where do you feel the most creatively inspired?

DOWOON: We try to keep the studio as tidy as possible and make it comfortable for practice sessions.

WONPIL: When working on songs, we talk a lot. We get inspiration from little conversations, joking around, sharing stories, and listening to music from various eras regardless of genre while giving opinions. We also try to build emotional connections with the songs. There’s a lot of communication going on. The songwriting process takes place in the studio of our long-time collaborator, composer Hong Jisang, with whom we've been working together since our debut.

How do you want to evolve as a musician/producer?

Young K: I want to be eagerly anticipated and awaited as an artist. Without those who wait for us, we wouldn't release or even step onto the stage. So I’m always thankful for My Day.

WONPIL: My biggest goal is to make good music for My Day and the public, so I think I'll continue to ponder. When working on songs, I pour my sincerity into them. I constantly strive to express this sincerity musically, fully capturing the emotions I want to convey. I hope to create songs that can still be listened to even after 10 or 20 years.

Design your own Tumblr blog: choose an aesthetic, a blog name, and would you be a frequent poster or lurker?

SUNGJIN: I think I’ll use it to catch up on friends' updates. For the blog name, THUMB BLUR sounds good to me. I might end up being a lurker who never posts.

DOWOON: Maybe a blog for plants? I think I'll post it like a diary.

Want more DAY6? Check out their new mini album Fourever and the music video for the title track “Welcome to the Show,” both out now!

[hxnbi]

「 THEIR LOVE LANGUAGE 」

synopsis: the ways that they show their love

— characters: gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, okkotsu yuta, nanami kento

— contents: fluff, a lil bit of angst and comfort in nanami's, gn reader

part two | masterlist

GOJO SATORU ➽ words of affirmation & gift-giving

This man is rich. Plain as day, there is no doubt about that. There is nothing that Satoru won't do to go to the ends of the earth to get you. The number of times you would receive gifts from this man would have Ieiri, Utahime, and even Mei's eyes widen in horror. And maybe even perhaps jealousy—to see a man so high up his ass so utterly devoted to his partner.

His mornings and afternoons would often be spent teaching his young students at Jujutsu Tech, but it didn't stop him from diving into a whirlwind of activity, all stemming from his blatant infatuation with you. Whenever he had the chance, perhaps luring his students for a "trip" with the promise of going to Roppongi, he inevitably found himself scouring the markets for any trinkets that caught his eye. But who could blame him? After all, they were virtually beckoning him to buy it for you—a delicate necklace, a quaint keychain, or a colorful bouquet of wildflowers. Each item held a piece of his heart, a token of his affection waiting to be shared with you and only you.

Satoru wasn't deterred. Hell, he was hardly even fazed by the indifferent stares or the murmurs of disdain that often followed his well-meaning gestures—mostly by his colleagues, probably thinking he was processed by a cursed spirit, God forbid, but I digress. Love wasn’t just a word to be said but a sentiment to be expressed through actions, however small or grand they may appear. But if that was what Satoru really thought a relationship was, then God may as well have struck him down at that moment. It didn't matter what people thought of him or even what material possessions he bestowed upon you; you're his entire world and don't deserve any less. 

To be able to feel pampered by his kindness and love through gifts. It warmed your heart to know how special you really were to him. Satoru may be rich, but he also knows about the superficial aspects of a relationship and tries to avoid them. But in the end, if that’s what you want, he'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. All he wishes for is your happiness and nothing more. As the strongest sorcerer in the world, Satoru knows he has a lot of power, and he is willing to put that all on the line for you to flourish. The man, to the surprise of no one, had a knack for flirting, effortlessly winning hearts with his smooth talk and irresistible charm. He can even be a flirt at times, for sure, but Satoru despised that label. To him, it's his way of showing that he is all yours. He's a tease who knows how to use his words to woo you—though it can sometimes be a bit much. You know that what he's doing is just trying to cheer you up.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI ➽ acts of service & words of affirmation

From the very beginning of your relationship, moments of vulnerability and intimacy were always scarce and few in between. He would never do or say something that you were uncomfortable with. He respects your boundaries and expects the same in return. Megumi, quietly and reservedly, sometimes has trouble articulating his thoughts. His words often fall short of capturing the depth of his feelings. Yet beneath this rock-solid exterior lies a heart that yearns for your happiness above all else—even his own. His emotions are conveyed not through words but through subtle gestures and actions veiled behind his typical stoic demeanour.

