#some facts and quotes under the cut!

[venusjeon]

angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro��s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

[starsonablackboard]

managed to finish another decent ish piece so here's narinder's inutial design!! as always probably will change later

we're living by furry laws in this house so "head fur" aka hair is an option and im using it. period. another unpopular(??) choice is giving narinder a fur pattern, and don't get me wrong i love the pure black void nari, but as an artist i enjoy making up details to draw, so i indulged myself here. (but if i ever were to draw comics with him i would simplify it or just make him all-black, because repeating this every frame is a misery. fun for a one-off ref sheet tho)

not a lot of lore stuff for the guy since the idea of the au is still fresh and im figuring it all out, but there're design inspirations under the cut if you're interested!!

sooo lets go

i wanted narinder to have that dramatic sharp featured og cartoon villain look, so i took inspiration from oriental longhairs for the facial structure and from maine coons for fluffy dramatics. also i just love using maine coons as cat references. look at those things. marvellous.

from the very start (pretty much) my brain was consistently giving me images of narinder with hair, specifically dark long-ish straight-ish, so i tried to walk this mental image backwards to find the origins of it, and i think scar and ozai are my best bets. in my first sketches narinder had shoulder length hair with slight waves, but in the end i opted for long and straight. not really a reason to, just was vibing better to me

clothes are pretty standard narinder robes i think. i find it funny that fandom unanimously gave him basically a priest outfit, and i like it too, so i kept it. that red stripe gave me a little bit of a headache though, couldn't get it to look okay and not weird or tacky. i think i managed. i had to contain my urge to design him an intricate outfit with different textiles and embroidery and shit, but i try to keep it at least somewhat tied to logic and the au, and let's say that no-one was willing to do something this elaborate for narinder for quite some time

and some lore crumbs

• narinder is declawed (after his defeat that is).

see the narinder's claw relic and the whole do no evil motive. the most evil narinder directly did was the injures he inflicted on his siblings, and he did it by, quoting shamura, "such sharp claws". so yeah, that tracks. funfact i considered taking only one of his claws, from the left ring finger, because the relic is "narinder's claw" singular, but "callamar's ear" relic is also one ear and not two, so it didn't feel kike a good enough basis to take only one claw yk. so sorry big cat, all your claws are now gone

• lamb did kill narinder after defeating him. there's nothing on the pic that's tied to that fact, just thought it would be interesting to know

[rileyslibrary]

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

[jolalibrary]

it means something

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

to @joelsflannel, i took aspects of all your prompts. i tried to make it fluffy, her a little romantic, i tried to give you a quote that i hope you adore, with a man i know you already love. and i sprinkled in a hard day for you, but with some stress-easing fun to unwind with. merry christmas <;3

wordcount: 3.2k warnings: softer!joel, soft sex (p in v), talks of love, jackson era joel, mentions of ellie, joel in a towel (like damn). written for @pedrostories secret santa event.

You’re tired, drained.

Somehow, you find yourself able to drag your feet from the livelier part of Jackson to the quieter, almost more peaceful part. The soles of your boots draw lines behind you, all of which will likely be covered by the newly settling snow within the hour.

It's picturesque, this place. The kind of location you expect would have once been on postcards that people would be sent to loved ones saying 'wish you were here'.

You don't have to wish.

If your eyes weren’t like pinholes, you’d take a second to admire it.

Stamp your boots in one spot, and enjoy the crunch of it under your feet. A thing you’d do on any other day, if not for the fact, that you were so ready to be in the warmth, to be with him—to curl into him and breathe in his scent.

The kind of scent which buries itself into your nose, to your soul. It wraps its fingers around you and digs its clutches into you. Not that you complain. You'd bathe in it if you could, happily letting him smear it over your skin whenever the two of you have the chance.

It’s why you continue to move. It's why you force one leg in front of the other, muscles begging for reprieve.

By the time you’re up the steps, fingers wrapping around the handle of the front door, you realise how badly you wish to shed your layers. Desiring nothing more than to slide out of your coat, unwrap your scarf, remove the hat, gloves and second pair of socks.

Twisting the handle, the door doesn't fight letting you inside. Instead, it welcomes you. Allowing you to move quickly inside, more than anyone would expect from someone so fatigued—removing the layers, hanging each in turn on the rack beside his.

A sight which tugs at something inside you. It loops its fingers around that feeling within, gently pulling—it is all warm, unexplainable; all hard to describe, but the closest word is lovely, nice—welcomed.

That feeling had been born before the end of days, but it had been nothing but an ember then. Now, it was a roaring fire, all lit by him.

You're sure he knows. Not that either of you talk about it. It added to the long list of things you never speak, not for his sake, but for yours.

Even when you first began your… thing with him, you’d found it as difficult as him to know what to call it. Especially, when it had all happened so randomly, with no explanation or sight that it would occur. It just did.

Smiling, you allow yourself a moment to think back to it. How warm it was. How the setting sun smudged an array of shades across the sky, how you'd been bitter about something, mumbling under your breath until a noise cut through your dismay. His laughter. All gruff and born from his throat. It had expelled into the space between the two of you, cut through your bad mood.

Because it had been louder than you’d ever heard it as the two of you walked back, as you did on so many other nights. But that night had felt so different—and it was.

One moment you were staring, and the next his lips found yours, all chapped, but soft. His fingers around your cheek, whispering your name so gently. Stroking your skin, all worn, a bit rough.

Now, the two of you are a habit. A routine.

Nothing has ever been discussed, nothing ever exchanged. Just some nights you ate dinner with him—knee pressed against his. Sometimes your things sat along his in his home, bobby pins and whatever book you were reading.

Some days Ellie let herself into your house, had made a bedroom out of one of your spares, and sometimes she asked if you wanted to come round to theirs.

The only constant thing is that at least once every week, your limbs found themselves tangled with his. His mouth latched itself onto your neck, hand grasping at your breast, fingers pinching the peak of your nipple as he gruffly told you how hard you’d gotten him.

You liked it. Craved it.

Enjoyed the way you took him apart as he focused on making you a mess.

You liked seeing his salt and pepper curls cling to his forehead, liked running your nails through the hair on the back of his neck—back arched into him, feeling fuller than you’d ever imagined you could. Hearing his gruff voice in your ear, saying words he'd never say if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside of you.

But then, you only call him Joel when he's between your thighs too.

"Miller?"

His name rings around the first floor of the house.

