#really sells the discomfort of observation

[blistering-typhoons]

love how in people's faces holmes gets, like he's scanning their soul right through their eyes- regardless of gender! he's up in there, nothing you can do about it lmao

[singswan-springswan]

ficlet under the cut

The crate tipped with a sudden lurch and broke open on the ground. Zuko spilled unceremoniously with the motion. Inelegant. Graceless. Normally his movements held much more regality, but he'd been kidnapped and stuffed in a scratchy box and out of the water for some indeterminable length of days, so cutting himself some slack here felt appropriate.

It wasn't much brighter outside the stupid box. His scales were dry, his head was killing him, and the floor held a pleasant cool against his mounting fever. He really needed water soon. Every part of his body felt... scratchy. Discomfort would escalate into pain, and then asphyxiation. He would suffocate if he dried out. Idly, he wondered how long it would take. The humans seemed to know. They hadn't acted worried yet.

"Our latest bounty." The voice looming over Zuko was muffled in weird places. "I thought it might spark an interest. You collect fire fish, isn't that right?"

Zuko bit down a hazy groan and fumbled to prop himself up. The loss of the tile's cool against his cheek was one he mourned, but there would be time for relaxing when he found a way out of this mess. He could barely think straight. The humans—the pirates who'd ransomed him from the girl in blue—were standing guard around him now. He could see their boots. They were facing all the same direction, same way the voice was talking towards, and Zuko turned to observe.

The surrounding space was large, a room, and very dimly lit. This wouldn't normally be an issue, being that he was a mer, but his headache made his eyes lazy and bad at adjusting to the dark. If he squinted, he could see the ripple of light along the walls. Blue. Weird. In the direction of the pirates' attention, something like the outline of a table was visible—as large and imposing as the room itself. A single shadowy figure occupied a seat on the far side. He looked weird with the backlight. Zuko's vision was getting spotty.

He didn't get much chance to scan the rest of the surrounding space, because the pirate captain decided to be a jerk and grab his hair. It'd long since escaped its neat topknot, now bunching and sliding strangely in dry heat. The pain and the change in angle made Zuko rapidly lose sight of the shadow man.

"This one's quite a specimen." The pirate tilted Zuko's head back, baring his throat—maybe as a joke; it was always hard to tell if humans knew the significance of such a display—and lifted him enough to catch the light. So their potential buyer could get a better view.

Zuko would like to rip the pirate's skin off and feed it to him, but he was weak with dehydration, and his previous struggles against the man's crew had left him exhausted. All he managed was a low hiss. If humans could understand mer speech, he’d be cursing them as soundly as possible. Someone was standing on his tail. Not that it made much difference. He doubted he could have swung it if it wasn't pinned.

"I've seen a lot of the fire mer in my day, but this one's real pretty. Don't feel bad turning the offer down. We'll keep 'im if you won't." His crew laughed. Bastards. Zuko could hear the leer in the pirate's voice. It made him dizzy with anger.

Then a low grind echoed softly, and the humans cut their chatter short. Zuko distantly registered the shadow at the table moving. What made that noise? Was it his chair? He stood, rounded the massive table, and drew closer. All Zuko could see was a dark, unfocused blob. Vaguely humanoid.

"Yeah, don't be shy! Come get a closer look!"

The fist in his hair tightened. His scalp burned. The fins all down his back shuttered, and a stinging ache began to form in his gills. He needed water. He needed to get out of here. He shouldn't have wandered so close to the shore, even if that pretty girl in blue seemed so friendly at first glance. She did sell him out to these pirate scum. He should have known way better.

Even standing an arm's length away, the lighting continued to cast shadow on the pirate's potential client. It could be reasoned, then, that Zuko and the humans around him were washed in the room's best luminance. Certainly his scar could be seen clear as day. Maybe his tail was pretty, but there were parts of him imperfect. Maybe the stranger wouldn't want to buy him for that. Maybe Zuko would be stuck with these idiot pirates forever.

A smooth voice came from the stranger. "Release him."

"Sure, sure."

The pressure on Zuko's scalp vanished. He collapsed to the cool tile with no more grace than before, even further disoriented, and with a worse headache. He grit his teeth in frustration. That bastard was still on his tail.

Cool fingers tilted his chin up before he could lift his head on his own again; he hadn't seen the shadow man crouch down. Startled, Zuko yanked back and hissed a second time. He made sure to reveal far more fang and fan far wider with his fins; he just wanted these stupid humans to stop poking and grabbing him however often they pleased. Was that too much to ask? He wasn't an ornament. And he sure as heck had no intention of being a pet.

The stranger's face was close, and shadowy, and out of focus. Zuko's head was killing him. The room spun.

"The shape of the fins—” The stranger’s voice began.

“Really something, isn’t it? Never seen a mer so fancy before.”

There was a beat of silence, then the cool fingers returned to Zuko’s jaw and held him firmly in place. He growled. It didn’t make a difference. He was exhausted and hot and vulnerable, and everyone could tell. There was no way to stop them from doing as they pleased. 

“There’s a scar.”

“Wasn’t us, mate. Looks like the beast’s had it for a while. I think it adds to the aesthetic, don’t you agree?”

Zuko glared. It was the sort of one-sided remark he’d only accept from Uncle Iroh, though Azula had made attempts to express similar sentiments in that weird way of hers. He’d always hated the scar. At least the monster who put it there was dead now.

The stranger gave no comment. He reached another hand out and pushed Zuko’s hair aside, away from his eyes. Zuko did his best to meet the unfamiliar gaze as steadily as possible, despite the awkward backlight. He was being stared at. He refused to show how unnerved it made him. His trembling and fever didn’t help much in that regard.

Finally, after a dreadful length of scrutiny, the shadow man spoke. “How much do you want for him?”

Zuko could hear teeth in the pirate’s smile. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Ten-thousand.”

Zuko didn’t know how humans calculated their currency. He’d assumed mer in general to be expensive, but they called him a stupid something fire fish, and it sounded like exotic. Even so, the pirate captain seemed shocked. He let out a high chuckle.

“Well! Show me the gold and you’ve got yourself a deal!”

The stranger waved an uninterested hand over his shoulder, and another grinding sound reverberated through the floor. Zuko couldn’t see the source of the sound with multiple different shadows clouding his vision. Judging by the pirates’ hushed tithering, their payment had been offered.

“Excellent! Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

“Zaheera will see you out.”

The group broke formation around Zuko and floated away, whispering excitedly. Though they’d been awful to him, he couldn’t help a flicker of fear at their absence. At least with the pirates, he knew they’d avoid causing permanent damage. He knew they’d want to sell him for the highest price possible. Now, he had no idea what to expect. This stranger could have any number of sinister plans in mind; Zuko had certainly heard the horror stories. All young mer were warned about the brutality of humans, and now he was at the mercy of someone who really wanted him. This was bad.

The stranger let him go, and the world tilted as Zuko crumpled. He was very dizzy. And angry. And he really wanted to sink his fangs into human flesh.

But when he turned (against his better judgment) to snap at his new captor, a firm hand was already pushing down the back of his neck. The same way one might handle an unruly pup. Zuko was too tired to be insulted by the gesture. He wasn’t a pup anymore, but a move like that with the human’s advantage was enough to subdue even a full-grown mer.

“Watch out with that one!” The pirate’s faint voice called back. “Quite a monster at full strength. He killed two of my men when we—”

“Get out.”

The heavy thud of the door confirmed their absence, though the human didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. He ducked another snap of Zuko’s teeth, and ignored his crackly snarl, and slid his arms beneath scratchy scales. The world tilted again. Zuko would consider puking if he wasn’t so close to blacking out. The human was carrying him. Impressive. Zuko was heavy outside the water. His fins trailed the floor as they moved, but he was very much in the air, solidly in the man’s grip. Almost cradled, even if he was too big for the pup-hold to have effect a second time. The use of such familiar techniques should have rung a bell in his mind. Zuko’s headache and exhaustion wouldn’t let him dwell on it.

After a dizzying stretch, something wonderful happened. Zuko heard water. The noise was still muffled, and it faltered clarity with every stray tilt of his head, but Zuko knew what water sounded like. He’d been fantasizing about it for the past few days.

There was a splash, and with distant elation, he felt his fins trail. He wasn’t lucid enough to hold back the happy trill.

“I know.” The man huffed, and it rumbled through his chest. “I know—those bastards.”

The water rushed up around him, deliciously cool, salty, clean. It took Zuko up to his gills to realize he’d been lowered into a pool of some kind. It was shallow, but not cramped. He drew a deep breath. That felt very nice. The hands were gone. 

He didn’t bother confirming he was alone before passing out soundly.

<~><><~>

Zuko was alone when he came to, and his headache had finally retreated to the realm of faint discomfort. Incredible what a good long sleep in water could do for one’s health. The pirates hadn’t put him in a tank. They were mad about what a fuss he caused the first time they brought him aboard, and they’d rightly concluded he’d be easier to handle if he was dehydrated and exhausted and dizzy. They’d doused him with lukewarm buckets every few hours, just to keep him from dying. Zuko was relieved to be back in water now. Even if trepidation about the uncertainty of his new circumstances wouldn’t let him relax.

The pool he’d been placed in was shallow; he couldn’t move without some part of his tail skimming the surface. It was still comfortable in spite of that. The edges spanned a decent length, so he could turn with ease, and the basin interior was cut from smooth, white stone. His fins shone stark against it. The pool itself seemed to be laid into the ground, flush.

Zuko scanned his surroundings while he waited for something to happen. He still seemed to be indoors. The walls here weren’t as high as the one from before—from the sale pitch—and most of them were made of a clear material. It shone with sunlight from outside. The rest of the space was occupied by greenery. The taller ones reaching the ceiling had been planted in beds in the ground, surrounded at the base with bushy, leafy shrubs, and brilliant flowers, and crawling vines. The faint sound of water also trickled through the maze, but Zuko couldn’t see the source of it from where he was. It was peaceful. Uncle would love this place.

But Zuko hadn’t forgotten how he ended up here, and he had no illusions about being treated fairly, even if he’d been left undisturbed in such a pleasant area. He had to keep his guard up. He was being held against his will. He was trapped on land with no way to escape or get home. He didn’t have much experience with humans, but so far they’d only beaten him, used him, or treated him like a pretty ornamental object, and he had no reason to believe this behavior would change soon. He had to be prepared for the worst.

In truth, he really wanted to murder someone. The urge had become so intense during his captivity with the pirates, and he hadn’t had a real outlet, being close to dying of dehydration. Now that he was rested, his jaw nearly ached to bite through bone.

He spent the time waiting for an opportunity by pacing around the pool. The space didn’t allow for much more than tight circles. Still, it was better than sitting around stewing in all his problems. 

Mother was probably worried by now. Him being an adult with a life of his own didn’t stop her from worrying that he wasn’t home every day. Azula didn’t feel the same. Azula would kill for him though; she’d done it before.

Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of thinking to himself and going crazy for it, the faintest vibrations thrummed through the water, and Zuko froze. Footsteps. Someone was approaching. 

He lifted his head above the surface. The sound drew closer, brushing through the plants with a practiced gait. Zuko coiled his body. There was deliberation in the person’s movement. They knew he was here. They were coming to see him. The likelihood that he’d be attacking an innocent servant or something alike was low, and that brought him a hint of reassurance.

When the human came into view, bathed in green filtered sunlight, stepping out to the pool’s edge, Zuko took an entire second to appraise the figure. Tall. Male. Dark hair, luxurious silk robes in green and pale yellow. When he spoke, it was the same smooth voice from the shadowy stranger that paid for him.

“Hello.”

Zuko didn’t wait any longer. He launched himself at the human with a vicious snarl. His vision was red. His heart was pounding. How dare they treat him with such contempt? He wasn’t some prized bounty. He wasn’t an ornament for some rich knave’s garden. He wouldn’t take this insult and abuse lying down, and if these humans continued to assume so, they were in for a shock.

To some degree of satisfaction, the man did seem shocked to be bowled over. The air left his lungs in a massive wheeze, and his eyes went very wide. He was also—however—quick. He reflexively shoved Zuko’s head away when Zuko tried to bite, and he managed to lurch free enough to dodge an elbow to the face. 

“Wait!” The man yelped.

But Zuko had a size advantage, and the man was on his back, and Zuko really wanted him dead. He slammed his shoulders into the grass, pinned his legs with his tail, made another attempt to remove the throat with his teeth. This time, the man brought his arm up in a hasty block. Zuko was too busy biting down to be upset he’d missed his target. Blood and the creak of bone filled his mouth.

There was a shout of pain. “Wait wait—Zuko, stop!”

The words pierced his hazy red anger like ice through fresh snow. Zuko froze. Even being slightly feral at the taste of blood and festered indignation, he rapidly came to his senses and dropped the arm. His mind spun. 

How did this man know his name? The pirates didn’t know. The pretty girl in blue didn’t know. And he wouldn’t be able to tell them if he wanted to (which he very much had not). It wasn’t a lucky guess. No one shared his name that he’d ever met. So why—how could a random human—

“Get off!” The human fumbled to shove Zuko’s face away. His sleeve was ruined, and rapidly turning red.

Zuko slowly obliged. The man didn’t seem angry. He only seemed annoyed, even as he bled profusely from an arm that might be broken. There was something unnervingly familiar about the twist of his scowl. He shuffled sideways and sat up.

“Spirits, kid, you’ve got a strong jaw.”

“I’m not—” Zuko cut himself off before he could complete the retort. The human wouldn’t understand him. The human knew he wasn’t a kid. Zuko was very obviously a full grown mer. 

“You could have let me explain myself before trying to kill me.” Why did his scowl look so familiar? The man untied a sash of his fancy outfit and wrapped his arm with clinical efficiency. Then he looked up to meet Zuko’s eye, and his scowl faltered. “Are you okay?”

What.

Zuko stared. Was he seriously… asking if Zuko was okay? There was blood in the grass and in his robes and he might have a concussion and his ribs might be bruised and Zuko would at worst have a sore jaw. He shifted back warily. In his experience, crazy men often did cruel things. 

When he made no move to respond, the man sighed roughly and looked away. “Guess I should have waited on that tea. Zaheera will be by with some shortly.”

“What?”

What on earth was he talking about? Tea? Of all things? How did he know Zuko’s name and why was he so relaxed about the bite on his arm and why did the slope of his nose look so familiar and why was he talking about tea in the blood and the grass?

“You were always more civil with it around.”

Okay, now Zuko was thoroughly weirded out. He wished he had an exit. An escape route. He was stuck on land in an unfamiliar house and the closest thing he had to sanctuary was a fake pool of water barely deep enough to sleep in. This was freaking him out just the slightest.

“You’re nuts.” He said. Just to say it. The man wouldn’t understand the words or the insult in them, but Zuko was sick of just sitting around not saying anything, waiting for stupid humans to come to the right conclusions.

For his effort, he was rewarded with the faintest thaw of the man’s grumpy expression. It looked amused somehow. “And why is that?” He asked.

What.

A trace of alarm made Zuko flinch. “...Because you’re… talking to me.” He probed. Just to see. Humans weren’t supposed to understand.

“Why would that make me crazy? You’re real, aren’t you?” He glanced at his sleeve, now mostly red. “I’m pretty sure you are.”

Zuko blanched. He considered backing away, back into the pool. The safety it offered was purely psychological, but it would be something at least. It’d be better than lying vulnerable on the ground next to a crazy person. His fins twitched.

“What—but—you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“But humans aren’t supposed to understand.” From what he’d heard, humans interpreted mer speech as primitive and animalistic: nothing more than a series of harsh vocalizations strung together. Zuko had demanded an explanation for the phenomenon when he was younger. After all, mer understood human speech just fine. No one was able to give him a satisfactory answer.

“Well, I’m not human.” The human said. “Technically.”

“Then what are you?” Possibly a witch? Zuko had heard of their strange abilities. Or maybe he was a spirit. In which case Zuko was screwed. He probably couldn’t get away with attempted murder on a spirit; he’d totally be cursed or something. It could also be a shapeshifter of sorts, from the myths.

But the man quickly dispelled any outlandish theories. For the first time that Zuko had seen, a flicker of hurt crossed his features. It made him look older than he likely was. Haunted.

“Wow Zuzu, you don’t remember your favorite cousin?”

No.

No, he definitely didn’t mean that. Zuko didn’t have any cousins. Not for eleven years. And there’d only been—one. Just one. Now there weren’t any.

But looking closer, Zuko could see why the scowl looked so familiar. He saw the same face in the mirror. And this man wasn’t human, clearly, even if he had legs in place of a red streaming tail. In place of the gold ribbon fins their family shared—that he must have recognized when he first saw Zuko. 

He knew Zuko’s name. Zuzu. Azula tried to call him that—maybe out of nostalgia—but it belonged to them both, and Zuko hated to hear her say it because there was only one person who tried to bring them together like that, and hearing her say it reminded him of… of… a dead man.

Except he couldn’t be dead. He was right here. His blood tasted very real.

“Lu Ten?”

He looked so much like his father when he smiled. “Yeah.”

Zuko gaped. That felt like the only appropriate thing to do. Maybe the dehydration actually got to him, and this whole series of events was an elaborate hallucination. Maybe Azula spiked his tea with a psychedelic for her weird sense of humor, and he was hallucinating. It was too strange. This didn’t make any sense. Zuko’s cousin was dead, and if he wasn’t, wouldn’t Uncle know? Would Uncle have cried so hard so many private times if this was real? It felt so real.

“How did you get that scar?”

“How are you not dead?” Zuko’s head was spinning, though thankfully not from dehydration. He wasn’t sure if this was worse, actually. “Uncle thinks you’re dead.”

The comment earned him a flinch. “There’s actually a good explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“I’m cursed.” Lu Ten squinted into the middle distance, looking uncomfortably close to being emotional. “To live as a human. And I can’t… go near the sea. I tried. It almost turned me into sea foam.”

Zuko dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

[blackreaderfics]

TIANAMI HEADCANONS

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ A/N: this is literally from the top of my head from pining stage all the way to marriage.

