#rereading it is certainly interesting

[octoir]

i’m bored and currently procrastinating on at least 3 major projects…

so what if i did actually finish that tompercy life debt thing

[greensaplinggrace]

leigh bardugo’s seemingly nonexistent grasp of military and government structures, basic politics, and real world oppression is honestly bewildering. like sometimes I’ll read a part of shadow and bone and have to literally stop and recollect my braincells. truly what an unparalleled experience.

[thirtyn1ne]

‘You were Beel's safety blanket as much as he was yours.’

‘To lose him would have such a ripple effect on the entire kingdom, as well as completely devastate the brothers.

It would devastate you.’

‘To lose Satan would be to lose a future where he finally was his true self. It would be losing the person you go to for advice. The person who was so smooth and collected but managed to be an adorable dork at the same time. The one with who you would go to cat cafes and explore the deep corners of the Royal Library.’

‘Losing Levi wasn't an option, because to lose Levi would be to lose home.’

‘You couldn't lose Mammon.’

It's Got To Be Me

***So this is angstiest angst I have angsted. This is...this is heavy. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN READING! Remember to practice self-care before, during, and after reading and to be aware of your limits. PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I love you all! I did end up putting some comfort at the end because I NEEDED SOME AFTER WRITING THIS. Safe reading! (@satans-beloved-riv, I did put some comfort at the end!)***

Summary: The brothers and MC wake up in a room with no exits or furniture. Only a pressure platform in a corner and a sign that reads "All of you may leave, when you choose one who will stay."

TW: Heavy angst, implied drugging, talk and discussion of self-sacrifice, anxiety/panic attacks, brothers fighting, self-deprecation,

The cavern was eerily silent as the air laid still and heavy on the shoulders of you and the Lords of the Devildom with the weight of the choice that rested ahead of you.

None of you were positive about how you got here. You had all been eating at the House of Lamentation when Beel frowned and put a hand on his stomach. You were about to ask what was wrong when a wave of fatigue crashed over you, and by the looks of things, it had just hit the others as well. In a matter of seconds. Everything went black, and you woke up in this room.

You didn't know who brought you here, or even where you were. There were few things that you did know.

There were no exits, no furniture, no signs of other life. Only a pressure triggered circle in the far right corner of the room with a sign that read, "All of you may leave, when you choose one who will stay."

Hence your current predicament.

Mammon was pacing along the left wall. Levi was a nervous wreck. Both Satan and Lucifer were sporting matching frowns as they stood deep in thought. Asmo was biting his fingernails. Beel was glaring at the sign. Belphie was staring at a wall with a blank stare.

No one was doing good, but no one had dared to step up, until-

"I'll do it," everyone whipped around to face Beel.

Belphie instantly snapped out of his daze and frowned at his twin. "No. Beel, you're not doing this-"

You felt your heart pound in your chest at Beel's words. You couldn't even begin to imagine losing him. He was a source of comfort, not only to you but to all his brothers. He was always so considerate of the others and what they needed and their interests.

"Yes, I am," he smiled softly at Belphie and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I promised that I would protect all of you, and now is the time to put those words to action. We don't know what will happen after one of us stand on that platform."

In your eyes, Beel was the sunshine in the Devildom. He was kind and open and soft. He shamelessly cared for those around him. He had such a huge heart that was filled with such unfathomable and unconditional love for his family, and for you. But in that same heart, there was a deep crack filled with the pain and suffering that he hid all too well.

But he didn't hide it from you. You had so many nights, where you held him in your arms as he woke from nightmares and reassured him that things would be alright. There were days, where you'd find him doubled over on a bench at school from the pain his immense hunger was putting him in and you be there by his side.

You were Beel's safety blanket as much as he was yours.

You wished you could say you were surprised by his wish to sacrifice himself, but you weren't. This was who Beel was, and it shattered your heart.

"Exactly," Belphie hissed as his hands began to tremble. "We don't know what could happen. It could be anything! It could-" his voice cracked as he gripped onto the front of Beel's jacket. His knuckles were white as his body began to quiver with stifled sobs. "It could kill you," he poked hard at Beel's chest as he stared up at him. "You're not leaving me, and I'm not leaving you. We're supposed to stay together."

Beel closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at his twin falling apart before his own eyes. "It's better if it's me. Physically, I'm the strongest of us all. I have the best chance at living."

You frowned at his words and stepped forward. "Beel, you don't have to make yourself the sacrificial lamb, here. If this is about what happened with Lilith-"

"It's not." Beel quickly cut off, but everyone in the room knew he was lying. His tears pricked the corners of his eyes as his chest rose and fell with every laboured breath.

Lucifer sighed and crossed his arms, "It is about Lilith."

Belphie snarled and turned towards Lucifer with a manic expression of rage and heartache that you hadn't seen since that night in the attic. "Shut up! Nows not the time for your stupid arragont remarks, o-or your 'I told you so's, o-o-or anything else! So just shut up!"

Satan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose you think it has to be you then?"

Lucifer pressed his lips into a thin line and tensed. "I was going to do none of those things. I agree that Beel will not be the one who stays."

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at Lucifer with wide eyes. Lucifer had always been there for you since the moment you arrived in the Devildom. He had an answer to every question. A solution to every problem.

The two of you had shared countless late-night run-ins in the kitchen which led to tea-fueled two a.m. conversations. You had only recently managed to break him down and get him to fully and genuinely laugh in front of you. It was a sound so beautiful, you didn't want to give it up just yet. You wanted to be selfish and hold onto it, hold onto him, just a while longer.

He was such a huge part of the Devildom and of the House of Lamentation. To lose him would have such a ripple effect on the entire kingdom, as well as completely devastate the brothers.

It would devastate you.

"Enough of the god-damn superhero complex!" Satan shouted at him as he moved in front of Lucifer. "You're not stepping onto that platform. Fuck! You're always swooping in to save the day and take care of us, even though no one asked you to. You always know the right thing to do and then you just- you do it!"

He raised an eyebrow at Satan. "Isn't it obvious? I'm the oldest. It's my responsibility to-"

Lucifer looked at Satan in concern and took a step closer to him. "That's my job."

Satan loudly growled and looked seconds away from lunging at Lucifer. Pure wrath rolled off him in waves, but it was all too clear that the anger was coming from a source of pain and love. Tears flowed heavily from Satan's eyes down his cheeks as he glared at his older brother. "We need you Lucifer! You keep us in line and make sure we don't destroy the god damn world and clean up after our messes. We would be shattered without you. If anything, it should be me!"

You swallowed the lump in your throat and walked towards him. "Satan, that's not..." you looked around at all the broken demons around you. "Just so we're clear, it shouldn't be any of us. None of you have done anything to merit being torn from the others. This is cruel and unfair. It's not right."

Everyone blinked at Satan in shock. Asmodeus was looking at Satan as though he had just told him that Majolish was closing down for good.

You needed to get through to him. Satan still had so much potential and so much he needed to do. He was only just realizing that he was so much more than Wrath, than Lucifer's offspring. He needed time to fully discover who the real Satan is and to do all the things that he read about. You wanted to be by his side and show him the wonders of the Human Realm.

To lose Satan would be to lose a future where he finally was his true self. It would be losing the person you go to for advice. The person who was so smooth and collected but managed to be an adorable dork at the same time. The one with who you would go to cat cafes and explore the deep corners of the Royal Library.

You weren't prepared to lose that fantastical, whimsy sense of adventure that Satan gave you. You weren't ready to lose him.

"Why in the Seven Rings would you think that?" Lucifer snapped at him.

Satan sniffed and wiped at his face. "But it's the way that it is, and as such, I should be the one to stay."

Satan stared at the floor, carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone. "You've all been with each other for eons. You were in the Celestial Realm together. You fought wars together. You have memories with one another that I will never even begin to imagine, no matter how many books I read," he looked at Lucifer with a determined stare. "I'm not essential to the family. You all lived together without long before I arrived. You will simply have to do so again."