Checking the package in your pocket, you sigh as the day drips from your tight muscles. Hand moving to rub the back of your neck, staring at Ellie's half-open comic and the pencils you'd lent her over the table.

You knew she wouldn't reply, not when tonight was movie night. A Christmas one, she'd told you. She had already let it slip she was going, told you as she kept watch on the door so you could continue your surprise for him.

Her request for you to join her faded when you looked up at her, likely seeing the same look which now greets you in the dust-covered mirror.

Kicking off your boots, and removing one layer of socks, you sigh at the way your feet can all of a sudden breathe—even inside his thick socks. Wiggling your toes, you smile as you begin to curl and unfurl them, before your hand finds the bannister, dragging yourself up the stairs until you reach his room.

His empty room.

Heart falling, you consider calling out again. Using his first name this time—letting each of the four letters carry around the house.

But, his bed looks comfortable. It calling to you. Somehow finding yourself lying on it, your face pressed into his sheets, your bones and muscles sighing in relief that you're in a bed.

Eyes wishing to flutter shut, body unwinding against the mattress, the sheets. It’s on the third heavy exhale, do you realise you hear water. It falls in pitters and patters, distantly, likely from the bathroom across the hall.

That’s when a smile curls across your face because you’ve always found comfort in the sound of running water.

Whether it’s rivers or rain, and showers or leaks. It reminds you of calmness, of things fading from reach—washing away, starting anew. Memories of times trying to colour themselves in your mind, fading before they do as sleep tries to coax you away.

The only thing which displaces the grip sleep has on you, is the comforting sight that comes to a stop at the foot of the bed.

Steam swirling around him, all broad shoulders and still damp skin—the hair on his chest, arms, and stomach, clinging in half-swirled curls and straight lines, the towel clutched at his hip.

The first time you saw Joel Miller naked, you’d almost lost the function to speak. All man—all soft and muscle simultaneously. Something constructed from fantasies, made in real life, carved and moulded by hands you think never thought he’d be real. You were close to not being able to speak all over again now.

Eyes tracing, outlining and shading—squirrelling away a sketch of him you’ll think about when the other side of the bed is cold and not filled with him.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

You hum, lifting up onto your elbows, admiring him, finding him doing the same—even if you suspect you’re not half as good-looking right now as he is.

Least of all when he takes your ankle in hand, moving you sideways with him as steps between your legs now hanging off the bed, the fabric of his towel brushing over your jeans, his palms coming down on the mattress on either side of your neck, staring at you with a look of concern.

“Y’not been sleepin’?”

“Just been busy,” you reply, arms looping around his neck. “Not lots of time to rest.”

You suppose at some point between summer and winter, things became soft—less about need and company, and something along the lines of real.

In another world, one not ridden with fungi and death, you suppose it would have been labelled, added something which tied the two of you together—something meaning more to others than it likely would do to you.

Smiling, you force your eyes to open properly. Watching that look of hunger slowly bleed out over the concern, vanishing entirely when you smirk. If the two of you were different, you suspect you'd tell him you miss him. Tell him you've thought about him.

Instead, you whisper, “Want you, Joel.”

Even more so when you trace the words over his mouth. Aware of his hands on your jeans, and how he's popped open the button, how he's dragging down the zipper. The fabric freely slides from your skin as your hands slide down, dropping to the towel at his waist—thumb digging over it, all ready to pull, unravel it. “Need you.”

His eyes narrow swallowed in darkness. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your lips, dragging your fingers to the tuck, undoing it, not taking your eyes off him. Seeing something in his eyes that is more than just reciprocation of the words spoken, but the ones left unsaid.

“You want me?”

However, you’ll have me.

You’re not sure you speak it, but you're sure he hears it all the same.

For how aloof people think he is, he’s a man who listens—not just to the crunch of branches and the rustle of trees, but to the things people don’t say. He hears their secrets and pulls away their lies. Skills he told you one night he levelled up in when the world tried to keep taking more than it had already.

You suppose it’s how he knows you, your body, what you want and what you crave.

More so as he tangles his tongue with yours, all heady—gripping him firm, tightly as his fingers snake between the two of you. Desperation thrumming through your fingers as you push them into his skin, into his muscles—feeling the coil tighten as he moves his fingers with nothing short of precision. Knowing you, having mapped you out, learnt your cues—it’s why you don’t fight it, the incoming wave ready to drench your taut muscles, let him undo you, unravel you out so you’re nothing but spread out for him.

He likes it like that, you can tell. Likes how you surrender to him, how you lay out for him, letting him move you how he needs you.

It used to be rough, desperate—pure carnal. But, it’s been replaced by something else, something not soft or romantic, but you’re sure it’s a distant relative.

Once you’d gotten a bruise on your hip that pulsed, shifted in shades from being nudged against your kitchen table. Now when he leaves them, he traces them with his thumb, hoping to suck out the sting. Because now you’re treated to comfort—too recently washed bedding and his fingers inside your cunt as your body bends into him, practically curls, sings, hums.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show. Each lick of his gaze makes you glow, and feel like something worth choosing, having been picked, plucked—and placed on some mantle you don’t even mind being perched on.

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, breathing a struggle, practically gasping, you mumble his name—murmur it, almost a whine. “Fuck me now, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Then, you’re overwhelmed.

Bathed in both the scent of fresh soap, dewy skin and absolute fullness. Your legs wrapping, crossing at the ankles as he slides into the hilt—pausing, just as he always does, fingers brushing over your jaw until he’s tilting your chin.

That same look—the one you first witnessed after the kiss under the dusk.

It doesn’t vanish until you show him, either in a whisper of the magic words or a movement he can read as a spell. Your hips rolling, rocking—please, please.

Your hands take in the feel of him breathing, the way his chest expands, fills with the knowledge, the realisation, nails digging, almost all in order. One he answers, delivers, fucking stamps.

Joel makes your toes curl, makes white noise appear in your ears, and makes you forget every important thing you’ve ever filed away. All hot, scorching against your skin as you grasp him closer, hoping you’ll be smothered in burns—hoping the same when you swallow his grunts, his hisses off your name. His hips pistoning, aiming to send you over the edge before him, hands—riddled with the evidence of his survival and his new hobby keep you rooted, don’t allow you to wander off into bliss without him.

“Too good f’me, sweetheart.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, right against your pulse, before he licks against what beats under your skin.