↳ Warnings: NSFW at the end so minors dni‼️

Pining Stage

-At Tiana’s Café Nanami either orders prepackaged foods or the simplest thing to prepare on the menu i.e black tea. All she needs to do is put the tea bag in 💀 He doesn’t want to add to the work that she already does.

-Nanami doesn’t like sweets. He can only eat the desserts Tiana makes. Makes a point to buy beignets all the time because he sees how she lights up when people buy them.

-If Japan had tipping culture he would tip but instead he buys those novelty items they sell at the cafe like mugs or cups. He gives them as customary/holiday gifts to his coworkers/friends or keeps them.

-Highly attuned to social cues. Aware if someone likes him or is flirting. I wouldn’t say he’s shy—he used to be when he was younger—but now he’s just extremely jaded and pessimistic. A glass half empty kind of person (working corporate in a big city will do that to you😪) He could look like he’s shying away if Tiana flirts with him but only because he doesn’t trust others easily at first.

-Nanami didn’t ever have an ideal type. He always thought about getting married but didn’t have a fully formed idea of the kind of woman he would marry until he met Tiana. This is before they even go on the first date lol.

Dating Stage

-The beginnings of the relationship start out incredibly formally. Tiana felt he was asking to hire her instead of asking her out on a date 💀 Otherwise he’s very straightforward. There’s no beating around the bush, no situationship no fwb, he’s a very traditional man. He courts then marries.

-Such a daydreamer. After one date he’s already thinking about the house they’ll buy and kids they’re going to have.

-The ultimate gentleman. Opens all doors, carries all things. Pays for everything. He’s a provider and takes care of his partner.

-Nanami walks Tiana home from work every night. If he’s working overtime and can’t make it he will send an already paid taxi or a trusted friend to her cafe to bring her home.

Committed Relationship Stage

-Nanami doesn’t think much about his own appearance or attractiveness. Like he doesn’t think he’s handsome not bc of low self esteem but bc he just doesn’t think about it at all.

-He values neatness and cleanliness though. He also takes notes of other people’s appearances but doesn’t dwell on them. Like he can be like “she’s beautiful” and then just move on. In love, it’s slightly different. Idk how to explain it he just loves his person very much. They are more than arbitrary beauty, they’re everything and more to him.

-Notices absolutely everything. That one dress she liked in the window, he’ll remember it and come back alone to buy it as a gift. Discomfort on his partner’s face, slight change of mood. He’s very observant so he will never be clueless about that.

-Would never cheat😒 like… he’s Nanami. He is courteous. If he wants another relationship he’ll break things off cleanly with his old partner.

-He really trusts his partner. He isn’t a jealous man. Things will only affect him if he or his partner are directly disrespected. Men flirting with his partner in front of him is disrespect and he won’t take it lightly.

-Because of some of those traits he could be prone to getting taken advantage of, but I doubt it ever reaches that because Nanami is very discerning and careful about the partners he picks. So it’s highly unlikely he would end up with someone that takes advantage of him.

-Also he’s a bit pure? Of course he has sexual needs, but the smallest things gets his heart thumping. The tiniest gestures like Tiana leaving a love note in his bag? Or the smallest details like when he sees her shoes in the doorway when he gets home.

-Would literally not mind if Tiana called him about any minor inconvenience. (She wouldn’t of course) but if he heard her say something offhand about anything that’s broken or doesn’t work he’d figure out how to fix it ASAP. He’s all about efficiency so consider it done in the most efficient way possible. If he can do it by himself he will, if paying someone to do it is more efficient he’ll do that too.

-Needs to know where his partner is at all times. Like if they’re both on opposite sides of the room, he’s always glancing to make sure of her location, just in case.

-Random but he’s really fast at calculations. And keeps track of literally everything. Idk if that’s weird but he knows his partner’s cycle 😭 He knows everything about her health, dietary needs, medical history…etc He’s well prepared if something were to happen

-He speaks like an 18th century vampire if I’m being honest😭 If you text him “where are u” he’s just like “I have arrived…” Also uses ellipses a lot … 💀 but most times he just calls, doesn’t text.

Marriage Stage

-I think he’s always had eccentric tastes for a Japanese man. Like if not Tiana he definitely would’ve married outside his race one way or another. Or outside what is expected for your average Japanese salaryman.

-He remains formal in speech with his wife even if they’re the same age or married. There are couples that choose to drop honorifics and be informal with each other. But he remains formal because he sees it as a form of respect to his partner. The most informal he’ll go is using first names. Still sometimes says “Ms.Tiana” except now it’s “Mrs.Tiana”

-Nicknames and terms of endearment are more traditional. At work it’s “my wife”; At home it’s “darling” or “my love”

NSFW

-In a committed relationship Nanami is incredibly touchy in private. Literally needs to have his hands touching her at all times. Groping fetish?? Likes to squeeze ass and titties, maybe press his erection against from behind.

-Probably has a voice kink. Wants to just hear her talk all day. If he’s away, will call for no reason except to hear her voice. Will probably want to hear her speak as he fucks her. Doesn’t matter the content like she could be talking about how her day went and that could send him over.

-He can be gloomy but he’s the biggest romantic ever. When Nanami falls in love he falls hard. And he’s even willing to try anything if his partner wants it. Bottoming, subbing, femdom, even humiliation whatever. He won’t care because he trusts his partner. The only thing he probably wouldn’t do is anything public but behind closed doors all bets are off.

-Gains pleasure from his partner’s pleasure. It’s not a praise kink persay. He doesn’t care to be praised but if she likes it, he loves it. Likes to hear her moan, claw his back, grab his hair; any indications that it’s pleasurable for her.

-When he’s tired he likes when she’s on top. Also likes when some clothing is still on. That could be because he’s too tired to take it off? Or making a neatly dressed woman all messy is a kink for him.

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to saradika for the dividers

[that-ari-blogger]

A Special Kind of Hypocrisy (Stayed Gone)

If you have been following my blog for a while, the fact that I take issue with the rules of writing will probably not be a surprise. I think that there are generally accepted guidelines, but these are tools and the best stories use them in unexpected ways.

“Put your readers in the action,” Darksouls is phenomenal and most of the stuff in that story has already happened. “Make your writing flow,” Turtles All The Way Down goes out of its way to feel jagged in order to portray the discomfort of its protagonist’s mind, and that is a book that shattered me for a solid week and a half.

“Show don’t tell”. That one is tricky. If an audience sees something, they are more likely to believe it, so it isn’t a tool for good writing, it’s a tool for making writing feel real. If it’s played straight, it can evoke a feeling of safety and trust, or can evoke emotions in a reader that are difficult to achieve otherwise. If subverted, this idea can present unease, deceit, or even hypocrisy.

Let me explain.

CONTENT WARNING: Not much in this one, but a standard warning because of the show I’m analysing. Gore, foul language, etc. Read at your own peril.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, The Family Plan)

I feel like clarifying everything I am about to say with the fact that tropes aren’t bad, and that subverting everything doesn’t make for good writing. Stories are about using what you have to build something, and if that something is just a box you can put things in, it doesn’t need to be complicated.

For example, The Family Plan is a perfectly fun movie that I really enjoyed, and it doesn’t push any boundaries at all. It’s just got Mark Wahlberg playing a cooler version of himself and some road trip shenanigans crossed with a spy thriller. It doesn’t invent at all, but its tightly written, well shot, and genuinely quite funny.

I think we look at art these days from an overly critical fashion, evaluating how it contradicts tradition or makes a point that will be remembered for generations, and some stories are aiming for that, but some just want to be a fun ride, and that’s ok.

Some stories, however, want to be controversial, and want to ask questions. Most notably in this context, Hazbin Hotel.

Hazbin Hotel’s selling point is that it dissects morality on an intrinsic level, and part of this is done by the character of Alastor, whom is objectively a villainous character, but who serves as a protagonist for the majority of the season.

Alastor has a song in the pilot, but because I’m not covering that for my own reasons, let’s talk about his musical introduction to the actual series, Stayed Gone.

This song introduces Alastor as a villain, but not an especially powerful one, and I feel like that’s kind of the point. Alastor certainly has an ego, but he’s a parasite. He works by twisting people’s intentions into benefiting him. He’s a schemer, a talker, a forger of Faustian bargains. This song sets up what kind of evil Alastor works with, and it isn’t brute force.

This is exemplified by the music choice, in that Alastor doesn’t add anything at all to it. This is Vox’s song; Alastor just changes the direction a little.

From that perspective, this song depicts Vox more than Alastor, and explores how he causes his own downfall with the barest of inputs from his ex. Remember what I said in the start about show don’t tell? Let’s observe it in action.

Starting with the runup, because this feels heavy, right? It feels like someone is marching with that Mortal Combat style of walk that lets you know they mean to mess someone up. This sound is implicitly threatening.

Part of that is that it is so calm. There is nothing going on here, no fancy movements or anything of the sorts. The base line is the same two notes played an octave apart on repeat. It’s an A then an E played twice, then a few lower notes that rise higher before resolving back to that E. It's like the creature is taking a breath as it moves. A big, lumbering breath for a massive creature. It feels steady and adds variation.

Meanwhile, the higher chords are exactly the same as each other. A Major repeated four times, then the bottom two notes shift down by a semitone each, to throw the listener off balance.

But its more than that, right? These notes make you feel unsafe, there is intrinsic malice to the steadiness. I sent a friend of mine who knows music better than I do a message to try and work this out, and they mentioned that the higher notes give add suspense, which I think serves to make the bass part feel even heavier by comparison. They give you a moment to weight for that strike, like pulling back a bow string, and they give you something higher to contrast that low tone.

Then we get Vox’s singing voice. He’s been talking and vaguely rhyming up to this point, but now we get a song.

Also, there's a drum now. You would think this creates cohesion, but its offset, adding to that feeling of unease. It matches the second note of each bar to further accent the force of that first step by giving it some backwards force, then the same drum plays twice, once off the beat, once back on. Again, we’re lurching.

But notice how Vox’s sentences interact with the bars. Vox is the only thing that messes with the standard rhythm established by the backing music. Where everything is the same beat repeated each bar, Vox talks quickly for a bar then regains composure.

This is enjambment, linking ideas between thoughts and giving vox momentum. Now that weight has direction behind it, and judging by his word choice, that being the repeated use of the pronoun “you”, that direction is towards you.

Skipping ahead for a moment, I’ve found a ton of disagreement in the online sheet music for this song as to whether there is a tempo change for when the TV goes live.

If there is, you could analyse it and point out how it portrays the superficiality of Vox as a person and how he presents as someone less in control of himself when on camera. Maybe there is a question of which the real Vox is, the composed version or the manic newscaster. Maybe.

On the other hand, maybe there is nothing there, and I am going to wield executive privileges gained from this being my blog and go with my favourite one, this one. (I also used this one, for the record, I just prefer the first)

The score I followed gets so much more complicated once the television starts going, and so do the visuals, honestly. Everything about Vox gets so much more complicated, every joke is earning your attention like a TikTok, terrified you’ll look away. This is how advertising works on YouTube by the way, at least the adds that have to contend with the skip button. They compress everything into five second chunks because they need your full focus.

There are a few jokes in here of note. I would be foolish to not mention the venison pun, but none of them are of particular importance, which paradoxically makes them extremely important.

Notice here, he presents two versions of himself. The purpose of a conversation is to have two different perspectives come together, even if they are similar. But this is the same guy pretending to be varied.

Nothing that Vox says means anything at all. It is all one liners and insults, there is nothing going on behind those eyes, and that is exactly the point. He is all talk, no show.

Vox says he’s powerful, he says he will mess up Alastor’s day, his music makes you feel scared, and yet he is empty.

There is a disconnect between what he tells you and he shows you, which is made even more obvious by his obsession with Alastor. Everything he is saying is “Alastor doesn’t matter, he’s insignificant, meaningless, that’s why I wrote this song to tell him as such.” It’s like an ex who is insisting the breakup hasn’t affected him.

Which, side note, sets Vox up as the type of villain who doesn’t respect boundaries. He’s a stalker obsessed with someone who will not reciprocate his affection.

Vox is the personification of those “I can fix him” twitter incels that view sexuality as a challenge to be overcome. He’s one of a triumvirate of chronically online villains, and trust me, there are people out there in real life who are worse than him.

In his watch through and analysis of Hazbin Hotel, @ohnoitstbskyen posited the idea that, since Alastor doesn’t sing his own song at any point in the actual series, we don’t get any moments of interiority. I would like to politely disagree.

Alastor’s entire deal, as presented in this show, is being a Machiavellian schemer. Like I said earlier, he’s a parasite. What we learn about his interiority here is that he doesn’t ever bother to create, he just steals and repurposes.

It’s that thing about Alastor where the show doesn’t tell you what he wants, it just shows you how he works as a person and how he moves towards his goals.

Case and point, here Alastor just takes Vox’s song and makes it his own, offering questions about Vox’s strengths and pointing out the hypocrisy. Although it's interesting what Alastor choses to highlight, because that does shed some interiority.

“Is Vox as strong as he proports? Or is it based off his support? He’d be powerless without the other Vees”

In other words: look at this guy, he has friends that he relies on.

Now, the Vees are awful human beings, Valentino especially but Vox isn’t too great either. But by far their least bad trait is the fact that they support each other. Again, they are cruel, vile entities, but they are cruel vile entities together.

To my knowledge, Vox doesn’t ever deny that he is working with others, or even obfuscate that knowledge.

It would seem that Alastor, in his attempt to criticize his opponent, has revealed something about himself. That sounds a bit hypocritical to me.

Speaking of which, Alastor is entirely hypocrisy. He spends the entirety of the series talking a big game about how strong and powerful he is, but he never actually demonstrates that. He turns off the electricity in the city, but that’s not strength, that’s flicking a switch. He makes threats, and yet doesn’t back any of them up.

“You still pissed he almost beat you that time?”

“Almost” is a key word in that question, it would seem Alastor has a bit of an ego problem.

Which leads me back to the concept of tell don’t show, because if you don’t show your audience something, they don’t trust it. Alastor and Vox are paired up because they both keep talking and proclaiming their intimidation factor, and yet neither of them actually demonstrate any power beyond that which is normal.

Yes, they mow down mooks, but so do Angel Dust, and Husk, and Sir Pentious.

Before I finish up, I want to talk a bit about how performance can affect personality, and with that I want to contrast a cover with the original.

This is a cover by Annapantsu, Cami-cat, and Chloe Breez. I highly recommend checking it out.

But I want to note how different the acting choices are to the original. I’m not saying one is better, I’m saying they are different.

First, Anna’s version of Vox is so much wilder than the original. Like, the version in the actual series rockets between emotions like a greyhound on skates, but when he is in control, he usually has that malevolent smile that tells you he enjoys messing with your perceptions. I don’t think Anna’s version of the character would ever smile except in that forced, news presenter way. This character seems permanently unbalanced and making only the barest effort to present as otherwise.

She also seems like a more active character than the original, who can only react to Alastor’s advances. This version of the character might make an appearance in a later episode beyond the gratuitous dad-watching-the-big-game commentary of the final fight. Maybe she rocks up to the hotel while Charlie, Vaggie and Alastor are on their quests for allegiances in order to just menace the characters in a way they are completely unprepared for.

Meanwhile, all that posturing has been put onto Alastor. Who has one main difference in performance, but one that shakes up the rest of the song. This version of Alastor is put together, just like the show. She’s casual and almost disinterested, just like the show. She’s detached and hands off, just like the show. Until that final verse.

Then she growls, and that little break in character implies that this version is concealing a much more physical menace. The best way I can put the difference is this: For the original version, it seems like transforming is an effort and something that he becomes. For this version, I think the transformation is Alastor’s natural state, and it is taking every fibre of her being to hold together the façade of civility.

Final Thoughts

I despise the concept of genre, and this is actually a good example of why, because… what is this song? Is it pop? Is it rock? Is it jazz? You could argue it is anything, but I would argue it doesn’t matter.

This song is fun, that’s all that matters. It sets up two villains, one of whom I think could have used more screen time in the series, but ho hum, and the other who got so much screen time and yet remains so mysterious.

Next week, I’ll be covering It Starts With Sorry, and I am genuinely shocked by how many people don’t like that number. I think it’s great. Stick around if seeing me argue that point interests you.

Previous - Next

[mariacallous]

Another month to go: can we bear it? Brainless dishonesty, puerile insults, false accusations, the whole charade takes us for idiots. The more desperate they get, the lower the Tories drag down the tone of debate.

The week begins “woke”, with Kemi Badenoch challenging Labour to follow her into an anti-trans gesture to change the Equality Act to something the law already broadly does. It looks glaringly empty in the worsening cost of living crisis, when an extra 100,000 households will see their mortgages shoot up between now and election day.

Labour seeks to shrug off these diversions as it evades Tory attacks, while methodically staying calm and attempting to stay on message.

And for Rishi Sunak, the woke thing is a tough sell. Voters will not easily be persuaded that Keir Starmer is secretly a snowflake warrior while he talks defence of the realm, nailing down that “triple lock” on nuclear weapons, and promising that nuclear submarines will be built in Barrow. All that tells the electorate is that this party is no longer led by a man who refused to sing the national anthem at a Battle of Britain remembrance service.

Immigration is on Labour’s grid, too, with the plan to bring it down by boosting skills training at home. Forecasters expect it to fall anyway. So Keir the woke warrior? Good luck with that.

It may seem an age already, but voters are not yet concentrating on the election, say the focus-groupers. If you, the reader of political columns, are bored rigid by hearing of Starmer’s toolmaker dad and nurse mum, it remains true that most voters still say they don’t really know him. So, in Tuesday’s TV debate between the leaders, expect Starmer to use every chance to describe himself. Most voters don’t watch prime minister’s questions, so they’ll observe these head-butting duels with a fresh eye. Neither leader floats like a butterfly or stings like a bee, but Starmer usually prevails. Sunak plans to exploit some kind of underdog status, but that too is a tough sell when he is PM, he was chancellor, he is so obviously vulnerable on every flank and so clearly to blame – in full or part – for everything ill-fated in these wretched Tory years.