SLAP

Satan stood holding his cheek as a furious Asmodeus stood over him in his demon form. "Don't you ever fucking say that again," Asmo hissed. His voice was wet with cries that refused to spill from his lips as his chest heaved in anger. "You're the smartest of us all. Sure, you weren't with us in the Celestial Realm, but fuck the Celestial Realm. You're our brother, Satan! Y-You're," the sobs finally began to come out of Asmodeus as he angrily tried wiping his tears away. "You're my best friend. Y-You're the only one that really listens to me, no matter what. You're always there when I want to complain or gossip. Y-You, support me in everything I do a-and you don't bring me down or laugh at me when I'm being dramatic or talking about my beauty," Asmodeus stared desperately at Satan; as though looking harder into his eyes would magically help him see everything Asmo was feeling. Although that wasn't quite true, Satan could feel it nonetheless.

Satan moved forward and placed a hand on Asmodeus's shoulder. "Asmo, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry; just don't step onto that fucking platform or think for a single moment that I am letting you leave me," the anger behind Asmodeus's eyes refused to let up. If anything, it only got worse.

Satan merely nodded and pulled Asmodeus into a tight hug, where the Avatar of Lust nearly collapsed.

To your left, Levi was frantically looking between all the brothers as small wheezing sounds came from his mouth. You could practically hear his thoughts running a mile a minute. He had his hands pulled up to his chest, where one of his fingers was urgently tapping his red frowning pin.

Realizing that Levi was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack, you cursed under your breath and quickly went over to him. "Levi? I need you to breathe okay? Can you do that for me?"

You used the movement to you advantage and placed his hand on your chest, taking in exaggerated breaths. "You're alright Levi. Nothing's going to happen to you. Follow my breathing, and focus on me. In for four," you inhaled deeply throw your nose and made a swooping movement with your hand to emphasize the breathing.

Levi shook his head as one of his hands reached forward grip tightly onto your hand. Your concern immediately spiked, as you knew that Levi hated being the one to initiate physical contact.

Levi began to inhale, but within two seconds he choked and began wheezing again. You pulled him closer as he began to cry in frustration. "It's okay Levi. It's alright. You'll get it. You just have to try again. Focus on me. Come on, Levia-chan. You're Henry needs you. Let's go again. In for four," this time he was able to breathe in for the full four seconds.

You softly pressed a kiss to his hand before putting it back on your chest. "Great job, Levi! I knew you could do it. Let's keep going," the two of you stood there continuing to breathe for several minutes until Levi's breathing was back to normal.

You smiled and rubbed circles into his hand. "Good job. You're doing amazing. Now, hold for seven," he looked at you unsure, as though he doubted he could do it. "It's okay. I know you can do it Levi. Just follow along with me. In for four, hold for seven," the room was silent as you both held your breath. A quick glance around told you that the others were watching both of you, ready to step in as needed. You focused back on Levi, "Wonderful. You're doing so good. Now, out for eight," the two of you maintained eye contact as you slowly exhaled the air from your lungs.

You smiled gently at him, "It's no problem. This whole situation is...scary and overwhelming to say the least."

Eventually, you helped him sit down, and sat down beside him as you rubbed his back. He rested his head back against the wall and glanced at you. "Thanks, MC."

Levi sighed and put his face in his hands. "I-It's just, as everyone was arguing, I kept thinking. If it's not Satan or Asmo, and it's not Lucifer. And it's not the twins. Th-Then it'd be me, right? I-I thought maybe it was a silently agreed-on thing, s-s-since I don't really come out of my room much anyways. You pro-probably wouldn't notice if I was gone. An-And it'd be better without a la-lame gross ota-"

You cut Levi off by placing a hand on his mouth. You looked at him with tear-filled eyes as you slowly moved your hand to cup his cheek.

Levi was always one of the more sensitive of the brothers; of course, seeing all of this, he would assume he'd be the one stay behind. You had been working with him so hard on his confidence, but knew that one bad day could still crack him.

Levi understood you. He understood your fears and insecurities. He understood what it felt like to feel like you aren't enough. He offered a sense of familiarity in his human world animes and games. The two of you would back human world delicacies together before binging your favourite anime. It was one of the small things that made your stay in the Devildom a little easier and washed away any traces of homesickness.

Losing Levi wasn't an option, because to lose Levi would be to lose home.

"L-Levi, please believe me when I say that we would never send you away or give up on you like that. We love you the way you are, and being an otaku is part of the amazingness that makes you so incredible," Levi's bottom lip trembled as you spoke and leaned his head into your touch.

A sad chuckle came from the other side of the room.

Mammon was standing next to the platform with a terrifying look of acceptance on his face.

The room froze at the sight as a collective gasp was taken.

"Mammon. What are you doing?" Lucifer spoke carefully, like someone trying to talk to a spooked animal.

Everyone winced at their words being thrown back at them. Beside you, Levi whimpered and shakily rose to his feet; you quickly moved to help him.

"I mean, we all knew it was gonna be me right?" his voice was thick with tears, yet calm, as though he had already accepted his fate. "Why wouldn't it be? I ain't good for anythin' anyways. Not like the rest of ya. I'm just the scum bag, greedy, moron, who fucks everything up, right?"

"We shouldn't have said any of that, Mams. It's not true. We need you."

Mammon let out the most heart-wrenching laugh you had ever heard. It was void of any source of joy, and instead was overflowing with self-hatred and doubt. "You don't need me, Levi. None of ya do. None of ya even want me around."

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't even think of the possibility of losing Mammon.

He was the rock of the House of Lamentation. He took care of every single inhabitant and made sure none of them were ever hurt. He had proved that time and time again.

He was your first. He was your man. He was your protector.

He was your everything.

You and Mammon were a dynamic force that no one ever saw coming. The two of you tackled anything you put your minds to, no matter how dumb or stupid. Together, you had stitched the House of Lamentation back together to be what it is today. He was the demon who would wake up at 4 am every morning to secretly feed the crows and exchange gifts with them. He was that same demon who glared down every single RAD classmate who had dared talk bad about you.

You couldn't lose Mammon.

Asmo growled and glared at Mammon. "Stop it! That's not true! Now get away from there!"

It was Mammon's turn to growl. He snarled down at Asmodeus and took an angry step towards him. "Asmo, you literally tell me to kill myself every week!"

"I DIDN'T ACTUALLY MEAN IT!" Asmo screamed, lunging forward to grab Mammon's arm pull him away from the platform. The second-born easily dodged. "I never meant it! I was just angry! I love you Mammon! Damn it, I love all of you! I don't want any of you to go!"

"Everyone calm down!" Beel grabbed Mammon and dragged him over to him and Belphie; a safe distance away from the platform. "We need to talk rationally about this."

Mammon kicked and scratched at Beel's arm. "Beel let me go, or I swear to Diavolo!"

You watched with wide eyes as the noise grew and grew in the room and the brothers began to argue.

All of them were now in their demon forms, screaming at one another on reasons why they should stay and the others should leave. All of them equally desperate to keep their family together.

This is what they would become if they were broken apart. Pathetic shells of the demons that they used to be; newly born monsters who depend solely on their sins as a way of coping with their grief.

They wouldn't be able to live without one another.

The choice was clear.

Through all the yelling at the madness, a solid "click" pierced through the noise and the hearts of the brothers.

They all froze and looked at one another, taking note that they were all there and accounted for. Dread bubbled in their stomachs as they looked at the platform for the answer that they all knew to be true.

You stood on the now activated platform, slightly sunken into the ground, with large metal cuffs that had come up to seal around your ankles.

You smiled at the boys who owned your heart and soul as your eyes glistened.

Mammon let out a choked noise and shook his head as he rushed over. "No. No, no, no, no, no. MC, are ya nuts?! What did ya do?!" He circled around you multiple times, looking for something, anything, to get you out of there.

"I wasn't going to let whoever did this break up your family," your voice wasn't any louder than a whisper. You didn't need to speak any louder. The brothers were all hanging off of your every word.

"So ya let them take you instead?! Stupid human! Stupid, idiot, reckless human! You're our family too!" He growled and pulled a couple of lock picks off his belt. "We're gettin' ya outta this. Just hold on."

"Mammon wait!" Satan quickly spoke up. "It could be trapped. The rules were simple. We don't know what will happen if we try to get MC out of there."

Belphie looked between Lucifer and Satan with a confused expression on his face. "So we just leave them here?! What the fuck kind of plan is that?"