You snort amidst your whine, clutching all the strings which keep you whole as you close your eyes—banish him from looking into your soul. He’s seen all there is there, let him in before, provided flashes, evidence of your shattered soul and broken mentality. It comes to the surface easier here, when your walls suck him in, and your body calls for him in a chorus of pleading and begging.

Because you’re close—not needing too much from him tonight, the sight of him is enough. The knowledge of his existence, knowing he’s yours without confirmation.

“There, right there,” you moan, heels digging into the base of his back, feeling the jostle of him, the way he rears and fucks.

He smirks, shifting, just enough to make the head of his cock hit the spot which makes your thighs shake, tremble, fucking quake. His mouth still split open, words there on his tongue, all ready to drape over your skin—

But, you just feel it’s incoming arrival. All white-hot, blinding—too much pressure, yet needing just a little bit more. Your body is not yours, mind empty, gone, faded. You want to sink your teeth into him, bite down, cut into him and leave a mark like the ones he leaves inside you each time the two of you do this.

Because it means something. This. The two of you in this little house in fucking Jackson. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

“Yea’,” he grunts, palm on your face, tilting you up roughly, forcing your eyes to open.

And you swear he smiles when they flash open. You swear it.

“Means somethin’, sweetheart. This—fuck—us.”

The words grind into you. As though he's the pestle and your mortar. Your breath is lost, unable to be grasped, your body hanging, pleasure a bigger force—swallowing the room, casting you in shadows and misting over you—until you cry out. Squeezing, fluttering.

Not able to see anything but his face, the look on his face—the twisted expression of his lips and the deepness of his eyes. More black, than brown—but they’re somehow still soft, still full of something you hope is pleasant and full of emotions.

It only vanishes briefly when he spills inside of you.

When he collapses on top of you—his heart hammering against your ribs. And, even if it isn’t the first time, you feel yourself still—pause, no rash movements, because this is nice, this is something you want without asking for it.

“Can’t believe I can hear y’brain already.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, glancing over—finding his lips have slid into his cheek.

It gnaws at you, the reason for your lack of sleep. The thing which you've traded hours of rest for. That dormant part pushed to the edge by exhaustion, now awake and very much worrying.

“Got you something,” you whisper, biting your lip, watching his brows furrow and lines appear between them.

Standing up, you steal the dressing gown from the back of his door—the one you’d traded for months ago. The one which is far too big, even for him, making it only cosier when you borrow it. Shooting him a smile, you almost disguise it, worried it's far too soft, too normal, before you mumble about being right back.

It's a hurry to the front door, all feet hammering down on wooden steps before your hand digs in your coat pocket, retrieving the wrapped thing you’ve lost shuteye over.

When you enter, he’s under the sheets—hair at odd angles, looking both a mixture of energised and fucked out that you wish you could paint with your fingers, so you'd forever have it.

“Didn’t wanna give this to you on the 25th—just in case you popped a vein trying to figure out what it means.”

Kneeling on the bed, you take a levelling breath, before handing it to him. His eyes travelling from you to it, fingers taking it—all delicate, measured. Before he unpeels the ribbon, undressing it with more care than he often shows you, before it rolls free of the paper you managed to find. It catches the ceiling light, glinting, gleaming, the handle looking even more detailed in this light than under the candles you’d had to use to remain discreet.

In your hand, the knife had appeared large, and menacing. In his, it looked right.

Yet, his face looked as though it was anything but.

Enough for you to prod, needle. To nudge closer on your knees, to smooth out the sheets and then flick your lashes up, finding him already staring, weighing it up—whatever coated his tongue, had been written in his mind.

“Sweetheart… I don’t… I don’t deserve this—”

More words fall in silence, not quite spoken, yet somehow loud.

Enough for you to say his name, to rest your knee on the bed and deeply sigh.

“You…’m not a good man.”

You almost laugh, but you don’t. Crawling up, placing your hand on his chest, you take a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I care.”

And you don't.

Because it's easy to feel something for him, to love him. It's natural, there one day and the day after. It wasn't hard or difficult, but very fucking easy.

Your mouth even opens to say as much, but you close it again before a syllable is muttered.

Wrapping the gift, he moves it from between the two of you, to the bedside table. His fingers linger, hovering over the carved wood—the one which caused splinters and made your eyes almost cross over. “Y’should. M’not an easy man to love.”

“I disagree,” you whisper, fingers having slid up to the base of his neck, your fingers teasing his curls. “Since I’m pretty sure I already feel those things for you.”

His brows lift, and you smile—letting it speak the words you can’t say, and you’re sure he’s not willing to hear.

“Don’t sweat it, alright? You’re mine, I’m yours. Yeah?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, placing the knife back into the packaging—moving it, replacing what he’d been holding with your wrist as he pulls you close.

“Got you somethin’ too.”

Nose bumping his, you shift closer, thighs finding themselves on either side of him—his hands finding a place on them, sliding up, callouses grazing on your skin, before squeezing.

“But y’gotta wait until the 25th. Like a good girl.”

Smirking, you cup his cheeks. "Okay, Miller. I'll wait."

an: merry christmas, i hope you love this <3

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #4

Viral Thirst Trap AU:

The only thing Danny could feel right now was complete and utter humiliation. As always, it started off as a joke. Tiktok was something Amity Park didn’t have access to for a while considering the fact that they were cut off from the rest of the world until a few months ago when Technus and Tucker teamed up to fix the media blackout.

Amity Park debated on this topic heavily weighing the pros and cons and eventually decided on the outside world only knowing about things Amity Park allowed. Meaning unless an Amity Parker posted it on social media platform meant for the public, no one would know. Hacking would be impossible without ghost resistant tech and visitors wouldn’t be able to expose anything without it so truly there was no downside to this unless someone slipped.

Inside jokes on Phantom and Amity Park were a norm often leaving others confused before scrolling and moving on. In fact most of the posts coming from Amity Park are ignored by the masses. But not this one. No this time someone just had to post a thirst trap edit of him under the “think I need someone older” sound with the caption “when he fits the Bill 😍😍“ on tiktok.

And he knows it’s meant to tease him because of the Invis-o-Bill reference (which fuck whoever’s acc that was for bringing that up) but why did it have to go viral?? Like yes he knows this is a joke on him being “older” because of time travel shenanigans and “colder” because of his ice and “take the weight off your shoulders” because he’s a hero. But why??