The runes are being read. Both parties were alarmed by the mighty electoral calculus MRP poll predicting just 66 seats for the Tories. It raised no cheers in the Labour camp, where there is gnawing fear that complacency will stop too many people from bothering to vote, or will give potential Labour voters licence to vote Green. It could also complicate the calculation in “blue wall” seats, where Labour people need to turn out and, as a way to oust the Tories, vote Liberal Democrat.

But that same poll caused flat panic in the Tory camp, where the campaign seems solely focused on stemming the flow of rightwingers to the hardline church of Reform. That panic will heighten after the screeching U-turn on Monday in which Nigel Farage took control of Reform and deigned to run as an MP, hoping it will be eighth time lucky.Sunak and his chancellor beseech elderly voters with wafted pension bribes, and tickle their fancies with absurd plans to force national service on Britain’s young people. Badenoch’s transgender pitch was a ploy to discomfort Labour, but more than that, it was a desperate attempt to head off further defections by those who prefer their extremism full fat rather than semi skimmed.

In many ways, this is the election we expected. But that is not the same thing as saying that – on the evidence so far – this is the election we deserve.

Amid the promises, there needs to be a reality check, not least about the public finances. In the Financial Times last week, the International Monetary Fund exposed the hitherto unmentioned, and unmentionable, gaping £30bn hole awaiting the next chancellor. A field of fiscal landmines has been laid by Jeremy Hunt, with zero expectation he will ever be expected to navigate them. One report suggests he sees a nicer post-election life for himself presenting at Classic FM. So be it: so long as they don’t let him present the financial reports.

Both parties in this election pretend not to hear the voice of Paul Johnson, truth-teller-in-chief at the Institute for Fiscal Studies, who warns that pledges of no new taxes and no spending cuts, while shrinking the national debt, are impossible to fulfil. Labour ignores him for now, promising to clear the backlog of people waiting more than 18 weeks for treatment, and raise employment from 75% to 80%, though Johnson warns “we never got close” to that rate. We need a reality check. We’re getting magical thinking.

Think, too, about all the issues that aren’t being properly addressed in this election yet. Brexit is parked, with Labour keen to avoid accusations of cosying up to the EU, and the Tories desperate to hide from their Brexit failures.

Also missing in action: social care, the plight of the 1.6 million frail people denied the help they need. Both parties bear the scars of Theresa May’s 2017 election plan and Andy Burnham’s 2010 scheme, both of which exploded mid-campaign.

The burning planet should be the burning question but it isn’t, despite Labour rightly making green energy its engine for growth and its prime spending priority. Sunak ditched net zero, warning: “Labour’s decarbonisation proposals will cost £3,297 per household.” That’s Toryism at its most despicable, lying about the need for climate action for no electoral gain. But one way or another, we should be talking about it.

Here we are again, at the pinnacle of our democratic process and yet, again, failing to find a way to grapple honestly with the great issues. Democracy is worshipped, but its potential is eroded and its practitioners reviled. Whose fault is that? MPs or the public? Voters who think they stand aloof from “lying” politicians might ask themselves how much they are to blame for demanding the impossible – Swedish-level public services on US-level tax rates.

I don’t blame Labour for this; it is up against the great Tory lie factory. Always facing that wall of sound from the howling, dominant Tory media – its volume turned up now by GB News. The wonder is that Labour ever gets a hearing, ever wins elections. If it is staying muted now, the process makes that sensible, because discussing difficult dilemmas thoughtfully would do little more than provide ammunition for the enemy. After years in opposition, an election – in this Britain, at this time – is a perilous moment for Labour to seek to reshape the entire way we do politics.

With polls swinging strongly towards a Labour win and a social democratic future, with voters apparently ready to rebel against the devastations of austerity, maybe there is scope for boldness. Maybe Labour should trust polls showing that a majority would pay more tax to revive public services. Maybe it should be more expansive in the knowledge that voters broadly agree with the party over Brexit, tax, social care, poverty, benefits and the climate.

But, with a great victory within grasp and the chance of a different future for this country, is it reasonable to demand that it take that risk?

[gascon-en-exil]

Ok please forgive me for sounding silly if so but Ra/xis is a dude, right? Presumably a straight male? Right? I kinda can't get into that mindset at all of an Edelstan. But as a straight woman, I really don't know where they get the audacity to harass women for not liking Edelgard or being critical of her. Are they blindly ignoring the fact that THEY are straight men and then somehow acting like your comments about how she appeals to the male gaze aren't true? It has to be intentional, right?

Do you think the fetishizing of lesbians/bisexual women is part of what appeals to them about Edelgard? Something that allows them to pretend they're allies of LGBTQ when in reality they're just fetishizing any lesbians/bisexual women in fiction? Since as you argue and I agree, Edelgard panders to the male gaze. And since M/M (at least with Byleth) was simultaneously minimized to pander to straight male obsession for F/F. Or do you think Edelgard is fetish fuel regardless of her canon sexuality?

Not sure if these are from the same anon but they're close enough to where I can talk about them together.

He's certainly male and attracted to women, although straight or bi I couldn't say and don't care to speculate.

It's also not at all unusual that he'd attack women over their takes; I believe it was the Reddit crowd who once said that all female fans of Dimitri were "ruled by their ovaries" or something to that effect, and one of the responses on Twitter to my observations on Edelgard and the male gaze was that obviously Dimitri and the other Lions boys were designed for yaoi fangirls so clearly these two things are equivalent despite the fact that 1) if they are the developers did a poor job of it because it's still all subtext, 2) Dedue and to an extent post-timeskip Houses Dimitri are more like what you'd see from the bara genre than actual yaoi, 3) there is a massive gulf between Byleth romances and non-Byleth ones in terms of overt player pandering, and 4) if anything in Three Houses was designed with yaoi fangirls in mind it would thus be m!Byleth's three romantic same-sex S ranks, all of whom are comparatively "safe" subjects for M/M romance from a homophobic straight male perspective as Yuri is visibly, openly queer on all fronts and the other two talk about their romances with Byleth in distinctly non-romantic terms.

As for whether they're fetishizing queer women, I feel like that's not my call to make both because I'm not a queer woman and because that would involve more speculation over these people's sexual interests than I would ever care to do. When it comes to attacking me specifically they may be comfortable using Edelgard's queerness as a shield, because they can't exactly dismiss me as a homophobic straight guy or a yaoi fangirl. Well, some trolls have tried, but even for them it's a hard sell. This is why it's been more common for me to see them call me a misogynist, or express discomfort in how candid I am about my own sex life in vaguely homophobic terms that imply that I'm some kind of predator just because I'm sexually active in the particular way that I am (non-monogamous, kink-friendly, mostly for-profit).

[midorishinji]

Disappearing act - chapter VIII

Geto observed her more carefully, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. — Killing non-sorcerers? — It's an option, but I don't take it seriously. Do you? — Yuki pressed him with a loaded question. Suguru Geto thought of them all — Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Riko, Kuroi, his parents, Satoru — and his chest filled with an unbearable pain, but also an incredibly monumental love, so much that it felt like it would stretch and burst at the seams of his heart that could not contain it. He thought of his father again, reading him "Night on the Galactic Railroad" when he was young, and he thought of Satoru reading his own copy now during his leisure nights. He thought of Giovanni and Campanella, and of the Scorpio of the night sky, and of the nobility of sacrifice, of setting yourself on fire to warm the world.

Satosugu ｜Finalized｜Long fic｜Also being published in Portuguese and on AO3

Chapters: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII

Chapter VIII: if I had a flower for every time I thought of you

November 2007. Satoru Gojo was preparing to legally adopt Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro, the son and daughter of the man he killed. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain this story anytime soon — preferably never. Megumi had no idea what had happened: he grew up without his father, being looked after by his older sister Tsumiki, and assumed that his father had abandoned the family for whatever reason; he was too young to know the truth, and perhaps he would never really be ready to find out, although that was a problem for the very distant future.

Suguru Geto was sent to a village where reports of curse apparitions held the entire population hostage. It was a solo mission, which gave him plenty of time to read while on the almost empty train. “The Holy Man of Mount Koya”, by Izumi Kyouka, was his choice this time; Suguru wondered if the writer, who had described the monsters and creatures in his work so well, had the ability to see curses like sorcerers. The gentle movement of the train made him drowsy, and several times he had to pause reading in order to rest his eyes.

But currently, Suguru was not reading his book, rather he was following with discreet interest the cover of a passenger's newspaper that was diagonally in front of him. In it, he could see a photo of a woman with a scar on her forehead, and an empty-eyed smile. The title simply said “meet Kaori Itadori, the philanthropist who took Tokyo by surprise”. The name was familiar to him, and the scar on her forehead gave him a feeling of discomfort that was difficult to describe... Kaori Itadori, that is a different name. Geto mentally saved this information for later, once he realized that he was approaching the station where he should get off.

To say that this was a village would be a compliment: half a dozen houses far away from each other, divided into rural properties of farming families, and a few commercial buildings around the train station, were what made up the place. From the platform, he could see a market, some stores selling clothes, fishing gear and other utilities, and a small school. The person waiting for him was the leader of the village, a man with a nervous flare.

— Are you Suguru Geto? Come on, we're waiting... — the man said, hurriedly.

— Yes, it's nice to meet you, sir. I was sent by Tokyo Jujutsu High to solve this problem. Where are we going? — Geto tried to ask, politely.

— To the temple. That's where the problem lies. — that was the answer she got. An unreceptive public, and apparently, he wouldn't find a better explanation, he thought, as they walked up the streets towards the temple that was hidden in the mountains.

Night fell quickly, the deserted streets lit only by torches, in an extremely rudimentary way. Despite the place having electricity poles, all the lights in the city were turned off, everything was operating under the light of candles and torches as if time had gone back a hundred years in the past. The stillness that permeated the streets made him uneasy: it wasn’t only because of the silence of the people, their hushed voices even though fearful and curious eyes watched him through the curtains of the houses, but also the quietness of nature itself, in which there was no rustling of leaves produced by the wind, or the singing of birds or cicadas. Just absolute silence, periodically interrupted by the sounds of Geto and the village chief's footsteps on the dirt path, as they climbed a trail in the mountains.

He could feel the cursed energy of the curse hiding around the Shinto temple as soon as they passed through the torii, like a cloud of toxic miasma. There was also the energy of other people inside the decrepit temple: the wooden boards that formed the walls of the building were rotting, corroded by time and carelessness; parts of the roof were missing, and the grass grew wildly, never being mowed; it showed that the place had been abandoned by the village's inhabitants, which was probably the reason why a curse had appeared there. The ancient spirit of a protective god can deteriorate and become a curse when it is no longer worshiped, when all that’s left is the fear that fuels it. Red flowers grew through the path that led to the main building: higanbana, the flowers that grew in graveyards and through Hell; they were a symbol of abandonment, and of two lovers who part ways to never meet again. Geto felt a shiver down his spine when he thought of the latter meaning.

— How long has this place been abandoned? — Suguru asked.

The village leader lit a torch, the firelight partially illuminating his Gothic gargoyle-like face; Suddenly, Geto felt like the protagonist of the book he had read on the train, one of Izumi Kyouka's fantastic works. — About three years ago, since the old kannushi died.

An ofuda with the words “Temple of the Great Dragon” was pasted on the temple’s entrance door. Suguru stopped to read it while the leader unlocked the entrance. — What did he die of?

The man dodged his question. — Since the kannushi's death, the temple has been abandoned, and the crops have been burning, because of them.

— Them? — the doubt arose naturally, as they walked into the temple.

The village leader pointed in the opposite direction to the door, where some men were guarding a cage. Inside it, two girls (two children) were curled up, tied up to each other.

Right then, Suguru felt his blood boil as he had felt only once in his life, when Toji threatened Riko's life. Those two children couldn't be much older than Megumi Fushiguro, probably the same age as him; given their emaciated appearance, it was likely that they had both been tied up there for days and had not been fed. — What? What the fuck are you doing? Let them go now! — he ordered, pushing everyone away and using one of his spirits to break the cage's chains.

— They're doing this, these liars! It's the kannushi's daughters, they're lying! They say it was the great dragon... — someone shouted in the crowd, trying to hold Geto back, but he freed himself with a simple push, untying the ropes that tied the two girls.

— They're not doing anything, they're telling the truth! It was you who angered the temple’s god when you stopped worshiping him and you are being punished for it! — Suguru shouted, furious — All of you deserve this punishment, you deserve death!

His words echoed through the temple, reverberating through the silence. His body shook, filled with anger and hatred. He should kill them all; he should kill them like Gojo should have killed the goddamn members of the Time Vessel Association, he should exterminate all these vermin, these monkeys in this sick world, because people who planned to execute two children are not worthy of living. He should end it all at once. One hundred and twelve people who wouldn't make any difference to the world, on the contrary... The world would become a better place without them. It would be as easy as snapping his fingers.

But Suguru thought again and pitied them. He thought of how those vermins were so infimum in their ignorance that they were capable of committing such an atrocity out of fear; they weren't aware of anything, they didn't know that it was their own fear that fueled the curse, like he had discussed with Yuki Tsukumo. He thought about how they had the right to live their insignificant lives, how they were entitled to the meager joys that non-sorcerers, in their innate ignorance, deserved.

But most of all, Suguru Geto thought of Satoru Gojo. He thought about the promise they had made to each other: Satoru said he would be there for him when Suguru inevitably faltered. He thought about how he missed him, how he needed him, and how he wished he were there. He thought about last weekend, when they both took Megumi, the most insolent and ill-tempered five-year-old to ever walk the face of the Earth, to the zoo and how he wanted the rest of his life to be filled with happy moments like that one. He thought about how Satoru laughed at his own bad jokes, how he was guilty of always sending a thousand text messages at once until he got a reply, how Satoru slept, exhausted, with his head resting on his shoulder when they agreed to watch a movie, and of all the random gifts he got whenever Satoru said he thought of him, which happened more often than he could imagine.

He wished Satoru was there.

— Let's make a deal. I’ll exorcise the curse that is affecting your village... — Suguru suggested, cautiously — And in return, I will take these two children with me.

The inhabitants hesitantly looked at the village chief, who accepted the deal. Sending some of his spirits, Geto located the temple's curse and managed to exorcise it effortlessly, without even leaving where he stood. The sounds of the forest returned as he led the two girls to the train station, where they would still wait a few hours for the next train that would take them to Tokyo. Buying a bunch of chocolates and bottles of water from the station's vending machines, the two ate their first meal in days while he made a phone call.

It didn't take long for him to get an answer. Banalities and formalities aside, Suguru Geto got straight to the point: — Satoru… I need you now.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

hello! i was wondering if you could write the following request; you are a member of the Brotherhood, the most dangerous assassins league of Middle Earth. To say that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield is both impressed and intimidated is an understatement.

The Company/Reader: Killer Good Looks pt.1

Trigger Warnings: Referenced assault and child abuse, murder

----

To say you're an excellent fighter would be a gross understatement.

You're the very definition of a rogue; you like shiny things, you're stealthy, cunning, persuasive, what are we missing...? Oh! And you're also an infamous deadly assassin for hire, and you get hired alright.

You're wanted (in more ways than one), for people are always looking for someone to fulfill their dirty deeds for them.

Almost everything is on the table with you; you'll steal things for people (and yourself), kill if the price is right, infiltrate and lie, and many other things, however, there are some things off limits.

For example, you won't kill kids. You never have and you never will, you flat out refuse; you also don't sell yourself to others for pleasure or other things of inappropriate nature; and, most importantly of all, you don't kill those whom you have a relationship with (meaning you don't kill friends, though those are few and far between).

When you were but a child your parents sold you off to put bread on their table, and you knew nothing but torment from that moment on.

For months the lady's husband would sneak into your rooms at night, and she would always pretend not to notice; she took to releasing her frustrations out on you under the false pretense that you were an issue, beating you, berating you, yelling, abusing; they were horrible people taking advantage of a 10 year old child in every way imaginable.

You felt no remorse when you finally gathered the courage to slit their throats one night, and to this day you still don't.

The news of your deeds spread quickly, for they proved to be quite shocking and a wonderful topic for conversation.

A mere child servant manages to kill their masters unseen and unheard, escaping into the night never to be seen again? That would catch anyones attention. And it certainly caught the attention of The Brotherhood.

They found you, took you in, and honed your sloppy skills to make you into the perfect, lethal weapon.

You've killed more people than you can count, stolen more than even the richest man has, and lied to everyone you've ever met at least once.

It's safe to say that you're not exactly a stand up citizen.

Your name, as well as the name of the organization who taught you all you know, is well known throughout Middle Earth which is why you were, ultimately, employed to assist and protect the line of Durin in their journey to reclaim Erebor...

Except, unbeknownst to them, you have ulterior orders from The Brotherhood regarding the operation.

Once the dragon is either confirmed dead or slain and the mountain is reclaimed, you are to kill the Durin's (and anyone else who stands in your way) and claim the mountain for The Brotherhood.

When you were first given this assignment you had no qualms with it.

Yes, dwarfs are strong, brave, and resilient, but you are fast, intelligent, and one of the best fighters in the organization because of your early start and ability to disconnect yourself from almost every situation. Also, you don't know them, any of them, and you've never had trouble killing royal, powerful people before.

It was supposed to be easy.

You joined the group in a cute little place called The Shire in a hobbit hole belonging to one Bilbo Baggins, and when you met everyone you figured that killing them would be easy, but as time went on you began to forget about your mission.

Everything started out simple. You didn't talk much and they stayed away from you for the most part; partially out of intimidation, but also from reservations on disturbing you.

You're a private person, and they'd hate to make you dislike them by being nosy or prying.

Gandalf is the only one who knows of your past, but even knowing who you truly are, he never for a second suspected what your true purpose was.

It's around the time you all leave Rivendell and return to the road when things start to change.

Thorin wanted to keep a schedule and reach the Misty Mountains before the end of the 4th week, and halfway into the 4th, you're already there are the entrance to the mountain pass.

Because the group makes such excellent time Thorin chooses to reward the group with a day and night full of rest to spend restocking supplies, regrouping, and relaxing, which is something that benefits you all greatly.