As much as Yuji and Nobara would tease him for it, their jests and blatant remarks were all rooted in good faith. Because in the end, when they would see just the way that he would gaze at you and how he would constantly be attentive to your well-being during missions—contrary to popular belief, not smothering you with overprotectiveness but ensuring that he's always there to support you—they would realize how committed Megumi really was. They understand that Megumi's silence speaks volumes. Gojo, for one, would disagree and instead say he was "utterly and completely smitten" with you, his eyes seeing the world through rose-colored lenses, but if that is the case, then so be it. 

When he extends a hand to help you out, whether it's on a mission to exorcise cursed spirits or simply going through the strains of daily life, it's a gesture that speaks volumes. To you, his short and sincere words were his way of showing that he cared. He is your protector, and he will ensure you know this about him. You don't have to lift a finger; he's already on it. His presence alone makes your cheeks flush pink.

OKKOTSU YUTA ➽ quality time & physical touch

Yuta cherishes the intimacy of being close to his loved one, especially when it's with you. Throughout his life, he's often felt isolated and disconnected from the world around him. Having someone he's genuinely close to fills his heart with a sense of completeness. And to him, you are everything—his entire world.

Quality time, to Yuta, means all the time—whether you both are on a mission, training, or even just together in the classroom, you best believe that Yuta will be following you around like a dog with its owner. But he doesn't do it just because it's expected. He knows his strength and wants to protect you no matter what. And if he can't find you? Without a doubt, Yuta will be deploying all of his nerves and anxiety to the forefront of his very being to see you.

You understand that, after all the trauma that Yuta's been through in his life, that is what makes up his anxieties. The scars of his past linger and still continue to haunt him—those memories of loss and loneliness. It's a burden he carries with him always, and that hurts. But unbeknownst to you, your presence alone healed him far more than any reverse cursed technique could. It would heal physical injuries, but internal ones? That was all you—the solace in his once dark-lit life.

Yuta's love language becomes evident. Not even the most oblivious people could look at the way Yuta looked at you and assume it was anything other than pure adoration. It's in the gentle brush of your hand against his, the comforting warmth of your embrace, and the way you lean in just a little closer when you speak, just to be able to hear him a bit more clearly. His affection is expressed through subtle touches and lingering gazes. He loves you, and you love him—just the way he is.

NANAMI KENTO ➽ quality time & words of affirmation

Straight up, he's one of the more mature men out there. Nanami is stone-cold, but he is painstakingly thorough in his care in practically everything he does. He can be a workaholic at times, for sure, but he knew what would become of him if that was all that he did. Despite his dedication to his work, he always made a conscious effort to prioritize his relationships and to nurture and cherish the time he had with you. He wanted for both you and him to live a proper and healthy life. Whether you were just feeling off about yourself or going through a tough time, Nanami would be right by your side in a matter of seconds to comfort you. 

If he were at work, he would drop everything he was doing, call you directly on his cell phone regardless of the weird looks he was getting from his colleagues, and immediately put on his jacket and drive to where you were, only to see you alone in your shared home curled up on the couch, and that made him angry—more than that. But he knew that, above all else, he needed to comfort you, and perhaps, even himself…

No questions would be asked of him, as he would then lift you up in his arms and reassure you that you didn’t have to tell him now but that he was here for you and would always be. He'd then take you somewhere in hopes of taking your mind off whatever was haunting your thoughts because, in his mind, you didn't deserve that burden while he could help. Even just his words alone would soothe your troubled mind. Every action and gesture he made to guarantee your well-being demonstrated his undying dedication to you. And if those words weren't enough, Nanami would drop everything and show his love through quality time spent together. Whether it was a quiet evening at home or a leisurely stroll through the city streets, he cherished every moment shared in your company. 

You cherished having him by your side, and you wouldn't have it any other way. And it didn't matter to him if you were feeling down or struggling with something, down to the littlest thing. And it didn't matter to him if you thought it was troublesome to tell him.

Because he always knew what to say.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

[moonsaver]

How do you think Ratio would feel if someone else at the college in a position of power yelled at student reader and made them cry? Like when he scolds you, it's tough love and he means well, but when other people do it they're bullies?

Ohhhhohohoboooooooohhh...

Okay, if we're talking about veritas normally as a professor, he's not having it. I mean, he won't regardless of his station, but still.

He views his own scolding as simply relaying the absolute truth to his students – he believes no one else can lay the bare truth to his students more than himself, and it's his duty to do so as your educator. His scolding is harsh but never cruel – it always pinpoints your weaknesses, and when you actually listen and do as he says, you realise just how right he was. He's not the type to use his students as a punching bag for his own ego.