Now he had people simping over him and wanting to know more about him and Amity Park (and man where they overjoyed to let others know about their local (and favorite) hero). And just when he thought his undead life couldn’t get any worse, the fucking JL had to show up after he was kidnapped (summoned) by some crazy ass cult. Even worse, their sidekicks immediately recognized him as the quote unquote “hot dead hero from tiktok”. Someone finish killing him now.

[veronicawildest]

Nakshatra series: Observations from different Nakshatras

Disclaimer: These observations are based on my personal experiences with individuals I know (including celebrities).

Ashwini:

The Ashwini girls I know have youthful, baby faces (e.g., India Eisley, Kim Chiu, my classmate). They are much softer and more likable compared to other Nakshatras ruling under vimshottari lord Ketu due to the Laghu Nakshatra quality.

Ashwini men are more impulsive compared to the women. I must add that the men of this Nakshatra are also quite cocky.

Ashwini individuals are smarter than they are often given credit for, especially in academics. They are usually overachievers and can accomplish anything they set their minds to.

Bharani:

If you have a Bharani friend, they are dedicated and loyal friends.

The romantic and sensual traits often associated with Western astrology Taurus actually belong to Bharani. While Aries are typically assertive and action-oriented, they are not usually associated with laziness. It is beacuse of the individuation and selfishness correlated to the first sign of the zodiac, Aries.

It is true that Bharani individuals love ancient mythology and history, particularly about Egypt and themes related to death.

Bharani individuals often have a resting stern expression on their faces.

Krittika:

Krittika doesn't get credit for how funny they are.

They're also fashionable, and both genders of Krittika natives are able to attract the opposite gender (sex appeal to them).

The Krittika symbol is a knife, so there's no wonder why they're blunt and cut-to-the-throat. That's why some of them have a reputation for being "rude".

Krittikas also love politics. The ones (that I know) who are actually interested in helping some people.

Rohini:

Most of the Rohini individuals are actually physically GORGEOUS. Their charm is because of their looks and style.

The reputation of "Geminis (western astrology) are opinionated and talkative" actually applies directly to Rohini natives. They like to troll people and have the last thing to say on things. (Azalea Banks)

Rohinis are actually humorous too. They have this vibe of not taking anything seriously and being innocent.

Rohini and the connection to possessiveness/obsessiveness of their partner or someone romantically. (My mom has this placement, Most of my parents' arguments stem from the fact about jealousy of my dad because of some random man)

Mrigashira:

The Mrigashira men are actually very reactive to humor if you get what I mean. It's connected to their expression and body language (Ishowspeed).

Mrigashira have actual sex appeal oozing from them, and the natives of this nakshatra have many admirers.

If a woman has this nakshatra (despite the fact that some of them are villainized by women), they actually advocate for things like "women's equality, women's rights."

Mrigashira doesn't have any problem being with the opposite gender than any other nakshatra.

They don't like to admit this, but they love drama.

Arda:

Arda natives are underestimated in that they can adapt to such social cues and reach heights despite many people hating them. Taylor Swift and Drake are Arda natives who are some of the most influential people (as of when I'm writing this observation), yet other people tend to hate them because they don't take them seriously. The backlash stems from the fact that "Taylor only writes breakup songs from her teenage years when she's 30" or "Drake is too mainstream compared to his peers in the rap/hip-hop community." Something like that. (The ones I quote are the ones I've seen on Twitter.)

Their words can actually hurt a lot. Ardas are actually good roasters. Many comedians are Arda natives, and their comedy often comes from criticism and humiliation of others (pointing out insecurities, etc.). Claire Nakti has a survey about comedians, and this nakshatra is one of the prominent ones in comedy.

The Arda natives that I observe personally have thick eyebrows. The deity has a correlation to eyebrows (I usually can't remember, I'm sorry).

(PART 2 WILL BE SOON!!!!)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter is Really Magically Powerful

So, in continuation to this post, and my desire to show some love to Harry James Potter, this post is dedicated to showing how magically powerful Harry actually is in the books — which is insanely powerful. Harry doesn't think of himself as a great wizard, but he is — definitely powerful enough to be Voldemort's equal (and Dumbledore's for that matter).

Under the cut are some quotes from the books that prove this.

Accidental Magic

Let's start with Harry's childhood accidental magic. Tom was considered prodigious for being able to steal things with magic and make animals obey him intentionally. Neville, as a late bloomer, bounced when thrown, which is the bare minimum of childhood accidental magic young witches and wizards should be doing.

Now he came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry…chased by Dudley’s gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he’d managed to make it grow back…and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn’t he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn’t he set a boa constrictor on him?

(Philosopher's Stone, page 44)

Harry has:

Apparated out of Dudley's reach when in danger to get away - advanced magic only allowed to practice from the age of 16!

Growing back all his hair from not liking the bad haircut.

Disappearing the glass of the Boa Constrictor case and leashing it

not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 84)

4. Turning his teacher's hair blue.

We see Harry is capable of aparation, transfiguration, and various charms at a level that is considered prodigious. Harry was incredibly advanced as a child according to his feats of magic before even knowing magic was real. And while he wasn't as intentional as Tom, he was aware enough to know odd things happened when he was "furious or upset" that the odd things responded to him.

Intuitive Casting

I wrote later in this post about this, but I do want to write a whole essay about how magic works in the Wizarding world, but like, really in short, emotion and intention matter in magic. A lot.

And we see Harry make use of this fact to great effect. Using spells with intention to change the way they behave and they work for him because of how magically prodigious he is.

Harry raised his own wand. “Protego!” Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Harry — and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner. . . . A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick — “ENOUGH!” Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the shelves covering Snape’s walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

This is from the last of Harry's and Snape's Occlumancy lessons. What's interesting here is that from Snape's words, it seems the protego spell isn't supposed to work like that. Harry is magically powerful enough to make protego (shield charm) to defend him from Legilamancy, turn the Legilamancy onto Snape and disarm Snape.

No wonder Snape is shocked, it really isn't supposed to work. Unless you're Harry Potter, that is.

He did say in their first lesson the rules of magic don't seem to apply to Harry.

“Reparo!” hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. “Well, Potter . . . that was certainly an improvement. . . .” Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there. “I don’t remember telling you to use a Shield Charm . . . but there is no doubt that it was effective. . . .”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

What I marked here is the fact in all their occlumancy lessons, even the first, Snape always placed a few memories in the pensive. He chose memories he didn't want Harry to see and place them there.

Okay... so why is that a big deal?