By this point, you've worked up enough 'trust' to actually sleep in short bursts around them, and you take full advantage of this day of rest to regain your strength.

At some point during the night you manage to fall asleep, and hen you wake you find that you managed to pass out for a good 4 hours.

The very first thing you notice is Dwalin sitting not far from you, and the blanket draped over your resting form.

To say you're taken off guard would be an understatement, for you never expected to be treated with such tenderness (or at least, tenderness by your definition considering the life you've lead).

"Dwalin...?" You call after a time of looking ahead, wanting to find out his motivations.

His gaze snaps over to you and a small, greeting smile falls upon his lips, "Good evening. It is mid-night, I'm sure you'd like to know."

You glance briefly up at the sky and observe the position of the moon and stars and find that he's correct, then your gaze returns to his face. "I see. What are you doing over here, though?"

The balding dwarf looks a tad more sheepish when you ask your question, and his voice contains slight embarrassment, "Well, we know you don't much like sleeping around us, or in general, so I thought that keeping watch here may help you feel even a bit safer."

Those words shock you to your very core.

"You'll always be safe with us, you should know. You protect us in waking, so the least we can do is return the favor in sleeping."

Any and all responses that come to your mind in this moment seem inadequate in comparison to his declaration, so you're left sitting there looking at him with a blank, yet dumbfounded stare.

"You needn't say anything in response. I just thought you should know." Another smile graces upon his lips, and then his attention turns back out towards the darkened tree line surrounding the mini camp in a half circle. "Sleep more if the desire is to suddenly strike you."

And, for some odd reason, you do.

---

For the first time in what has to be years, you sleep through the night and do not wake again until the sun beckons you to do so.

When the first light shines through the trees and makes the forest sparkle with morning magic, you arise and find that a new dwarf, Ori, has taken the place of Dwalin.

A feeling, one that you can't identify, rises within you, and you find yourself unable to handle it.

"Ori." You greet curtly, "I am going to depart for a time. Expect me back in 20 minutes."

The young dwarf looks up at you and nods shallowly, not even entertaining the thought that you would need an escort. "Alright. Get back safely."

His words linger with you after you leave, for the act of being cared for is alien to you.

When was the last time someone genuinely cared for your well-being and not just what they would lose if you were to perish? When was the last time someone thought of you as a person who could be harmed instead of a weapon that maybe tarnished every-so-often?

These thoughts plague your mind as you go to search the game traps you lay around the camp the morning before, and you find that the prize is well worth the early journey.

3 rabbits, 2 squirrels, and a wild hog around 2 feet long and a foot wide. The hog you caught along the way, actually. It had been sniffing around one of the game traps you sent (the trap wouldn't have been strong enough to hold it anyways), and you wasted no time in throwing a dagger straight into its' head.

You string up the rabbits into a line of rope and carry the hog over your shoulders (it's really heavy, so you made sure to evenly distribute the weight), and then you head straight for the group with your prizes in hand.

When you enter the clearing you're noticed immediately, for the game hanging from your body draw a lot of attention.

"Odin's beard!" Gloin exclaims, jumping up from his spot once his eyes fall upon you, "Look at all of that!"

All eyes are on you as soon as the red-haired dwarf alerts them to your presence, but you maintain a mask of nothing even despite your discomfort with being the center of attention.

"Where did you get all that?" Fili calls, getting up and approaching you to help carry the load.

You shrug off the line of rabbits and squirrels to him when he begins to tug on it and bring the hog to the middle of the camp, dropping it down heavily.

Bombur looks up at you with a grand smile and praises you in his low, baritone voice, "Well will you look at that! Now that's a hog."

You dip your head in acknowledgement of his compliments and offer right after, "Do you want me to skin them?"

"Oh, no, no! You have done more enough for us, we can manage that at the very least." The older dwarf assures you, patting the fat belly of the swine, "Thank you, lass. We haven't had a commendable meal in months, so this will be a real treat."

You received so many compliments and acclimations that you almost began to blush, but that's an unconscious ability that had left you a long time ago.

Everyone traveled with full bellies that afternoon, and there was plenty of leftovers to last everyone well into the next day as well.

Things like this are seldom the topic of talk or praise in the organization you work for, and you can never rely on anyone. You're all thieves, after all. Liars, tricksters, murderers... how could you trust someone like that to have your back? But... somehow, they trust you to protect them and their precious royal friends.

You: the liar, trickster, and murderer.

They sleep in your presence as if you hadn't stolen millions in treasure, product, and money; as if you hadn't killed a quarter of the people you've met in your lifetime. They trust you, the real you (or at least the realest version of you that there is), and it's a truly foreign feeling.

Of course, even though these good feelings long since lost to you have returned for a time, you keep yourself in check with the thoughts of what they would do to you if they found about your true intentions.

The images of their betrayed, angry faces, the disgust that would shine in their eyes when they realize what you're truly capable of... you're always sure to not lose sight of your end goal; the Mountain of Erebor and its' lost treasure. If you're to fail, you're certain that you'll be killed (either by the dwarfs or The Brotherhood), so you don't even entertain the thought of abandoning your mission.

---

Later in the day, during the trek up those horrible, treacherous mountains, you're approached by Bofur, the hat wearing dwarf with a smile more contagious than any sickness.

"Hello." You greet curtly when he falls into step beside you, eyeing him in your peripherals. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, no." He shakes his head no and reaches up to straighten his fur hat, "You just looked a little lonely, is all."

Lonely, huh?

You don't reply right away and look ahead with your usual blank expression and dull eyes, though you do feel an uncomfortable, appreciative feeling swell inside of you. "I am not lonely." You inform him matter-of-factly, though when you glance down at his face you see that your words have slightly hurt his feelings.

Your heart twists slightly painfully when you see his saddened countenance, and before you can even think about it you're blurting out, "But I welcome the company regardless."

His frown is immediately replaced with a brilliant smile and his eyes positively shine with enthusiasm; you never thought your acceptance would garner such a reaction from him (much less anyone for that matter).

The dwarf practically talks your ear off while the 15 of you travel up the Misty Mountains, telling you everything he possibly can about his homeland, family, and feelings regarding the journey (as well as other things), and while all this incessant blathering would normally irk you, you actually find that you quite like it.

Bofur's excited speech does eventually die down when it starts to rain, though, for he and yourself both think it safer to concentrate on the hike as its level of danger grows.

It isn't long before night falls, and once it does the rain becomes a much more dangerous obstacle.

There is lower visibility and the rocks become horribly slippery, though neither of these things could ever hope to top the giant stone beasts that begin to battle right in front of you all.

The stone giants don't seem notice any of you, and if they do then they simply don't care, and you all barely escape with your lives. They throw huge boulders bigger than any building you've ever seen, and their hand-to-hand combat leaves you all shaking against the mountainside, fearful of falling to your deaths as you sway every which way.

To your, and everyone else's luck and great joy, a little cave in the mountainside appears before you all (after a horrible death scare with half of the company), and it becomes your resting spot for the night.

You, like usual, choose a spot closest to the cave entrance with rock that covers both your back and left side and fall asleep effortlessly. You plan on only resting for four or so hours, hopefully until the rain passes, and then you can resume watch so the others may regain their strength (they're heavier and bigger than you, so they need more rest and food).

Those 4 hours (and an extra half!) pass by without issue and your internal clock eventually wakes you up.

One of the first things you see when your eyes flutter open is the stone ceiling of the cave hovering above you, and the next is Bofur who sits in the little watch spot right across from your sleeping area.

You sit up as soon as your sleep addled mind clears and your blurry eyes gain focus and call softly, "Bofur, go ahead and take a rest. I can resume your watch."

The dwarf jumps slightly when your soft voice breaks through the silence and reaches out to him, but he doesn't move to get up. Instead, a small smile upturns the corners of his lips and he whispers back, "No, you do a watch of your own every night and refuse to wake anyone else up often enough. Please, go back to sleep."

He noticed that?

You can't even keep the surprise from your face, for your eyes widen almost imperceptibly and your lips part slightly. "I..." You've been shocked speechless, something that you thought impossible.

"We have all noticed, in case you're wondering. Now, go ahead and resume sleep. I've still got another 30 minutes of watch."

And, for some reason, you don't protest.

Sleep calls to you and tugs at your eyelids, making them heavy and causing your eyes to burn. What spell have they put you under to make you tired again under a simple command, you wonder?

You fall back asleep despite yourself, but it doesn't last long, for within 20 minutes after Bilbo tries to leave and the storm begins to quiet, the floor opens beneath you all and swallows everyone whole.

[itsclydebitches]

Hi! I was just watching good omens and I came up with some questions, but I didn't know whom to ask, so I was digging around for go analysis blogs and found you. *takes a breath* So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why Heaven's camera angles are the way they are. I noticed that, in heaven, the camera tends to focus on the characters' heads specifically, so they fill most of the screen. Either it's a meta reason or a reference to something (like Newt with the Office) that I'm not getting. That's the main thing, but I've also wondered why exactly Aziraphale uses the verb "fraternize" in the 19th century. It seemed an odd pivot from caring about Crowley's safety to Heaven's rules. Thanks so much!

Hello! Omg yes, let's talk Good Omens cinematography.

First, the obligatory Analysis Disclaimer: I doubt there's a specific interpretation that you're just not getting, some singular, "correct" reading of the scene(s). Two years past release, I'm positive the fandom as a whole has come up with plenty of ideas (I mostly hang on the periphery. I'm far from up to date with GO meta), but any and all of it will, by nature, be subjective. Thus, all I can offer is my own, personal interpretation.

So for me? It's about intimacy.

Not intimacy in the sense of friendship, but rather the broad idea of closeness. Confidentiality. Emotion. Knowledge. Understanding by means of literally getting into the thick of these conversations. I love the camerawork in Heaven (and elsewhere) because the camera itself acts like a person — an additional party to these interactions. And, since we're the ones watching this show via the camera, it makes it feel as if we're peeking into scenes that are otherwise private. Obviously all cinematography does this to a certain extent, the camera is always watching someone or something without acknowledging that we're doing the watching (outside of documentary-esque filmmaking), but GO uses angles and closeups to mimic another person observing these scenes, someone other than the characters involved.

The easiest example I can give here is when Michael makes their call to Ligur. Here, the camera is positioned up on the next landing of the staircase, as if we're sneaking a look down at this otherwise secret call. There's even a moment when the camera pans to the right to look at them through the gap in the railing, briefly obscuring Michael from our view.

Here, a standard expectation of any scene — keep your character in focus — is done away with to instead mimic the movements of someone actually hiding in the stairwell, listening in on the conversation. It creates that feeling of intimacy, as if we're really there with Michael, not just watching Michael through a screen. The camerawork acts like a person overhearing an illicit conversation prior to falling back on mid/closeup shots. We're spying on them.

To give a non-Heaven example, the camera helps us connect with Aziraphale during Gabriel's jogging scene. It's hard to show through screenshots, but if you re-watch you'll see that the camera initially keeps them both in the frame with full body shots, allowing us to compare things like Gabriel's unadorned gray workout clothes with Aziraphale's more stylish outfit; one's good jogging form and the other's awkward shuffle. However, this distance also creates the sense that we're jogging with them, we're keeping pace.

That is, until Aziraphale begins to lag. Then the camera lags too, giving them both the chance to catch up, so to speak.

Until, finally, Aziraphale has to stop completely and the camera, of course, stops with him. We're emotionally attuned to Aziraphale, not Gabriel, and the camerawork reflects that. Even more-so when we cut to a low shot of Gabriel's annoyed huff at having to stop at all, making him appear larger and more imposing. Because to Aziraphale, he is.

This work carries over into Heaven's other scenes. The closeups are pretty much a given since, whether it's Gabriel realizing Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with Crowley (more on that below!), or Aziraphale choosing to go back to Earth, the scenes in Heaven are incredibly important to the narrative. Closeups allow the viewer to get a good read on each character's emotional state — focusing on minute facial changes as opposed to overall body language — and that fly-on-the-wall feeling is increased as we literally get an up close and personal look at these pivotal moments.

Compare a shot like this one of Gabriel to the line of angels ready for battle. We don't get closeups on any of their faces because their emotions aren't important. Yes, that's in part because they're background characters, not main characters, but a lack of emotion — their willingness to enter this war without question — is also the point of their presence in this scene. So they remain a semi-identical, nearly faceless mass that runs off into infinity down that hallway, not any individual whose inner life we get a peek at via a closeup.

I particularly like Aziraphale's conversation with the angel... general? Idk what to call this guy. He's just gonna be Mustache Angel. But, getting back on track, his scene has a lot of over the shoulder shots which, admittedly, are pretty common. From a practical perspective they're used to help the audience situate both characters in the scene — you're here, you're there, this is how you're spaced during this conversation — but it can also help emphasize that closeness between them. Keeping both characters in the shot connects them and though Aziraphale and Mustache Angel definitely aren't on the same page here, those shots help cue us in to the unwanted intimacy of this moment. They're both angels... even though Aziraphale no longer aligns himself with them. They're both soldiers in a war... but Aziraphale will not fight. This angel has a list of Aziraphale's secrets, including that he once had a flaming sword and lost it... but Aziraphale doesn't want to admit those circumstances to him. This angel wouldn't understand, even if he did. Intimacy here, connection and closeness, is something discomforting because Aziraphale can no longer embrace those similarities. They put him (and us) out of sorts, so when we get them both in frame, that connection creates tension, not relief.

And many of those over the shoulder shots are given sharp angels, or the camera is placed too close to the "off screen" party. Compare a shot like Luke and Rey to Aziraphale and Mustache Angel. Here, Luke is a clean, solid line on the left side of the screen, just enough there to cue us in to where he is in relationship to Ray, In contrast, Mustache Angel's mustache is Too Close and proves rather distracting. Rey and Luke are connecting here over being Jedi with responsibilities to uphold (or at least, Luke will acknowledge that connection later lol); Mustache Angel is forcing a connection with Aziraphale that makes everyone uncomfortable.

We are too close to him here. He feels too close to Aziraphale too. This whole conversation is upsetting and discomforting, pushing Aziraphale to finally choose which side he's on (his own with Crowley). The shots aren't meant to subtly keep the audience from getting lost and then otherwise be unobtrusive, we're supposed to be Very Aware of this angel's body and how close he's getting to the character we've come to identify with — both literally (he's leaning in) and in terms of forcing Aziraphale to finally make his choice.

When Mustache Angel marches forward and gets all up in Aziraphale's face, the camera positions itself behind Aziraphale in a way that makes it feel like we're hiding behind him, with Aziraphale taking up far more of the screen than Luke does. Like the scene with Michael or running with Gabriel, the camera often likes to mimic a "realistic" response to these events. This angry, shouty angel is getting closer, best take a step back and stay out of sight behind Aziraphale, holding his ground.

These closeups also serve as a nice contrast to the wide and longshots we get of Heaven. It's an imposing place with skyscrapers in the distance, lots of steel, immaculate floors, and endless white. It's overwhelming and it's cold. But then we cut to those mid-shots of Gabriel and Michael, telling us that they're in control of it all.

Aziraphale? Aziraphale is not in control. Not now, anyway. When he appears in Heaven we get a longshot to show off this endless void and he's just another, tiny speck in it. If he weren't flailing around — an acting move that likewise helps sell how out of his depth he is — it's unlikely you'd even notice him. Aziraphale's clothing and hair blends in perfectly with the background. He's forgettable. Easily overlooked. Someone to underestimate. And when he moves, he has to come to the camera. We don't cut to Aziraphale to establish control like we do with Gabriel. He's left to awkwardly shuffle up to Mustache Angel until he's finally come into view.

Yet when Aziraphale makes his decision, he aligns himself with the brightest, most colorful, most interesting thing in the room: Earth. Earth, with all its messy individuality, is the antithesis to Heaven's controlled uniformity and a bright blue orb hanging in the midst of all this white helps remind us of that. Aziraphale rejects becoming one of the identical soldiers and instead literally reaches out for the one thing in Heaven that doesn't fit in.

When he leaves, we get an extreme closeup for the first time. Mustache Angel is pissed and as such we not only get a good look at his face in the aftermath of Aziraphale's choice, but that extreme closeup on his mouth as he's shouting too. It's like he's shouting directly at us, the viewer who is currently cheering on Aziraphale's decision. There's a war, dammit... but we don't care. Not in the way he cares, anyway.

So there's a lot! And I could probably go on, but apparently I'm only allowed to add 10 images per post now (tumblr what the actual fuck if anyone knows a way around this please share!) and I've already had to merge a bunch of images like an animal. So let's awkwardly finish up with the duck pond scene.

...without a GIF because they apparently count as images too 🙃

Simply put, I don't think Aziraphale bringing up fraternizing is a pivot from one to the other — from caring about Crowley to caring about Heaven's rules. I mean yes, Aziraphale is lagging behind Crowley in terms of rebellion and a part of him is, at this point, absolutely concerned with how he'll come across to the higherups, but that worry doesn't stem solely from a (now very shaky) desire to obey for the sake of obeying. The thing is, Aziraphale's disobedience is, by default, also Crowley's disobedience. If they're friends and they're ever found out, they'll both get in trouble. Which, we know from the end of Season One, basically means being wiped from existence. That's horrifying! And it's a horror that threatens them both. I don't think Aziraphale cares about rules for the sake of rules; after all, he started off by giving away his sword, lying to God, is currently meeting with Crowley anyway... this angel has always ignored/bent the rules — established and implied — that don't suit him. Rather, he cares about the rules if he thinks they have a chance of being enforced. If there will be consequences for breaking and bending them. This is still about caring for Crowley (as well as saving his own, angelic skin). If they're found out, Crowley dies. And, as we the viewer learn, Heaven was indeed observing them that whole time. There was always legitimate risk attached to this relationship. Aziraphale's fear, hesitance, and at times forceful pleas to stop this stem as much from Aziraphale worrying about Crowley's safety as they do a learned instinct to obey the rules without question. He pushes to end the relationship because the relationship threatens the only thing Aziraphale cares about more than that: Crowley himself.