He's also a bit understanding of other educators scolding their students – truthfully, they see you most often as a student than anyone else, and are the only ones who can possibly help you with your weaknesses. However, he can't help but feel like it's brutish whenever another educator scolds their students as harshly as he does.

He already has semi-strong opinions on other professors or authorities scolding their students normally. So when he sees you being yelled at and used as a punching bag for an authority who wants to tend to their bruised ego? Oh please.

He doesn't fear immediately stepping in and teaching them their own lesson. He asks them what their problem is in a monotone, unimpressed voice, but if looks could kill the person would be mauled. His eyebrows are nastily furrowed as he glares them down. Veritas is not fearful of positions of power nor authority. He seeks for the truth and practicality, and from his perspective, they lost all credibility and any ounce of respect he had for them the moment they decided yelling at a student was logical in order to convey their grievances.

He gives them a good dressing down with their own words. You're probably standing behind him while he deals with them. It's not too soon before some or the other disciplinary action is taken about them. As for you.. Veritas isn't exactly sure, but he's compassionate when you really need it. Pulls you along to somewhere more secluded and hands you his handkerchief, advising you to take your time but to also collect yourself soon and head home if it's the end of the day.

Even if he's also just a professor, he won't be sitting back and staying idle about such behavior. Especially if it's his students they seem to have a problem with. He hopes you'll be fine until tomorrow for the lecture. Pats your head and assures you it will be taken care of and that you may further relay any other issues you have about them to him.

Until then.. he makes sure to clean up every nook and cranny of that authority figure. Anonymously collects any other complaints about them from other students who might have faced the same experience as you did, and practically drops the bomb when there's a feedback meeting of some sort. Makes sure they're fired or some or the other disciplinary action is taken regarding their behavior.

[celestialtarot11]

Astro observations 💐🌸

Hi friends 👀✨ guess who is back with another astro observation! Enjoy! Feel free to like comment and reblog ☀️

🕊️ Why so sag men try to brag about their physique? Is this something only I noticed? They will try to bring up their body in any conversation!

🤍 Taurus rising men tend to have a stocky physique and usually there is a feature on them that is “smaller,” than the rest proportionally.

🕊️ Taurus men also have pronounced voices, or there is something different regarding their speech. Accent, speaking a different language, or their choice of vocabulary can make them seem luxurious ✨

🤍 Gemini women are so multifaceted and see a lot of perspectives, it may be why they get anxious. They see lots of different perspectives, and it can get hard to manage and process. It feels like their brain is always working like a piston.

🕊️ Virgo mercury in the 8h will not play around when it comes to receipts! Your honor I have screenshots type of energy 😭

🤍 Those with saturn or chiron afflicting their mercury, I’ve noticed have a speaking issue. Stuttering, speech delay, or issues with conveying their thoughts. Its possible they overcame a strong language barrier 🫂

🕊️ Lilith aspecting Venus and the natives mom often using the child against family members 👀 anybody experience this? The mother could’ve been cunning with her words and manipulative to get what she wanted, or feel power.

🤍 Cancer women also have a lot of opposition with family and friends, just like Leos. Both are luminaries and shine brightly in their own ways. And both are powerful! The moon is our instinct, intuition, primal responses, and its likely cancer women can draw out what needs healing in relationships. People may not respond well to their own healing work which results in competition and jealousy.

🕊️ Sag venus women have high standards because they learn their value! If they know something is not for them they will leave, no questions asked.

🤍 Best friends with venus on the opposite ends (example: sag venus, gemini venus) tend to have amazing compatibility! My best friend and I have this, and we get along amazingly. Our humor is top notch, we also are very intuitive with one another and give each other what we need (hence, the venus signs) I feel like its a balancing factor!

🕊️ Pisces men can be very confused with their life, yet project an entirely different image of “having it together.” They may talk a lot more than they can handle.

🤍 Venus 1h synastry, if it includes Aquarius, usually the other person’s beauty is considered unconventional or different than their usual. The house person can see the Venus person as different, or not their type at first. And its possible at first, the house person had a completely different impression of the venus person, which changed tremendously over time.

🕊️ Two air Venusians together love to yap 😭 I dont make the rules.

Thanks ya’ll! Loved making this post 🥰 it was a lot of fun! I hope ya’ll really enjoyed this. Feel free to like, comment and reblog! Its always appreciated.

Paid readings 🤍🕊️

[luna-azzurra]

Some tips to help you improve your writing style:

1. Read widely: Reading a variety of genres and authors exposes you to different writing styles and helps you develop a broader vocabulary and an understanding of various sentence structures. For example, if you want to improve your descriptive writing, read books by authors known for their vivid imagery like J.R.R. Tolkien or Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

2. Write regularly: Like any skill, writing improves with practice. Set aside dedicated time for writing, whether it's a journal entry, a short story, or an essay. Consistency is key. By writing regularly, you'll become more comfortable expressing your ideas and develop your unique voice.

