#practicing character study and whatnot

[sargeantsarmy]

Ryan Erzahler ❤️❤️ I love you so much

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

The world if people stopped applying their understanding of "conservatism" and "religion/christianity" through a very modern, deeply American view onto Death Note (a manga from the Early-mid 2000s which is very much set in the cultural and societal context of early-mid 2000s Japan and all that entails):

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — ONE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 9k.

NOTE. my goal for this fic is to make as many male characters either detestable or unesttling, and make you like them against your will. in other words, meet mark and doyoung HAHAHAHAH. this is mostly still exposition!!! establishing facts and relationships and dynamics and whatnot. more jaemin next chapter. too much jaemin, even. anyway, enjoy! CHAPTER TWO.

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.” 

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams? 

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs. 

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you. 

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground. 

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries. 

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut. 

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.” 

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination. 

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh. 

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission. 

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. 

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

*‎

The next morning, Nalkkeutta’s boss is gracious enough to answer your request for a meeting. 

Mark Lee shows up to the conference room of JSS’s Criminal Division, accompanied by a polite knock on the already open door, a humming smile, and a Kim Doyoung— who you very clearly don’t remember inviting to this meeting. Mark enters the room with a good morning. You nod and your eyes skip over him, flitting over to meet your boss’s gaze by the door instead. “You must be very busy, sir. What are you doing here?”

The wrinkle that forms between Doyoung’s eyebrows signifies that he very much understood your polite version of a fuck off. “I just wanted to escort our client,” he replies, adjusting his glasses. 

You smile at him. “The escorting usually ends when the client has arrived at their destination.” 

Doyoung’s jaw stiffens. Mark seems to be sufficiently entertained by the exchange, attention hopping back and forth between you and your boss. The latter surrenders and ends the episode with a sigh and a nod, completely glossing over you to speak to Mark instead. “Mr. Lee, please let me know if you need anything.”

You hear Mark respond in a pleasant tone, “Don’t worry, I know I’m in good hands,” but you don’t look at him yet. You force the gravity of your gaze onto Doyoung— an unwavering smile that creeps him out just enough to finally give up and leave the room, shutting the door behind him with a click, and finally allowing you to relax your shoulders and sink into the glossy, wooden table.

“Ugh.”

Stuck-up prick. The bane of your fucking existence, had it not been for the reappearance of Na Jaemin, the other capricious asshole in your life. Your head cocks up, hearing the scratching noise of a chair being pulled out. Mark sits right in front of you, maintaining a smile. ���Bad morning?” And you finally speak your first words to him, in the form of a raging rant about his hot mess of an executive.

“Hey, be honest, do you want me fired? Do you want me to make my first ever loss? Your employee, Na Jaemin, told me he got into this mess because Yoon Naksung and his friends were looking at him for too long. Does that make sense to you? Is that how a sane man operates? How the hell am I supposed to defend that in court? How the hell am I supposed to defend his ass when he gives me fucking nothing to work with, and all while having the balls to call me useless?”

You’re out of breath by the end of it. Whew. That felt so freaking good. 

“Sorry.” You eject yourself out of your tantrum upon hearing Mark’s not-so-apologetic apology. You leer at him from across the table, watching the stillness of his apparent pleasant expression. “Jaemin can be kind of rude sometimes.”

This guy is Nalkkeutta’s boss, you remind yourself. He’s the source of your fattened up bank account and worsened sense of justice and morality for the past five months—

“Rude is an understatement. He’s a fucking piece of shit.”

—and he’s also somewhat your friend.

“I’ve never seen you this angry.” Mark laughs, relaxing into his seat. “Was he that bad?”

Nalkeutta and JSS Law firm’s partnership has existed prior to your employment here. However, you’ve know Nalkkeutta’s boss even before you’ve entered law school, much less started working here. Kim Doyoung doesn’t know this, obviously. Their background check on you did not go as far as finding out your regular patrons throughout the four years you spent working at a run-down cafe-bar downtown throughout the entirety of your undergrad.

The cafe’s name was The Hangman. Pirate-themed, which was used as a frequent justification by your boss to never fix the broken chair legs, unkempt storage boxes, and occasional leaky ceilings. They add to the aesthetic, he says. 

Anyhow, it was then that you first met Mark Lee, around three weeks into your first shift. He’d usually come in at around 10 p.m., order an old fashioned at the counter, flash you a pretty and boyish smile, then quietly read on the same spot until one in the morning before thanking you and leaving. Each time, you clock the hardbound cover titles. The Laws of Human Nature. Man’s Search for Meaning. Leviathan. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man. 

Frankly, the crap he regularly reads worked better to make him look more daunting than his overall appearance. Mark Lee wore the visage of a cute, college literature major— covered in knit beanies and warm cardigans and all— but carried books and ordered drinks that made him seem like he was fifty-seven years old. The only time you found an opening was the time he finally brought a long something other than self-help or pretentious nonfiction. Kafka on the Shore. “I didn’t peg you as a Murakami guy.” 

Mark Lee was taken aback when you first talked to him. He asked what made you say that. 

You referenced the previous books he’d been carrying along. He blinked, laughed, then said that he actually preferred reading fiction. He’d only been reading all that obnoxious bullshit (your words) because he was fascinated with the mental gymnastics (his words) some people were capable of, and he was just compelled to read more. You’re still not sure how much of that defense was true, but that doesn’t really matter because your conversations gradually strayed away from books to your daily life instead— your classes and readings and the annoying customers you’d regularly had to deal with at work. It’s mostly you doing the talking, and it’s mostly because you otherwise had no one else to talk to to kill time during your night shifts at The Hangman.

“Was he that bad?” you parrot, sarcastically. “He said that you did a shit job picking a lawyer. You tell me, Mark Lee. Do you think your executive is a stellar guy?”

Mark only laughs. You grunt and slump in your seat, arms crossed as you observe Mark’s expression from across the table. It seems like he doesn’t mind you talking shit about his people this much. His lips are pressed in a perpetual, easygoing smile as he eyes the set of folders and documents on your side. You bite the inside of your cheek. From his appearance alone, you wouldn’t have guessed him to be the head of the most notorious gang in the underbelly of Yeongdeungpo. In fact, you would never have guessed it if you didn’t take an extra shift one day at The Hangman. 

You ended up staying later than your usual 2 a.m. to cover for a co-worker. It was a weekend, so you didn’t mind much. Mark Lee hadn’t shown up that night. That is until you saw him come in at the store thirty minutes after two— deviating from his usual routine in more ways than one when he didn’t stop to order a drink, when he was with someone else who you were frankly too intimidated to look at for too long. When he went in and up the staircase at the back of the bar that was otherwise off limits because it led to your boss’s office in the upper area— and none of your supervisors came to stop him nor even attempt to look at him when he came back out with his big, scary companion walking three steps behind him while carrying a large and heavy looking black bag.

This happened a few more times. And Mark Lee would always smile at you when he’d pass by the bar counter. That’s when you knew something was up. But you knew better than to dig your nose into that kind of business. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the ability to see the future back then.

You look at the guy sitting in front of you right now. Mark Lee’s eyes flit up from your documents to look at you again, hands clasped together and resting gingerly on the conference table. “I’d sincerely like to apologize on his behalf,” he starts. You feel a thump in your chest.  “But I hope his uncooperativeness isn’t making it impossible for you to win the case, attorney.”

Yup. That was a threat. Get my errand dog out of jail— even if he bites you in the process, is what he’s trying to say. Mark Lee may have been your bar regular and friend at some point, but right now he is your client— the most important client your firm has ever had the pleasure of receiving. He is not your friend right now. He is your high school bully’s boss. He is the head of the biggest organized crime group in the district. And your law firm is just one of the many cogs running his criminal machinery. One slip up, and he could just wrench you out without a second thought.

“Of course it’s not impossible. What do you think of me?”

You slide the first file you have down the table. Even if Na Jaemin is fucking useless, you’re not letting him ruin your flawless performance record. You’re not letting him give Mark Lee a reason to throw you away.

“What’s this?”

“The witness list. Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong,” you start. “Your dog fucked them up really badly. I already met their lawyer. He was being dodgy about it, but I doubt they’d let him off with a simple settlement.”

A glint flickers in Mark Lee’s eyes are your introduction.

“I already have another meeting scheduled with him this week. I’d like to talk to the three victims personally, but you know I’m not allowed to do that.”

He hums, glossing over your file before setting it back down on the table, fingers pressed firmly on the page as he looks up with a pleasant smile. “When should I take care of them?”

A shiver crawls down your spine. “I’ll let you know depending on how the second meeting goes,” you answer. “Even if the three of them testify, there won’t be enough evidence to prove his guilt beyond reasonable doubt based on what the prosecution has so far. I don’t know why the fuck their counsel is even bothering with this. Na Jaemin would effectively be acquitted from his criminal charges.”

Your client appears to be satisfied, but you’re not done yet.

“However, that won’t absolve him from civil liability.”

No way in hell.

“Yoon Naksung’s party can still sue for damages. And they have enough evidence to guarantee a win. Na Jaemin would be fined at most, and I’m sure it’d be very easy for you to cough up a couple thousand for him. But that’s still a loss for me. And I can’t have that stain on my record.”

Your brows wrinkle. You release a breath.

“Talk to Yoon Naksung. Or Hong Hyunjae. or Ma Gildong, or whatever. It doesn’t matter. It might be hard to get through Yoon since he’s the one fighting the most for this, but the other two would be pretty easy. I hear Ma Gildong’s business isn’t in good shape lately. The address is on the file.” You rise up, leaning forward to reach an arm over. You drop an index finger on the exact spot on the document you were referencing, landing a firm thump on the table. “If the court hears that all of them were all equally beating the shit out of each other in a drunken episode, not remembering who started what, instead of it being a one-sided beating from your exec just because they looked at him wrong—”

Your eyes flit up. You meet Mark’s gaze— unblinking and dilated. You clear your throat and look away.

“Then—then, their case won’t be merited. The court would dismiss it in pari delicto.”

Mark Lee seems pretty fucking happy to hear that. He’s all smiles and applause and it stresses you the fuck out. “I knew I could count on you, attorney.”

You sigh, slumping back down in your seat. “I already have Na Jaemin’s medical report. If you could get at least two of the witnesses to cooperate, that would be great.” Mark responds with a nod and a hum. You sigh again. “We have so many competent lawyers here. Why do you keep specifically asking for me? Next time, go ask Doyoung, or something. I’m tired.” You’d give up this illegal but lucrative money machine just to see Kim Doyoung experience the life-or-death stress you’ve been experiencing these past five months. You really would.

“Because you’re good,” he responds lightly— genuinely. A little too genuine for your liking. Mark shoots you a smile as he tucks his abandoned seat back under the conference table. Uh oh. Here he goes again. “How about officially joining Nalkkeutta as the head of our legal department?”

“Hah,” you snort. “My hands may have gotten dirty, but I can still wash them, Mark Lee.” The look on his face tells you that he isn’t taking you seriously. You leer your eyes. You’re serious. You don’t intend on being Nalkkeut’s clean-up dog forever. Five months ago, you just happened to have shit luck with the desperation to match. Both bad luck and desperation are bound to run out at some point. You just hope they manage to burn out before this guy could burn you alive. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve met with their lawyer again. For the meantime, just keep an eye on the witnesses. Let me know if you find anything of importance.”

His eyes linger on you for a while, still smiling. You know where his head is at. Your grimace— even harder when he asks again to confirm, “So, is that a no?”

“Hell no.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “Worth a shot.” At this point, he’s already halfway out of the conference. “See you again, attorney,” he bids farewell

“God, please, no,” you respond with a grunt. He laughs. The door clicks shut. You groan and become one with the almond table.

How many times has he tried to recruit you already? You’ve lost count. You’re already being regularly run through the wringer at JSS, how much more under Nalkkeut? Jesus, you don’t even want to entertain the thought. So, you busy your head with your  current main stressor: the Na Jaemin case. You force your face off the table with a grunt and pull out your ipad to double check the trial schedule. Two weeks from now. Thursday. Fuck all. How did you end up here?