As for the term "fraternizing," that's a loaded one! I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but suffice to say it has military roots: to sympathize as brothers with an opponent. That is literally what Crowley and Aziraphale are doing. They are an angel and a demon, supposedly innate enemies, supposedly poised for an inevitable war... yet they've formed an incredibly strong kinship. They've both learned to love their enemy, the thing every army fears because, well, then your army won't fight (just as Aziraphale won't). However, beyond the enemy implications, "to fraternize" eventually took on a sexual meaning: to not merely love as a brother, but to lay with the enemy too, usually women from enemy countries (because, you know, heteronormativity). Nowadays, "to fraternize" often implies a sexual component. I've been rewatching The Good Wife lately and in one subplot, the State's Attorney cracks down on fraternization in his office. He doesn't mean his employees are forming bonds with assumed enemies, he means his employees are having sex on his office couch. So Aziraphale's phrasing here carries a LOT of weight. He's both reminding Crowley of their stations in the world — you are a demon, I am an angel, us meeting like this can have formal, irrevocable consequences for us both — as well as, given the fact that this is a love story, drawing attention to the depth of this relationship. They love one another, as more than just friends. Though whether Crowley's scathing "Fraternizing?" is a response to Aziraphale falling back on the technicalities of their positions, or acknowledging a love he's yet to overtly admit and commit to — or both! — is definitely up for debate.

[jjuzoir]

Homare Arisugawa General HCS

request: “Hi Sora! I never see any art/writing for my boy Homare from A3! (Maybe because his dialogue is so ridiculous.) Would you mind writing something for him?” from tlali

a/n: ahhh i don’t think i’ve ever taken so long in a request jdjdndnd but i just wanted to make it right because i love homare so much❕ he deserves everything and more i just HDHSJJA we need more homare love 🤬 his dialogue is hilarious and i feel like we need to appreciate his style more no more homare slander 🙅

word count: 1667

- He smells like earl gray tea. No one knows why since he uses unscented soaps, he says it’s probably because he spends most of his time drinking or around tea.

- He’s very particular about his hair, he uses very specific shampoos and conditioners that he will absolutely not share or change unless he notices his hair needs it. Talking about his hair, it’s naturally kind of dry so he uses a lot of hydrating products which leaves him with the softest, most fluffy hair ever. It’s like touching a cloud.

- One of his favorite gifts given to him is a tie given to him as a birthday gift by his members. Everyone pitched it, including Izumi, and Azuma picked it out. It’s black, much like his everyday tie, but it’s got a small embroidered snowflake.

- He’s got three main pairs of glasses; his everyday ones he keeps at hand when he goes out, his at home ones which are (according to him) less flattering, and his driving ones. Keep in mind he can’t drive, he doesn’t even own a car.

- He can speak french and latin, and he’s super loud about it too. He’ll sometimes slip in french phrases and no one will understand other than Chikage and it’s just a mess - Muku is always so amazed that he knows two other languages too and probably asks him to teach him sometime.

- Definitely has the prettiest handwriting when it comes to the roman alphabet, he writes in ink and with fancy pens that cost more than Banri’s tuition.

- Absolutely has a bunch of business cards printed out, each with its own quote made by him. Sakyo thought it was such a waste printing them until he realized that no matter how many Homare took when he went to run errands he always gave them all, to whom? No one knows.

- He’s very well respected in the literary community, which still shocks pretty much everyone. He gets stopped often by fans or people who’ve read his work, it happens at least once a day and Izumi really doesn’t… she doesn’t understand, poor girl.

- He’s not that good with phone calls, he’s not bad but he definitely prefers texting or just talking face to face. To him there’s just a certain level of discontent he doesn’t like that doesn’t exist in other mediums.

- His favorite shows are either comedies or heavy hitting detective shows, there is no inbetween. You’ll walk in on him watching a sitcom leave the room and walk in on a serial killer chase down.

- About his love for detective shows, his favorite pastime is trying to solve the mysteries with the main character. He’ll rewatch the episode so many times to try and pick up clues, he’ll take notes and come to a conclusion and he loves the feeling of getting it right.

- In the same spirit as the statement above, absolutely got Tsumugi and Sakyo hooked on some of his favorites and they hang out to talk about the latest episodes and the overarching mystery. The conversations can tend to get kind of heavy very quick, more than once Muku thought they were investigating a real crime and almost fainted.

- He looks like he’s probably allergic to wool sweaters, they make his skin itch and he always needs to use a shirt underneath them - so he tends to buy those expensive anti-allergic ones that need to be washed in a very specific way that could probably pay Tsuzuru’s whole college debt and it takes a lot of restraint from the playwright not to steal one and sell in the black market.

- Talking about Tsuzuru, he often gives him writing advice. Said advice tends to be very useful, like keeping a pen and notebook on him in case anything comes to mind during the day or writing daily to help ease him into a style, etc. Homare genuinely wants him to bloom into a writer and is willing to beta-read anything Minagi needs, be it a script or a sleep deprived rambling about the gay subtext in Nocturnity.

- Arisugawa sets himself reading goals each month, he likes to read at least one book. He prefers poetry books or classic english literature, but he also likes to read romance books or really bizarre dystopian novels.

- Has read more books than most people in the company and can give very detailed recommendations if you give him like a day.

- Sings operas in the shower, unless stopped he will keep going until the second act. Surprisingly good falsetto, but one time Tenma thought it was a Banshee for a second and almost cried into Juza’s chest.

- He’s not only an overly emotional drunk but also a loud drunk, he’s already quite loud but when he’s downed half a bottle of wine and a shot of vodka he’s louder than the Summer Troupe combined. Because of this, Izumi tends to restrict his alcohol intake when they’re at the dorm.

- I can see him being very big into musicals, not all musicals but a very specific niche; classic horror novels turned into musicals. He’s a very big fan of both the German and Korean versions of Dracula, his favorite song is probably “Zu Ende” or the Korean version of “It’s Over”. He also likes the Frankenstein musical too, but overall he finds Junsu’s Dracula more interesting thus his preference.

- He will talk your ear off if you mention any musical though, be it a classic like Phantom or something newer like Heathers.

- A very big fan of Ghibli movies, he told me so himself today. He really likes Spirited Away though, it’s a movie he’s watched so many times but he’s still completely enamoured by it; he probably has made the Winter Troupe watch it at least once and Hisoka definitely knows the beginning of the movie by heart now.

- Homare is also really good at drawing, not like Kazunari but he’s probably the second best. He learned by analyzing and looking at artists he admired and picking up on their techniques. A true Renaissance Man™️.

- I feel like he’d also have a bunch of skills that are kind of, useless? He can probably carve wood and make candles, he also took a course in glass blowing probably. Arisugawa just wants to try everything at least once, his motto is probably to explore and learn as much as possible, not just about art but the world (he can be surprisingly smart if you have a dictionary at hand).

- Very observant, just in general. Which can be both good and bad, it’s good because it helps him understand the situation in ways others might not but it leads to him to sometimes overthinking things and behaving in manners which may annoy or hurt others.

- He also has a hard time trying to react to social cues, as seen in game, with certain people. While he’s worked it out with the Winter troupe and the Mankai company he still struggles when it comes to new people.

- Will make little tunes he sings in the shower that kind of become a little daily song, each day there’s a new one he’ll hum.

- He also canonly makes music and he makes contemporary electro-pop, you cannot change my mind. He probably also mixes opera and classical music into his tunes, which can go from 1 minute to 10, so you end up with a very cool mix of orchestra and techno-pop - it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but he’s probably got his own niche group.

- Now, into more romantic HCs...

- He’s a good flirt, a very good flirt. They may sound weird looking back at it, but his pickup lines work and they work well.

- He knows when to stop pursuing someone too. He senses even a bit of discomfort and he’s backing away, won’t ask anything. Very big on consent and unless stated absolutely explicitly he’ll keep his distance.

- A true gentleman, please - he’ll never let his dates pay, always open the doors for them, will even do the “walk on the inside of the sidewalk” when he’s walking you home.

- His favorite dates tend to be ones where you get to know more about each other, not always necessarily by talking though. Being able to go into a bookstore and look at the books, seeing the ones you pick, what you pick at a cafe or restaurant, it all helps him draw a better picture of who you are and he likes to think it helps you get to know him better too.

- He’s very in tune with his S/O’s feelings but is afraid of overstepping any boundaries which may lead to some miscommunication at the beginning of the relationship. But it’s workable and it wouldn’t be that big an issue in the long run as long as his partner is willing to help him understand them.

- Not big on PDA, thinks certain things should remain inside - not to say he wouldn’t talk for hours about his partner to anyone who listens but things like kissing or hugs tend to be behind closed doors. He’s okay with hand holding and maybe a kiss on the cheek though!

- Likes wearing matching outfits with his S/O, thinks it shows how they’re “one in spirit, heart, and mind” and will not stop pointing it out to the point even married couples feel single as they hear him ramble on about the subtle coordination in your color schemes to create a perfect contrast.

- Notices the smallest things like how much sugar you like in your drinks, the telltale signs of when you’re lying or uncomfortable, how you act when you’re too cold or too hot, and learns it by heart.

- Homare is also the kind of boyfriend who’d confront the waiter if they get your order wrong, he’s not ashamed of it either.

- He kind of just wants to make sure you’re doing well and happy, he’s a gentleman.

- Damn… I love him so much

[yandere-daydreams]

What if the obey me brothers has a compliant darling? Like one who dosent see the the point in fighting if they're always gonna lose, but makes it oblivious they dont love the boys?

I try to avoid including any more than four characters in one piece, but,,, I may have made an exception, for this drabble. From Lucifer’s perspective, of course, because we love to see an older brother fret over his siblings’ toys.

Title: Observations.

TW: Imprisonment, Implied Physical/Emotional Abuse, Implied Learned Helplessness, and Delusional Mindsets.

~

Lucifer never claimed to be the most observant of his brothers.

He simply was.

That, unlike many things in his pride-addled mind, was a fact he could prove, something he didn’t have to reassure himself of because he never had a reason to question it. Demons tended in recede inwards with age, sink into their own desires, their own wants, and it made them clumsy, sloppy, indulgent, for lack of a kinder way to put it. Their perception warped, bent, twisted around themselves until all that was left was Mammon’s endless schemes or Beelzebub’s one-track mind or Belphegor’s reckless (often murderous) abandon. Lucifer kept himself sharp, kept himself responsible, for the sake of his family, if nothing else. He kept his eyes open. That might’ve been why he was the first to see your potential, when you first came to the Devildom, why he was the first one to see what a threat you’d be able to pose to his stability. That’s why he was the first to see how easy it’d be to love you, why he kept himself guarded for much, much longer than the others did.

That’s why he was the only one to see how miserable you were, when it turned out it wouldn’t be so effortless for you to love him back.

Them, really, you couldn’t love them. As much as he’d like to think he still had a special place in your mind, if not your heart, he knew it couldn’t be easy to have a demon pursuing you, let alone seven. You’d been uncomfortable with it, at first, rebuffing their more aggressive advances with breathy laughs and enough platonic affection to keep them momentarily appeased, but after discomfort came unease, and after unease came fear, white-hot and panicked and unmaskable, despite your attempts to hide yourself away from the rest of the House of Lamentation whenever you started to crack under the stress. 

It’d been a trying time, both as an older brother and one of your many suitors. He’d wanted to send you away. He recognized that you were unhappy, that you could never be happy in the Devildom, that you could never be happy with him, but whenever he found himself at Diavolo’s door ready to plead for your dismissal, his words always seemed to fall short. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit searching for solutions that’d put you at a distance, but wouldn’t put you out of reach - moving you into Purgatory Hall, turning your room into a well-cursed haven, building a cage in the corner of his room and shoving you inside of it - but plans could be abandoned and goals could be delayed. Part of it was his own selfishness, his own lingering desire to have you despite your hastening deterioration, but it was something more than that, too. Something almost altruistic, if you looked at it in the right light.

He was the oldest. The title came with responsibilities, and while he had an obligation to keep you safe, he had no such dedication to your happiness. His brothers, on the other hand, were owed that. He’d promised them that.

He’d soothed Beelzebub by telling him that you wouldn’t be thrown back into a world as volatile and as dangerous as the one you’d come from, not without him and not for very long.

He’d pledged to Asmodeus that he’d get at least a moment with you, if not more, when he voiced his concerns about who was dominating your time and who deserved to.

He’d swore to Belphegor that it wouldn’t come to that, when he suggested that he could solve your most recent string of poor behavior with a few ‘love taps’, as he’d put it.

He had obligations, and you’d made the mistake of catching too many eyes in too little time. Lucifer could hardly be blamed for doing what you’d forced him to do, when you refused to come along without a struggle.

To your credit, you’d never fought. You were out of your depth, but you hadn’t gone mad. From the second he let himself into your bedroom while you were still desperately trying to bandage Mammon’s latest ‘love bite’ without an extra pair of hands, you’d never raised your voice, never interrupted him, never lashed out. You’d sat in polite, timid silence as he explained, as gently as he could, that you wouldn’t be able to go home - or, you wouldn’t be able to return to your old home, rather. He’d tried to be rational, tried to treat the change like a necessity, but as soon as you started crying those rebellious, frustrating tears, his head was in your lap and he was apologizing, pleading, begging, his thoughts turning ragged and his words turning senseless until you fell silent and he could allow himself to do the same. You were merciful enough not to speak it again, but he never let himself forget. It was proof that you made him weak, evidence that you made him vulnerable.

Confirmation that he couldn’t afford to let you go, even if he wanted to.

It wasn’t like you ever openly defied him, either. Your temper grew short sometimes, sure, and you’d often be dragged into his office by a brother with a complaint about the idle threat you’d made or the ugly name you’d called him, but you never tried to run, never tried to attack, never tried to resist beyond your sharp tongue and the occasional glare. If he’d been as blind as his brothers, he might’ve been able to convince himself you were just being stubborn. That you were just childish, that you were just a brat, but Lucifer doubted he’d ever be arrogant enough to ignore the way you trembled when Leviathan took you by the wait, how you were so quick to glower and shrink into yourself whenever Mammon made a comment about how you were finally coming to your senses. It didn’t help that his room was the closest to yours, and he was so-often tasked with watching over you during the night. If he couldn’t hear you sobbing through the walls, it was only because you were balled up in the corner of his bedroom, spitting sentiments so vile, he wouldn’t be able to repeat them with a clear conscious. It was a privilege, in a way, to be the only one who really knew just how much you loathed him, but the cut ran deeper than the catharsis. He doubted any of the others would be so understanding, if you were so honest with them.

You were miserable. It was so apparent in everything you did, so obvious, he had to wonder how he was the only one who’d noticed. He spent so long in that rut, wasted so much time consumed by guilt, he’d manage to forget he had the nasty habit of selling his brothers short.

They knew. Of course they knew. They’d always known, and they still know, now.

They just don’t care.

Mammon doesn’t care if you glare, not when he doesn’t have to see your face while he’s holding you close.

Leviathan doesn’t care if you writhe and squirm, not when he can easily split his attention between whatever game he’s playing and clinging to you so tightly, you’ll have to sit still if you want to make it through the night without a broken bone.

Satan doesn’t care if you yell, if you scream, if you hate him. You can’t speak with his hand around your throat, and he’s more than happy to show you just how breakable the human body can be, under the right care.

But their poor, poor older brother, always so concerned, always so nervous, even if he thinks he can hide his anxiety under a scowl and a brow so furrowed, even Belphegor is starting to grow sympathetic. They all have their spats, their fights, but you’re so soft and lovable and you’re all theirs, now, whether or not you like it. He just hasn’t had a chance to break you in for himself, yet.

It’d be a shame not to show him how fun it is to play with you, especially when you try to fight back.

[saphirered]

The Wizard and the Warrior

Boy it’s been busy. Double shifts whenever I’ve been free and uni starting again have really been a hassle but I managed to get in some writing so I hope you enjoy this final instalment of the Eldritch Knight series! Was going to split this one in two parts but didn’t work out so sorry for that. Hope you like it! 😘

You didn’t know what to expect when you were pulled through the world away from the homey Xhorhaus but you definitely didn’t expect the sound of waves in the distance and seagulls, the subtile smell of salt water and sand and an ocean breeze to hit you when you reappeared. Upon your vision taking in the new surroundings you find yourself standing under one of the opal archways looking out over a covered market selling all sorts of goods from street foods and drinks to knickknacks and jewellery, merchants calling for the attention of the people strolling about, negotiating prices or shouting their latest discount to pull in new customers. You’re in Nicodranas. 

Essek knew he made the right decision when he sees the joy and excitement on your face. His feet tap the ground and he walks instead of floating, not wanting to draw any more attention that necessary and instead just enjoy these moments with you without the possibility of people finding out who you really are. Today you’d just be normal people without the weight of the world balanced on your shoulders. Today you got to be ordinary tourists exploring a city you otherwise never could. Nobody knows you’d be here. 

You stroll about the market arm in arm moving from shop to shop and stand to stand inspecting wares, admiring them and listening to the stories the merchants tried to sell you. Both of you knew better and were able to easily distinguish truth from lies but that didn’t mean you didn’t like playing along every so often. 

When you reached near the end of the market square the canopies started leaving gaps and eventually disappeared. Essek did his best to hide his winces whenever the sunlight was particularly bright. The sun was setting but it would still be another hour or so until it was fully set and he might have underestimated the brightness of the light. He didn’t let it bother him and pulled through. The slight discomfort is one-hundred percent worth looking upon your face as you bartered with another merchant. 

Essek was partially blinded from where he stood while you browsed the wares of a man selling all sorts of curiosities but he couldn’t really move elsewhere without leaving your side or stepping into the path of walking people so he stuck and stayed relying on his hearing instead. You were bartering with the man as he put prices to the things you showed interest in and you tried to get a better price because you were fully aware you could get something similar if not the same for much cheaper. Essek couldn’t do anything but admire your skill and careful navigation of this encounter showing you had not left your wits with your armour back in Rosohna.