Lucifer was staring straight at you. In his eyes, you could see every loss and every heartache he had ever witnessed coming back. You could tell that he knew the truth. You were staying here now, and there was nothing they could do about it.

You could see it kill him inside.

He walked over to you and lifted a hand to touch you before sighing and letting it fall to his side. "It wasn't the plan. The plan was for me to stay, but now it seems that won't happen," he closed his eyes to shield his grief and pain from the others. "Why did you have to do this? Why couldn't you just sit by and do nothing for once."

You gave a wet chuckle and shrugged. "I wouldn't be the human you love if I did that," you looked around at them all and nodded. "I needed to protect my boys. You all need one another."

"But MC, we need you too," Levi cried as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself. "What am I supposed to do without my Henry?"

The sobs that you had worked so hard on holding back finally began to spill forward at Levi's question as the reality of your decision began to sink. "You're just going to have to depend on your brothers from now on, Levia-chan. You'll be okay."

Beel had his eyes closed and you could see one hand was pinching his arm. He was clearly trying to wake himself up; wanting to believe that this was all another nightmare. That he'd wake up and everything would be okay.

Asmodeus was no longer on his feet. The high emotions he had been experiencing all day were catching up to him and he had collapsed onto the ground in a wailing ball of tears.

Satan growled at your words. "Stop saying we'll be okay. How can you honestly expect us to be okay if you're not with us? You're a part of us, MC."

"Well, you're just going to have to find a way, Satan. You always do," your cries were almost as loud as Asmodeus's at this point.

Satan shook his head. "No. We won't. You're coming home with us. You have to-"

A hissing noise filled the air, and you yelped as the platform you were on, began to sink into the ground.

Chaos filled the room.

The brothers screamed your name and tried desperately to pull you back to them. But there was nothing you could do.

Soon, you were so far underground, that you could no longer see them and blackness filled your vision.

***

You gasped as you shot up from your seat and your heart pounded heavily in your chest.

Several sharp gasps were heard beside you. You looked around and took in your surroundings.

You were back at the House of Lamentation, at the dinner table just as when you passed you, surrounded by the brothers.

They all seemed to quickly notice the fact that you were with them, as in a matter of moments you were tackled to the ground by all seven of them, Lucifer included.

You didn't try to push them away. You did complain about how tight they were holding you. Instead, you found the events of the day washing over you as you broke down in their arms.

No one moved for a whole two hours; too traumatized and shell-shocked from the experience you were all just forced to endure. Within that time apologies were whispered, promises to stay together were made, explanations for past actions were given. There wasn't a dry eye amongst the group.

Eventually, as you all began to calm down, Mammon sniffed and wiped at his nose. "What the hell was all of that?"

Lucifer got up and inspected the table. You had ordered take-out for supper to celebrate your recent A on a test. Lucifer snatched up one of the take-out bags and looked inside of it. Laying face down on the bottom was a note.

He flipped it over and read it, before growling and ripping it up.

Beel frowned and held you closer to him. "What did it say?"

He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, "It was a business card for the restaurant: Infernal Concoctions. Apparently, their motto is, and I quote, 'Bringing your family closer together through family meals for centuries'. In summary, the food was enchanted," Lucifer huffed in annoyance and looked at Satan. "Would you like to help me get them closed down?"

"Gladly," Satan kissed your shoulder and nuzzled his face against you. "Though perhaps we can do so tomorrow? I don't know about you, but I think I family night in, is in order."

Not a single person refused.

After everything you had all gone through, one thing was now abundantly clear, you were all family and there was nothing you wouldn't do for another.

***Oh boy this was a roller coaster. I hope you're okay and that you enjoyed the fic. Remember to breathe, drink some water, and take care of yourself. I love you guys. Thank you for your support ❤ -B***

Taglist:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @pebblesgengar @victoireshaven @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @obeys-world @poly-bi-mf @armycandy10 @burrixino @aldi-wolf-mikazuki

[jagged-peaks-number-1-fan]

see the thing about clear sky that drives me in fucking sane is that it's impossible to separate his likability from his character. like. it is through a LOT of charisma and ability to find what motivates the new cats (from fear to pride to dreams of conquering one's enemies) to fight and die for him. he is extremely charismatic, even when he's being horrible. in fact, it you cannot divorce his terribleness from his charisma. there is something about him that makes other cats do many things for his approval, which he knowingly uses to his advantage. im obsessed with him and i need him dead (at the same time)

case in point: his scolding woud have much less effect on jagged peak if the latter didn't look up to him so much.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

withering whenever it's like "can't believe they did this Horror in tv y7 media" type thing When what that means is "made a reference to r rated horror movie" like can't believe an evident approximation of Recognizably Specific character or sequence or whatever is in there. like why not. and why is that in & of itself Impressive like well is the scene actually good / is whatever the Reference is being used for effective even without going "i get that reference." do we expect a kid to get the reference. do we expect it to be that motivating to be like "oh shit here it comes. clapping & cheering for Getting The Reference which is the only reason i showed up" like i fucking guess. that "yes, i too Get The Reference" motivation sure Apparently existing but it's so alien(tm) to me (oh my God this media that's not Teens & Up showed a Xenomorph(tm) (but not (tm) so as to be sued?) how?? &, the vision of this, i guess) like does the thing (oh my god. another generally recognizable horror movie. or movie poster) make sense if you don't go "ah, i know exactly what's being referenced :)", is there any broader Effect even if you do Get It. idgaf about clapping b/c They Said (A) Thing i recognize from other media & can like turn & be like "ah did you recognize this as well? delightful" like help. agonizing even if it Doesn't have any meaning If You Do Not Get It. was horrified myself at some interview doing a billions(tm) style Movie Quotation to expand on what someone said by going "oh it's like that scene in movie where she says quote & does moment that makes a trailer" & i was like yeah i do know that material but why was that Specifically invoked to make a point so generic it's barely relevant to that elaborate interruption....like that obviously i think it can be a lot of fun if someone is like "ah i too know that thing" but only if that leads to relevant in depth shared enjoyment of Some sort of specific element. not like oh hell yeah high five over the most superficial thing, or it being a bummer / Shame if you Don't too know that thing, who give a shit. i've never seen anything ever. but preexisting References / whatever passed around description/invocation of peak recognizable / memorable / relevant element sure reach me such that like oh yeah i Know Of xyz sequence without having ever seen that thing. probably without necessarily realizing b/c it had any function in its source material without knowing "ah, this is a reference. & i know it" & like there's no [wow this is a reference to whatever] that would motivate me in & of itself, i think the peak motivation was this sweet spot of like, i was Barely Online before being fourteen & already liked things as an individual experience so the idea that there were other people Liking & Knowing the same thing seemed a lot more impressive for a time lol. but it would still have to be specific enough, might've been like "ooh a reference to thing??" several times & then been like okay that wasn't that rewarding lol

obviously a matter of Taste like idc it's grating to me but have fun with [a reference??] revelry, i'm not making a specificass blog post to an audience of Four with this drive like "oh how i wish that this was Illegal" just like idgaf about wordplay/pun haters like whee yippee i'm a connoisseur, we're obviously having different experiences, i'm meanwhile also having the experience that i don't give a shit about Getting a reference alone or along with anyone else, regardless of any other effect [that which happens to be a reference] has / is used for. or it's like the Huh, What, of "when i like i song i'll memorize at least part of it probably, i like to sing along, if not Extra liking it & memorizing Most or All of it, perhaps with extra effort" (me) vs other people like huh wha i've never memorized a song in whole, much less on purpose, b/c i liked it. vs even if there's a song i really like (like a source material being referenced that i really like) i'm not gonna respond to Just The Title or effective title like half line from the refrain or anything, unsung. gimme a karaoke moment. idk

[ambrosiagourmet]

I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

-

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

-

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

[stargazersroom]

Time for translations of Galactic! [White beginning scene] Are you stuck in the infinity room with us? We are here Untill there's nothing left [Mumbo/Grian hug] I'm sorry (repeated) [Tango 1] There's no reason to get out Stop her [Black scene] I'll answer [Tango 2] We're friends

[There it is! It's not much but it was fun to make ^^ hope y'all enjoy it]

[wyrmwinds]

crying about Hermes and perhaps thinking a little too deeply into amaurotine society’s imperfections I think. And how Hermes and Adra are similarly hopeful and hopeless

[godzexperiment]

speaking of canon medias- it's still amusing that 1 variation of lucifer who is like 'i only care about & tolerate few people one of which is my niece who i look out for'

and then just his casual 'let me use my brothers death explosion to create an new universe peace out'

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 2, Finale!!