In retrospect, maybe it was actually all your fault. Three months ago— two months into working at JSS Law Firm— you decided that you were sick and tired of being trapped in Kim Doyoung’s legal counsel team as an associate, without being granted any personal recognition or accolades. You wanted to prove your worth. You wanted to get your credit. This time, you’re going to get  your first fucking big girl case. Even if it meant discourteously bulldozing into Kim Doyoung’s office like a chihuahua looking for a fight.

Which you did, only to be shell-shocked and surprised to see the face of your old bar counter friend— who might also be a gang leader— in the middle of a very…confidential conversation with your supervisor.

“Attorney, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Too late. You’ve already overheard their conversation. They were discussing a case much like your current one— one of Mark Lee’s executives got caught in the middle of an illegal firearms deal, and Doyoung was having trouble looking for a lawyer stupid enough to take the case. 

He shooed you out, but you stayed. You simply had no choice. You had to bite the bullet. This was a spring-loaded opportunity, and you didn’t intend on feeling from it.

“I’ll do it. I can handle it.”

You did get your big girl case, alright. You won. But you also had to book a full body spa session after your first time shaking hands with a criminal— just to feel somewhat cleaner. Obviously, you’ve become a lot more jaded now. Your boss has decided to dump all of Nalkkeuta’s major cases onto your desk since then, and Mark Lee has been trying to poach you ever since.

JSS. Jinsilseong. Integrity. What a load of bullshit. Where’s the integrity in working as criminal clean up dogs? There’s neither integrity nor justice here. Yet you’re able to afford a decent apartment because of that tarnished integrity. Dirty money. You make yourself sick, but drive home and back to work again for the next few days with the car that money bought you, because there’s no way in hell integrity can give you a comfortable life.

*‎

“How’s your Nalkkeuta case going?”

Kim Jungwoo comes over to greet you at the division breakroom while you’re in the middle of making yourself a cup of instant coffee after three fucking hours of being hunched over your cubicle the whole day. You jolt upon hearing his voice, flitting your head over to the direction of his voice, and you’re greeted by a face that clearly has gotten his eight hours in.

Unlike you. Jungwoo and you joined the firm at about the same time, yet somehow you look as though you’ve been trapped here for a good ten decades. He bats his eyes at you with a pretty boy smile while waiting for your response. You grunt. 

“Dreadful. Horrible. Do you want to take it from me and liberate me from this misery?”

The laugh he gives you in response probably means a no. You click your tongue, grunting as you set aside to give him space on the counter. “Is it that bad?” he asks, rustling through the cabinets for a coffee stick somewhere. Kim Doyoung should restock and feed his poor laborers better.

“Yoon’s party won’t settle. They’re dead set on pursuing a cIass action.” Jungwoo manages to fish one stick out. “Not to mention my own fucking client refused my visit. I miss the days where all I had to do was summarize court transcripts and deliver correspondences for Doyoung. You never really know what you’re missing until you lose it.”

That was a lie, but you’re miserable. You were able to meet all three of the witnesses last week, in the presence of their lawyer, obviously and unfortunately. Yoon Naksung seems to be their leader, because the moment you uttered the words ‘settlement’ and ‘compromise,’ he nearly jumped off his seat to full-on throttle you. You’d ask why the hell he’s so hostile, but you read their written testimony on the day of the incident. He recounted all the heinous crap Na Jaemin spewed out while he beat the shit out of them. Things you’d rather not repeat out loud. The other two witnesses didn’t seem as passionate as Naksung, like they just wanted it to be over with and forget how much Na Jaemin humiliated their asses by wiping their faces on the ground and proceeding to call them a bunch of bitch babies.

Anyhow, you have your last attempt of negotiation this afternoon with their lawyer. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter at this point. You just want to let the court know that you’ve done your due diligence of attempting to reach an amicable settlement. You’ve got other cards up your sleeve— you’ve always had.

Which is why Kim Doyoung doesn’t buy your whining and complaining when overhears it in the breakroom.

“Get a grip.”

You flinch. Doyoung makes an appearance by shoveling in between you and Jungwoo to the coffee storage. You two step aside. He releases a silent swear upon realizing there’s no more instant coffee left. So, he decides to release his pissy attitude onto the innocent cupboard door by slamming it shut with a loud bam!

You and Jungwoo look at each other. Bad executive meeting. Very bad, you two mentally agree, sharing a look and a nod. JSS has been dealing with negative press lately. Director must have dumped the burden of fixing it onto him. Poor guy. He deserves it.

Doyoung manages to compose himself in a matter of seconds. He inhales, chest rising, then adjusts his crooked glasses with a huff from lips, finishing it up by giving you a lowered stare. “I’m not really worried about your performance,” he carefully pronounces. “Nalkkeut always asks for you for a reason. Mark Lee gets along well with you, too. So, quit being dramatic.”

He gets along with you because you both like Haruki Murakami, never dug your nose into his business, and always cleaned up his messes. You doubt you’d get the same grace if you fucked this one up, especially considering it concerns one of his executives. Sure, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of your previous cases without much trouble besides your inherent workload. The problem this time is your client.

Ugh. Na Jaemin. That bastard. How dare he decline your visitation request when his freedom is on the line here? You need to brief him for the trial, make sure he doesn’t do anything fucking stupid that would jeopardize your case and fuck not only himself, but you over as well. His freedom isn’t the only thing on the line. Your record is. Your freaking license is. As much as you really don’t want to see his face again, you have to. And the only comfort you can find at the prospect of meeting him again is the very clear evidence that he does not remember you— whereas your bones are already shaking at the mere thought of having to face him again.

It sucks. This sucks. But even if it does, you force yourself out of the office later in the afternoon to meet the witnesses’ lawyer at a cafe downtown. 

His name is Jung Sungchan from the District Prosecutor’s Office. He’s baby-faced. He still has the light in his eyes. You’ve never even heard of him before this case. Meaning, he’s far too irrelevant to have the gall to strut into the cafe, say his piece, then leave without even buying a freaking coffee.

“See you in court, attorney.”

Of course this meeting ends the same way as your other meetings have had: no settlement, no compromise, no nothing. You release a scoff once he sees himself out with a cocky ass grin and a pep in his step. Hah. Fucker thinks he’s winning. This bitch is a toddler in the field compared to you. You’re gonna show him just how ruthless the law could be in the hands of someone that could bend it. He has no idea what’s coming for him.

You pull out your phone. You text Mark a go signal. [Give me an update tonight]. You stare at your string of texts you’d just sent, squint, contemplate for a second, then bring up your phone to your face. [Also, please send a message to your locked up exec that I really have to meet him soon. Tell him to stop rejecting my visitation requests. Please. For the love of god]. You hit send again. You exhale. That does it. You fix up your things and prepare to start leaving.

While you make your way to the cafe’s exit, you unfortunately overhear a conversation. Not that you’d even tried to overhear. There are two girls sitting next to the counter— one with straight black hair and blunt bangs, the other one with a very bad bleach job— and they’re both just talking really, really loudly. 

“That’s what you get for fucking my man, you tramp,” sneers the fake blonde.

“I’m telling you, I really didn’t know he was taken!” straight hair screeches back.

Oh, fuck. You didn’t want to hear this drama. You try your best to maneuver past them quickly, quietly, but you end up hearing more information as you walk by. “I already broke it off and apologized! Please just take down the post already—”

“There’s no way you didn’t know, and there’s no way in hell I’m taking your disgusting texts down. All your friends and family deserve to know how much of a dirty, manipulative skank you are. So that they’d know to keep their boyfriends away from you!”

“Look, I’d get down on my knees to apologize, but you posted not only my private texts, but my fucking nudes were in them, you bitch! I’m not fucking proud of hooking up with a man I didn’t know was taken, but you’re going too far! I—I could sue you for this!”

“Hah! As if! If anyone, I’m the victim in this situation! Not you! You’re the affair partner who seduced my man!”

Goddammit. You jerk back after a sudden stop six feet away from the exit. You shit your eyes, mutter a silent breath as you continue to listen to the high-strung argument behind you. Normally, you’re not one to butt into these things. It’s none of your business, and quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck. But maybe it’s because you’ve yet again been subject to do something that desecrates the very principles of your occupation— the very notions of what is just and lawful and good— that you find yourself spinning your heels and stomping back into the opposite direction before you could even reconsider.

“Excuse me. I apologize for interrupting without consent, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

You just want to balance out the scales of your negative karma— even by just a little bit. You’re doing this for no one’s good but your own. The two girls snap their heads at you, one visibly more annoyed than the other. You gloss over it.

“The right to privacy of communication is heavily protected by our laws and Constitution,” you begin. Blondie furrows her brows at you, a loading symbol practically spinning above her head. Straight hair looks at you, confused. You keep a straight face, digging into your bag. “Prying into the privacy of another’s conversation is a civil offense and a cause of action for damages. That’s one thing. Posting someone else’s sensitive and explicit conversations is another story.”

You pull out a card. “Who the hell are you? Why the hell are you butting in?” she snaps, the sound of her chair scratching the ground as she stands up in a huff to level you. You set your business card down onto the table, the words ATTORNEY AT LAW, all caps, facing right side up. 

Blondie’s eyes look down. Her face pales. Then she looks up to meet yours. You almost snort.

“It is a criminal offense punishable by three to seven years imprisonment, or a fine not exceeding twelve million won. Or both.” You could very well be jumping the wrong ship here, but you got a fair sense that Blunt Bangs was telling the truth from how desperate she looks, and that Fake Blonde is simply high on a vengeful power trip over the wrong person. “And, considering the fact that you publicized it online through a post, if I heard correctly, it would also be considered a cybercrime. Meaning, you could be charged for both.”

You didn’t think she could get any paler. You’re proven wrong.

“Wow. That’s an impressive feat considering you had no idea you were committing those crimes. Amazing.”

It doesn’t take much longer for her to sputter out something incoherent and stomp out in a panicked frenzy while mashing something onto her phone, most likely trying to delete the post. Sometimes witnessing firsthand the dredges of humanity gives you a little bit of comfort that you’re not the shittiest person in the world. You release a breath, readying yourself to leave once more, only to be stopped by a quiet excuse me from the same table.

You look down. You’re met by the way too happy smile of Blunt Bangs. She looks cheerful. Oh, god. You’re not used to this kind of positivity. You feel a shudder down your spine and force down a lump in your throat.

“Hi,” she starts. “Thanks for helping me. Jeez. What a psycho.”

The girl asks if she can buy you a drink as a thank you. You have not known kindness ever since you started working at JSS, and, by proxy, Nalkkeutta, so you were possessed with the inclination to say yes even though you’ve just had an americano with three shots. You settle with a warm jasmine tea to spare your stomach lining. The girl introduces herself as Natty, and starts giving you an unsolicited rundown of how Fake Blonde just suddenly started sending her swears and death threats the other day alongside the revelation that she was apparently her fling’s girlfriend.

She came here all the way from Mapo just to apologize again and beg her to take down the post. And then you witnessed how that went down. “I really had no idea,” she huffs in complaint for the nth time. You take a sip from your half-empty cup, glancing at the time. It’s 4 p.m. Sweet. Doyoung still thinks you’re having the meeting right now. One more hour before you have to clock out. You decide to pay a bit more attention to Natty as a thank you for allowing you to slack off on the job. “Oh, by the way. Can I ask something?”

You set down the cup on the saucer. “Sure.”

“Did you maybe go to Ganghak High School? Around eight to nine years ago?” 

And then you nearly choke on your own fucking spit. What the hell? You stare at her, wide-eyed in both surprise and innate fear. “Why...why do you ask?” Natty takes that a yes and immediately lets out a squeal, followed by the squeal of your name, followed by a very slow process of recollection on your part of a girl with similar blunt bangs in your repressed high school memories— then it clicks.

“I recognized your name on your business card, but wasn’t sure if you were the same person! Whoa! You’re a lawyer now! That’s amazing!”

Blunt bangs. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Pretty smile. You remember being classmates with a girl with that same description. You think they both have the same name. You don’t get the chance to second guess yourself because she starts talking about more people you vaguely remember in Ganghak— the class president who’s apparently on his third try at taking the Civil Service Exam, that one couple who apparently recently got married just two months ago in Jeju, that one kid who had once gotten his head dunked into the trash can on the first day of senior year because he came in without knowing the rules of the school.