Once you got a good deal you bought your findings; a wide sheer shawl more like a thin blanket to wrap around your shoulders as you knew upon nightfall the breeze could bring a chill, a decorated silver bracelet with an inset purple gem that showed silver specks like stars whenever it caught the light just right and something else… Once done you pulled Essek aside into the full cover of one of the canopies and Essek was thankful for the break.

You’d expected Essek to have broken or admitted to his discomfort before when you noticed him wince every time the canopy lifted upon the wind and allowed the sun to bleed through right where he stood. You knew drow senses are attuned to darker spaces and in turn therefor experience a sensitivity to daylight. 

“Will you stop being stubborn and just admit when something bothers you?” You say sternly as Essek rubs his eyes to get rid of the dark spots clouding his vision. When he sees the look you give him he bites his lip in shame. Apparently he hadn’t done such a good job of hiding it after all. 

“I may not be able to do anything about the sunlight but I can do this.” You take out a parasol of a dark grey almost black colour with ornate lace designs added to it. It does enough to shield those under from the light and should prevent Essek from experiencing downsides of his drow heritage. Before he can protest you link your arm with his again holding the parasol above the two of you and shield yourselves from the light. 

“Don’t worry. You can thank me by providing your company over a meal with me until the sun sets and we can go outside again without you burning off your retinas. I know just the place.” You smile as you begin leading Essek away to a different part of the city. You may not be the most familiar with Nicodranas but you know how to get to most places you’ve been before. You know your way from this market square to the Lavish Chateau so you begin leading Essek in that direction. 

“There’s a great fish and chips shop on the way near Tidepeak I don’t think that kind of street food is really your style.” You say as the Tidepeak comes into view. 

—————

Meanwhile the Nein and Verin stumble out into the teleportation circle room at the Tidepeak. They cracked the code and figured it out based on the list of places Verin had found among Essek’s notes. They knew exactly where Essek was going so it wouldn’t be much effort to find you two right? What harm has a little spying ever done to anyone? Maybe don’t answer that question. They had come for their own reasons be that to watch an epic romance unravel, dig up some dirt to tease or blackmail either of you with, or simply to keep the others in check. 

“Shit. Should we have send a message?” Jester panics looking around for the goblin that usually helps them on their way and informs Yussa of their arrival. 

“Not again.” Beau exclaims in exasperation. Yes again. And again they explain to Wensforth this is a matter of the utmost importance and expediency and they couldn’t have sent a message beforehand or lost too much time. Wensforth luckily for them didn’t have it within him to question their strange reasonings as he escorted them out of the tower and left the to their business.

—————

Within the Lavish Chateau you found out Essek had made a reservation and the guards and servers seemed to be extremely welcoming and attentive to the both of you for some reason you raised an eyebrow when a top shelf bottle of wine was brought out and left at your table once your glasses were poured and you awaited your food. 

“Do I want to ask how you did all this?” You swirl your finger around gesturing to your surroundings. “Because last I was here, not even the daughter of the Ruby of the Sea and her friends get this kind of attendance.” 

“Then perhaps it’s best you don’t ask.” Essek smiles proudly. 

“How many of the Nicodranian nobility have cleared their debt with the Dynasty or reminded of their indiscretions then?” You ask giving him a look over your glass as you take a sip of delicious wine. Top shelf really is worth it. 

“I thought you weren’t going to ask.” You hook your ankle around his from under the table and pull your leg back, Essek briefly loses balance but not enough to throw him off and fall from his seat. He gives you a disapproving and teasing look as you laugh. Food is served and just like everything, it’s perfect. Essek really put in the work to make this all happen and if the sunlight hadn’t thrown you off his schedule you can’t even fantom what else he had planed for your date. Though, he didn’t seem to mind the change of plans a single bit. 

Pleasant conversation about everything and nothing all the same, asking questions so trivial you didn’t think Essek would ever even have been capable of being so relaxed and free of responsibility. When it falls silent for a second and Essek catches you staring at him in thought he studies you closer.

“What?” Essek asks as you hum. 

“Just thinking?” 

“A copper for your thoughts then?” Essek puts his glass down. He doesn’t want to pry or ask out of turn but he is curious as of what got that dreamy expression on your face when you retreated within your own mind for that moment. 

“All of them?” You grin.

“If you are willing to reveal them.” Essek returns to your surprise, fully aware of the meaning behind your words and yet he still plays along. These kind of moments are rare with Essek unless you are completely alone so you’ll revel in the fact that he lets go like he does right now and hope you’d be able to see this side more often.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get all flustered upon my voicing certain thoughts.” You tease, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans in on his elbows on the table and tilts his head amused. 

“Then perhaps keep it limited to your most recent ones? For now at least.” You snort and almost choke on the sip of wine you took bur recover quickly. You definitely didn’t see that one coming.

“Oh so he does play the game in public without shame. You are full of surprises today, aren’t you?” You drop the teasing and turn to your observation. “I was just thinking I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree. I’d love to see this side of you more often if you’ll let me.” The teasing drops from Essek’s face and his expression turns into one of genuine affection. 

“I’d love nothing more.” Your glasses are refilled as the crowd begins gathering for the performance of the Ruby of the Sea.

—————

The Mighty Nein and Verin follow Jester leading them from place to place on the list but no matter how much they search they can’t find you. Last they heard you were seen buying some stuff from a merchant and then nothing so they had resorted to going down the list until they’d found you but still nothing. Over an hour had passed and the sun long since set, lanterns lit to lead the ways.

They search high and low following the list Verin had found but don’t find you and Essek anywhere. Nicordanas is a big city and turns out finding a buff pretty person and a hot boi drow are a lot harder to find than they initially thought. So, having given up the search they instead turn to a place to drink and wallow in self pity for not spying on the date. Jester knows just the place… No better place than the Lavish Chateau. Maybe her mom will even perform tonight! 

When they reach the Lavish Chateau the crowd’s already gathering but with sheer determination and the threatening of some they make it through and find a table, their drinks served as Jester goes off to say hi to her mom before the performance. Then of course Verin and Beau ask about a couple, describing you and Essek having come through here. Instead they’re pointed to a private table out of the direct sight of the entrance but in full view of what is to be the Ruby’s performance space, and if Beau knows anything, a really really expensive bottle of wine shared between the two of you as you sit around laughing and engaging in happy conversation.

As they watch, Essek and you suddenly being the most interesting thing in the entire room they notice a blush creeping up your face as you twirl one of the flowers in your hair returning an equally daring comment of your own, your fingers dancing over the back of Essek’s hand outstretched towards you until he closes his hand and grasps them. You gasp and giggle as he intwines your fingers with his and you making a comment that sends a deep purple crawling up the wizard’s cheeks. The Nein watch, some swooning at the cuteness, the others in surprise and a hint of disgust akin to that of watching your sibling be sugary sweet romantic with their partner you do not want to witness, and the rest like encouraging friends glad their friends have found happiness within each other. 

The performance is about to begin and you spot a blue tiefling running down the stairs as quick as she can darting to one of the tables. You already had the feeling you were being watched for the past fifteen minutes but thought nothing of it as since no action was taken yet and the crowd grew, if it were assassins or the likes again, they’d have come for you before as to not make a scene. Getting confirmation your friends had tracked you to Nicodranas and found you here. You’re not surprised but rather impressed and the addition of what clearly looks like a drow soldier of some repute with features similar to Essek lead you to believe this must be his infamous brother he’d been complaining about plenty of times. You move your chair as if to get a better view of the performance to come and sit right next to Essek. You weren’t the only one who noticed them.

“Do you think they know we know they’re here.” Essek leans into your shoulder as he speaks.

“No. Not this time but if you weren’t so caught up in admiring me you’d have noticed them first.” You lean in closer, whispering into his ear as you speak. 

“You are quite distracting.” Essek defends with a laugh. 

“I’ve seen Beau and your brother gag and complain twice now. Is this the point where we return the favour and give them a show to remember?” You suggest with a glint of mischief within your eyes. 

“How could I refuse?” Essek’s word are enough for you to further provoke the Nein and take it up a notch, or several. 

“Tell me if something makes you uncomfortable and I’ll stop.” You halt your teasing and allow your tone to turn more serious. Essek does the same when you do. 

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Essek doesn’t know if it’s the wine or your shared desire to make them suffer for interrupting your date like they did. Probably the latter. Most definitely the latter. Let them squirm. 

The Ruby comes down the stairs singing and everyone hangs onto her every word, her entire being like she’s a siren from the depths ready to lure in hopeless sailors. As her performance continues you move yourself closer to Essek until your sides are pressed together. Essek’s arm wraps around you pulling you close into his side and to your surprise, onto his lap. You lean your head against his shoulder and whisper sweet nothings, as you play with the fingers of his free hand lovingly. You pay attention to the performance, little attention needed for this display of affection as it comes surprisingly natural and unrestrained to the both of you. 

You lift your head and lean towards Essek, but an inch away from his lips, making eye contact as you whisper something to him but the Nein can’t hear over the singing and you’re too far away to lip read for anyone. It’s so frustrating but holy hells, they never knew Essek had a romantic bone in his body, let alone the guts to drop his composed and emotionally constipated side completely around you. They definitely didn’t see this coming and even Beau could relate to Jester’s possible ideas of turning this into some kind of smutty romance novel because that’s what it looked like. 

When you leaned back, always teasing and never close enough to actually kiss, you watched the performance more. Both you and Essek admired the show the Ruby was putting on. Her song as beautiful as she is but you might have connected with her a little more than anyone else in the room because when she passed your table and saw you and Essek she gave you a knowing smile. A knowing smile that showed she knew exactly when a performance was being put on, the courtesan’s ability to read people shining through once more when she winked at you before she turned around and found her way to the table of the Nein, distracting them from you and pulling the attention to herself. 

Essek was surprised and didn’t really know what to make of what just happened but next he knows he’s being pulled away from his seat by you and dragged to a side exit, abandoning the table mid performance. Out in the street you take off running and then it hits him; a moment of privacy. You played everyone, even him in the end when you appeared to have your attention fully on the Ruby of the Sea but instead you had a nonverbal agreement with the woman. Regardless of his thoughts you kept running towards the eastern edge of the city, through the gates and to the beach. Freedom. 

The moon and stars and city lights within the walls as your light source you pulled Essek along to the shoreline, laughing your asses off. You’ll have to remember to give Marion a big thanks next time you see her. Once safely away from the city sure you’re far enough away from the city you slow your pace and walk side by side along the beach.

“As clever as ever.” Essek compliments as you bump your shoulder into his with a grin. You offer Essek a hand as you climb over some rocks blocking your path. Essek takes it but instead of climbing he just hoovers over without any difficulty. 

“While, I’d gladly take credit I think you deserve at least half. Did you see the looks on their faces?” Your laughter rings like chimes in reminisce of your friends. It’s music to Essek’s ears. 

“I could never forget.” You stop and lower yourself onto the sand, gently pulling Essek’s arm inviting him to join. He does and sits down next to you as stare at him.

“Today was a good day. We should do this more often.” You sigh in content. There’s just something about the drow and the starry night sky behind him that makes him look so ethereal, you could look at him for ages and never get bored. 

“Being run out of a city by our friends for a moment of privacy?” Essek deadpans and you playfully shove him.

“While it was certainly eventful I think I could do without uninvited company next time.” In comfortable silence you both watch the view. Moon reflecting on the ocean, sound of gentle push and pull of the water against the shore and the thousands of stars scattered throughout the sky giving the both of you a sense of warmth and comfort. 

“You certainly found your courage tonight. I never thought you capable of such intimate displays of affection.” You comment and Essek turns his gaze to you. Despite the low light you notice the slight darkening of his cheeks a he takes in a breath. 

“I partially blame the determination to push my brother’s buttons.” You snort.

“And the other part?” Essek decides to humour you with and answer even though you hadn’t expected one. 

“You, as my partner in crime as some might say, made it easy to put on such a display. Though, I will admit to not being so open and frivolous in my affection with an audience, I did enjoy them nonetheless.” 

“Well then, I’m glad my frivolous affection brings you joy.” You say and Essek is about to correct himself for his words but stops when he notices you holding back your smile. You know exactly what he meant and when Essek notices it’s his turn to gently shove you. You gasp even though you’re physically unmoved. 

“Aren’y you all courage tonight? Careful now or I’ll toss you into the ocean.” You jest. 

“It seems both of us have not been lacking any courage this night.” Essek comments and he’s right. With the antics of the day, and your grand escape, you might never have had it been any other situation. You really did enjoy it and wouldn’t change a single thing. Well, maybe add something but there’s no time like the present so maybe you’ll just ask. 

“Then, in a bout of courage, I will ask you this. May I kiss you?” Essek does a double take in case he heard your words wrong but the expression written all over you confirms he has in fact heard you loud and clear. Still he doesn’t miss a beat in his answer. He’s already made up his min. 

“You certainly may.” With that you close your eyes and lean in placing your lips onto Essek’s in a gentle kiss. No pretend, no faked lust or intimacy but honest, clear and unrestrained emotion. When you pull away you’re both smiling like fools. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You whisper as Essek leans in carefully to kiss you this time, lips moving together in a slightly deeper kiss. His hand finds your cheek holding your face lightly caressing a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“I could say the same.” Essek speaks when you pull apart for a moment, foreheads leaning against each other. Many more kisses follow, varying from gentle and sweet to passionate and deep, whatever suits your needs. You have no intention of getting off this beach near Nicodranas any time soon nor do you have anywhere to be so here you’ll stay enjoying each other’s company until the sun rises. 

From behind the rocks not too far away, eight people watch the wizard and the warrior finally do what some of them had hoped they would in the months they’ve gotten closer. Others are turning away while maybe peaking through at times, solely to see their friends happy with each other despite the chaos of the world but not without going right back to quieting their gagging noises of ‘not wanting to see the people who they consider their family making out’. 

“Oh my god! This is going to be so good, you guys. They’re so cute!” Jester whispers already taking notes and working out the story in her head. It’s going to be an epic love tale of two star-crossed lovers for sure. Maybe she can question you on the more spicier details later, get this book to sell at the Chastity's Nook some day? 

“Ugh. Let’s go. I can’t watch this any longer. Drinks?” Verin doesn’t resist and follows Beau, Yasha and Fjord back to Nicodranas. Caduceus has a bit more difficult of a time to drag the cleric and rogue away as the latter enabling her actions instead of giving you some much deserved privacy. He succeeds eventually leaving you and Essek behind to enjoy the rest of your night with a smile. Nothing better than people finding their own happiness. 

[giorno-plays-piano]

Soooo first of I'm really REALLY happy that I've found your blog and your writing is AMAZING ❤️ And I wanted to ask for a Yandere! Loki x Reader maybe? Were the reader just has a normal life but then Loki sees her while the battle in New York and he can't get her out of his head. And he decides to kidnap her and bring her somewhere nobody can find her. (Sorry if there are mistakes English is not my native language 😅)

Thank you so much, dear! I'm so sorry for being slow with requests. I hope you will enjoy this one! Btw I’m not a native either, but I think your English is totally good 😌

Of gods and monsters

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking, kidnapping, allusion to non-con.

Words: 1165.

P.S. Of course, I just had to include one of those overused quotes 🙄

____________

Watching you sleep became one of his favorite things a long time ago, but watching you sleep on a magnificent, enormously big canopy bed meters away from him gave Loki a very different kind of satisfaction: he thought the feeling of owning you could explain it, but there was something else to it, something he couldn’t quite comprehend.

When he first saw you, it was barely the time to get distracted: Chitauri were flooding into New York, and he was fighting Avengers to complete his glorious mission. Yet that was the moment when Loki spotted a lone woman sitting on a bench near a small fountain, a book in her hands when she stared somewhere in front of her, not moving yet showing no great distress. You just sat there, in the heat of the battle, with Chitauri flying over your head on their vehicles. Strangely, you were unharmed while everything around you was promptly getting destroyed.

You reminded Loki of a sacred statue, an ancient deity carved in stone, silent and cold. You cared little for destruction and death surrounding you, deaf to sharp cries of pain and screams. Frozen in place, you were staring into the abyss, and the abyss didn’t frighten you.

Of course, much later, when the Avengers were defeated and Loki gained control over the Earth, he learnt that time you were under heavy medication, indifferent to the world surrounding you, but he didn’t change his mind, watching you secretly from afar. No, you were exactly who he saw you were, and the more he watched, the more Loki knew he couldn’t just leave you among those pathetic human beings surrounding you.

When you shifted slightly beneath the silky rose blanket, his gaze returned to your peaceful face, and Loki sensed you finally waking up: the sleep potion he gave you wasn’t a strong one, but, locked in a human body, you needed a gentle treatment.

Moving your head on a pillow, you covered your eyes with your palm, rubbing the skin a little before you slowly got up; the curves of your body now on display because of a shiny see-through fabric of the ivory nightgown Loki dressed you in. Enjoying the view, he smiled when he realized the potion was still working: your movements were slow and clumsy; you didn’t ever register waking up not in your own bed.

“Did you sleep well?” He raised his voice once he spotted you trying to stand on your shaky legs, and you slowly sat down, turning your head to him.

You were looking at him with almost the same eyes you looked at the fountain that day in New York.

“I did.” You muttered in a quiet voice, observing the man you saw for a first time in your life silently. “Thank you.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, he stood up from his place and headed to you nonchalantly, giving you a chance to look at him in all his glory: enveloped in warm, dozy light, he was that God the short-sighted, foolish humans had always been searching for. But you weren’t one of them, he knew, and he wasn’t surprised when he saw the blank expression on your face instead of adoration and fawning. You were above all that.

“Who are you?”

You were still quiet when you asked Loki a question, and he felt a strange satisfaction seeing you reacting with such grace. When he stayed silent, your eyes starting darting towards the room if you could call this space a room at all. Of course, you had never been to Asgard and could barely imagine what it was like: a place he brought you to looked like something in between a huge hall and cherry gardens lit with light as if Loki brought the sun inside. There was even a little pond surrounded by pale marble stones, and you could see something gleaming in the water. With a lavish, dark-wooden canopy bed, dressers and vanity, it all looked breathtakingly beautiful, but... fake, phantasmagoric, like a composition in an art museum, carefully constructed but having no connection to reality. It was as if this place were frozen in time.