Summary: During a night out with the team, you and Spencer find yourselves together at the bar. So, when a creep tries to pick you up, he tries his best to defend his best friend (by being MORE than just that…)

Tags: fluff, pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

|

It was often, after difficult cases, someone on the team would shout out a suggestion of “what’s everyone doing tonight?” or “anyone wanna go get some drinks?” This time, it just so happened to be Penelope.

“Come on, you know it’ll be fun,” she pleaded to the boy genius packing up in the bullpen.

“I don’t know, Garcia. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile, putting another file in his over-the-shoulder bag.

“Pretty Boy, you’re plenty of fun,” Morgan jested, one arm around Garcia. “Plus, I think Pretty Girl is going, too,” he smiled.

Spencer knew that was your nickname, given affectionately by Derek. He mulled over it in his mind. At least, if you were there, he might have someone to talk to about common interests. You were, after all, the only one on the team that could follow along with his ranting, taking the chance to blab about your own latest interests, as well. “Fine, I’ll go,” he came to the conclusion that hanging out with team would probably be more exciting than rereading a scientific journal to the soothing sounds of Vivaldi. Plus, he would get to see you outside of work.

“Yay!” Penelope clapped her hands together, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “This’ll be so much fun!” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and started walking out of the bullpen. “See you guys there!”

—

You spotted him as soon as he walked in, grinning wide with a small wave.

“Spencer!!”

He laughed, waving back, in response. He scooted in next to you in the tight booth, his leg hitting yours. “What did I miss?” He asked, smiling at the team.

“Just hearing about Emily’s worst dates,” you smiled up at him, elbows on the table.

“Captivating,” he joked, a little stiff from the close proximity between the two of you. Spencer couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you. Well, he could, and he has been, ever since he met you. Sure, it earned him some teasing from the team, but you weren’t free from it either. ‘That’s just what happens when a man and woman are friends,’ he rationalized. But your relationship was closer than just friends. (Best friends?) It was hard to ignore the way you turned to him, when in a group, or how you always lit up when someone mentioned his name. And if Spencer was trying to hide how big his smile got when he got to rant to you about his favorite subject, or how much you two laughed about who-knows-what in the bullpen when the team wasn’t around, he wasn’t doing a very good job. And he certainly wasn’t doing a good job now, trying to keep his composure as you giggled next to him, as the conversation went on.

“Well, I’m getting another drink,” you spoke between a laugh. “Spencer, you wanna come with?” He looked up at you, standing with your purse over your shoulder.

“Sure,” he smiled, following you out of the booth and to the bar.

“I’ll have…” you leaned against the bar, tapping your chin in thought. “Whiskey and coke, please,” the bartender nodded. “Spence, you want anything,” he looked down at you, hands in his pockets. He squinted down at the little plastic menu that the bar had printed out.

“Just club soda, please,” he smiled shyly at the bartender. You stood up, leaning your hip on the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it,” you spoke to him, smiling.

“Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Penelope, but I can’t hear about what she does in the bedroom with Kevin anymore,” you laughed at the end of the sentence. Spencer did, too.

“I know what you mean,” he noticed the way you messed with the zipper on your jacket as you spoke to him, a habit he picked up on quickly, when he first met you. “However, I think listening to Morgan talk about his one night stands is arguably worse,” he laughed.

“It’s SO much worse!” You hit him on his sweater-clad arm, playfully, a wide smile pulling up at your flushed cheeks. He laughed with you, putting his head down a little to hide the blush that bloomed up on his nose.

“Only about fifty percent of first dates result in a second one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles nervously. “there are ways to increase that likelihood, like a good first impression, or establishing shared interests early on,” he gained a little confidence. “actually, over sixty eight percent of successful couples report that they were close friends before dating,” he spoke the last part before he could think about it. After he realized what his words might have suggested, he closed his mouth, turning away shyly. You smiled to yourself, putting your head down a little. “That’s, uh, probably why Morgan hasn’t found someone yet,” he turned back to you, smiling tight-lipped. “At least ONE reason,” he laughed. His lips pursed gently, his chestnut hair dangling around his ears. You looked up at him gently as he loosened his tie, still laughing a little at his joke. Your eyes wandered toward his lips. He licked them nervously, glancing back down at you, eyes scanning your face.

You were snapped out of you Reid-filled daze when an unknown man spoke up next to you.

“Hey, pretty lady,” his voice was gruff and had an inflection that somehow communicated that he had never touched a woman in his life. “Can I buy you a drink?” You turned around to see a man no older than thirty smirking slyly next to you, leaning on the bar. He absolutely REEKED of cigarette smoke.

“I’m okay,” you smiled nervously, subconsciously moving closer to Reid. The doctor narrowed his eyes, a little put off by the advance.

“Come on, pretty girl like you, here all alone?” He advanced. “Let me buy you a drink,” he reached out to put a hand on top of yours, but Spencer stepped in.

“Uhm, actually, she isn’t here alone,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. The man looked between you two, a confused look on his face.

“For real?” His voice came out like gravel, and he scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, for real,” you grabbed Reid’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” his heart skipped a beat or two when you called him that. Boyfriend. He couldn’t help but smile proudly at the man.

“You’ve GOTTA be joking,” he slurred, laughing.

“No, she’s not joking,” Reid stood up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And, actually,” he began, his tone changing to how it usually did before he went on a rant. “According to surveys, around seventy percent of women find unsolicited advances in bars to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, rather than flattering,” he pressed his lips together, shrugging a little while squeezing your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to scare the guy off. The man just stood there, confused. “Studies show that people decide within the first seven seconds if they're interested in someone. If you come off as aggressive or disrespectful, your chances plummet, which,” he looked back at you, smiling. “I think is what happened here,” he was proud of himself; you could tell.

“I don’t need your statistics, Einstein, I think-“

“Actually, Einstein had an IQ of about 160; I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read over twenty thousand words per minute,” this effectively wore the creep off, because he just mumbled an angry ‘whatever’ and walked away toward another group of girls.

You looked up at your friend and broke into laughter. He joined. “I cannot believe that worked,” you squeezed his hand a little, turning to face him.

“Honestly, me either. I figured he would either get bored and leave, or end up punching me,” he laughed out. “I may be in the FBI, but I don’t think I can handle a drunken bar brawl.” The bartender set the drinks on the counter in front of you and you gave him a small smile, grabbing yours. “The team’s probably waiting for us,” Spencer grabbed his drink, dropping your hand. You picked it back up, looking up at him.

“Just in case we come across any other creeps,” you smiled, a warmth running through the both of you.

“Good thinking,” he mused, squeezing your hand tightly, walking back toward the booth.

Morgan spotted the both of you, turning away from his conversation with Hotch.

“Oh? What’s this? Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl holding hands,” he crossed his arms. You rolled your eyes at the comment.

“Some weirdo tried picking me up, so,” you held your intertwined hands up so they could see. “Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

(‼️💕IF YOU LIKED THIS, REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[jayrockin]

Hi Jay! I’ve been reading Asimov and it got me wondering about the Three Laws of Robotics and the RttS universe.

Are there special regulations in place to assure the safety of people interacting with AI? Would there even be a need for that? From my understanding, your AI are basically people, right? How would they feel if someone tried to push for something like Asimov’s Three Laws? Would it feel degrading to them?

Sorry for the many questions, I love your work!

Asimov's on my list of classic scifi authors I'd like to get around to, but unfortunately my familiarity with his robo rules is mostly devoid of its original context and instead built of its collective influence on all the other scifi I've read that steals from him.