Snape repeatedly belittles Harry's magical skills, and yet, he fears Harry would turn the Legilemancy connection back on him. Legilemancy as Snape explained is no easy skill:

“Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly...”

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 350-351)

As such, he doesn't expect Harry to be capable of it. But that’s a lie. He clearly thinks Harry is skilled enough to be a threat in this situation. That Harry just might be able to turn this around and glimpse his own memories, which is no easy feat.

And Snape is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. If he thinks Harry is uniquely magically prodigious to be capable of this, then Harry probably is. Especially considering how much Snape hates Harry and how much he'd rather think he's stupid, useless, and unskilled.

“SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!” And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix’s robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming. . . . She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within. The brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long, colored tentacles, but he shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and they flew into the air away from him. Slipping and sliding he ran on toward the door.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 809)

Okay, so can we talk about this Levitation Charm? Please?

Like, get this, he uses Wingardium Leviosa, like a shield charm that sends multiple magical projectiles away from him. This isn't how this charm works, but it is if you're Harry Potter. (again, this is that intention use I mentioned)

The point is, that Harry is magically powerful enough to bend the way spells are meant to work to fit his will and situation.

And when Voldemort possesses him at the end of the fight in Order of the Phoenix:

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape — And when the creature spoke, it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. . . . “Kill me now, Dumbledore. . . .” Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. . . . “If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy. . . .” Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us. . . . End it, Dumbledore. . . . Death is nothing compared to this. . . . And I’ll see Sirius again. . . . And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying facedown on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood. . . .

(Order of the Phoenix, page 816)

Harry kicks Voldemort out.

As I mentioned, I have a a whole theory I'm drafting about magical theory and how magic works in the Wizarding World, but emotion as Harry describes in this scene is part of it. Emotion drives childhood accidental magic. Emotion is required to cast the Patronus charm and any of the unforgivable. Because of how emotion is tied to magic in this world, this instance is Harry's magic kicking Voldemort in his full power out of his mind.

Which is an impressive feat of magic.

Advanced Charmwork

“Oh — yeah —” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum —” Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. “Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 238)

This is the first time Harry cast a Patronus Charm. On his very first try of this complex charm, most adult wizards fail at — he succeeds. It isn't a perfect casting. His happy memory isn't happy enough, but the problem isn't Harry's skill.

The fact he succeeded in casting it at all with how crap his life has been up to this point is a testament to his magical talent.

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 810)

Harry, at age fifteen, casts the Cruciatus Curse for the first time. An advanced piece of dark magic that is tricky to cast. Sure, it wasn't the best cast Crucio, but it did work.

It did land.

It worked enough for Bellatrix to stop laughing and start taking Harry seriously.

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, “Imperio!” A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling, warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast.

(Deathly Hollows, page 452)

Like with the Cruciatus Curse, Harry succeeds in the Imperius curse on his first try (and the second try that happens immediately after). In general, Harry learns to cast most spells (even the advanced ones) incredibly quickly — like, on his first try. That's insane!

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 502)

And he gets better over time, both with the Cruciatus Curse, as we see here and his fully corporeal Patronus which is considered an unbelievable feat for a fifteen-year-old:

“Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapor or smoke?” “Yes,” said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, “it’s a stag, it’s always a stag.” “Always?” boomed Madam Bones. “You have produced a Patronus before now?” “Yes,” said Harry, “I’ve been doing it for over a year —” “And you are fifteen years old?” “Yes, and —” “You learned this at school?” “Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the —” “Impressive,” said Madam Bones, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at that age . . . very impressive indeed.”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 141)

I agree Madam Bones, Harry is impressive and is Voldemort's equal magically. Harry isn't just Expelliarmos. he's clever and talented and very magically capable with every spell he tries his hand in.

[the-music-maniac]

Not that I read mpreg all that often (not really my thing generally speaking) but I came across some "Sanji is pregnant" fics in the sanzo/zosan tag, and not nearly the same amount for Zoro. It got me thinking about the trope. I think the lack of Zoro fics here is a tragic oversight. I think we as a fandom are absolutely and tragically ignoring the potential comedy gold of Zoro being the one to be pregnant instead.

Because when people write Sanji, the general trend I'm seeing (upon scanning through some of the fics quickly) is that he's cautious about it. Conscientious, careful to make sure things are okay. Which - arguably I could see, Sanji is probably the more practical of the two (not by a whole lot but still)and he didn't have a good childhood. Sanji being pregnant is usually a fic about his heaps of parental issues, childhood trauma and angst - which is fun to read. It's good. It's amazing, even.

Zoro being pregnant is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT gonna be a COMEDY. We're talking about a man who once tried to fight Kuina holding like 20 bokkens. We're talking about a man who got stuck in wax and thought the reasonable solution was to cut off his legs.

The entire crew spends the next 9 months tearing their hair out, preventing Zoro from doing stupid shit (exhibit A: cutting off his own limbs). They spend the same amount of time trying to stop Luffy from gum-gum-grabbing Zoro and yeeting him anytime he needs to get them out of a sticky situation.

The crew (mostly Sanji) is on 24/7 prevent-zoro-from-drinking-alcohol duty (impossible). Chopper is constantly stressed in the later months cause no one puts it past Zoro to get lost somewhere, give birth out in the woods and come strolling back with a baby tucked under his arm. They have to start hiding Zoro's dumbbells.

Franky and Usopp design and build a nursery and spends the entire time suspiciously teary eyed. Sanji tries to pretend he's unaffected but spends an entire night creating a 9 month meal plan of all the nutrients Zoro and the baby are gonna need. Not even a day later, one of the crew finds him up at 2 am making a mountain of food because Zoro made the mistake of offhandedly mentioning he had particular pregnancy craving within earshot of Sanji. In the end Zoro has to sit on him to stop Sanji from running himself ragged.

Robin keeps spouting morbid childbirth facts and quotes from parental advice books in equal measure. Nami keeps going on shopping sprees for cute baby clothes and adding the cost of them to Zoro's debt. Brook keeps writing lullabies and trying to sing them to Zoro's stomach. Zoro 100% uses his pregnancy belly as an excuse to walk around without a shirt 24/7 without getting nagged.

Somehow word gets out that the famous pirate hunter Zoro is pregnant, and at the next big fight with the Marines, half the soldiers refuse to fight him and instead start telling him to sit down, take it easy, shouting advice at him etc. Etc. Zoro loses his shit a little bit and cuts their boat in half.