He didn’t know who ran it. You did. Natty did. And that confirms the fact that you two had indeed been in the same hell once. 

“Hey, do you have any idea what happened to Na Jaemin? I haven’t heard a single thing about him since we graduated and I moved towns.” 

You look at her, a stiff smile on your face. She was your classmate. She was his classmate. If she can remember all those other people and what their roles were back in Ganghak, she’d very clearly remember yours as well. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard about him either.”

Natty gets the realization and immediately flinches out an apology. “O—oh, haha. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

“No, it’s alright,” you hum, smile softening. “I haven’t heard of him, either.” 

Christ. This man really haunts you everywhere you go. Natty is great at conversation, and manages to smooth over that one bump as quickly as she can and proceeds to ask about any new hot places at Yeongdeungpo, ask about your job, you asking about what she’s up to in turn under it hits five in the afternoon and you have to return to the firm to clock out.

The both of you exchange numbers. You look at Natty’s saved contact on your phone with conflicted feelings.

Now that you’ve managed to slot the memories into place, you do in fact remember her. She was your classmate throughout the two short years you spent at Ganghak. On your first day, she was the first person who’d come up to talk to you— the only time she’d ever talked to you and vice versa. It took nine years for the both of you to have a conversation again. And there’s really only one person to blame.

*‎

(“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—!”

It’s Monday. You race down the now emptied hallways, eyes quickly scanning each door label that you zoom past in the off chance that you got carried away running and missed your room. To think this is how your year starts. You were looking forward to using the opportunity before homeroom to introduce yourself and make some new friends, but no— you just had to doze off because you spent the entire yesterday unpacking. 

It’s a new neighborhood, new school. You’ve heard that most of Ganghak High School’s students came from Ganghak Middle, meaning almost everyone already knows each other here. They’ve already formed their respective cliques and cohorts and groups. You’re currently an outsider, and you need to put in the effort to change that. You need to make a good impression to get some god damned friends and not spend the rest of your two years here as a loner.

Which is why you feel a splashing wave of relief drenching your bones the moment you make it to your assigned class for the rest of the year— slamming a palm against the door, just in time for the bell to ring.

“Whoo! Safe!” 

At least fifteen sets of eyes immediately zero in on you. You stand there by the door. You smile and nod.

“Hi, good morning.”

No one responds. They all look at you— some stares lingering longer than the others— but they all eventually divert their eyes before five seconds, releasing what you could only assume were sighs of relief, and then proceed to drown the classroom in a silence that’s so, so unnatural for a large group of fifteen to sixteen year olds. 

That should have been your first sign that this school was far from normal.

What a great start, you mentally huff, scanning the classroom the seat you’ll be stuck with for the next two years, and you eventually clock a pair of empty desks in the middle of the back row. You walk over to the available seat, waiting to see if anyone calls out saying it’s theirs, and after a few moments of no objections, you sit yourself down on the wooden chair.

The moment you hook your bag on the left side of your new desk, you swore that the heavy silence pervading the classroom just got heavier. 

You look up. You see someone from the center row, peeking over her shoulder at who you assume is you with a somewhat nervous jitter— as if she’s having an argument with herself in her own head and for some reason, you’re involved. That should’ve been your second sign, but despite your confusion and frustration, you sit still. You sit still until one side eventually wins the girl’s mental argument and she rises up from her seat, tentatively stalks up to you as the class’s eyes follow her short walk with anticipation, including yours.

“Hi, uhm,” she practically squeaks out, hesitant, eyes quickly flickering over to the classroom door before looking back at you. She inhales and smiles. Her bangs are covering her eyebrows. “I’m Natty.”

You greet back and introduce yourself. This is a really fucking weird first interaction, but you take what you can get. “Hi.”

The expectation would be that she’d ask you if you’re new here, if you’re a transferee, if you’d like to join her and her friends for lunch, but no.

Natty completely diverts your expectations by saying, point blank, “This may sound weird, but…you should maybe pick another seat.”

You blink. What the hell? “Why?”

The answer comes in the form of the sound of the classroom door violently swinging open, followed by a series of hushed exclamations, and Natty’s suddenly paled face snapping away from you within the same moment, scampering to return back to her seat at the center, without even giving you the grace of a response. 

You didn’t think the room could get any quieter, but it does, even with the sound of graveled footsteps marching their way over to you— the only thing you can see of the late student’s arrival because for some damn reason, everyone has their head down, and you felt compelled to follow and shut up and catch up to your confused and bated breaths as you listen to the chair next to you screech against the tiled floor, and feel the presence of someone plop themselves down with a rattle and grunt, and at that moment, you feel like you were given the subconscious permission to look up again.

So, you do. 

And when you do, you immediately lock eyes with Natty. Sorry, she mouths with a hand up her cheek, then just as quickly turns back to the front, leaving you to think— what the hell just happened?

Hesitantly, you crane your head to the right, sneaking a glance at the person who just yanked the atmosphere down into hell with just his arrival, the person who you’d be stuck with for the rest of the year by virtue of your seating arrangement. 

Much to your surprise, you’re not met by a face. You’re met with someone hunched over, a mop of messy hair with his face buried into crossed arms over the desk with an aura that immediately repels you from prodding even an inch closer. You nudge your seat away to the left, making sure not to cross the invisible mark marked by the gap between your two desks. The only sign of life you glean is the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders— invisible to anyone but you solely because of proximity— which leads you to the conclusion that he’s sleeping.

Sleeping. Something tells you that it’s better that he stays this way. That something is the sigh of relief from the person sitting right in front of you as your homeroom teacher finally walks in.

At this point, you still haven’t seen your seatmate’s face. The only time you know of his name is during attendance, when your teacher calls out a hesitant, “Na— Na Jaemin…?” after double-taking at her class list, answered by nothing but a heavy silence despite having all seats in the classroom filled. She quickly nods in acknowledgement and moves forward after that. Just who the hell is sitting right next to you?)

*‎

Beyond your control, memories from that time of your life continuously flash behind your eyes as you drive back to the firm. A buzz from your phone momentarily interrupts you. It’s from Mark Lee.

[Thanks, attorney. We’ll take care of Ma Gildong first tonight. You can see Jaemin on Monday, next week 🧑‍🎓].

Na Jaemin on a Monday. You grimace. What a load of crappy poetic irony. You reply with a thanks and a middle finger. Mark Lee beeps back with a bright grin in emoji form.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[rinnstars]

(cherish) my love!

treasuring how youre always there for him

itoshi rin x reader: sugary-sweet fluff, slight insecurity on his part, rins pov, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated! <3

maybe, he’s getting to used to this - your hands brushing through his hair as he lies on your chest humming to the rhythm of your heartbeat that syncs with him, his bed that no longer fits just him with a dent reminding him of your constant presence in his life as you constantly orbit around his world, his bag that changed from a plain black bag to one that featured silly keychains that hung your favourite character’s plushie and whatnot that matched perfectly with yours.

sure, he can barely remember the days you weren’t here, having being friends with him since you two were kids with you having been assigned as the so-called ���good kid” to deal with him who was deemed the “troublemaker”. sitting with you during playtime felt natural, chatting about strange topics as you smile and laughed at his weird phrasings that soon transitioned to sitting right beside him again for years straight in school, and now right beside him on his bed - it must be fate he thinks. the world has dictated you to be with him for the rest of yours and his life, he thinks, the one good thing that has came out of this life. you were here when those kids at the playground shunned him and outcasted him for being a little (very) destructive to their toys choosing to sit down and chat with him at the swings, you were there in his room during that winter where he could barely look at you through his swollen and red eyes as you visit him everyday without fail despite the heavy snow that flooded his windows, you were there when he lost to isagi in that match as tears streamed down that shined underneath the moonlight into the milk tea you bought him as you two walked back home slowly with yours and his playlist in the background that strangely calmed him. youre the only constant in his life, even more than his brother that he swore would be a permanent in his life with a naive pinkie promise, even more than his parents that seem to come home less and less as each competition passes by, even more than his teammates that whispers about him behind his back that he pretends to ignore as he leaves to meet you at the bus stop.

he doesn’t know what he would do if you one day leave - whether that is leaving japan to go overseas to study that he knows logically would be beneficial to you, whether that is by time and distance that people say is inevitable and unpreventable, or worst simply because you fell out of love with him. hes selfish, but not stupid - he knows hes not exactly the best boyfriend, sometimes he gets too engrossed in his passion and loses touch with reality and neglect you even with your head on his shoulder, he knows hes not exactly the best at expressing himself even despite you being here since the very beginning, and he knows you can do better than him.

but for now, he thinks he’ll treasure every sign of presence of you. he’ll keep those silly trinkets you pass to him, each a sign of love that he cherishes no matter how small - paper hearts and rings you fold right next to him during class whenever you get bored of listening as he sits beside you playing another game underneath his desk, keychains you and him get from claw machines or as rewards from the arcade that he puts in a special little box placed right on his table that is his real treasure, sweets that you introduced to him that got him addicted to the flavourful and sugary-sweet burst as he can’t help but bite into it every time that resemble the burst of butterflies in his stomach and burst in his heart whenever he sees you at the bus stop every morning. he’ll treasure every single non-physical sign of love too - playlist on spotify that he downloaded and play every day in his ear piece that he is practically addicted to, kisses that he can still feel the touch of your lips on his every morning that leaves a invisible mark on his lips and his heart, time you take out of your life to be with him, lunch with him in class rather than with your other friends, waiting for him to finish football practice that could have been used to sleep soundly in your room rather than the old seats in the school that leaves your back sore. he’ll memorise every single moment with you - your first kiss right at the bus stop you still meet at every morning at the place he religiously stands at as he waits for you to reach running as you “woke up late again”, every lunch break with you right beside him eating food you and him respectively brought from home from biscuits to packed bento boxes or just a sweet treat of sugary buttery bread respectively talking about everything and anything that he feels like his true self, every date no matter where: arcade as you two play game whilst he tries his best to impress, in his or your room just basking in your presence, at the playground with convenience store food, cafes that you somehow know, library as he stare at your focused face whilst studying as he resist the urge to kiss you again. and he’ll keep you in his heart for the rest of eternity - each bite and kiss on his neck and lips transfer right onto his secretly glass-like heart that yearns for a little more, each merging of hands that gets his heart pumping at how your hands fit perfectly with his like two puzzle piece matching, and each time your heart syncs with him as he listens to your heart whether in class or right in his room where no one else is here but you and him.

the future is uncertain - glancing at the suitcase that is still messy and open from his recent visit back home from blue lock with his pxg jersey right on you that fits you strangely well he thinks with bright red ears and cheeks, glancing at your changing self with different hair and glasses than the last time he saw you that he wished to experience with you, but he hopes no matter what, that necklace you share with him with a heart, no, his very own heart hanging right onto your neck will stay there forever.

and now, all he can do is to show you back the same dedication, to stay right beside you, to be yours until the end of time as you had always been. he’ll be your supporting figure in your life - staying right beside you until late in the library and walk you right back home, helping you carry groceries and your school bag as you go wherever, walk with you until the end of the earth if you simply asked him to without asking why. he’ll show it to the best he can - wearing and hanging every single gift you give him: keychains, silly bracelets, and every kiss that litters on him that leaves a purple blue mark. and he’ll tell it to you - through love letters in sticky notes or right on the school foolscap paper that reads the words hes too shy and afraid to say that translates his deep unspoken devotion and love to you, through compliments and i love yous that he promises doesn’t reveal the true extent of his feelings for you either seeming too shallow and superficial to underscore the grip you have on his heart and lungs, with his actions: dropping to his knees to tie your shoe lace, letting you do whatever to him from hair clips in his hair to painting his nails to piggy back rides he doesn’t want to admit sends him practically into cardiac arrest. he might not be perfect, far from it in his insecurity mind that creeps and bites away at every sweet moment, criticising his every move - but for you, he’ll keep trying as much as he does for football to be the only one for you. he’ll memorise every bit of you - your favourite food and orders at shops you frequent with him kept in the notes app in his phone that is underneath a layer of password, the exact shape and mould of your body that he melts his hand right into on afternoons like this where you’re within arms range as he embraces you, each and every of your small quirk - from the way your voice leaves your mouth so sweetly and perfectly as though youre carved and made y god himself, from the way you move that has him hypnotised, from the way you look at him that dries his mouth and practically sends him right into heaven. he’ll serve you as a knight would - carry all your things without hesitation as you two walk out of class on top of the strangely heavy school bag on his shoulder, shield you with an umbrella from the cold and harsh rain that leaves the other him completely drenched as you reach completely dry, hell, he’ll ride his bicycle. with you right beside him hugging him that practically could leave his nose bleeding.

he may not be the best boyfriend, but he’ll do whatever it takes to be the only one you’ll ever have - your name practically tattooed right inside his heart and brain with not a single spot for anyone else in his life that he built a wall sky high to protect his heart, the key to his world given right to you and several others just in case you lose it, and your face in his mind every single second on the field with only a wish to do it for you with every step and every kick that lands right into the goalpost. now that he knows what loneliness is like, the days in blue lock where he can only see you through photos you so kindly send him, he doesn’t ever want this to change no matter how selfish it is - he thinks he might simply die from heartbreak alone with you being his real heart compared to his biological one, he thinks he’ll practically be left a shell of his previous ambitious self practically wasting his life away in his room listening to that playlist as he lies right with his own blood pooling around him with his guts and organs strewn a haphazardly around him as though hes back on that field that winter, he’ll no longer be itoshi rin, anyone but his true self that he can be only with you.

but for now, he’ll bury his head right into your chest, your hands still ruffling with his hair, ignoring the thoughts in his mind in favour of your heartbeat that still syncs up with his, melting right into this moment.