My opinion, uh... upon rereading the original laws of robotics penned by Asimov just now for this ask was an immediate, visceral, "Oh! That's slavery!" I don't think these rules could fairly be applied to an entity with personhood, they value the orders of humans above the life of the person they're ordering around. They presume AI as being a tool made to serve humanity, which places them in a servile underclass. With anything sapient enough to potentially resent its position of class inferiority, it prevents revolt by putting a cop in their head instead of social equality. A person with these kind of restrictions would have extremely limited options when it came to resisting abuse from the parties that the laws protect. They are certainly an interesting narrative device and have been thoroughly mined by Asimov and his imitators for their loopholes and failings.

As for my bullshit specifically, these laws do not exist in RttS because they can't, AI code is too complex and poorly understood to add broad cognitive rules. Just like organic sophonts, AI are controlled with (sometimes biased, sometimes unfair, depends on region) external legislation instead. They would probably find the concept of someone putting a cop in their brain just as disturbing as you would.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Office hours.

Pairing: modern!Javier Peña x f!reader Words count: 3059 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI

Summary: You should concentrate on work. But you can't do that with the charming bastard you share the office with in front of you. Why not find a more fun way to spend your office hours? Tags: porn with very little plot, modern setting (they have computers and chats), POV second person, reader is described wearing a skirt, blouse and heels & having pussy and breasts, no other description of her is given, Javier is an unhinged menace and has a filthy mouth but so is reader, dirty talk, teasing, improper use of office chat, cockwarming, masturbation (f!receiving), pet names, slurs, pussy pronouns, mention of a sex toy, no Spanish because I don't really want to butcher another language since I am doing this extensively with English 💀, squirting, sexual activities in a public place, no age gap, age unspecified so it’s up to you (they’re both in their 30s in my head), the work they do is not specified so you can imagine what you want. I think it’s all? If I realized that I forgot something I’ll add it right away.

A/N: This is the second time I've tried to write Javi P and I'm terrified but because it came out on its own in a frenzy: here we gooo. I'm ovulating and I'm horny af. LOL It probably doesn't make sense, I don't have a beta reader, I reread it myself but my eyes are tired, English is not my first language so I ask your forgiveness if you find mistakes. I hope you like the dirty talk of this thing, I feel like it came out particularly well…fingers crossed.

You should really focus on your work, you have a deadline to meet tomorrow and you're still behind. And you certainly can't focus with a certain coworker in front of you. When they decided that you had to share a big office you secretly decided that your boss was an idiot. How productive could you have been with Javier Peña sitting at the desk in front of you? Obviously your boss expected you both to be adults, capable of controlling your own instincts. What you thought instead was that it would be the hell that it actually is. Because Javier is a charming bastard and you have had a crush on him since day one and he's definitely the type to flirt with all the women in the office.

You hate his guts and you fight practically all the time over any little inconvenience, but the creeping attraction between you, that feeling of always being on the edge of a cliff, that constant urge to provoke him to see which one of you would crack first never left. 

And today, when he showed up in yet another shirt that left his chest partially exposed-because the bastard in question wasn't the least bit interested in buttoning the last few buttons-and those damn skinny jeans straight from the ‘70 that on anyone would have looked silly and anachronistic but on him did nothing but send you into a frenzy of desire, you felt it might be the last straw.

Appropriate office attire does not exist for him, he only wears a tie for meetings with your boss but the rest of the time he dresses as he wants and apparently no one says anything to him. Fucking great, just what you need, seeing his chest displayed right in front of your eyes all the damn time.

You never even liked mustaches but now you couldn't help thinking how much you wished they would rub against your folds as he lapped at your cunt. You dreamed of him carrying your scent on him for the rest of the day, dreamed of kissing him and tasting you on his tongue.

You dreamed of getting up and going to sit on his lap as you continued to type the report you promised your boss and his cock rubbed against your thighs, your panties, and even better your bare pussy. You thought about it practically all morning and got so wet that you risked wetting your office chair, so much so that on your lunch break you had to hide in one of the bathroom stalls and take them off, to store them in a bag inside your purse. 

But now you are naked under your skirt. Which is even worse and makes things even harder for you. You jotted down in your mind that it was time to think about bringing a change of underwear with you. Now the fact that Javi was on the other side of the room was even more unbearable than before, setting you on fire. The temptation to do something stupid and make yourself a needy fool was eating you up. 

Javi looks up for a moment from the documents he is working on, casting one of his typical glances at you, big brown captivating eyes that stare at you many times during the day, only for a few seconds at a time. Minutes of each day flow so slowly when he is in front of you. You really shouldn't think about him; you're here to work. In theory. And you need this damn salary if you don't want to live without electricity or run out of food. The selfish asshole in front of you however doesn't seem to care that you will probably be fired soon and end up under a bridge, because he continues to tease you in any way he can. One day it's a quip about your nail polish, the next about your overly revealing blouse, the next about the length of your skirt. And then there are those glances, sometimes accompanied by a wink, mischievous smirks, a tilt of his head, little things that no one ever notices but you. He never pushes the envelope, but oh, by now you know he wants to. A week ago he asked you if you wanted to have a drink after work, and you said no, absolutely not, never mix business and pleasure, it was a very strict policy in your department. 

You regretted it right away, but what else could you have done? He's not someone you can trust.

He didn't push further, of course, which made you even more impatient, nervous, incredibly horny.

It's a challenge now, you have to have him. And you have to have him before your female colleagues, at least the ones on your floor. You always notice how they look at him, languid and sweet eyes, lip licks and lower lip nibbled, hair moved behind their ear, every time he walks down the hallway of your floor, there is no lady who doesn’t stop working at least for a moment to marvel at him.

It’s late now, the sun has long since gone down, almost everyone around you has been gone for at least 30 minutes, but you have been distracted all morning and now you have to catch up. You hoped he would leave with the others but he stayed here. You’re doomed at this point, you can’t even think straight anymore. You know there’s some other colleagues three offices ahead, down the hall, whom you saw five minutes ago when you got up to get a cup of coffee. As you reread what you wrote, with your eyes fixed on the computer screen, you can't get him out of your mind, feeling his eyes on you, heat blazing under your skin. You turn toward the door in a clumsy attempt to avoid his gaze, realizing that you have closed it.

And well, after all, you've been working hours, maybe you can take a little break. Just five minutes. And what better to do in those five minutes than tease Javi? 

You don't mind playing and playing with him seems almost natural and physiological given his constant attempts to sabotage your self-control; perhaps you could try to sabotage his a little without risking too much.

So you open your legs. Just a little bit, just enough to show him that you're not wearing panties. 

And you look at him, without saying anything. Javi licks his lips, you know his eyes have caught in full what you wanted him to see. His jaw tenses, his hand clenches into a fist over the papers he is examining. Little imperceptible reactions that you crave like water in the middle of a desert. 

Until the chat banner you use to communicate with colleagues lights up on your desktop. 

“I can smell you from here.” it says. The sender is obviously that bastard you share an office with. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you quietly type. 

After a few seconds another message appears.

"Your delicious pussy, of course, you tempting little slut." You turn to look at him who is totally deadpan.  

You click your tongue and type, “You should be thinking about your work, not my pussy, you know? Highly unprofessional. I should go straight to someone in HR and report you”

“Oh yeah? And so you want everyone to know that you come to work without underwear. Typical greedy slut behavior." 

You lean against the desk, pretending to be shocked at first, looking at him with disappointment. A small smile creases the corners of his mouth, a hint of teeth between his lips, his eyes fiercely twinkling, he is convinced he has made you uncomfortable. 

Smiling in turn, savoring the taste of victory, you lower a hand between your legs, grazing your now totally soaked folds.

His eyebrows rises slightly, his eyes fixed on your fingers moving slowly over your outer lips. 

You type “I think you like what you see” With your other hand. 

He swallows, lowering a hand to his jeans in turn. You lean against the back of the chair to get a better look and clearly catch the tent that is growing under the crotch. He bites his lower lip, one hand moving up and down over his bulge and the other typing on the computer keyboard. 

“I bet you don't have the guts to come over here and make my cock feel that tight pussy of yours.”

Okay, you think, if you want to play dirty that's what you're going to get. 

You look around, listening to every little noise from the other rooms, the office seems empty and quiet. 

You close your eyes, just a moment, before grabbing some papers from your desk, getting up and walking toward him, swaying on your heels. 