“You have always liked Greek myths, haven’t you?” Loki said, stopping only when he reached your bed and sat close to you, bringing his hand to the back of your neck and softly brushing his fingers against your warm skin. "I remember you had so many books about ancient gods. If I piled them up, they could reach the selling of your apartment."

For the first time, Loki felt you trembling just a little at the mention of your apartment and clear implication that he had been there. Funny, but the fact you were a little scared of him now gave him satisfaction, too, and the way you looked at him told the man you started being aware what exactly was happening.

"What was your most favorite myth, once again?"

Slightly massaging the back of your neck, he then set his hands on your bare shoulders, squeezing them tight until you tensed; he started rubbing them once he felt you flinching. Loki didn't need you to answer his question: he knew well you loved the story of Hades and Persephone. It seemed amusing, if not ridiculous to him that people find this barbaric ritual romantic, but maybe it was for the best: if you liked this odd tradition so much, Loki decided you would find his gesture sympathetic and even compassionate.

Despite the fact you were now aware the man close to you was not a human being, you looked at him with dignity, "Are you a god of the dead, then?"

"Sometimes I am." Tilting his head and letting his long black hair fall on your bare shoulder, Loki touched your cheek with his thumb, and you felt his breath on your skin. "You don't have to worry, I'm not dragging you to Hell, darling, though I won't let you return back to Earth either. This 9 to 3 months rule seems quite silly to me."

"Back to Earth?"

He saw the confusion and visible discomfort on your face when you realized you weren't even in your own realm, and a wicked, sadistic pleasure rose somewhere inside his chest; pure joy washing over him once the realization hit you. There was only one God in front of whom people of Earth were kneeling now.

"Why are you frightened? I expected more from a girl who didn't run from death in New York." You got up on your still shaky legs with Loki watching you with a wide green on his face when you grabbed the headboard, almost falling down: were you truly thinking of escaping him now?

Oh, he was enjoying it so much more than he thought he would. Maybe there was something in that silly myth you humans loved so much, finally.

"If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

____________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks

[myketheartista]

The Masquerade: How They Came To Be

This is a small headcanon type of thing that I thought of the morning after the stream, so I’m obviously obsessed with these two so much to the point where I made lore for how Sir Billiam and his butler met. To make things easier on myself, I just called the butler Ranboo since I didn’t want to mess too much with canon by giving him a new name. 

***Warnings: Light violence, mentions of killing/death, manipulation (from the egg, but just thought I’d include it just in case)***

**Please remember that this is not canon. I took some liberties and assumed a few things based on prior knowledge. Oh, and don’t take things out of context. This is NOT shipping, and I’m putting this here because I know some people will question the way I write them interacting. I don’t condone any shipping with Ranboo or Techno, and that goes for any and all characters they play.

Please enjoy! And leave your thoughts if you’d like :)

Billiam finds the egg. Builds the mansion around it to keep it safe and hidden because it seems like something bizarre enough that could earn him a good sum of money. Sell pieces of it, get rich, live a long, good life swimming in wealth.

He wants to see what it does too, but the more time he spends with it, the more corrupts his mind becomes. Soft whispers that scratch at the walls of his head, telling him to give-- give himself, give others, just give to the egg. And in the beginning stages, it isn’t so bad. He just sees the egg as something valuable. Value slowly transitions into a sort of obsession. He must protect it, feed it, take care of it so no one else will hurt it. If he helps the egg, it’ll help him.

So when he finds a young boy wandering through the endless sea of trees surrounding his estate, he grows a bit defensive. It’s just some random kid, an inch or two shorter than Billiam with messy chocolate brown hair and a dazed look in his eyes (Oh, and he’s definitely lower than a commoner, just look at the mess he is!). Tattered clothes, no shoes, patches of dirt dusting his face and hands; he’s an awful sight. But a peculiar one at best with the notable pointed ears and extra set of canines fitted snug next to the original pair. Whatever he is, Billiam knows that he isn’t a threat, and he can recognize that much through the fog clouding his brain telling him to get rid of this unwelcomed stranger. More than anything, he pities him, and a frown crosses his lips when he tries to get some answers out of the kid, but he’s met with a confused tilt of the head and awkward silence. Well, by observing his overall condition, Billiam concludes that he has no where to go.

So...he takes him in. Not because he cares! He really shouldn’t and doesn’t care for someone of such low status, but seeing Ranboo scarf down a whole plate of whatever Billiam could find along with some cake and a few glasses of water makes him feel a bit uneasy...about- about how much food he can eat, yes, of course. If he’s going to be staying here, he can’t go around eating everything they have. He’ll have to set some ground rules for this new guest. Such as throwing out those old clothes and giving him one of his own dress shirts and a well-made vest he never ended up wearing. Ranboo asks him for help with his tie much too often, and that’s something that should aggravate him, (inability to do anything on his own, how annoying) but he finds himself walking Ranboo through the process each time he’s called for. All the while, as he helps this kid learn the ropes and shows him around, those harsh whispers demand he stop. Get rid of him. He stares at Ranboo, the boy who can’t even speak the language of this planet, can’t remember where he came from, hates eye contact and taking showers, doesn’t even know what he is, and he wonders how the egg could even tell him to kill someone as innocent as him.

Billiam decides he’ll be his butler. Ranboo doesn’t protest since he doesn’t even know what a butler is, but he agrees without complaint. Some conversation over dinner that turned into a fake contract that neither of them signed, but Billiam made the deal that Ranboo can stay if he does his part which was simply obeying him when he asked for the butler. This...quickly got out of hand. Whenever there’s a party and a handful of guests crowd through the front doors, Billiam makes it known that he has a butler, and a very bad one at that. Calls him in that sing-song voice and requests he fetch their new arrivals some wine only to degrade him and claim he’s going a week without food afterwards. Ranboo really doesn’t mind, partially because he can’t even refuse or talk back due to the limitations of his knowledge of the unfamiliar language of this place, but he’s also become a bit dedicated to serving Billiam. The man practically saved his life and gave him everything he could want. When he is allowed to speak, he’s always asking how many words since that’ll guide him towards forming a more accurate sentence with letters and syllables he’s not used to. More often than not, he sticks to humming his responses to make it easier on himself. Even then, there’s not much to worry about. He’s bad with social interaction and the guests rarely pay attention to him, so he often hides in the corner as they all participate in their games and conversations regarding the economy. The more he excludes himself, the more he misses the frequent disappearances of the guests. He never questions Billiam where they went, why they left so early into the evening, why the mansion has terrible lighting problems, (they should get that fixed, it’s quite troublesome) he just enjoys the eventual peace and quiet that fills their home once everyone is gone. 

The parties increase throughout the months that Ranboo resides there. It’s exhausting being a butler when all he’s required to do is follow people’s orders-- how does Billiam do it? He’s the one who hosts them, greets everyone, plans the festivities and everything. He should ask him about that sometime. Instead of pestering him, he finds himself watching from the stairs as Billiam catches up with yet another group of friends. Hm...why doesn’t he just invite the same people over? Being rich must make you a lot of friends. But these people seem snobby and annoying. Ranboo doesn’t like them very much. He prefers to stay the way he is, and if that means he remains a “commoner”, then so be it. Billiam, on the other hand, doesn’t mind stepping into a new character every time he hosts one of these masquerades. The weird airy sound to his voice makes him appear friendlier, more trustworthy, but it always makes Ranboo put a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter. It’s utterly ridiculous and almost childish, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.

He enjoys the soft conversations they share in their far too big of a home when things are back to normal (And when did he start calling it their home?). They usually pass the time by Ranboo asking questions and Billiam responding to the best of his ability which makes him seem smarter than he probably is. But for someone who can’t seem to remember where they came from or how to communicate, Ranboo is grateful for anything Billiam can give him.

So one night, when he thinks they’ve grown close enough to where Ranboo can consider them friends, he wanders the mansion to find Billiam-- wants to ask him something, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s been months since he’s lived here, and he thinks he knows every nook and cranny of the mansion but…the longer he stares at that duplicate of a spider painting Billiam apparently commissioned someone to make despite the same painting hanging just a few feet over, he starts to feel an itch in the back of his mind. And when he finds the courage to move it aside, finds a secret entrance to a room he’s never seen before, he’s honestly baffled. The atmosphere of the room makes him feel off, and that itch starts to grow, manifests into a voice trying to peel through his thoughts and gain control. It makes him feel...uncomfortable…wrong. And when he sees Billiam standing at the end of the room, back facing him while he stares at a large red mass with vines trailing off of it, up the walls and across the floor tangling around Billiam’s feet, that discomfort shifts to something a little colder. He wanders into the room with light feet and a dry mouth, struggling to get his voice to work.

“Sir?”

The word doesn’t feel as foreign as other words do since it’s the one thing he’s gotten the hang of saying. He sees the visible tension build in Billiam’s shoulders and watches him turn around slowly to look at him, a chill trickling down his spine when he spots the sword in his hand. He gets no response, just a rather lifeless stare from Billiam. He speaks up again.

“Sir, what are you doing?”

It’s as if he was stuck in some sort of trance cause in an instant, a soft smile breaks out onto Billiam’s face and he gestures at Ranboo.

“What wonderful timing! Come closer, I’d like to show you something.”

Ranboo feels strange, but he pushes down the crippling sensation of dread pooling in his stomach and walks up to settle next to Billiam. He feels the light touch of a hand on his back, tensing up as he stares at the oddly shaped...something before them.

“What is this?”

Billiam looks so giddy when he hears the question.

“It’s the egg.”

And Ranboo breaks away from the “egg” to stare at Billiam.

“Pardon?”

Billiam looks at him, and it’s now that Ranboo notices the glint in his eye, the way his once brown irises swirl with red, and the look he gives him reminds him of the expression he wore when they first met.

Pity.

“My dear butler, it’s the egg! It’s a truly magnificent thing, is it not?”

And Ranboo can only stare awkwardly between the egg and the man who he’s lived with all of his life because what the hell is he going on about?

“I, uh,... I don’t seem to understand.”

Billiam’s expression softens, still holding that little ounce of pity that Ranboo has begun to dislike.

“You’ll understand soon enough. Come.”

And the hand on his back gently pushes him forward, guiding him as they walk, and Ranboo feels his heels involuntarily drag against the stone floor, putting up some resistance. That pool of dread begins to manifest into something else. An icy, prickling puddle of fear. Billiam is putting himself behind him as Ranboo draws closer to the egg, and the whispering only grows louder, clawing at his brain and sending a jolt of pain to his skull as it screams at him. It’s becoming too much, it hurts, but Billiam’s hand seems to latch onto the back of his vest, twisting and pushing him downwards just inches from the egg to where he’s on his knees and his hands are planted on the cold concrete below him. He realizes, as goosebumps trail up his arms and his eyes begin to sting, that he’s never quite felt fear before up until now. He doesn’t like it too much. All he can do is stare at the red in front of him, watch as the little vines underneath his hands sprout up from the cracks of the floor and curl around his fingers. The grip on his vest tightens, and he’s painfully reminded who’s doing this to him.

“Do you hear it?”

He just nods, exhaling shakily and struggling to take in any air as the panic settles inside of his chest.

“It’s loud.” He voice wavers as it comes out weak and afraid, and he hears Billiam hum, pleased with the answer.

“What’s it saying?”

And he can’t respond because he doesn’t know, it’s speaking a language he’s never heard, he can’t translate it. He feels the urge to hurt, to kill, to follow, to obey, feels fingers digging into his brain and pulling him forward as if he understands what it’s saying after all, but it all seems like gibberish to him. He feels nothing but everything at once. The grip on his vest tugs lightly, and he swallows thickly.

“I...I don’t know.” 

He can practically feel the disappointment radiating off of Billiam when he gives the answer, and he suddenly regrets saying anything at all. He hears Billiam shift and the grip loosens by just a hair.

“Is he not worthy?” Billiam mutters to himself, but…it sounds like it’s directed to someone. Some thing. Ranboo doesn’t know, but it’s said so quietly and sounds…sad. After a few seconds of silence and Ranboo watching those tiny red vines curiously curl even more around his fingers and onto his hand in an attempt to travel up his wrist, he feels the hand leave his back. A sigh escapes him, and he goes to push himself off of the ground to sit on his knees, but a sharp pain quickly replaces the hand, breaking through the layers of fabric and grazing the skin of his back. A strangled noise crawls out of his throat and he ducks his head, trying to arch his back away from the tip of the sword angled towards him.

“Sir?” He sounds so pathetic, so desperate, he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions but he feels like he’s about to be killed by the man who took him in and that’s certainly not settling well in his stomach. Billiam remains silent and that’s what scares him because silence doesn’t seem like a good thing, especially in a situation such as this. The silence lasts for what seems like minutes, but he hears a frustrated huff come from behind him and the sword disappears from his back right when he thinks it’ll slip through him.

“Stand up.”

Ranboo is quick to obey, ignoring the trembling in his legs and wringing his hands together to calm the light shaking that’s taken over them. He hesitantly turns to look at Billiam who’s staring back at him with those red eyes that seem a bit duller this time around. He wants to back away when Billiam moves towards him, but his feet refuse to move and a hand comes down on his shoulder, gentle and somewhat comforting despite the situation.

“You don’t feel anything?”

It seems like he’s desperate now, looking for an answer that will settle the uncertainty bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and red eyes beginning to lose their glow. Somewhat back to normal. Ranboo pauses for a long moment, hesitant, terrified, legs shaking and throat closing up at the thought of what Billiam will do if he receives an answer he isn’t particularly fond of.

“...No.”

It takes his entire body to force the word out because even though he was on his knees moments ago, pleading that he’d wake up, that this was just a very intense dream where everything felt too real for his liking, somewhere deep down he believes Billiam won’t be mad and kill him right where he stands. That expression only reassures him because it’s coming from the only person he knows to trust.

Billiam sighs again and looks down, a bit defeated, maybe even confused because what is he to do now? He can’t even go through with sacrificing this kid he’s grown a damn attachment to and that’s a problem. If he isn’t the one to admit it, the egg is there to remind him. His hand slides down Ranboo’s arm, hanging limply by his side as his voice grows quiet.

“Do you trust me?”

And Ranboo doesn’t have anything else to say but the immediate “Yes.” that follows. Billiam looks up at him, a bit surprised but gaze a tad softer than it was before.

“What was your name again?”

Ranboo’s hands wring together some more, and he mindlessly picks at the vines that have embedded themselves into his skin. He goes to speak, but his tongue falls differently against the roof of his mouth and clicks against his teeth in a way that Billiam won’t understand. And even though that ends up being true, Billiam still smiles at him and a trickle of warmth spreads throughout Ranboo’s chest.

“Just do as I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Ranboo can’t find it in him to defy what Billiam says.

So when he gives him the sword and tells him to kill the guests that enter their home, he does so without question. He follows his commands as gentle as they are, and he listens to the garbled whispering brushing the edges of his mind. And if his eyes appear a bit redder when he goes to look in the mirror, he doesn’t bring it up to Billiam. He still picks at those little red vines that have melded into his skin as he watches the larger vines of the egg curl around the bodies he’s dragged to this secret room, hidden away from any curious eyes. And throughout the ruthless killings and Ranboo’s slow descent into madness, Billiam continues to treat him the same way, apologizing later on for the small scar on his back. He simply shrugs the apology off and gives him a smile, dragging…what was his name again? James? The name rings a bell, but he disregards the vague feeling of guilt crawling its way into his chest and continues to drag him away by the legs.

Even when he goes back to get Karl and sees the edges of his body disintegrating into little white speckles of what looks like dust, he doesn’t question it or show Billiam. Delivers his body to the egg regardless of whatever strange deterioration Karl’s body was undergoing. Another party, another meal for the egg. As long as Billiam is happy, so is his loyal butler.

[serpentstole]

Luciferian Challenge: Day 11

Do you believe in hell? What kind of place do you think it is?

I’d put down my belief in hell as a bit of a hand wobble and an dubiously confident “sure”. The ceremonial magic goes hand in hand with a belief in demons, given how often they pop up in those grimoires, and I suppose they have to live somewhere? And Dante’s Inferno has some fantastic imagery, to be sure. However, I don’t give a great deal of thought to hell and definitely don’t believe in the whole fire and brimstone punishing sinners for eternity sort of situation. 

As that’s another short n’ boring one, I’ve chosen this from the pile of bonus questions! There wasn’t really anything that was a similar topic so I just kind of grabbed one that didn’t look like it would go with anything else.

Do you call yourself a pagan? Do you call yourself “spiritual?”

I do sometimes call myself pagan, though it’s typically my way of being covert about my actual religious leanings. If you look like a bit of an esoteric weirdo, or you hang out with a bunch of wiccans and other neo-pagans, sometimes it’s just easier to say “yeah, I’m pagan” rather than explain that you’re a theistic luciferian with a side of Dionysus who has an animistic world view. Especially if I worry they’ll stop listening after that first one. 

I have sometimes joked to people that I feel too pagan for other Luciferians and Satanists, and two “satanic” for other pagans. I often worry about voicing my religious affinity within neo-pagan spaces… but especially Wiccan ones… due to how often they’ve had to repeat that they do not worship the devil, they have never worshiped the devil, and they do not even believe in Satan or Lucifer. Wiccans (and other modern witch types) have been striving to dodge the assumptions about Luciferians and theistic Satanists that the general public makes for so long that I genuinely worry I’d be seen as “giving them a bad name” or as some fringe edgy weirdo if I was open about it.

I will say though that this is my own fears and observations on how the topic of Satan or Lucifer is handled in those spaces, rather than something proven to me by a negative experience. For example, @tyetknot is completely lovely about my religious leanings, though he once accused me of dressing like I was trying to sell him a book on how to become a living god for 49.99. To this day I’m still recovering from that burn. 

Meanwhile, I think a lot of agnostics, Christian type folks, and even atheists are to the point where they have an easier time accepting the idea of someone being pagan than they do someone identifying as a Luciferian. This I do have some experience with, as my parents were fine (if not a little condescending) with my being a Wiccan, but showed some discomfort when the very idea of Satanism and Luciferianism was mentioned in passing during a conversation.