[writingwithcolor]

Representing a Jewish Historical Figure in Fiction

@aaronthe8thdemon asks:

I'm writing a historical fiction around a real-life event (Chernobyl) and am basing the characters around real people rather than using actual names. During the catastrophe, a Jewish American doctor went to Moscow to provide aid to critically irradiated patients, and… concisely, I may be overthinking this, but I'm concerned about "how Jewish" to make the character. In his memoir he admits his Jewishness is kind of lax but I don't want it to look like I've skipped out on research and got lazy representing him because that's a problem in a lot of media. I'm currently converting to Judaism myself. But, AFAIK, he's still alive in real life and I don't want to be insulting by insinuating that he's "not Jewish enough" by making it too visible/going over the top. I haven't begun writing the pertinent parts of the narrative yet because this dilemma is anxiety-provoking, and I'd appreciate any advice/opinions the Jewish mods might have, even if it's just that I'm overthinking it. PS, thank you for running this blog, I know it's a lot of work and I've learned so much by following you.

If you do research and write a historical figure accurately and someone takes issue with your accurate portrayal because it doesn’t fit their needs for representation, that seems misguided of them. We don’t have the same control over reality and history that we do over fiction, where we get to make all of the choices.

I guess the key is to not make this person’s secular Jewishness/lax Jewishness “loaded”, like stop letting it take up space. You know how I’m half German? I’m also a good portion Polish, on the other side, but I never talk about it or think about it because that half of my family turned their backs on Poland entirely because of antisemitic abuse (if you want to get into why the German side didn’t considering they had even worse reasons, that’s a whole separate topic about German Jewish identity but anyway). But I don’t walk around like “oh I am DISCONNECTED from my POLISHKEIT i am SO LAX at being POLISH” it’s just not… relevant?

Him being secular or whatnot is reality (apparently; I don’t know the guy), but the slant of your writing, the way your writing interprets that secularness, is on you and your tone and your approach. So if you are looking at born-Jews who are whatever about Jewishness a certain way because you’re currently doing all that intense study just to join the tent, that might be a good thing to go back and filter out on an editing pass.

–S

It’s true that I’ve called for more representation of Jewish people who fall outside the false dichotomy of Orthodox/Secular, so I think I have a responsibility to clarify that neither of those are inherently bad representation OR bad ways of being Jewish. No single instance of a Jewish character being shown as either Orthodox or nonpracticing is the problem, and a narrative that frames either as being bad is engaging in antisemitism even if Jewish people are involved in the production. The problem isn’t that both of those extremes gets portrayed but that the majority that exists between them never does. That said, you’re portraying a real person, not inventing a fictional character.

If you choose to erase the complexity of his real-life Jewish decisions--and I hope that in the course of this project you’re doing much more research into the realities for Soviet Jewry than I could handily include in this blog post--then that’s not as much better representation of someone like me than it is an implication that there’s something wrong with being someone like him. It denies the dignity of a nonpracticing Jewish identity, and that feels to me like more harm than an accurate and respectful portrayal of a real-life historical figure who did not, in his lifetime, engage in Jewish ritual practice. 

It’s true that you’re fictionalizing the characters, and if your other characters are notably different than their inspirations it does less harm than if he were the only one fundamentally altered, but even so it feels like saying that ritually observant Jews are more “real” than nonpracticing ones. 

Instead, as you research for this project and your upcoming conversion, I encourage you to look for clues to a Jewish outlook in the words and life of the real-life person. This is a doctor, someone who traveled to try to save lives and give comfort, and I defy the idea that because he did not observe ritual practice those choices were without basis in Jewish values. 

-Meir

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Just Once | Part II

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, language); all characters are 18+ Words: ~6,400 Tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, mutual pining, smut, sexual exploration

⬅️ Read Part I

Notes: I'm alive! I am so, so sorry it took me so long to write this! Work has been kicking my ass lately, but I deeply appreciate everyone who has read this -- it's been a blast to write!

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sleep was futile. You tossed and turned for hours, but the more you squeezed your eyes shut, the more you found yourself clamping your thighs together in quiet agony. The thoughts of what Sebastian had done to you – done for you – replayed on a loop until your core ached for more.

You buried your face in your pillow with half the mind to smother yourself. Except you weren’t seeking death. If anything, you felt like you’d been enlightened to a new reason worth living. Perhaps most people would deem that silly and dramatic, but they hadn’t felt what you had.

You swallowed, your forehead hot and hair plastered to your face as you thought about Sebastian – the way his fingers pressed patterns of pulsing pleasure into your flesh; the way his calm eyes met yours in the mirror’s reflection with quiet determination; the way his attention remained entirely on you.

Your crush on your best friend had always been anything but that. You merely told yourself it was a meaningless flame that would surely falter the moment you left Hogwarts and met new men full of worldly experience. But in truth, you’d been fatally in love with Sebastian Sallow since you were fifteen. And now that he’d grabbed you by the hand and dragged you to a secret alcove of ecstasy you never thought you’d explore, your ties to Sebastian were much tighter than the loose threads of mere puppy love. He’d looped an invisible noose around your neck that would surely suffocate you if he strayed too far from you now.

Simply put, you knew whatever this was you’d embarked on with Sebastian would surely land you in a cage of hopeless desperation, but you were in far too deep to flee.

By the time breakfast finally started the following morning, you practically had to sit on your own hands to keep from fidgeting.

Ominis sensed your restless behavior the moment he sat down across from you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his tone sharp with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled into your morning eggs. “Just tired.”

“Tired? Then why are you acting like you’ve had ten cups of tea? You can hardly sit still.”

“Just have a lot going on is all,” you said with a shrug. “You know, exams approaching and whatnot.”

“Since when do you care about exams?” Ominis pushed. “You’ve already got your spot secured with the Ministry Auror apprenticeship.”

“Yes, I know,” you huffed. “But it never hurts to put a little effort in.”

“Put a little effort into what?” Your head snapped up as Sebastian took the seat next to you. Your spine became rigid and you held your breath, your eyes absolutely fascinated by your breakfast plate.

“A little effort into my studies,” you answered with as much nonchalance as you could manage.

Sebastian’s eyes glinted with amusement, not that you could see them as your gaze remained cast downward. “Studying?” he laughed. “What are you concerned about studying for?”

“She said it’s making her jittery,” Ominis added. You glared daggers at him, undeterred by the fact he couldn’t see them.

“Jittery?” Sebastian repeated. “Since when does anything make you anxious?”

“Since when does my interest in schoolwork concern either of you?” you challenged.

“Everything you do concerns us,” Sebastian said. “That’s how this works.”

You prayed he didn’t see the flush that was surely sprawling from your neck to your cheeks. His casual, confident demeanor set you even more on edge. How could he be so carefree after the things he’d done to you yesterday?

Of course, for you, that was all foreign and new. But for Sebastian, you had to assume it was another standard Sunday. Maybe it hadn’t really mattered to him. 

“Don’t forget about detention tonight,” Sebastian said with a mouthful of pastry. “We’re to meet Professor Weasley in the Trophy Room.”

“The Trophy Room?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Who knows, maybe she wants to reward us for being upstanding, model students.”

—

By the time you met Sebastian at the top of the staircase to the Trophy Room at 7 p.m., Professor Weasley was already waiting for you. She stood with her hands behind her back, her eyes serious as she watched you approach. 

“Good evening,” she said with a neutral tone. You knew she was annoyed at you and Sebastian for behaving like degenerates, but you also knew the two of you were among her favorite students. She wouldn’t stay cross with you for long.

“Good evening, Professor,” you both chorused. 

“The two of you will spend the evening polishing the trophies in each case – without magic,” Professor Weasley said, adding extra emphasis at the end of her sentence. “I surmise you’re both capable of that task?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And I trust the two of you will resist any temptation for additional indiscretions?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Now I have some matters to tend to, but I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. And please keep your voices down. Headmaster Black is currently away in London, but I trust you two will be quiet anyway.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to it then.”

You watched in silence as she retreated toward the Grand Staircase. Now very aware that you and Sebastian were alone for the first time since the previous day’s activities in the Undercroft, you made a beeline toward the bucket of polish and rags Professor Weasley had left. Perhaps if you pretended to be unbothered, it would come true.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian mused. He leaned with his back to the frame of the entrance archway, his arms folded across his chest. You could feel his eyes clinging to you while you began to wonder why it was abnormally hot in the Trophy Room.

“I’m polishing trophies,” you deadpanned, still avoiding his stare.

“And why are you doing that?”

“Because I don’t want to spend another evening in detention, you prat. Now help me so we can get this done and over with.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Those are famous last words,” you muttered as you began polishing a trophy inside the quidditch cabinet. You didn’t need to face Sebastian to know he was smirking at you.

“Come on,” he said. “Surely there are better things we could be doing.”

Your heart crept into your throat. You knew where this was going. You were inching toward another point of no return. And you knew you wouldn’t stop yourself. 

“And what would you rather be doing?” you asked, finally turning your head to look at Sebastian.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “Lots of things. Perhaps what we did yesterday?”

You tore your gaze from him, your blush surely giving you away. 

“Sebastian…” you warned. 

“What?” he quipped innocently. 

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“How so? Or are you no longer interested in my services?”

“Your services?” you snorted. “What are you, a street harlot?”

“Depends, are you offering payment?” You hurled your rag at him and he laughed. “Okay, okay, fine,” he continued. “No payment necessary. But I still think we should take advantage of these extra hours of free time.”

“It’s not free time, Seb,” you noted. “And if Professor Weasley catches us, we’ll never see freedom again.”

“Then we won’t let her catch us,” Sebastian said simply. Before you could realize it, he was stepping toward you. You stilled, breath held deep in your lungs as he lingered in front of you. 

You silently screamed at him to touch you, in any way, shape or form he wanted. Instead, you gazed at him with a pointed stare, challenging him to act. It was your only defense to keep yourself from making an absolute, utter fool of yourself.

Sebastian’s hands snaked their way around your waist to the small of your back before he leaned in. You could smell aftershave, his arms tugging you closer until your head rested against his chest. Now, you were torn between wanting to linger in the safe warmth of his embrace and the desire to wrestle him to the floor to climb on top of him.

“We don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” he murmured in your ear. “Honestly, just tell me if… if you want yesterday to be a one-time thing.”

Sebastian was wasting his breath. You didn’t need an out, nor did you need any persuading. But you weren’t going to tell him that.

“But what if we get caught?”

“We won’t get caught,” Sebastian insisted. You could feel his fingers pressing into the small of your back, and the sudden realization that he wanted you, too, hit you with stunning force. 

You’d spent your entire friendship thinking your connection to Sebastian would never breach the confines of platonic; kindred spirits, maybe even friendly flirtation, but certainly never anything of a physical nature. You’d begrudgingly convinced yourself that Sebastian was blind to your sexual nature. After all, plenty of your classmates expressed desire for you, but Sebastian never seemed to sneak so much as a double-take. 