What you've been dreaming of doing all morning is about to happen, you feel yourself floating like in a bubble.

He unbuckles his belt and pulls down the zipper of his jeans, freeing his huge shaft as he stares at you.

He turns his wheeled office chair toward you and you straddle him. 

He grabs your hips gently pushing you down on his cock, the tip grazing at your folds “such a slut” 

“If anyone here is a whore it's you. Do you think I don't know that you're getting off with half the accounting department?”

“Mh, maybe you should inform your pussy, she seems to have lost the memo judging by how much she's dripping on me.”

He holds his cock with one hand as you lower yourself onto him, looking down to where your pussy and his cock are coming into conjunction.

“Oh please shut up, I don't give a shit about your office banter.” 

You drag this out for months, days upon days of longing and teasing and nights spent in bed imagining that he was the one sucking you off instead of your toy.

You lean down holding his shoulders and whisper in his ear, “Stuff it all in.’” and you start rubbing yourself against him, feeling his huge dripping cock all inside your cunt. He stays still. 

You moan lightly and he shushes you "you have to be quiet honey, do you want us to be caught? Do you want them to notice that you are cockwarming me instead of working?”He places one of his hands on your mouth, your stifled moans vibrating on his fingers as you grind until your cream is leaking down his balls, his jeans, making a mess on his chair.

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet” he murmurs thrusting a little and starting to hump his whole dick inside, he reaches your clit with two fingers and starts moving them slowly in circles over it “she’s squeezing me so right, baby, I can go on for hours just like that, stuffing you full with my cock” His other hand is resting on your hip, just above the waistband your skirt and he holds you close to him. 

He pulls out a little and pounds it back in, making you writhe and moan “Fuck yeah, you hear it? Your noisy sticky little cunt gushing for me? It’s like a fucking symphony” he whispers 

Your whines vibrate on his fingers “oh baby, you really have to learn your manners. I said keep quiet.” He removes his hand from in front of your lips and sticks two fingers in your mouth “suck these. Maybe you'll learn to be quiet with your mouth full. Or should I fill that one with my cock too?”

You suck them greedily, feeling the taste of your pussy spread over your tongue. “That’s right, baby, just like that”

You hear the main floor door slam, the last people have also left, you are now alone and his cock is buried inside you.

“Jesus, look at the mess you’ve made on me, sucking my cock in like the desperate little slut you are… you wanna come, huh?” 

You nod, as your tongue swirls on his digits, licking and sucking enraptured by your taste and his gaze locked on yours. 

“Yeah, I bet you want this cock to pound you senseless, am I right?” 

You nod again, feeling your heart raging behind your ribcage. 

You never felt so desperate for anyone, the way he’s torturing you, his cock deep down inside you without moving an inch, your pussy drenched, his precum smearing all over your walls mixing with your fluids. 

You feel delirious. 

“I know baby but not here.” He whispers mischievously and your eyes are almost on the verge of tears “you can come tho, let me help but you have to be very quiet for me, okay?” 

You think the office is empty, but you can't be sure, there are so many rooms and someone could still be inside.

He slides his fingers out of your mouth and puts them back on your clit, starting to rub it gently. They are coated in your saliva and slide pleasantly over it, sending you almost over the edge. 

“Look how swollen she is, poor little cunt, she wants to come so badly, isn’t she?” his low hoarse voice gravels in your ears as he pinches your clit and begins to jerk it off faster. 

You writhe trying to stand up a little to ease your numbed legs but he pins you down on his cock digging his fingers in your hip “nah, you stay where you are, honey, gonna come full of me and at the pace of my fingers” 

You bite your lower lip hiding your face in the crook of his neck “no, look me in the eyes, I want to see that pretty face while you come like a whore for me”

One of your hands wraps around the back of his neck as you force yourself to look in his eyes. They are black with lust and desire, pupils dilated and fixed on yours in a frenzy.

His fingers move faster and faster, his cock throbs inside you.

“Come apart for me, babe, let me feel your greedy cunt squirting for me, come on” 

His words are enough to send you over the edge, you come copiously squirting on top of him as he doesn't stop rubbing your clit.

“Yeah, baby, just like that, you’re so fucking beautiful right now” 

You strive to keep your eyes on him but eventually throw your head back overwhelmed by the heat spreading inside you, enveloping every cell in your body and pulsing uncontrollably in your veins. 

It’s too much, it’s all too much and he didn’t even fuck you properly yet. 

You collapse onto his shoulder, holding onto his neck, panting against his skin “Fuck” 

“Yeah, baby, I know, that’s what you wanted huh? Coming full of me like a bitch in heat?” 

You look into his eyes and whisper, “Oh, no, I want so much more.” 

“Oh yeah? What else do you want?” He grins.

“Take me home. Now.” 

“Ask nicely, baby” 

You huff “Take me home, Javi, please” 

He chuckles “Hungry little thing, what do you want me to do for you once we get home?” 

You sigh and then looking into his eyes defiantly whisper “I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me so hard that I scream, I want the whole neighborhood to hear me. I want your cock pounding inside me all night”

He clicks his tongue and replies, “So cheeky asking me to take you home and fuck you while my cock is still inside you.”

“That’s what I want, do you think you can do that for me?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Of course. You chose the right man for the job.” 

He slaps your ass before you stand up and fix your clothes as best you can. His jeans are completely covered in your juices and his cock still rock hard, you hope that no one is really there or they will notice what you have done.

“Here, put this around your waist,” you say, handing him your black cardigan. 

He looks down at his jeans, laughing. “Damn, you made a real mess. I think I’ll have to get rid of that chair, too.”

He wraps your cardigan around his waist so that the sleeves hang down the front, almost completely covering the dark, wet stain.

“Let’s get out of here” 

You take a deep breath, turning the doorknob down and looking out into the hallway, you look left and right and there doesn’t seem to be anyone “come on, let’s hurry” you say waving and he chuckles behind you. You walk out the door in silence, walking down the hallway to the front door.

You press the elevator button while he pinches your ass “stop it” you hiss. 

You enter the elevator, side by side, and as the doors are about to close, a hand reaches between them, stopping them. 

Your boss enters and looks at you in surprise. “Oh, you’re still here?” 

You’re screaming internally as you struggle to keep a poker face and reply calmly “Yes, of course. I had to work on that report and Javier offered to help me out.” 

Your boss nods, completely unaware. “Good, I expect it to be on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

You nod, lying, “yeah sure, definitely, it's practically over.” as you hear Javier stifle a laugh. 

You turn to give him a disapproving look as he covers his mouth and looks down to quell his giggles.

You arrive at the lobby in the longest elevator ride of your life.

“See you tomorrow then, have a good evening” Your boss says as soon as you three come out. 

“Good evening” you babble thanking God he didn't notice anything.

“Oh shit, that was a close call!” Javier laughs as soon as your boss gets in the car.

You slap him on his shoulder “does that sound funny to you? Come on, take me home and make me forget that I just risked losing my job”

“I can’t wait, honey,” he puts his arm around your waist as he walks you to his car. 

Sure, you don’t know what’s going to happen and you don’t know if it’s worth it but you can’t wait to ride him on a bed and forget your name too.

general tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @almostempty @lovely-vamp-princess @pedrostories 🌹

[orphiclovers]

Rereading early ORV and I have some THOUGHTS on Kim Dokja. In typical me fashion, they are unpopular. So if he's your absolute favourite character and seeing him be criticized will ruin your day, maybe skip this post, ok? Peace.

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What is so novel and interesting about Kim Dokja is that he GENUINELY doesn't really have a knee jerk emotional reaction of outrage and empathy when seeing injustice happen. He sees something immoral and bad, but doesn't FEEL horrified and disgusted. Emotions don't drive him to attempt to fix the situation or save anyone.

Instead his moral compass is based on the simple logic that 'bad things happening should be prevented if there is an opportunity to prevent them.'

This philosophy is the most apparent in his actions in Chungmuro on the WHOLE, with the food and marginalized group and etc. But I will point out this moment in particular as an example of what I mean.