Mihawk, upon finding out, tells Zoro in no uncertain terms that that is his grandchild and he's expecting them to visit so he can meet the baby when they're born. Zoro vehemently denies that Mihawk is his father (he is). Zeff upon finding out, is almost as bad as Sanji when it comes to being a mother hen. Perona buys even more baby clothes for the baby. She buys one singular shirt for Zoro as a joke, and it coincidentally happens to be the exact same brand of "mama" crop top he was forced to wear in that one filler episode. Zoro tries to chuck it into the ocean (he fails).

I'm essentially saying it would be absolute chaos, and it would be the funniest thing I've ever read. 9 months of Marimo wrangling. Can you imagine the look on Zoro's face if one of the opponents he was fighting were to tell him that he's "glowing"?

PLEASE, I would actually wheeze myself to death. The best part is you can still have plenty of Sanji angst. He still has parental issues except now they're flavoured with "I'm not ready to be a father" and "I'm terrified I'm gonna become my biological sperm donor" and "please don't die because of childbirth complications, that happened to my mother(sort of, I know she died after but it kinda counts), and I can't handle that happening again to you". Lots of cute/tender moments of Zoro comforting and reassuring Sanji. We can even have Zoro angst. He probably views protecting his crew as the one and only job he's good for (not true but that's probably what he thinks). Not being able to fulfill that is probably not helping his self esteem, and that sense of uselessness warring with his need to protect the baby - but the contradictory thing here is that to protect the baby he HAS to sit back and let other people do that FOR him. That plus all the other restrictions, people treating him differently, but him at the same time refusing to view his own child as a weakness. Imagine the havoc that would wreak. Oh my god.

Y'all don't understand, I don't even read mpreg that often and yet this is literally my ideal fic HAHAAAAA

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur work!! id love to read about chess player!ellie x chess player!reader hate fucking the shit out of each other after one of them wins the tournament 🤭🤭

"You're not as boring as I thought...

...you are not as bright, either."

warnings: 18+!! edging, brat!reader, slight mean!ellie, dom!ellie, sub!reader, yeah js.. smut

writers note: i never told u guys before but pspsp.. i play chess !! so surprising right🤭🤭 and yes i used dominiques quote because . and . also ...,.

"what the fuck was that, huh?" she asked with a serious, cold tone. and maybe you'd even bother to answer, if she wasn't about nine inches deep in you. you rolled your eyes with a quiet whimper. "what? gonna throw a tantrum? i'm the one who should be mad. shit— i am fuckin' mad."

"see, el— maybe..." you hiccuped, managing to fully open your half-lidded eyes for a second. "maybe i'm just... better."

"better?" her eyes widened in shock, because even though she knew how much of a brat you can be she wasn't expecting that.

at some point, you were right. on the other hand, you didn't have to rub it in her face like that.

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you could tell she had studied the art of offensive chess for quite some time. she would frequently sacrifice her pieces to gain control of the center of the board, relying on her opponent's hesitations to gain a positional advantage. however, her tactics had limitations.

as you continued to play defensively, her attacks became more predictable, and you were able to counter them. while you wondered how she had reached this level, you had to admit that her strategy would work perfectly against a not patient or uncertain opponent. time didn't matter to you, not as much as to your rival, so you easily took advantage of it.

she looked either bored or amused most of the time, keeping the atmosphere more relaxed than it should be. "...so those girls like chess players, y'know? they're just so easy-"

"focus." you cut her off in an indifferent tone. the fact that she wasn't paying much attention to your moves, busy with talking, was good, but her rambling also distracted you. you clicked the little button on the clock, signaling it's ellie's turn. "i get it, people like smart girls." you mumbled, leaning back in your chair. "are you one of them, though?" you continued in a doubting voice, unintentionally insulting her.

her usual smirk didn't leave her face but you could see her bite the inside of her cheek in slight annoyance or even frustration. "i'm gonna show you." she nodded, as if to reassure herself with a silent 'yeah, just you wait!' which you couldn't help but laugh at. well, maybe not laugh, but chuckle under your breath. your comment must really bother her, to the point you ruined her offensive tactic.

"you're not as boring as i thought..." you scanned the board through your firm gaze, searching for any potential threats. you straightened up, propping your elbows on the small table and laying your head on your hands, impatiently tapping your cheeks. as soon as she clicked the little knob you already knew what'll your move be, so you quickly extended your hand. "you're not as bright, either." you picked up your knight, tauntingly pattering it through the squares, mimicking a real horse. finishing the L-shaped distance seemed to take you ages, though it was really less than four seconds. you let go of it, making a muffled knocking sound as it hit the wooden board. "checkmate." you whispered, folding your hands and tilting your head.

you took a moment to take in her reaction, which, much to your disappointment, wasn't an interesting scene. in fact, her smirk only widened as she looked at the clock and saw what led to this - her reckless haste. she hummed and shook your hand, what showed that she agreed with the score.

"how could i not notice that?" she smiled, letting you know it doesn't matter to her. you started to wonder about her strange behaviour, which seemed weird compared to the known, easy to piss off ellie williams. and just then, you understood everything's how it should be. her grip on your hand painfully tightened, as if to prove that your suspicion is correct.

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you felt her strap slid out of you, leaving your cunt hopelessly clenching around nothing. you raised your head, letting out a needy whimper and hoping to see what was she's up to. "els—"

"shut up." she murmured as she parted your thighs, revealing herself between them. she leaned down to have your slit at her eye level, with a quiet growl. "you're such a—" her tongue ran up and down your lips, collecting most of the slick you have accumulated. she looked up at you with a proud smirk. "fuckin' slut."

your fingers uncontrollably tangled with her hair, tugging on it while your free hand gripped the bed sheets. your cunt was still sensitive after being filled with her strap, so her soothing tongue felt comfortingly painful. she lightly sucked on your clit, forcing a desperate moan out of you.

"so you're the smart one? is that right?" she asked, her voice interrupted by either your little gasps or her breaks to plant another kiss on your core. "why don't you say something smart then?" her mocking tone echoed in your head as you tried to form a sentence. before you could, she stuck her tongue in your throbbing hole, making your thighs snap shut. she quickly helped them regain to their previous position, not pulling her hands away for longer than needed as if she wanted to make sure her fingers will leave a reminder, in form of at least reddening your sensitive skin or, most likely, giving you some bruises.

you felt your climax approaching so soon it felt embarrassing, truly embarrassing. you started babbling nonsense as your cunt clenched around her tongue, which continued to fuck in and out of you.

the amazing feeling suddenly left, replaced by her thumb roughly circling your clit. you watched as she sat up and smiled down at you, licking her lips in a temptingly slow way. the brat living inside of you was the first one to speak up, huffing out her name in an obviously annoyed gesture.