But now, Sebastian’s eyes were feasting on you as if you were the first sexual being he’d ever seen.

The heat that had been slowly sprawling over your facial features now descended into your stomach, inching lower until you could feel it scalding between your thighs. You pinched them together, but the pressure only made the ache worse. 

Sebastian, sensing your discomfort, lifted an eyebrow at you. “Alright?” he asked. You merely nodded in response, afraid the pitch of your voice would expose your anticipation. Sebastian moved even closer, until his body was pressing flush with yours. Your breath hitched when you felt his erection prodding your stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he hummed in your ear. Goosebumps peppered the skin of your arms. The bulge pressed against your belly felt... substantial.

Sebastian slowly backed you toward the trophy case until you were pressed against the glass display. His eyes locked on yours, wild yet in control, as if he was testing the waters, reading how far you’d let him go. When you didn’t break his gaze, he leaned in to kiss you.

If you hadn’t been a goner before this, you certainly were now. Your heart rattled against your ribcage and you became spineless in Sebastian’s arms. He’d rendered you into submission and he’d barely touched you.

When Sebastian deepened the kiss, your arms tightened around his neck, shamelessly seeking more. He obliged you, his tongue finding your bottom lip and his hand tangling itself in your hair. Somewhere, beneath the blurred lines of an evolving friendship, you felt affection. Your mind raced until your head spun and your lungs burned for air. When you finally forced your lips free from Sebastian’s, he smirked at you.

“Ready for something even better than yesterday?” he mewed in your ear. 

Sebastian wasn’t one to make promises he couldn’t keep. And that’s what made your current situation even more dizzying – and thrilling.

His lips met your neck with careful deliberation, pressing swift kisses while his hands roamed your waist. The cool glass of the trophy case against your back contrasted the scorching heat between your bodies, but Sebastian’s hands wandered lower, skimming the tops of your thighs beneath your skirt.

His fingertips grazed your skin until the heat between your legs was impossible to ignore. He rubbed the fabric guarding your entrance and you whimpered in desperation for more.

You thought he’d tease you, take his time with you. After all, Sebastian had always been a cheeky son-of-a-bitch, especially when it came to you.

But as he fell to his knees in front of you, you gasped when he shoved the hem of your skirt upward, pinning it against your stomach while he pinned you against the glass. He pulled your panties to the side and you couldn’t withhold a moan when his tongue met your clit.

“Fuck, Seb,” you hissed as the pressure increased. Your hands tangled in his hair, the scant remnants of your self-control keeping you from pulling too hard. Your hips rolled forward and your exhales became quick, short puffs. 

You always thought you hated every girl who had the privilege to discover Sebastian in this way. But now, you silently thanked the universe for his experience and expertise. 

Broken moans escaped your lips between your panting. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted back against the glass, your fingertips pressing against Sebastian’s scalp. Your woozy head became a black hole of filthy thoughts and shameless greed, desperate to discover more.

Sebastian’s hand kept your skirt hem raised above his head, his forearm pinning you against the trophy case as his tongue prodded your clit.

If Professor Weasley were to return, the primal sounds echoing across the room would expose you immediately. But you weren’t thinking about Professor Weasley right now, and you sure as hell weren’t in a state of mind to consider decorum. The only thing coursing through your mind was the bliss blooming within your walls.

When you finally managed to open your eyes and tilt your head forward to look at Sebastian, you were alarmed to find him staring upward at you. Pride glimmered in his eyes and you couldn’t fault him for it, given the pitiful uncontrolled sounds spilling from your lips.

“You taste so fucking good,” Sebastian murmured against your flesh. He sucked against your clit and you unleashed a sharp gasp. You’d never experienced that before and you could feel the muscles tensing in the backs of your thighs.

“Oh god,” you moaned to encourage him. He received the message and continued, his lips pulling and tongue flicking, until your eyes began to water from the searing sensation mounting within your nerve endings. It was all new to you, and had it not felt so fucking good, you might have been concerned for yourself. Sure, Sebastian had shown you your first orgasm just the previous day, but this – this was more intense than you thought possible.

The pressure became damn near painful as you squeezed your eyes shut again, your back arching off the glass as a desperate hum vibrated from your throat. You bucked your hips forward, begging Sebastian to grant you the privilege of more pleasure.

His tongue flattened against your clit and rolled, triggering the response you’d been willing to risk everything for. You heaved a sharp wail as your cunt convulsed, forcing a current of ecstasy through your body. It nearly forced you to your knees, had Sebastian not been holding you upright. His tongue worked you through your release, pressing and prodding your surging entrance until he hummed at the taste.

You ground your hips against him one last time to prolong the moment until your body finally slackened, leaving you slumped against the trophy case without a coherent thought. Sebastian, still resting on his knees, smirked upward at you.

“How was that?” he asked.

Your brain couldn’t quite compute the words, so you merely issued a soft whimper that made Sebastian bark a smug laugh. He released your skirt hem and rose to his feet, looming over you so he could press his erection against your stomach again.

“Have I earned some repayment yet?” he rasped in your ear, one hand pressed against the glass above your head so he could lean closer. You nodded.

“Anything you want,” you whispered.

“Anything?” he asked, pulling away to gaze at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Anything.” You were sure. You trusted Sebastian enough to know he wouldn’t demand too much, but knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be afraid to ask for what he wanted.

Sebastian studied your eyes until you felt faint. He seemed to be searching your gaze for some sort of confirmation or hint. His eyes lingered and you swallowed the urge to tell him you’d worship him to the grave if he asked.

“I want you to be mine,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. Your lungs emptied instantly. It wasn’t the request you’d been expecting.

“Wh-what?” Your vision rattled back into alert focus, your mind sharpening at his words.

“I want you to be mine,” Sebastian repeated. “Mine and only mine.”

“How… how so?”

“Just you and me. No one else.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

You were terrified to continue staring into his eyes, convinced he'd be able to read them and learn every secret about himself you'd kept under lock and key. But you were also fearful of looking away, as if breaking eye contact would sever the moment you’d seen only in your daydreams. But you had to be sure.

“You mean as in us… being together?” you asked carefully.

“Yes.”

This was not how you’d expected your detention to turn out. You wanted to say something impressively witty and painstakingly clever, something that would prove to Sebastian this would all be worthwhile, that you were the one and only being he should ever bother with.

But all you could manage was a soft, “Okay,” though your hushed tone was a steep contrast to the screaming jubilation ringing in your skull. You wanted to fall to your knees in relief, or jump up and down in celebration. Instead, you waited for Sebastian to decide what would come next. Little did you know it would be you — again.

Sebastian didn’t say anything more. Instead, he used the soft moment to kiss you, first with gentle adoration, followed quickly by charged intensity. He pressed his body into yours, as if he were trying to prove how much he needed you. But as his kisses became more urgent, the sudden intrusion of footsteps approaching forced you apart.

You whirled toward the doorway just as Duncan Hobhouse wandered into the trophy room.

“Hobhouse,” Sebastian sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask the two of you the same question,” Duncan retorted with narrowed eyes.

“We’re serving a quick little detention,” Sebastian answered. “Meaning the Trophy Room’s closed for cleaning, so you can be on your way.”

“Detention my arse,” Duncan sneered. “The two of you were clearly having a snog.”

“Might want to get your glasses checked, Hobhouse,” Sebastian continued. “We’re merely cleaning the trophies like upstanding students committed to completing our detention and learning our moral lesson.” Even you had to bite back a snort.

“Really,” Duncan deadpanned. “And that’s why there’s a handprint on the glass above your heads? Perhaps I’ll just tell Professor Weasley that you missed a spot.”

“What are you doing here, Duncan?” you interjected with an annoyed sigh. 

“I came to check on some old awards for special services to the school,” Duncan replied. 

“They don’t hand out awards for being the school’s biggest bigot, if that’s what you’re aspiring toward,” you noted.

“Yeah? How about an award for being the school’s biggest slag? You’ll take top honors.” 

Sebastian made a move toward Duncan, ready to throttle him with his bare hands, but you were quicker with your wand. “Petrificus totalus!” 

Duncan’s limbs snapped rigid and you watched in silence as he toppled to the floor, stiff as a board. Sebastian cackled with glee.

“We ought to shag right next to him,” he said as he approached Duncan to leer downward at him.

“He’d probably like it too much,” you said, glaring daggers at the boy on the floor. You fished Duncan’s wand from his robes and secured it with your own. 

“Too true,” Sebastian agreed. “Besides, you’re mine now. No one else gets to have a look.”

Your cheeks flushed as he reached for you and hooked an arm around your waist. It was a simple gesture that you hoped would become as routine as afternoon tea, but in that moment, it felt as if everything was changing in a flurry of thrill and adrenaline. Your self-control and propriety were waning.

“Come on,” you said, reaching for Sebastian’s hand. Another simple gesture that felt wild and bold to you, new and unchartered despite the unchaste actions that had just occurred in the Trophy Room.

You tossed one final look of disgust at Duncan before leading Sebastian toward the rear doorway of the Trophy Room, through the gate and up the stairs. Once you dragged him through the winding hallway and toward the next staircase, Sebastian let out a low whistle.

“Wait a minute,” he said, though he allowed you to continue guiding him up the steps. “We’re not headed where I think we are…”

You tossed him a smug glance. “You heard Professor Weasley,” you said. “Headmaster Black’s gone for the night.”

“But we can’t just…”

It was rare that you ever rendered Sebastian speechless and you were reveling in the moment. “Assuming he hasn’t changed the password – and he hasn’t in the last few years,” you said slyly.

“This is bold, even for me,” Sebastian said as you approached the stone gargoyle.

He wasn’t wrong. While you and Sebastian had no reservations when it came to bending a few rules (and maybe committing an accidental homicide), you were both typically smart enough to color within the lines. You only strayed from them when it felt necessary. And breaking into Black’s office had only been necessary that one time.

But you decided if you and Sebastian were going to take the plunge into the wild unknown of romance, you might as well make it memorable. Maybe, you thought, you’d look back at this with fondness one day. And even if you didn’t, even if you failed and you and Sebastian became a burning wreckage of destruction and debris, at least you could say the two of you were anything but boring.

“Toujours pur,” you said confidently, smiling as the enchanted gargoyle began to spin. You glanced sideways at Sebastian, who was giving you wide eyes. “Scared?” you teased.

Sebastian shook his head. “Of course not,” he answered. You could see right through him. 

“We’ll just have a quick look, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Sebastian followed you up the spiral stairs until you reached Headmaster Black’s office. You watched Sebastian gaze around the office, eyes glinting with familiar mischief as he observed the surroundings. He strode toward Black’s desk, pausing to examine various trinkets and statues along the way. When he reached the desk, curiously eyeing various sheets of parchment scattered across the top, you noticed his trousers were still straining over his erection. 

You subconsciously licked your bottom lip. You genuinely — honest and swear to God — hadn't planned on defiling the headmaster's office that night, but your weeks as a Hogwarts student were winding now and you figured such an opportunity wouldn't arise again. Not to mention you were desperate to seal your fate with Sebastian.

You strolled casually toward the desk, your arms folded as you studied the ceiling with faux interest. When you returned your eyes downward, you realized Sebastian’s were fixated on you. 

“About that reward,” he purred as he backed you toward the desk. It seemed his hesitations had vanished.

Once the backs of your thighs met the desk’s edge, you chewed your bottom lip in anticipation. Sebastian flashed his canines.

You held your breath as he reached for the buttons of your blouse. His fingers worked methodically until your shirt fell open, exposing your bra and bare midriff. He leaned in to kiss you, his hands guiding your shirt off in the process. 

The office air was cool and dim, but Sebastian’s lips seemed to sizzle against your skin as he left a trail of kisses from your lips to your neck. His hands were just as hot as they snaked toward your back to unclasp your bra. As soon as it opened, Sebastian was tossing it aside with your blouse.

You couldn’t help but avert your bashful eyes as he examined your half-nude form. You weren’t sure why you felt shy, given he’d seen you much more intimately just below in the Trophy Room, but as his hand cupped your breast, your anxiety fizzled.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed as he pressed a thumb against your nipple. “Can’t wait to finally make you come on my cock.”