3. Be mindful of your audience: Tailor your writing style to suit your target audience. Consider their level of familiarity with the subject matter, their interests, and their expectations. For instance, if you're writing a scientific paper for experts in the field, use technical language and provide in-depth analysis. On the other hand, if you're writing a blog post for a general audience, use accessible language and relatable examples.

4. Use active voice and strong verbs: Active voice makes your writing more direct and engaging. It emphasizes the subject performing the action rather than the action itself. For example, instead of saying "The ball was thrown by John," use "John threw the ball." Strong verbs also add clarity and power to your writing. Compare "He walked slowly" with "He sauntered" or "He ambled."

5. Vary sentence structure: Experiment with different sentence lengths and structures to maintain reader interest. A mix of short, medium, and long sentences can create rhythm and flow. For example, a series of short, punchy sentences can build tension or convey urgency, while longer sentences can provide detailed explanations or set a contemplative tone.

6. Use precise and vivid language: Choose words that convey your meaning precisely and evoke vivid imagery. Instead of saying "The flower looked pretty," you could say "The delicate blossom bloomed in vibrant shades of crimson and gold." Specific and descriptive language brings your writing to life and engages the reader's senses.

7. Edit and revise: Good writing often requires multiple rounds of editing. After you finish a draft, take the time to review and revise your work. Look for clarity, coherence, and grammar errors. Consider whether each sentence contributes to the overall message and whether the organization of your ideas flows logically. Don't be afraid to make significant changes if they improve your writing.

8. Seek feedback: Share your work with trusted friends, colleagues, or writing groups. Constructive feedback can help you identify blind spots and areas for improvement. Consider their suggestions while maintaining your unique voice and style.

[slayingfiction]

Unlocking the Power of Dialogue Tags in Fictional Writing

In the realm of fictional writing, dialogue is not just about what characters say; it's also about how they say it. This is where dialogue tags come into play. Often overlooked, these small phrases can dramatically transform your storytelling, offering readers insights into your characters' emotions, intentions, and personalities. Let's delve into the art of using dialogue tags effectively in fictional writing.

What are Dialogue Tags?

Dialogue tags are brief phrases that accompany dialogue, identifying the speaker and often describing how something is said. Classic examples include 'said', 'asked', and 'replied'. However, the world of dialogue tags is vast and varied, allowing writers to add depth and color to their conversations.

The Importance of Variety

While 'said' is a workhorse in dialogue tags, being unobtrusive and easily overlooked, overusing it can render your writing monotonous. Introducing variety is key. Consider using tags like 'whispered', 'shouted', 'murmured', or 'exclaimed' to convey emotions and volume. But beware, overuse of overly descriptive tags can distract the reader. The trick is to strike a balance.

Conveying Action and Emotion

Dialogue tags can do much more than identify who is speaking. They can also convey action and emotion. For instance, 'she said, slamming the door' instantly tells the reader about the character's emotional state. Using action-oriented dialogue tags can also help in reducing the adverb usage, which often clutters writing.

The Subtlety of Beats

Sometimes, it's effective to replace dialogue tags with action beats. Action beats are small actions or descriptions that interrupt dialogue. For example:

"Are you okay?" John leaned forward, concern etching his face.

Here, 'John leaned forward' acts as a beat, breaking up the dialogue and adding a layer of description.

Avoiding Common Pitfalls

One common pitfall in using dialogue tags is redundancy. Saying 'she yelled loudly' can be tautological since yelling is inherently loud. Additionally, avoid overly creative dialogue tags that can confuse the reader. Stick to simplicity where it adds value.

Using Dialogue Tags for Pacing

Dialogue tags can also control the pacing of your narrative. A quick back-and-forth conversation with minimal tags can speed up the pace, making the scene feel urgent or intense. Conversely, adding descriptive tags and beats can slow down the dialogue, allowing for deeper emotional impact.

Conclusion

In conclusion, dialogue tags are a powerful tool in a writer's arsenal. They provide clarity, convey emotions, and enhance the rhythm of your narrative. By mastering their use, you can elevate your fictional writing, creating stories that resonate deeply with your readers. Remember, in the dance of dialogue, tags are your rhythm - use them to make your story sing.

Don’t forget our Grand Opening Giveaway starts February 1st/24 on Tumblr, Instagram and slayingfiction.com! You don’t want to miss it!

Happy Writing!