As far as identifying as “spiritual” goes, I kind of dislike that term. I don’t love the connotations it carries (as in the whole, “I’m not religious, I’m spiritual” thing). While I would absolutely believe that’s an accurate descriptor for some peoples’ beliefs, that phrase (or variations of it) always feels like it comes with this whiff of new agey shenanigans.

[appendingfic]

Sooo...

@c2ndy2c1d​ made a pretty fantastic comic, Rockababy (found here), which I would totally recommend reading. And if you can, bookmark and comment on it - good creator engagement can help them with further development on the comic, and I selfishly want to see more.

And I was really inspired and was in a place in my writing cycle that I wanted some (3,500 words worth of) shipping fic so.

I hope y’all enjoy!

Observation 

Rating: T

Fandom: Rockababy

Ship: Richie/Shifty

Summary: The facts are undeniable - Richie has been watching Shifty very closely. To what purpose, however, Shifty is determined to find out.

Shifty was sitting at his workbench, but unlike other times, there was no gadget or technology to work with at it. Just a notebook - identical to the dozens Richie kept in his room, observations on aliens - more detailed, now, that he had regular access to all the species that had found their way to Earth.

Identical in all respects except for one.

This notebook's contents were exclusively about <I>Shifty</I>. He steeled himself to open the book again, page through notes that were both more detailed and less focused than he was used to from Richie's writings.

"Not ticklish," was scratched out, bold letters next to it reading, "Ticklish at base of spine/tail - DO NOT TOUCH". Richie had inadvertently (Shifty hoped) discovered that fact during one of their photo sessions, documenting the regrowth of Shifty's tail. The memory almost brought a smile to Shifty's face - Richie had been mortified, blushing as he apologized fervently from across the room when Shifty had nearly bolted off the exam table at the touch.

"Has a sense of humor", another page read. "Not slapstick - not observational. Absurd? Smiled at a pun - denied it BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH". Shifty actually smiled at that.

Another was a list of foods, apparently random unless you had been studying Shifty's tastes. Next to the word "Chocolate" was a doodle of Shifty's natural face, frowning. The discovery Shifty didn't like chocolate had seemingly depressed Richie, and Shifty still wasn't certain if he'd disappointed Richie by failing to enjoy that particular human treat. The page after that was another apparently random list of foods, again, unless you'd been trying to determine what foods Shifty liked. Six fruits were circled, lines drawn from them to a margin where Richie had written "FRUIT", and, next to it, "even Durian?" There was a doodle of Shifty's face - natural, again - smiling next to the word "peanut butter", and a line drawn between that and "bananas", a wholly intriguing proposition Shifty vowed to explore later.

There was something crossed out with heavy lines next to the word "suckers" - the only letters Shifty could make out were "OR-" and "-IXA-", and the tail end of a question mark. As he had no idea what the note could have been, he left it alone.

Especially as there were other, more puzzling notes filling the notebook. A list of numbers which had been mystifying until Shifty recognized one as his normal body temperature, at which point, the others included a startlingly accurate indicator of at what temperature Shifty started feeling cold. There was a number underlined several times, which Shifty recognized as the temperature the fever he'd had two months ago had pushed him to, and a rambling series of notes that Shifty recognized as documenting Richie's frenzied attempts at treatment when Shifty had finally admitted he was sick (not that the NESB didn't have perfectly adequate medical care, but Richie had been adamant Shifty shouldn't have to recuperate in their medical lab or, as Shifty had suggested, handle it himself). 

Dozens of drawings - of the patterns on Shifty's skin, of his hands, of his tail. Detail of his face - or attempts, as Richie had scribbled over each one. Shifty stared at one such attempt for a moment before flipping to find the doodles next to the lists of Shifty's favorite and least favorite foods. Looking at those drawings, he couldn't pinpoint what had frustrated Richie about the others - the disappointed frown on drawn Shifty's face felt true to life, and while Shifty didn't see his own smile much, the delighted cartoon Shifty looked - much the way he felt when one of his friends drew a smile out of him.

The notes were clearly the work of months of observation - most, if not all, of the period of their...acquaintanceship (friendship. They were friends. The first people who'd seen his natural form and agreed to raid a corporate lab to rescue an infant alien were his friends). And Richie must have been keeping it with him most of the time, as Shifty had discovered the notebook on the couch when Richie had last visited.

So...months of observations. At first glance, somewhat scientific, unless you'd seen Richie's other work, and realized how little of the notebook's contents lacked the - objective veneer he maintained for other work. The notes he included with the photographs of Shifty he submitted to the NESB were professional, and rarely included any of the banter Shifty had to keep up to distract himself from the vague discomfort of being under such close examination.

This notebook was more of the same.

...Technically.

For all it didn't involve the complete suite of photographs sitting in an NESB lab somewhere, the notes were more intimate. They all touched on things that no one should know without having been close to Shifty. It wasn't that he suspected Riche were keeping the notes to - sell them to tabloids or something ("Aliens Love Peanut Butter" wouldn't sell papers, he guessed).

But not knowing what Richie was trying to accomplish with this left Shifty a little uneasy. They were supposed to hang out the next day, ostensibly to study for their calculus final, although both of them were far beyond needing the additional help, which meant it would be a perfect opportunity to get some answers.

Ms. Cunningham answered the door when Shifty arrived at their home, eyes brightening at the sight of him. "Blueberry!" she said, kissing him on both cheeks as she stepped around him to step outside, ignoring the flush on Shifty's cheeks (in human guise, it at least remained confined to his face). "I assume you're here to see Richie - he's in his lab, while I'm off to mine." She pulled Shifty in for a hug before letting go and stepping back to grin at him. "So you boys have fun, and make sure Richie eats."

"Oh - absolutely," Shifty replied, watching Ms. Cunningham drive away. He stepped inside; the Cunninghams had opened their home indiscriminately to Shifty, and he'd only recently become comfortable with it. He knew they had good reason not to worry about him wandering around their home, even if he was expected. He didn't have much reason to wander, of course, except, taking Ms Cunningham's comment into consideration, to bring Richie a sandwich (and experiment with the notion of peanut butter and bananas for himself). 

When Shifty descended the stairs into Richie's home lab (an examination table, a desk, and a couch that had migrated down there at some point in the last several months), Richie barely looked up from a notebook he was writing in, at least until Shifty set a plate down next to him.

He looked up and smiled at Shifty, an open, bright expression that made Shifty glad he hadn't let his human form drop, because his tail had developed a traitorous tendency to wag when Richie smiled at him.

"Your mother said you should eat," Shifty said as an explanation.

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Richie picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and set it down again. He twisted around to look up at Shifty, a frown almost taking over his mouth before his expression smoothed out. "Did you want to get started on studying?"

"Come on," Shifty replied, leaning against the desk so he could look down at Richie's notebook (neat, organized, nothing like the one in Shifty's bag). "You and me have studied enough. I'm just here to keep you from starving to death."

Richie looked back at his sandwich, and picked it up for another bite, apparently focused on it while he ate, although Shifty was certain Richie kept glancing sidelong at him.

"You're, uh. Just trying to keep me fed?" Richie asked. There was a tone to his voice, almost - lilting, and Shifty suspected he was being teased.

"Well, I also wanted to ask you about something you left at my place," Shifty replied. "It probably fell out of your backpack or something-"

"I'm sorry!" Richie blurted, holding up his sandwich between them like a shield.

Shifty, who hadn't expected such a violent reaction, stood, shocked, until he saw jam leaking from the bottom of Richie's sandwich. He caught the drop before it could hit the floor and licked it off his finger.

When he actually looked back at Richie, Richie was staring at him.

"What?" Shifty demanded.

"You...aren't mad?"

"I don't know," Shifty replied. "I'm not sure what you're apologizing for."

"O - oh." Richie's cheeks flushed as he looked away from Shifty. "I thought you found the. Uh. Pictures."

"The drawings?" Shifty asked, and somehow, Richie's cheeks went redder, his entire posture tensing into something that made it look like he was about to bolt.

"Richie?" Shifty asked, leaning forward, realizing only as he reached out to Richie that he'd dropped back to his natural form, pale, clawed fingers coming to rest on Richie's shoulder.

"I kept some of the photos," Richie said. "The ones you didn't really want the NESB to keep because they were a little…" He trailed off, and Shifty, remembering the discussion and in his natural form, felt his whole body blush, because.

Richie had tried to be professional when taking the pictures, requesting standard, clinical poses, but even so, some of them had ended up looking a little-

Well, like the pinups Boomer had implied Richie kept in his room.

"It just seemed a shame, because they're good pictures, and you look really - you look good in them. I haven't shown them to anybody or anything, but…" He trailed off, staring at his feet, and if Shifty were inclined to hugging anyone besides Buttons, he might have tried to hug Richie to calm him down.

Except while Richie had panicked over the photographs, the mention of drawings seemed to have freaked him out worse.

"Can you maybe tell me what you found?" Richie asked, voice a little reedy. "So I know what I'm freaking out about?"

"It was a notebook," Shifty replied, pulling the book out of his bag and handing it over. "At first I thought it was one of your alien data books, but it was - about me, and sort of...personal?"

"I'm sorry," Richie repeated, snatching the book out of Shifty's hands to clutch it against his chest. "I wasn't like - secretly trying to find a way to hurt you or anything. Obviously, I've been paying attention if there was anything you were allergic to because I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I got you killed because you had a peanut allergy or something."

"You also appear to think it's a tragedy I don't like chocolate," Shifty pointed out, and Richie, who'd seemed to be calming down, flushed ducking his head to hide it behind his notebook.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," Shifty said, settling against the desk so he could lean closer to Richie, squeeze his shoulder in a way he hoped was reassuring. "I mean, it's a little weird - and it's sort of driving me crazy trying to figure out what it's for-"

"I just wanted to figure you out," Richie said. When Shifty didn't respond immediately, he continued, knuckled still white from the strain of holding onto his notebook. "Like - I thought maybe I didn't understand you because you were an alien, so I started paying attention. Like if you were allergic to anything, or if you're ticklish or sensitive-"

"If I can get sick," Shifty interrupted, bringing Richie up short, quiet as he considered that.

"Yeah. And I didn't really have friends before, so I was also trying to figure out friend stuff, like what you liked, what you didn't-"

"I do like puns," Shifty said. At Richie's slightly shaky stare, he shrugged. "It's fun, playing around with words like that."

"I…" Richie's gaze drifted down to his notebook, one hand twitching; it was almost certain he was fighting the urge to document this new revelation immediately. 

"You can write it down," Shifty said gently. "Now that I know it's just you being - observant, I don't mind."

"Oh." Richie set the notebook down and flipped open to the page on which he'd mused on Shifty's sense of humor, making a few notations on it. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it," Shifty allowed. He eyed his own sandwich, forgotten in Richie's panic, wondering if it was safe to start in on it again. Probably not; this conversation didn't feel over yet. "I liked the drawings of me in the notebook. They're - good." He paused a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts. "I liked the little cartoons."

Richie scowled. "They're dumb. I only drew them because I can't get your face right when I'm drawing it seriously."

"I don't think it's dumb. That smiling face looks like - how I feel when I'm smiling."

"...Oh." Richie closed the notebook, but didn't move after that. "I'm glad. That you aren't upset. I don't want to upset you."

"Hm," Shifty replied. "I don't think you would. Do anything that would upset me." And now that he was...observing, considering facts with an assessing eye, Shifty had a - hypothesis.

Richie had been watching Shifty <I>very</I> closely. He had in his possession photographs they had both decided were a little - much for the scientists at the NESB to see. And there were...drawings, somewhere, that Richie didn't want Shifty to see.

Without his conscious input, Shifty's tail began to swing behind him, a slow horizontal drag that Richie had probably been watching Shifty closely enough to interpret. Shifty leaned over Richie, finding he liked the idea of - testing his hypothesis.

"You've been watching me pretty closely, haven't you?" he asked. And Richie had taken his eyes off of Shifty, because when he looked up, his face paled and he licked his lips, a nervous swipe of his tongue.

"Yeah, but not in a creepy way-"

"It's a little creepy," Shifty pointed out. "I'm pretty sure there's a drawing of the marks just above my tail in there. And I don't have much chance to look at it, but it's a pretty good likeness."

Richie closed his eyes. "Sorry, I-"

"Where did I give you the impression I minded?" Shifty retorted, and Richie's eyes snapped open, jaw dropped, and he just...stared.

"Wha," he croaked out after a few quiet moments.

"It's a little creepy for - professional interest," Shifty continued, as he let his tail continue to sway behind him. "But if it's a more - personal interest." He paused, hoping he hadn't read this embarrassingly wrong, or he'd never be able to face either of the Cunninghams for the rest of his life. And then he leaned down just a little more, so the next words were spoken just next to Richie's ear. "That might be a project worth - exploring."

In Shifty's defense, everything he knew about flirting he'd learned from television, and the "bad boy" type he'd sought to emulate always acted this smooth.

In Richie's (as Shifty learned later), no one had ever hit on him before.

So Richie's startled flailing resulted in a bruised and slightly bloody nose on Shifty's part, and a possibly fatal case of embarrassment and remorse on Richie's, as he sat as far away from Shifty as the couch allowed while Shifty iced his nose.

With Richie licking his (metaphorical) wounds at giving Shifty literal ones, Shifty suspected he would have to speak up if he ever wanted to resolve this.

"I'd sort of like to know," Shifty said, at last. When Richie looked up, his eyes were almost looking wet, just on the edge of tears.

"What?"

"If you're just - looking, or if you. Want," Shifty concluded, finding the words awkward to force out. "Me," he clarified, and he probably shouldn't have, because his face was starting to flush again, which meant it was a matter of time until it encompassed his entire body. "Because if you do, I'd. Apparently, I like smart, sweet guys who care about. Snakes." He wasn't certain how he'd managed to make this sound more awkward than it already was, but. Here they were. Shifty with all of his cards on the table, and Richie.

Staring. 

He was used to Richie staring - Richie was the budding xenobiologist, and whether Shifty was in human guise or his natural form or somewhere in between, Richie wanted to see anything he did that was out of the ordinary. But he wasn't used to watching Richie staring, and Shifty suspected if he ever had, they might have had this conversation a while ago.

Because Richie's gaze dragged over Shifty, along the frills on his head and arms, the patterns along his skin, including the heart-shaped one on his forehead, the pointed, inhuman head, and his tail, from the tip to the base, where Richie knew Shifty was - sensitive.

Richie pressed his palm against the end of Shifty's tail, a feather-light touch. And then he trailed his palm along the frills, a lighter touch, if possible, and Shifty shivered. Richie's gaze shot up to meet Shifty's, eyes wavering, wide, afraid.

(Shifty dismissed the thought that Richie was worried what Shifty would do, but that left as the only possible conclusion that Richie was worried for Shifty.)

"Gentler treatment than I'm used to," Shifty said, winking at Richie. "Seeing as I live with a kid with grabby hands." When Richie didn't move, Shifty flicked his tail to brush the end against the back of Richie's hand. "You can keep going."

Richie's gaze shifted from his own hand back to the lazy waving of the tip of Shifty's tail. And the next touch was - firmer, more present, if still tentative. Shifty grinned and twisted around toward the back of the couch so he could provide Richie access to his tail without discomfort, even if he had to crane his neck slightly to watch Richie draw his hand along the frills of Shifty's tail. 

It was - intimate, if at the same time a step back from some of the - implications of what they'd been talking about. Still, the slightly dazed expression on Richie's face faded over the course of several minutes, and gave way to something more - analytical.

"So," Richie mused. "There's some. Stuff. We haven't talked about. About your species and. You. And." His voice rose throughout his stuttering statement, until Shifty decided any amusement he took from Richie's slowly-growing discomfort would be cruel and a diversion from Shifty's - well, not ultimate goal, but his most immediate one.

So Shifty tugged his tail from Richie's grip and crawled the short distance that separated their bodies, leaning up just enough to kiss Richie. Just a press of lips, more a statement of intent than anything.

Richie didn't jerk backward - but only just. His cheeks were red, and he was looking at anything but Shifty. "What-"

"You were working your way up to a question," Shifty replied. "I was giving you an answer. As for romance, that's a yes. As for kissing, that's a yes. As for - other concerns, I figure we can...explore that question in further detail if the rest seems to be working out." Shifty smiled, aware the slow, deliberate expression was likely one Richie hadn't seen before, a notion confirmed at the distant, glazed expression on Richie's face (either that or the promise that any forays into more complicated activities would come with the expectation of scientific inquiry and rigor, even if Richie and Shifty were the only people who ever benefited from it).

Shifty leaned back in toward Richie, pausing this time when he was almost close enough to touch. "Soo," he drawled, grinning. "What's the verdict?"

Richie crossed the few remaining inches to press his lips against Shifty's, and then press forward to - experiment, Shifty realized, to observe and detail his findings. Shifty grinned against Richie's mouth at the thought, surging forward to contribute to Richie's obvious desire to explore.

They passed an hour or so that way, before Shifty dropped his head onto Richie's lap, looking up as Richie traced along the marks on Shifty's face, face fixed in concentration, until that concentration faltered and Richie gave Shifty's mouth a strange look.

Shifty smirked. "What's that look for?"

"Your smile is - you're really pretty," Richie stammered.

And Shifty might have - suspected Richie thought that, but hearing it sent a thrill along his spine, and his smile widened. "I guessed," he replied, "seeing how you kept all those photos."

Richie ducked his head away, covering his face with his hands. "Oh god, please don't bring that up. It's embarrassing."

"Is it?" Shifty asked, stretching out (and not failing to notice how Richie's gaze darted toward Shifty's stomach as he did so). "Then maybe we could talk about the drawings that came up earlier."

It would take some time, Shifty suspected, before he got a straight answer about those (even if Richie's embarrassment was incredibly telling about the nature of said drawings). But Shifty was certain enough about his intentions, and Richie's own, not to worry overmuch about it. Richie had better things to occupy his time with, now, anyway.