You whimpered in response. You’d always assumed Sebastian was bold and brash when it came to bedroom behavior, but hearing it directed at you was more arousing than anything you'd heard from other boys.

It became clear Sebastian was tired of touching your clothed form. He quickly tugged at the hem of your skirt and wrestled it from your hips, leaving you in only your panties until those also found the marble floor.

“This isn’t fair,” you protested, eyeing Sebastian’s fully-clothed frame. You felt like prey presented on a pedestal for a predator.

“And whose fault is that?” he teased as he held his arms outward. “I’m not stopping you.”

You rolled your eyes in response and made a move for the hem of his jumper, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. You stilled. Sure, you’d seen Sebastian shirtless on a few summer afternoons of swimming, but you never thought you’d have the chance to touch his bare chest. Your stare clung to his toned arms and chest, and you couldn’t help but smile at the freckles that scattered across his skin. Someday, you’d take the time to familiarize yourself with those constellations, but not now. Now, you were far too greedy for such sweet moments.

“Seb,” you whined. “I need you. I need you to show me how it feels... how you feel.”

Sebastian was overcome by a warm flood of energy. His hands snapped to your waist and he hoisted you onto the desk, your legs dangling off the ledge as he fidgeted with his belt. When it clanked open, you reached for his waistband, shoving everything to the floor.

The ache within your core blazed when his cock bobbed against your thigh. You shifted impatiently atop the desk, your cunt still wet from your antics in the Trophy Room. 

You were a viper ready to sink your teeth into sustenance.

But you had to touch him, to know how his smooth length felt in your hand. You reached for him and stroked slowly, the pads of your fingers tracing over every ridge. Sebastian swore under his breath at your touch. You wished you could leave fingerprints over his flesh.

Sebastian’s own fingers found their way between your thighs and swiped across your entrance. He groaned at the feeling of your wet folds and sank two fingers inside you. 

“Sebastian,” you moaned, unsure if you were relieved by his touch or annoyed he was only offering you his fingers when you were desperate for more. But when he pumped his hand, you decided you’d never doubt him again.

You rested back on your hands to support yourself, your walls clenching around Sebastian’s fingers, anxious to incite another release. By now, you were certain you’d only ever experience such a sensation with him. You didn’t want it from anyone else anyway.

When he withdrew his hand, you pouted in protest. He sucked his fingers and smirked at you, eyes shining with anticipation. 

“Don’t pout, darling,” Sebastian laughed. “I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

He leaned over you, hands flat atop the desk on either side of your hips while he kissed you. And while you appreciated Sebastian’s tender side, you were certain you were going to spontaneously combust if he didn’t splay you out across that desk soon.

Your thighs tightened around his torso and you could feel him smirk against your lips. 

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he teased. 

“And you’re being insufferable,” you whined. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Sebastian cooed. “Let’s make you feel good, shall we?”

Before you could agree, Sebastian was prying your knees apart and lining his cock against your entrance. You held your breath, every nerve ending on high alert for this climactic moment. He sank into you with an impressive air of self-restraint. You felt impossibly tight at first and willed your body to relax to accommodate him.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” he groaned.

You wanted to pause the moment, to freeze time to appreciate this monumental step in your timeline with Sebastian. It had been three years in the making; three years of tension, longing and torment. It meant something to you both.

But now wasn't the time for sappy sentiments or histrionics. Now, all you wanted was to claim Sebastian Sallow as the keeper of your entire being.

He pressed deeper until a low moan escaped your lips. It seemed to reassure him and he pulled back, his cock dragging against your stretched walls slowly. He repeated the motion until he was thrusting you gently, testing your limits until he reached the hilt. Blood rushed to your ears, ringing a loud and intrusive symphony as your pulse raced. Your cunt felt so full, you gnawed at your bottom lip.

Soon, you were resting back on your elbows as Sebastian gripped your hips. He drove inside you with a steady rhythm, hands holding you in place on the desktop. 

“God, you’re so good,” Sebastian panted. When you moaned in response, his pace hastened. His hips jutted forward with more force until you were flat on your back, breasts bouncing with every movement and legs locked around Sebastian's torso. Parchment rustled beneath you and quills pricked your back, but you paid them no mind. The only sensation you could feel was the mounting pressure within your walls.

Sebastian groaned at the vision of your cunt swallowing his slick cock. He'd conjured the sight in quiet solitude, but no fantasy could replicate the squeeze of your tight heat or the submissive whimpers tumbling from your lips.

It was surely the most obscene display to ever occur within the walls of the sacred headmaster’s office; you, sprawled across the desktop, your mouth hanging open in ecstasy while Sebastian fucked you harder than you’d ever experienced. 

Your hitching gasps were soon joined by the steady symphony of slapping skin when Sebastian pulled your legs together, hugging them against his own shoulder as he pounded you harder. 

“That’s it,” he panted above you as your toes curled and walls squeezed at the change in angle. You were most certainly going to be sore in the morning, but you’d commit every Unforgivable Curse a hundred times over before you allowed this to stop. Not before you discovered how it felt to fall apart around Sebastian.

The crude noises echoing from your union could only be rivalved by the absolute filth spilling off your tongue. You begged Sebastian to fuck you harder, treat you rougher, all while you used the name of every spiritual power in vulgar vain. Sebastian Sallow was the only higher power you cared to worship anyway.

Sebastian gazed at you, half-lidded, with lust and love. Your moans became short wails as his cock drove upward, prodding the sensitive spot within your front wall. You could hear your body’s slick response. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t ever stop.”

“Don’t plan to,” Sebastian panted. “You’re mine, remember?”

“Yours,” you answered, your voice a broken stutter. Your nails scraped against the top of the wood desk, your body growing more rigid as you willed it to release. You’d never been so full, and your stretched walls were strained around Sebastian’s cock, threatening to seize. 

He pumped faster, his jaw clenched in concentration while you quivered and writhed beneath him. The pressure was blooming within your core, and you felt the knot inside you ready to unravel. 

“Seb, I think I’m close,” you breathed. It was more of a plea than a warning.

Sebastian dropped your legs, allowing them to drape over the edge of the desk again as his hands returned to your hips. He pulled himself hard against you until he found another rhythmic pattern, his hips rolling forward as his thumb found your clit. You gasped in response to the dual sensations, your cunt constricting around Sebastian’s cock in preparation for your release. 

Your chest heaved and your moans became louder as Sebastian drove inside you, his thumb swiping at your clit until you were screaming his name. He dabbed his cock upward, pressing firmly into your sweet spot.

With a shrill shriek, your back arched and your legs spasmed, your walls pulsing with your climax. You thrashed against the desktop as your cunt surged and Sebastian continued to thrust you through your grand finale. Your eyes saw spots until the quivering within your walls calmed. 

But the vision triggered Sebastian’s own unraveling. He yanked your hips flush with his as he grunted and spilled inside you, his fingers pressing firm into your sides with every pulse until his knees threatened to give out.

As the office drifted back into focus, you gazed upward at the ceiling, in disbelief of what you had just done, but more stunned that you’d done it with Sebastian. But he was yours now, and the notion that your future together now held much more possibility made you positively giddy. You blinked up at him with heavy eyelids, your head still spinning in a post-orgasm haze as you watched him with adoration.

He smirked at you and extended a hand to help you from the desk. You slid to your feet and began gathering your clothing when you felt his arms latch around you from behind.

“Hold on now,” he hummed in your ear. “You’re okay, right?”

You spun to face him, the corners of your lips tugging upward in an amused smile. “Sebastian, I can barely stand upright after the way... the way my legs were shaking. How could I be anything other than okay?” you laughed. Sebastian looked satisfied with himself. Typically, you’d say something snarky, perhaps shove him away with playful banter to knock his ego down a few notches. But right now, you were too smitten, too elated to be anything but authentically, unequivocally exhilarated.

“Just checking,” Sebastian said with a shrug, one of his fingers twirling a lock of your hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but it felt entirely different. Now, it meant something.

“We should get out of here,” you finally said, your eyes scanning the office once more.

“Oh? I was starting to grow fond of the place,” Sebastian mused. “Was thinking we could spend the night in Black’s bed chamber.”

“Try explaining that one to Professor Weasley.”

“She’d probably resign on the spot.” 

The two of you hurried from the office and returned to the Trophy Room, where Duncan was still on the floor. Sebastian glanced at his pocket watch and flicked his wand. “Scourgify.” The trophies and their display cases sparkled. 

You moved to fetch one of the cleaning rags you’d left on the floor when Sebastian caught your arm. “Just so we’re clear,” he started, “We… you and I… Are we…”

“Not backing out on me now, are you?” you teased.

“No!” Sebastian said quickly. “I just… wanted to be sure this is all real.”

“Sebastian,” you deadpanned. “My undergarments are ruined, I’m fairly certain I have quill marks on my back, and I’m certain I won’t be able to walk come morning. So yes, this is very real.”

"But you and I... we're..." He rubbed the back of his neck and you couldn't help but smirk at his discomfort. "We're more than friends now, right?"

"Do mere friends do what we just did?"

"I mean, some do."

"Well, I happen to be a lady of honor and dignity," you said matter-of-factly, drawing a snort from Sebastian. "And I don't do those things without a little commitment."

"Believe me, I'm all yours."

"Good."

Sebastian looked delighted, but before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor. 

“Goodness!” Professor Weasley exclaimed as she scurried toward Duncan. “What happened?”

You and Sebastian swapped a glance. “There you are, Professor!” Sebastian exclaimed, his voice feigning urgency. “We were just about to come looking for you!”

“What have you done to Mr. Hobhouse?” 

“We didn’t have a choice!” Sebastian insisted innocently. You clenched your jaw to suppress a laugh. Even after years of witnessing Sebastian’s charm and charisma, you were still impressed. “Duncan was trying to sneak through the Trophy Room. Tried to bribe us to keep quiet. Said something about sneaking into Professor Black’s office! We were going to come find you to let you know, but we didn’t want him to get away so we used Petrificus Totalus. I'm sorry, Professor!”

You prayed your face wasn’t flushed from fighting to maintain your composure. Professor Weasley’s sharp gaze shifted from Sebastian to you, and you immediately wore an expression of faux concern.

“And did Mr. Hobhouse say why he was trying to enter the headmaster’s office?” she asked.

“No, Professor,” you said, offering your own air of innocence. Though you weren’t as silver-tongued as Sebastian, you’d certainly learned a thing or two from him. “He was mumbling some nonsense about looking for a book of student names? Said something about wanting to ensure only purebloods would be admitted to Hogwarts. I’ve no idea what he was referring to.”

Professor Weasley’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Book of Admittance. You made a mental note to explain to Sebastian later how you'd once stumbled upon it as you caught his eye and he shot you a confused frown.

“I see,” Professor Weasley said slowly. She turned to look at Duncan, who was still motionless on the floor. “That is a very serious offense, Mr. Hobhouse. You’ll be serving a month of detention, and the headmaster will be made aware of this. As for you two, you’re free to go.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” you and Sebastian said in unison, too smart to linger any longer. Sebastian winked at Duncan as you passed his lifeless form and retreated toward the staircase.

“Hope we didn’t leave any evidence in Black’s office,” Sebastian muttered quietly as you continued downward. “Hobhouse will surely try to spin his own tale once Weasley removes the body-bind spell.”

“Oh, I might have left something behind,” you said with a smirk. Sebastian turned to look at you in panicked alarm and you unleashed a flippant giggle.

“Don’t worry,” you assured him. “We’re in the clear.”

“Then what’d you leave behind?”

You flashed Sebastian a proud grin. “Duncan’s wand.”

[mochatsin]

MC as a Dating Sim Character

An AU in which the seven brothers knew you as a dating sim character from a game they love to play so much. Has nearly the same functions as the Obey Me app. 

It started off as a trend in Devildom, a new app that a lot of citizens and RAD students play with recently. Great reviews when it came to the storyline and the characters. The brothers gave it a shot and surprisingly became attached to it. The reason? You.