"c'mon." she cooed in a mockingly sweet voice, making sure her thumb is doing a good job. good job at torturing, ruining and making you even more desperate, if that's even possible. "what would a smart girl say in your situation?" she clicked her tongue, making you feel all the control you had slid out between your fingers and sink into the bed sheets. no matter how much you didn't want to admit it, someone finally managed to make you feel hopeless.

"but, ellie, look—" you whined, trying to take as much satisfaction from the touch she was giving you, but it only seemed like a pathetic version of what you could have. you could have way more. you needed way more.

"i don't want to hear any buts." she stopped her thumb, hardly pressing it against your clit, staring at you with stern and serious eyes which you weren't used to see from her. "we both know what a smart girl should say, yeah? aren't you one? are you admitting you're just a slut?" she sighed as if she was disappointed in you.

you shook your head, closing your eyes from the mix of all possible emotions; from embarrassment to proudness. "please, need— need you and... oh, please, ellie..." you broke, begging for more in the most miserable way imaginable.

she bitterly laughed, murmuring an amused "god, you're really a slut" under her breath. her thumb left your clit and both of her hands found their place on your thighs, making you hiss at the touch of your earlier irritated skin. you whined, the sound of your rambling slowly drifting away and getting replaced by just as beautiful moans. you heard her voice but you didn't really understand what she said, nor paid any attention to it, as your mind went blank. your hips kept waving up and down, trying to add to the feeling. your miserable attempts earned either a chuckle or scoff from ellie, but she didn't even try to stop you, enjoying this as much as you.

hooking up with bimbo's might be easy, but making a mess out of a girl smarter than her was way more satisfying.

[caorann8]

Grief in Dawntrail

Alrighty, here are my thoughts as a funeral director having finished Dawntrail. Obviously spoilers under the cut.

When someone says a game feels like work, that’s normally a bad thing. In this case it’s not. Two of Dawntrail’s themes are community/their different cultures and grief and while they’re explored more separately in the two halves of the story they are intrinsically linked. Funerals at their core are about remembering the person who’s died and coming together to support each other and remember the person. Even with the decline of “traditional” funerals, people who are just having a cremation and nothing else from the funeral home often say they’ll have something at home with their friends and family.

This is why Sphene pissed me off from the start. With the Yok Huy we see a beautiful funeral tradition. The body may return to the mountains but their legacy will always remain for their community to read and remember over and over again, even for future generations. Meanwhile Sphene echo’s the same message, “You will never die so long as you’re remembered” but then removes the memories as a misguided attempt to protect her people. They aren’t remembered, they’re actively forgotten by their entire community until those people die too.

Death and grief are complicated things. Something we learn in school is there are no stages as most people think. It’s a roller coaster that goes forward and back, has good days and bad days, and will sometimes crop up years later. What lessens it is allowing yourself to process it, and support from friends/family/community helps immensely. By denying them these memories, Sphene denies them growth and stronger bonds. A friend of mine said the people of Alexandria wouldn’t survive the Final Days and I agree. We even see this in the WoL! How many times are we able to quote Haurchefant or other characters who have died but made an impact on our journey? Even Emet-Selch asks us to remember them. The ancient’s love, their follies, the good and bad. While grief hurts in so many different ways, we often come out on the other side better, whether that be with new tools, new outlooks, or even just relief that the person isn’t suffering.

And this doesn’t just apply to people we care for. Look at the death of Zoraal Ja. Wuk Lamat hated him and he’d abandoned Gulool Ja. Regret or joy that it’s over are valid feelings . Both grieved in their own ways and had support to work through it. The fact that they were actively told to take a break to process everything, both after his death and after the attack on Tullioyal, was a beautiful touch. Grief is exhausting after all.

Finally, I want to talk about my experience going through Living Memory. That’s the part that truly felt like my work. Just sitting and listening to people say their final goodbyes to their loved ones. Some crying, some laughing at good memories, some angry, but all taking that moment. I didn’t cry really (except Cahcuia, that one got me), I got choked up and there was a heaviness for a lot of it, but there’s a joy in knowing nothing’s left unsaid. Even deleting the areas didn’t affect me much. They each got their last hurrah, like a eulogy at a service or stories shared over a meal. Plus the knowledge that reincarnation exists in FFXIV means they’ll be able to enjoy life again.

At the end of the day grief, in all its forms from the end of relationships, to what could’ve been, to death of a loved one, shouldn’t be swept under a rug. When people find out I’m a funeral director I often get asked if it’s “depressing with all the crying” and I always reply that I hear laughter coming from visitation rooms more often than tears.

[kwillow]

Mail time. Theo clearly isn't the best candidate to lecture people on "good manners" but that's not going to stop him.

Also using this as a header for more LORE RAMBLES: THEO EDITION, because again I have more interesting asks about Theo than I can answer with drawings -- so REAMS OF WORDS it is!

Questions and answers under the cut...

Well, Theo isn’t terribly fond of the guy. He’s never met him, of course, but from his research into Old Kingdom history, he thinks of Ambroys as a conceited, shallow, disloyal, cowardly liar – and he’s not exactly wrong, ha.

If they met in the past, when Ambroys was his cocky, younger self, I think Ambroys would take advantage of Theo’s poor social skills and unpopularity by bullying him for some cheap points with other people who would find amusement in that. Ambroys wouldn’t have much use for him otherwise. Theo would spend far more time seething about Ambroys and plans for his revenge on that POMPOUS POPINJAY than Ambroys would spend thinking about Theo at all.

If they met in modern times – well that’s something we’ll address eventually, but Theo and Ambroys would not get along much better. Present-day Ambroys does not like mages one bit. Also, he is quite used to being literally worshipped. A little hater like Theo would not be looked upon kindly.

Thank you!! Now you too are present in a lore dump!

Theo is indeed a fan of the performing arts, and art in general (though he is, predictably, very particular in his tastes). Opera and such was performed during Ambroys’ time, and much of it was likely lost during the apocalyptic era between the time of the Old Kingdoms and the modern day, but I imagine some scant examples of the genre (and traditional plays by the likes of Furry Shakespeare, because Shakespeare is one of those people who just exists in every universe no matter how bizarre) would still survive into the Theo’s time.