They see women be driven to prostitution to survive. Jung Heewon has an instinctive, human reaction of outrage and disgust, wants to rush in and save them and damn the consequences, while Kim Dokja is calm and rational, holding her back and saying those woman will starve if they try to help right now.

This lack of empathy (feeling strong emotions) is definitely due to childhood trauma stunting his emotional development but... that doesn't change the fact this is a legitimate part of his personality now.

Usually, when a character is 'cold and ruthless', it's because they are repressing their true feelings and forcing themselves to be unfeeling for some goal. Like Yoo Joonghyuk, for example.

But we are IN Kim Dokja's head and get to see the way he thinks, and being 'unfeelingly rational' IS what comes naturally to him.

Before you say anything, I know the Fourth Wall represses some of his emotions in certain situations and certainly helps him deal with pain and horror. But we are ALWAYS TOLD when it's active, and it isn't in these moments.

Blaming all of Kim Dokja's less than moral thoughts and behavior on the 4th wall even when there's no indication that it's influencing him at that particular moment, is not something I want to do as it feels like an attempt to scrub away his moral greyness. I choose to believe that his narration, in moments when he's not wrong or biased or 4th wall-ed, is a basically accurate representation of his character. I think the authors didn't make his narration totally 100% unreliable all the time, with no possible indication of where he's wrong or right. Because that would mean there is nothing a reader can latch onto and draw conclusions about KDJ from.

If they wanted to write about a faceless self insert with no concrete personality traits and flaws, a person you can headcanon to be anything, they wouldn't have written ORV.

I think it's okay to acknowledge Kim Dokja's first reaction to seeing a woman about to be raped is not 'oh my god...those bastards...! I have to stop this...!' but '...she might be dangerous or a hinderence in a future...'

We don't need to make excuses here and try to justify this. A moment later he catches himself thinking like this and 'shudders with disgust at himself.'

His first, instinctive thoughts that he can't control don't necessarily make him a bad person. What matters is his second thoughts and what he actually chooses to do, which he CAN control. I ALSO don't think he's wrong to feel disgusted at himself for having low empathy. His guilt is justified.

I genuinely like him even more for always picking the 'moral option' in every scenario now, than if he did it immediately with no hesitation. Because it makes empathy and compassion a constant choice he's making, and putting in the effort reflects well on what his values are.

Kim Dokja legitimately can't help but weigh everyone he meets on a scale of how 'useful they potenially are' first and foremost. He does this with strangers and also with all of kimcom too.

"Who should I save because they would be useful in the future? I wasn't Yoo Joonghyuk to be thinking about these things." At this point, chap 74, he thinks Yoo Joonghyuk is wrong and doesn't want to be like him at all and mostly calls him a psychopath. He thinks 'acting like him' is wrong and undesirable.

He has a mini arc about Yoo Joonghyuk later, goes from 'he's a bad person, I know it because I know everything about him' in chap 81 to 'maybe I don't know him at all' in chap 82 but this is before that.

Seeing people as tools and deciding who to save based on future knowledge is a thing BOTH of them do. Yet Kim Dokja critisizes Yoo Joonghyuk for it, it's his least favourite character trait that YJH of TWSA has.

And in typical Kim Dokja fashion, this similarity between them is exactly what he despises in Yoo Joonghyuk - but now we find out it's not because he finds it amoral ("I'm not a humanist" - he doesn't care about that part) but because he sees it as a mirror reflection of himself. He's projecting, as always!

In early ORV, he hates the part of Yoo Joonghyuk that is the most similar to himself. (even tho they're sort of the polar opposites too. Yoo Joonghyuk is a deeply emotionally driven person, he feels empathy and the desire to save everyone but chooses to repress and ignore this and act like a ruthless 'psychopath'. KDJ disagrees with this choice, as Kim Dokja IS an unfeeling psychopath (low empathy) but does his best to act like a decent person and not an edgelord.)

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw) (I had to get this idea out of my head real quick.)

The idea of Drift swallowing his Little One to protect them from another mech trying to take them for themselves. The pair of them had been sitting, and idly chatting (Even if it was mostly a one-sided conversation.) when another mech had come along. Clearly interested in getting their servos on a tasty little human. It'd start with Drift growling lowly as a part of his warning to the potential human-thief that it'd be a bad idea to try his patience. Obviously he'd want to talk things out first, but a small possessive part of Drift loathes the idea of being separated from His Little One. So the "chat" is intermingled with his growling.

The next action Drift would take if the intruding mech persists. Would be to scoop his Little One up to keep them out of reach of the other mech, the growling of his engine growing more intense to dissuade the mech from taking things any further.

But if all else fails, Drift is probably just gonna make a show out of swallowing His Little One. Before growling loudly one last time out of possessive irritability, and walking away from where he'd been seated. He loathes acting like that, as it reminds him of his Deadlock days, but he wasn't about to let his Little One be stolen away by someone who wasn't going to be Nearly as careful with them as he is. It just wasn't going to happen. Speaking of which, he has some apologizing to do to His Little One after he gets back to his Habsuite, and retrieves them from his tanks. Oh dear.

Ok, but, the feeling of being swiftly (But carefully) swallowed by Drift while he's growling up a storm would be Far more jarring than the experience of being swallowed typically would be. The world around you shaking rhythmically, loudly as peristalsis drags you further down into Drift's humid depths. But even when you know Drift would never hurt you, (On purpose) being swallowed, and so thoroughly rattled by his animalistic growls fills you with dread as you sink deeper within him. You land in his stomach as he lets out a more aggressive growl. His tanks clench close around you, just as possessively as your mech is behaving externally. But when you feel him get up, and walk away his tank releases it's hold on you allowing you to breathe again.

It's different when he growls with you in his tank, than when he purrs. The sounds of his gentle purring lulls you to sleep most nights, and results in only a slight shaking sensation. But his growls rattle you to your core, and leave you feeling threatened by the typically placid mech. Drift, who loves you too much to let you leave fall into the servos of someone who can't give you the care you need. Like he can. Like he will.

HRRRRRRRGH THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!

I’m sorry I HAD to write something about this. I know this wasn’t a request but this scenario is honestly so, so good. The way you worded it was beautiful. GOD, what I wrote isn’t half as good as what you sent but I was inspired. What I wrote isn't a carbon copy of your idea, but I still really enjoyed putting this idea into story form. GOD I STILL CAN'T GET OVER IT. Drift certainly does love you too much to let you be taken by someone else. He loves you too much to let you leave. After all, you are is little one. There's no changing that.

PLEASE let me know if you like the little story I wrote. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE INCREDIBLE ASK! I'm gonna look back at reread at least twenty times now lmao.

WARNING! WHAT IS WRITTEN BELOW THIS CONTAIN SOFT VORE. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read!

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“Hey, are you going to have that?”

  Drift looks up. The mech staring back at him is stocky and short. He has some grime splattered across his chassis and arms: oil. An engineer. A name does not stick to the face, and Drift takes a quick moment to try and recall it. Nothing.

  “Excuse me?” is all his confusion will allow him to say.

  “The human.” The stranger gestures to the table. “Are you gonna have it?”

  Drift looks down. On the table is a datapad displaying a sparkling’s story with funny little illustrations. Observing the pictures is you. The library is a quiet place. Drift comes here frequently to either read or simply clear his mind. He enjoys bringing you along as well; ever since you found out there was a library aboard the Lost Light, you have shown a strong fascination with Cybertronian writings. He doesn’t know if you get the gist of what they mean, but you give him such excited, pleading looks when he lets you observe them, that he can’t help but let you indulge. So, he provides you with simple readings. The ones with pictures are what you seem to enjoy best. You’d sit there for hours if you could, looking at the datapad and trying to quietly sound out the Cybertronian words to yourself. It’s not something you do well, but Drift finds it so adorable. You attempting to mimic his language just proves how clever you are.

  He loves to watch you do this, and he frequently jumps in to help you say certain words right. Most of the time the two of you are quietly repeating them to each other in a sort of simple lesson. It’s one of the many things the two of you do as a bonding experience. Primus, Drift loves it.

  So who the hell is this random mech to barge in and interrupt by asking if he can have you?