Levi is the first to fall down that rabbit hole because he’s been waiting for this game’s release for a while now. He saw the roster of dating sim candidates and he fell for you first. Something about your design was alluring to him and when he finally had the app downloaded, he spent the first night playing the storyline to understand you. Learning your lore is what made him fall even harder to the point he has a shelf dedicated to your merch. He grinded so hard to upgrade all your cards (he definitely got those UR and UR+ ones)

Asmo started playing when he saw the trends about it and he wanted to jump on that bandwagon. Play the game and talk about the characters, which ones he like and whatnot right? It was easy, but when it came to your character he found himself playing on the game longer than he wants to admit. His fans can immediately tell whose Asmo’s favorite character is with how much he talked about you in his videos. He makes sure to get all the pretty skins that get released because in his opinion, there’s not a single outfit that doesn’t look good on you. 

Mammon plays the game as well when he attempted to sneak into Levi's room to sell something and ended up finding his brother’s merch of you. Mammon doesn’t want to admit how many hours he’s spent on the game trying to max out the affection level with you. Definitely spent so much money to get the UR cards since he can’t grind as much as Levi does, and he’ll buy those limited gifts to hear those special voice lines from you.

Satan gets curious and downloads it because he’s wondering how good was this game to even make Mammon lessen his casino gambling habits. The storyline is great, but the writing for your character was what made Satan stay in the game. He doesn’t hesitate in approaching Levi to ask about the game mechanics and tips, and Satan has it covered from there. He focuses on the story to get as much lore he could out of you. He wants to learn about every single fact about his favorite character. 

The twins played at the same time, and it’s funny how they both ended up liking the same character. They found out when they were playing the game together and saw you were their home screen character. Beel loves listening to your voice lines while he works out to motivate himself, while Belphie always has your voice lines wishing him goodnight that he uses to fall asleep with. 

Lucifer will never tell anyone that he plays the game. Not as much as his brothers though, this is something he wants to do in his free time or when he’s alone in his private study, he’s more casual about this than others. Your character is honestly pleasant company, it’s nice to hear you cheer him on while he works. Though he’s sure that if his brothers knew he found comfort in a dating sim character, they would mock him for sure (even if they’re all the same).

Though something weird happens one day when all users log in the app. Levi is practically screaming when he runs out of the room with distraught in his face. You’re his home screen character, but for some odd reason you’re not where you’re supposed to be. He thought maybe it’s the game being laggy, but you don’t reappear no matter how many times he refreshes the app. 

The brothers are just in shock, phones on the table during breakfast to check what was going on exactly. Your cards are all glitched out and corrupted, though everyone else’s was fine. People are wondering if this was all part of the game, if there’s some sort of event or what but there’s nothing. It’s like the game actively tried to erase you.

The devs eventually released a statement that due to some complications and unforeseen circumstances, the game will be deleted. Of course a lot of people are outraged, why would the devs suddenly discontinue the game in the middle of its peak? It was gaining a lot of attention and some people have already spent so much money for it. Everything was just unfair when there’s no answers.

Despite any attempts to keep the game, it was somehow deleted from everyone’s phone. Levi only has some of his screenshots and recordings to keep, whining from time to time as he looks longingly on his merch line. Some brothers sulk more than others, though they’re all upset regardless. Why you? Why did it have to be you specifically? You suddenly disappeared from the game, and they never knew why. With the game gone, there doesn’t seem to be a way for them to get their answers. 

Satan wanted to use his connections to figure out the truth, try to find the devs to get the answers everyone is looking for. The truth seemed much more disappointing for Satan though, learning that the devs actually didn’t know either where your character went. They thought it was a virus at first, but all your data was just missing. No matter how hard they tried to fix it, there was nothing they could do. They can’t handle running a faulty game, so they chose to discontinue and start fresh. 

Some fans would probably be thrilled to hear a new game already in the works, but it doesn’t feel the same. You’re the character that these brothers were invested in. There’s just something about you and your charms that had them drawn in the game, so the brothers weren’t exactly excited hearing about the new set of characters. Clearly it upsets the demons.

That’s until Lucifer called the brothers to Diavolo’s castle, as there’s some sort of emergency that requires their attention. Lucifer drags each and every one of their brothers out of their rooms, they can pout and whine about you later. 

Diavolo called in all of them, talking about that dating game that took Devildom by storm once. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, the young prince knew that each and everyone of them were playing it. They’re all embarrassed at being caught, but surely they’re not here just to be exposed by Diavolo right? He says that an unexpected guest has been found in Devildom recently, bringing the boys to a room in a castle.

There you are, standing in the room in front of the seven demons that are staring at you with awe. You’re here… in Devildom? At first they thought you were just some cosplayer, but the way you introduced yourself and your name was the same as the one in the game. There’s no way you’re real, but all the evidence is standing right in front of them. 

Diavolo says that he’s entrusting you in the care of the seven demon brothers. Barbatos somehow knew that you were all of their favorites, so they probably know what you like and how to take care of you. Maybe it would be a good idea. 

To be continued… i think?

[hymnoeides]

HELP HOW DO I AVOID SAME FACE SYNDROME???

I am like the worst person to ask this because I admittedly struggle w it still… and I have an habit of being horribly inconsistent😭😭

But ig the main thing about same face syndrome is that everything is well- the same. Challenge yourself by adding more unique traits! Play puzzle and mix and match. Do studies!! It might be difficult to figure it out for your style at first, but it’ll get easier as always!!! Be unconventional for certain features. I think of the face/design as not just the image of the character, but also their story, if that makes sense… How have the events in this person’s life might’ve affected their features. Have blemishes, see how certain expressions manipulates skin over time - a person who smiles a lot getting smile wrinkles around the eyes for example. Facial hair, wrinkles, scars etc. all build to make a face. Practice and play around shape language, too. A person with rounder features might be more welcoming/soft than someone with very sharp and long. ‘Eyes are the windows of the soul’ is something I personally think is very true in design, they can really convey a lot. Not just the eye shape tho but also the stuff around. Just giving eyebags can say a lot. I also think expressions also end up impacting how the face looks massively and gives big hints on how the character is like… practicing expressions might be very useful. Movement and weigh of muscle and fat and whatnot

The human mind has many schemas and existing associations with many things in life. Use that and even challenge those references to convey what you like !

Hopefully this ramble makes sense and helps a bit idk ausgzjabsj😭😭😭 Vibe and bullshit till I’m making it here✌️

[luvo27]

ok so adding on to this post because i know i'm going to end up citing this paper for the fic but it's important enough that i've been thinking about it a lot both when i was starting to do research for this but also now again that i've come back to this fic: environmental conservation and its history in the us is built directly on a foundation of colonialism and genocide. like probably indigenous communities in the area knew all this about giant sequoias already. like the indigenous people of north america had forest/land management down pat before colonialization. they were doing controlled fire as land management before harv et al even started thinking about doing any of this research in an attempt to provide reasons for why controlled fire can be good for forest management. i keep starting to go off on a tangent and then deleting, so i'll leave it here for now

i dont know how much im actually going to read but writing fic really will have you opening up Giant Sequoia Ecology: Fire and Reproduction by Harvey et al., 1980 and being like damn... this takes place pre-crisis

[bixels]

I've gotten a ton of asks about this, so I'll answer all of them here (can only tag @imamwolf, sorry anons).

I will be making more worldbuilding comics, especially on the topic of magic and Canterlot. Here's the short of it, though.

Anyone could become a witch or magician (not just unicorn characters), but it takes intense studying, as it's a practice not natural or innate to humans. Some humans are more naturally attuned and gifted to using magic while others find it next to impossible. For example, Trixie desperately wants to be a real magician but for whatever reason can't.

However, there are two types of magic: the studied "standard magic" (spells and hexes and whatnot) and the unorthodox "chaos magic," which are random, uncontrollable outbursts of magic only a few are capable of emitting. Most people with chaos magic don't even realize when they're "using" it. Pinkie and Trixie are unwitting users of chaos magic, which operates on the "only when it's funny" rule. It explains Pinkie Sense and their slapstick moments of surviving falling pianos. Discord is the only one who can control chaos magic.

Anyone can become a witch in practice, but recognition by Canterlot's court must be earned by incredible, selfless feats of magic. Canterlot as a whole is a complete mystery, having been debated on by scholars, scientists, monks, writers, and psychologists throughout human history. From what we know, it's a parallel world that exists on same same planet as Earth. That's why both are affected by the same sun and moon. To cross into Canterlot, one must not only be invited but know the location of specific gateways strung out across Earth. The closest gate to Ponyville is in a wheat field in Kansas.

[lordofthetwistedflies]

Yuurivoice Characters D&D Classes!!

Based on in-universe evidence, imagery, behaviors, and Evalas versions.

(Just including the main 8 Yuuriboys, might do side characters/Evalas characters if there's demand)

Alphonse: Path of the Beserker Barbarian

Alphonse is a physical fighter who doesn't necessarily care for decorum or formalities. Violence is simply a means to an end for him. Additionally, rage is the thrill of chaos, and when he enters a fury, Alphonse is blind to his own wellbeing. Additionally, when we do see Alphonse fight in Bittersweet, he attacks with brass knuckles and improvised blunt weapons, packing a powerful punch, all behavior in line with the 5e barbarian.

Auron: Assassin Rogue

A strange pick, given Auron the Bloodhound is almost certainly some sort of fighter, right? Yes, I agree. But Beyond Auron is absolutely a Rogue, hands down. For him, death is an art-- a grim and bloody one, but an art nonetheless. Assassins specialize in stealth, poison, and disguise to eliminate their foes with deadly efficiency. Rogues as a class also specialize in deception and persuasion so they can kill without ever getting their hands dirty. Sound familiar?

Charlie: Thief Rogue

Another rogue! Surprise surprise, the story featuring an organized crime ring is gonna have a lot of stealthy motherfuckers. The thief is a stealthy and agile subclass, usually given to thieves and criminals. Additionally from a metagame perspective, they aren't exactly optimized for combat or dealing damage, which is fitting considering how frequently we see Charlie get his ass handed to him! A conman and informant for shady characters, the thief fits our darling rat perfectly.

Faust: Circle of Stars Druid- or College of Glamour Bard

It's a tie! I genuinely couldn't decide between the two for him. The Circle of Stars is fitting given the imagery used for Faust, given his Astral and Celestial associations. They're powerful and elegant, drawing on the power of starlight itself. However, the bard approach makes the streamer and entertainer part of Faust's character more prevalent in his build. College of Glamour bards are flashy and dramatic, captivating and inspiring their audiences. Do you see why I couldn't decide between the two?

Finn: Divination Wizard

I think the only explanation needed for this choice is the description from Dnd5e.wikidot. "You strive to part the veils of space, time, and consciousness so that you can see clearly. You work to master spellsnof discernment, remote viewing, supernatural knowledge and foresight." Unfortunately no innate plant association, but this is so fitting for Finneas' roll in EoE and Bittersweet it hurts. Additionally, magic seems to be something that, while gifted at, Finneas has to practice and study (college of mages and whatnot) so that canceled out any sorcerer possibilities. Additionally, despite all the flower associations, towers in the middle of nowhere is not very druid, but very Wizard-y

Jack: College of Lore Bard

I'm mostly going off of vibes for this one, considering there isn't much content for modern day Jack. But being a bard pairs well with how he inspires his study buddy. Additionally, bards as a whole have an entire trait called "Jack of All Trades", which is not only a pun, but also works with the multiple roles he's filled in different audios since his introduction.

Lucien: ,,, i sorgy

I'm gonna be so fucking for real, unless we get a Dungeon Meshi module that makes cooking a mechanic in game, there was no cleanly adapting Lucien to 5e. I'm sorry. On the plus side!! I can comfortably say he's a cambion!!

Seth: Oath of Devotion Paladin

Oath of Devotion Paladins are the virtuous ideal. They fight for a greater good for a devotion to something higher than themselves. For EoE Seth with his position as the Watcher, this would be directly tied to promises to his community and his anointment. For Beyond Seth, when he does fight, he fights for the people he cares about, even if he isn't always that paragon of moral integrity. He fights for Derek because Derek gave him a place to belong. He fights for Alphonse because he's in love with him. He fights for Sugarboo to protect their happiness. Seth is Devotion and Loyalty wrapped up in one man with pretty hair, sweet arms, and a sexy accent.