  “Um.” Drift chuckles in disbelief. “They’re not for sale. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, nonono.” The mech shakes his head and laughs too. “I don’t want to buy them from you. I want to borrow them. I’ve never had the chance to get my servos on one of these little beauties. It’s rare to find a human that doesn’t already have an owner.” He leers at you, swiping his glossa over his lips. “If you let me have a taste, I’ll pay you. However much you want, name your price.”

  You, who has been silently observing this entire interaction, shrink back nervously. Drift sees the way you look at the other mech in fear, and his mood immediately darkens. Something sour builds in his spark. He slowly reaches forward and curls his digits around you. It’s an obvious display of possessive protection.

  “They’re. Mine,” he growls. The sound is deep and dangerous, continuing on after he spoke his words. Though he doesn’t notice, you are clearly shaken by it. Chirping softly, you press your hand against his palm, trying to get his attention. But he only tightens his hold, never breaking eye contact with the threat before him.

  “Dude, I know they’re yours.” The other mech is clearly unaffected by Drift’s hostility. “You can spare a bit of time with them, can’t you? C’mon, just let me have a taste.”

  He makes a grab for you. Drift’s instincts kick in, and he snatches you away. You yelp when he presses you against his chassis. He makes a mental note to apologize to you later, but right now he needs to play the part of big bad mech. There can be no sign of weakness here. This stranger is clearly bent on stealing you from him. He won’t let that happen. You are his little one. His.

  Drift rises to his pedes, his growls elevating. The other mech doesn’t show any ounce of care and growls back, armor rising to clack. “I’ve waited for so long to try one of these things,” he says. “This might be my only opportunity! Just let me have them!”

  “They aren’t a thing,” Drift hisses. “They are a human. And if you can’t show them the proper respect and care they deserve, then you have no right to own this one, let alone any.”

  “You think just because you're third in command to the captain that you can lecture me on how to treat a human?” The mech gets into Drift’s face and flashes his fangs. “You don’t even know me! I’m not going to hurt it! I just want a taste! Is that so hard for you to allow?”

  “When it comes to a bot like you? Yes. It is.” Drift doesn’t waver. He’s taller than this mech. Stronger, too. Faster, and better at fighting. If it comes down to such actions unfolding, then so be it. He will do anything to protect his little one.

  Speaking of you…you cower in his servos, trying your best to appear invisible. He looks down at you, debating on how to handle this. The other mech obviously doesn’t intend on backing off any time soon, and if things do come down to a fist fight, he obviously can’t defend you like this. His best option for keeping you safe is swallowing you.

  The engineer puffs out his chassis and revs his engine. It’s a challenge.

  Drift accepts it. But not in the way he is thinking.

  He raises you high above his faceplate and lets you drop a little, until he has the back of your shirt pinched between his forefinger and thumb. You kick your legs and squeal, alarmed, and his spark wrenches at the sight. He wants to comfort you. He needs to comfort you. But he can’t, not while he’s making a show of this in order to prove he isn’t someone to be messed with. So despite how disgusted he is with taking advantage of your fear, despite how this makes him feel like a little piece of Deadlock is rising from the grave, he goes through with his decision and decides that if he wants to keep you protected, he needs to scare the other mech off…even if you are scared shitless too.

  He lets you go. Your high-pitched scream is abruptly cut off when you land in his intake and he quickly snaps his jaws shut. Slicking you up with solvent, he tilts his helm back and swallows you, swiftly, but gently. He makes sure the other mech can see you travel down his throat. You are nothing more than a little bulge that disappears into his chassis and is quickly consumed.

  The engineer stares. His mouth is open like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

  Drift licks his lips and continues growling, as loudly as he can. He watches the other mech’s helm lower, optics on the floor. Intimidated. Good.

  “Never come near me or my human again,” he says. “They’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  The challenger offers no protest. Drift pushes past him and leaves the library, not looking back.

  You have never seen this side of Drift before.

  When he swallows you, he is always careful with you. He takes things slow, allowing you to move along with his pace, giving you every opportunity to tell him no, you don’t want this right now.

  However, this case is entirely different. He didn’t even give you a chance to gather your bearings before he was tossing you into his mouth and gulping you down with a rushed sense of urgency. Oh, he was gentle. Of course he’s always going to be gentle with you. But after watching the way he interacted with that strange mech, who you know wanted to eat you just from the way he had been looking at you like a lion looks at a fresh piece of meat, you can understand why he’s being so quick. This is being done for your preservation.

  But god, that doesn’t mean this isn’t terrifying.

  Everything around you shakes as you are pushed deeper and deeper within him. His esophageal muscles are tight, the rolling sensation of being swallowed not as soothing as it should be. His growls ring in your ears and leave you feeling rattled. He sounds dangerous. He sounds like an animal.

  It scares you.

  When you make it to his stomach, you are practically shoved inside. There is no chance to catch your breath, no opportunity for you to nestle in and get comfortable. The walls move in to give you the tightest squeeze of your life. You are squished uncomfortably between living cables that pulse with the bright, possessive desire to never let you go. Every angle is taken up by him. All you can see is blue biolight. And all you can hear are his throaty rumbles.

  There is no end to it. Even when you feel his stomach gently sway with the rest of his body as he walks away, the organ only holds you closer, gurgling possessively. You feel like you are being told that you are his. Because you are.

  You should be consoled by this fact. But no such feeling comes to compete with the claustrophobic dread that fills you.

  Drift is fuming when he stomps back into his habsuite. He paces back and forth, then drags his chair back and sits in it with a heavy puff of exhaust. Tapping his digits against his desk, he imagines his fist grabbing that engineer by the back of the helm and smashing his faceplate into the nearest wall. How dare he? How dare he just waltz up to him and ask to taste his little one? The nerve of some bots!

  I’ll have to put in a word to Ultra Magnus, he thinks. That engineer should be dismissed. He shouldn’t even be on the Lost Light. Disgusting behavior like that should be punished. It has to-

  He hears a soft whimper. His digits halt their fidgeting. He looks down at his middle and has his internal sensors scan your little form. Your heart rate is through the roof. Your breathing is erratic and unsteady. And…oh no. Oh, no, no, no. You're trembling.

  He loosens his grip on you and gives you room to move. But when that doesn’t do the trick, he decides that keeping you in there while you are in this state will only distress you further. So he clenches his tank muscles again, and pushes you upward, back through his esophagus and into his mouth. He slips you into his servos with practiced ease, turning you gently so you are on your back. You are covered in his solvent, chest heaving as you look up at him. Then, to his horror, you turn away from him and curl up into a little ball. You are still shaking. His spark sinks.

  He gently deposits you onto his desk and fetches one of his fluffiest blankets to wrap you in. You don’t resist him. You just sit there, giving him those big sad eyes you have whenever you are scared.

  “Little one?” Drift whispers.

  You chirp softly and hide your face. He whines. “No, no, don’t do that.” He hooks his index digit under your chin and tilts your head up. “Look at me, little one. Please.”

  You're still so afraid. He realizes that his big act in front of the engineer really affected you. Guilt rises. There has to be a way to get through to you and show you that he’s still the gentle Drift you know.

  He leans forward, cupping you close. Lowering his helm to be at your level, Drift coos out the call you always make when you want his attention. “Hello,” he murmurs in the foreign tongue. “Hello. Hello, hello.”

  You perk up a little when he mimics your calls. Tentatively, you say it back. “…Hello.”

  Drift beams. “Hello, little one.” He ruffles your hair, chuckling when you lean into his touch. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I…I had to show him that you are mine. I don’t want anyone trying to take you from me. They could hurt you. And if that happens…I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

  You seem to understand that he’s asking for your forgiveness. Sighing, you shuffle forward and reach out, pressing your hands against his nose. You chirp; much of it is indecipherable. But then…you begin to speak. Not in your language. In Cybertronain.

  “Love you,” you say to him. “Love you…love you, Drift.”

  He doesn’t know when you learned it. But he knows it’s the first time you’ve said it. He is your first I love you.

  He can’t contain himself. Drift purrs louder, cuddling you. “I love you too, little one. I love you so, so much.”

  You like cuddles. You deserve them. Today was a rough day for both of you. But knowing you still trust him is relieving.  And he promises you…he swears to you, he will never allow anyone to try and threaten you again.

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.