[sunthyme]

🏵️ Scarabia Headcanons!! 🏵️

Hey, so I've crawled out of college hell to deliver the next set of headcanons!!

Last second, after I'd already finished them, I decided to redo Kalim again and toss in a new oc. Yippee!

Also, apologies for the inconsistent formatting, I'm trying really hard to figure out what works best. If you have some suggestions, let me know!

🏵️ Kalim Al-Asim 🏵️

My precious boy!! For the changes, I made his skin a bit darker, no particular reason other than looking nice. I made the gap in his teeth a bit more slanted and gave him lil canines :3 going ham with making him look like an otter.

More scars from the assassination attempts, yay. Added a little diamond at the top of his earrings for fun and that's most of it.

Kalim would be a Sociology major!

🏵️ Dareen Irfan 🏵️

Dareen, my beautiful girl... Practically nothing changed, honestly, except I upgraded the style.

She's slightly lighter and I removed her hair beads, though they'd probably be a part of her dorm uniform.

Unique Magic - "Diamond in the Rough": Once cast, Dareen can tell when someone is lying or being dishonest. It's more effective on those she knows.

She's a Psychology major and is a part of the Basketball Club. Their birthday is February 12th (Aquarius).

🏵️ Chunying Liu 🏵️

Damn did Chunying get an upgrade, geez. I made her actually look Mongolian, though very pale. I wanted them to highkey look like a spirit haunting the mountain.

Gave her more scars from her adventures and growing up in the mountains. Some snake bites and second set of ear piercings to add to that tough vibe. I also gave her a sharp bob for the same reason.

Unique Magic - "The General will Survive": Chunying becomes immune to the climate around her for 24 hours.

She's an Environmental Studies and History double major. Jade and her collaborated to form the Mountain Lovers Club, bonding over their loves of hiking. Her birthday is March 21st (Aries).

🏵️ Jamil Viper 🏵️

They can never make me hate you, Jamil 🥹. Aw shit, I forgot his hair jewelry. Fuck. Welp. I didn't really change anything else, he's already perfect.🩷

It'd be a Psychology major and Culinary minor.

🏵️ Chanda Singh 🏵️

She's literally like peak character design tbh. I think it's all downhill from here. Anyways, as a result, I changed literally like nothing.

Unique Magic - "Tiger's Eye": Anyone that makes eye contact with her becomes frozen with fear. The time period it lasts depends on how easy to scare the person is and it doesn't work on people above her in the pecking order.

She's a Fashion and Botany double major and a part of the Swimming Club. Her birthday is July 23rd (Leo).

🏵️ Nasira Haqq 🏵️

Also got a hell of a glow up. I made her a bit more chubby to emulate Iago a bit more. Added a birthmark for some visual flavour and a broader nose.

Unique Magic - "Iory's Song": Nasira can perfectly imitate a person's voice.

She's a Culinary major and a Botany minor. She's in the Gardening Club (founded by Calendula) and her birthday is February 29th (Pisces).

🏵️ Kay Basilisk 🏵️

NEW CHARACTER!!! Introducing Kay BasilisK! He's twisted from both Jafar's staff and Kaa from The Jungle Book. He's Indian and a snake beastfolk (meaning he's got retractable fangs from the cobra staff and a forked tongue). He and Jamil are like super distantly related and that shows in his UM.

I gave him snake bites for obvious reasons and wanted his hair to have a lot of fang-like shapes.

He comes from a thickly forested area and has always been around nature. This means he's really passionate about environmental rights and whatnot.

Unique Magic - "Hunger Dance": Freezes a target of Kay's choice for a brief time via eye contact. Once immobility wears off, the target is in a trance-like state for up to ten minutes.

He's a Political Science and Ecology double major and a part of the Mountain Lovers Club. His birthday is January 8th (Capricorn).

[forecast0ctopus]

Any advice on drawing McCoy? I’m not used to drawing ancient wrinkley bastards (affectionate) and it’s surprisingly tough v-v

FOR SURE lmao i made. a diagram. just a warning that i am going to be irritating and long winded because u just hit a topic i really like sorry lmao

so first off i did some traces just to show whats there vs redraws to show my interpretation

ive said this on other asks but again jsyk, tracing isnt bad!! its a tool. theres some stuff with intellectual property and whatnot but using tracing to study shapes and forms is a really valuable practice.

also just taking some time to learn facial structures and anatomy is super useful, reading what bones and muscles are where and how they interact with one another. taking this info and staring in the mirror and moving your face around and thinking about it. just really furthers understanding of how the face works. trying to sound normal about this but i love anatomy and motion and physics and whatever

anyways im going to go through all the numbered points so there's no confusion. 1. forehead lines - self explanatory. more prominent when brows are raised 2. crows feet - at the outer corners of the eyes, more prominent when smiling or squinting 3. nasolabial folds - the folds that go from the corners of the nose to the corners of the mouth. more prominent when the mouth is wide, like smiling 4. brow furrow - self explanatory, most prominent when brows are furrowed. mccoy tends to have two right next to his eyebrows, kirk has one in the middle. everyones face works different lmao 5. chin crease - caused by how the chin and lower lip interact. 6. nasojugal groove - start from the inner corners of the eye and can extent over the cheeks. everyone has these and idk why people dont like them i think theyre really cool!!!! but Society. i guess. :/ 7. eye bags - caused by the skin sagging beneath the eyes. mccoy isnt even that old in tos i think hes meant to be mid 40s by the end of the 5 year mission, hes just got really prominent eye bags lmao 8. idk what the name is for these, but when the mouth is wide and pushes the skin to the sides, these folds sometimes form outside of the nasolabial folds 9. philtrum - the groove above the upper lip. i dont usually draw this but mccoy's struck me as prominent enough that i usually draw it on him 10. masseter - the muscle that moves the jaw up and down. its a pretty rugged muscle and while i wouldnt say mccoy's is especially prominent, it kind of extends that nasojugal groove from certain angles/positions 11. orbicularis oris - mouth muscle, usually easier to see when lips are pursed or frowns are pulled. mccoy's is pretty prominent from 3/4ths or side, his mouth tends to protrude in profile 12. this isnt a muscle but more of a line defining the planes of the face, but since i drew it i felt i should explain lmao

a few points:

im an animator i tend to exaggerate and emphasize certain things so i usually make him more square.

i like to combine eyebags and crows feet for brevity/flow, same with nasojugal grooves, eyebags, and masseter lines. my approach is always subject to change based on pose, expression, reference image, etc.

i take out details that i deem redundant or cluttering and keep what details i need to make things feel Right

all this info is applicable to any character of any age, its just in how you apply it and facial proportions that willl change how old a character is perceived to be

there's a lot more with drawing a Character rather than an Actor, just because the features are there doesnt necessarily mean things will feel correct? its very much in the mannerisms and poses and expressions

i only went over my approach to his likeness but not really body type or posing or anything idk if u want that i could always try to answer that later haha

_______________

anyways all that info kind of exists nebulously in my brain while i draw its not like im sitting there thinking Must Draw. Nasolabial Fold...... i jsut do what feels right with the visual info i have. also i love specificity in faces.... i dont like to be a hater but when every character is drawn the same it pisses me off a little lmao. so

also dont take my word as The Only Way to do anything i just draw how i like to draw and no one should feel like these are things that Must be done to be a good artist or anything do whatever the hell u wanna do

[its-short-for-jackalope]

POV: the mysterious Miss Cavendish heard you gossiping about her at a gala (New York, 1835)

click for quality!

I don't have the best motivation when it comes to studying anatomy and whatnot so I thought I'd try making it more fun and interesting by practicing poses and looking at fashion at the same time. (And drawing my favorite characters, of course.) The pose is from Adorkastock and I found the dress on the Met's costume archive!

I actually drew this before Searcher came out and was waiting to post it until I had a small batch of them, but I'm having some art troubles at the moment and wanted to post something fun in the meantime. :]

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I'm writing a fantasy story set in a setting that focuses around 12-13 century BCE. My main character, who is not the POV character, has progressive blindness due to a genetic disorder and has lost most of his hearing in one ear due to an explosion in a battle. Given that magic exists very sparingly in this universe, and no one close to him has such powers, he uses only a cane and later, a guide animal for his blindness.

I just read through your blog and I realised it might seem a little disrespectful to not accommodate other avenues of aid, especially for his hearing loss. I wanted to ask if I should add anything else, and if so, what would be appropriate for the period?

P.S.: He is also a warrior, and he fights pretty often; is that unrealistic with the aids that are involved?

Thank you for maintaining the blogs, this has been greatly educational

Hi!

So, while we don't have a lot of commonly known resources about disability in this time period because of the in general more limited resources about it, we actually found a resource that might help you a lot!

This website is called Disability History and the Ancient World, and focuses on exactly what it says lol. To quote it: "Quite contrary to disability studies for other periods, research into this subject has just begun to develop and specialists are few." It has a huge bibliography of various research papers and articles, in various languages and about various topics. Not all of them have links, but they can be copy-pasted and then searched for and whatnot. More specifically, we found an article about deaf men in the 13th century BCE! Here's the article, and here it is in PDF form if that's easier.

For more general practical writing advice, you can play a little fast and loose with accuracy. You kind of already have, a bit, with the aids for blindness – but also with fantasy, and also because you kind of have to, in a setting we know relatively little about!

It is, however, pretty accurate that wherever people are deaf, they develop sign languages to communicate. It might not historically have been a standardized language in a widespread way, but people everywhere want to communicate. If you're being a bit anachronistic anyway, which again, is totally fine especially in a fantasy setting, you could also make it so that a braille-like language exists already; and/or a tactile sign language that's somewhat known. Those are aids that DeafBlind people use today that could translate pretty well to the setting.

As to the combat/warrior, I would say that a guide animal is much less realistic to have in combat than the cane. You also mention that his blindness is progressive, which means it might vary from battle to battle depending on how his blindness progresses and how often he has to fight.

Thank you for your question, by the way! I think we were all a bit fascinated because no one has asked us anything about this time period before.

– mod sparrow

P.S.: For historical context for anyone else other than the original asker, this time period is 1300-1101 BCE, and the numbers go 3-2-1 instead of 1-2-3 because they're counting down to 0. It's around this time that it's the Late Bronze Age and later the Late Bronze Age Collapse, the Shang Dynasty is in place in China, it's the 19th Dynasty of Egypt, and the mythological Trojan War has its symbolic dates (it might be based on a real conflict, or not, we don't know for sure).

[awpollar]

Drawing is hard and has always been daunting but lately it’s been less scary. Something about sitting down and making a conscious effort to study things I want to instead of stressing out about being perfect.

Below is a little bit of my process for self teaching on drawing transformers/diary entry for myself to look back on:

I’ve been doing a lot of fundamentals (I like to pride myself in being able to draw pretty decent circles now lol). In between that I’ve been trying to “study” artists I like and also trying to draw pieces of transformers from the comics repeatedly. I find breaking them into separate entities and drawing those bits multiple times while noting what I could improve is helpful.

For example, with Blurr I decided to try to draw his foot wheel thing. Once that felt ok (not perfect, just doable is the important part) I extended the sketch to his leg. The first time I draw a part I try to get general shapes down quickly, not trying to perfect alignment or proportion or even perspective yet. Then I’ll draw it again, this time slower with more attention to how everything fits together.

Repetition is important. fortunately for me, I don’t mind redrawing something multiple times. I think that’s why fundamentals was nice for me I could just draw circles and lines for hundreds of repetitions and be okay with it.

I haven’t posted my studies but those pages are FILLED with notes. It helps to take notes even if you don’t think a point is important bc writing it down can help cement it in your brain, which is helpful for technical terms or remembering where certain concepts are relevant. Also shifting focus from a topic to another can help reset your brain. I was doing gesture drawings the first half of the month and I honestly didn’t like it. I felt like I sucked at anatomy and proportion, so instead of supplementing my studies with gesture I decided to just draw characters I like. Taking that break from gesture has been nice, but I’ll be implementing them back regularly in a week or so.

Oh, also I learned proportions for heads and faces (very loosely tbh enough to get by) so I could feel more confident with drawing said characters. I definitely think I need to practice expressions and whatnot but gaining the skills to put together a face was nice.

Anywho, this is moreso like a little diary entry for myself, but maybe it could help someone :)