Theo’s hometown of Northcrest would be too small and rural to have a real theatre, so experiencing “proper” performances would be rare treats for him, when he followed his mother on business excursions to the rich districts of Ironfrost. I love that you picked up on the fact that he would want his own private box, haha. He wants to observe, not be observed!

You’re right that musicals would probably still be in their vaudeville and burlesque era, and Theo would find them to be distasteful, vulgar pap suited only for the soft, feeble minds of the unwashed masses, not a refined intellectual like himself. (Which is funny because I think a real-world modern-day Theo would like musicals because in some ways, he is a theater kid without the charisma or confidence to actually perform.) While his mother did not enjoy theatre to the same extent he did (her tastes were more in feats of choreographry and human/anthro excellence like ballet), they would bitch about the decline of society together if they saw a poster for one of those terrible, gaudy cabaret catastrophes. In general, Theo hates anything modern and likes anything old-fashioned, and that shifts according to the decade he lives in. An Amaranthine Theo would hate swing music, but a real-world modern-day Theo would like it. Embarrassing!

Also, he will memorize and quote his favorite soliloquies at people for the faintest of reasons. Don’t test him.

No, I don’t think Hyden has strong enough arms or a sturdy enough back to lift an entire person, even one as little as Theo. Hyden might be large but he’s not as powerful as his height and bulk make him look. I think even Theo is more physically adept than Hyden is (and that’s not saying much).

Also, while he would learn to tolerate it from someone like Hyden (in the same way your cat might begrudgingly tolerate you grabbing their little feet), Theo does not like being picked up by people. I can speak from experience than when you’re a short person, people love to pick you up randomly to establish dominance and it’s not a very dignified experience. Theo has a hard enough time being taken seriously even without being lugged about like a wheezing sack of flour.

Theo would be the first to inform you he is not the person to consult on romantic matters. At the same time, he would still give his advice: stop being a fatuous little fool and turn your efforts to matters of greater importance, like work or supporting your family or collecting every edition of your favorite encyclopedia or hitting your head against a wall. All would be better ways to spend your energy.

(I think you’re alluding to a person with a crush on him – God knows why such a person would exist in his universe – asking him for romantic advice, but I feel compelled to specify that the message he’d give a man seeking instructions on how to deal with a lady would be akin to “GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HER”)

(Or maybe you mean someone Theo has a crush on? Well, the answer would be the same. Theo isn't duplicitous enough or proud enough to try to swindle someone towards viewing him as a romantic prospect. But he sure wouldn't suggest they get with someone else. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO BE IN LOVE. STOP IT, HE SAYS.)

Yes, those are self-inflicted injuries. He’s had a compulsion to bite and scratch himself ever since he was a kid. Sometimes as a punishment, sometimes as a ritual to quell distressing thoughts, sometimes out of the need to replace distressing sensations and events that are out of his control with one that is in his control, no matter how painful.

He does not particularly value his body nor its integrity. However, he is aware the scars are alarming, and finds them somewhat embarrassing reminders of his flaws in self-regulation. He deals with both the sight of the scars and the urge to harm by wearing his gloves, which is something he started doing in his late teens – they cover the marks and help redirect him by replacing the sensation of flesh with fabric when he goes to bite down.

On your question about Theo’s body-image: no, he does not care for how he looks. He likes that his eyes are grey (like mother’s) and that his fur is monochrome (like mother’s), and if pressed he might say the eyebrows aren’t bad, except for the parts where he’s pulled the hair out of them, but that’s it. He hates that he’s not just short but dwarfish, he does not like his heavy-set build, he would not choose to be born a rat, he despises his face, his teeth repulse him, he at least can make peace with the fact that he can’t grow facial hair because he’d never want a mustache like his father’s but it’s still somewhat emasculating, and on and on and on with the insecurities. He definitely feels physically inferior to other males. Your average man is not only much, much taller than him (and the world is cruel to a short king), but stronger and more classically virile as well. But he makes the best of that by dismissing those physical qualities as consolation prizes afforded to males who are obviously inferior to him intellectually, morally, and spiritually. He doesn’t care for brutes, but he doesn’t highly value machismo anyway… He thinks of himself as a gentleman whose best qualities reside in his mind and actions. A man who is reedy and petite but smarter or more charismatic than him is much more threatening to his ego than the bulkiest bruiser. (However, he will still try to fight both for dominance, either physically or verbally, and probably lose.)

Theo is highly offended and disgusted by nudity, both other’s and his own. Even states of mild undress are distressing to him, hence why he looks away when buttoning Hyden’s shirt. He’s willing to stomach some discomfort when it comes to helping a loved one, but only if it’s strictly necessary. He would pointedly not look and scold someone, even someone he was more comfortable with, if they were “too underdressed,” and freak out if they came into his vicinity in the nude. I think it would take years of gradual desensitization to lessen his negative reactions to nudity. It’s not just him being fussy, it borders on a phobia.

(Haha this shows how long I sit on asks before I get around to answering them SORRY...!!!!)

I don’t talk about it a lot because while the character’s sexual orientations do inform their lives and development, romance and sex are not usually at the top of my priority list when it comes to my stories… but I’ve alluded and mentioned directly that Theo is “canonically” bisexual (always feels weird to say “canon” about my imaginary friends, ha). But he is in denial/in the closet about it. Of course, he wouldn’t be aware of the concept of “bisexuality”, nor would that exact label exist in his world, so it’s not like he would identify that way even if he wasn’t repressing hardcore.

He is revolted by sex and intimacy, but that’s more due to his psychological baggage, his perception of his parent’s relationship and his cultural mores than something necessarily inborn or inherent to him.

(Hyden is actually Also Straight, possibly even straighter than Ambroys if we’re measuring by “creator’s admittance that character may be bi-curious one day.” I have a track record.)

Only if it’s karmic in some way, involving a person or persons he’s already predisposed to hating. Granted, dying of one’s own stupidity would be a form of justice in his eyes, but there’s limitations to that. Hearing about, say, an incident like Nutty Putty cave would not be amusing even though he would argue it’s the cave explorer’s “own fault” for going in there because it was such a gruesome and prolonged end, far outweighing the punishment Theo would find fair for such hubris. Of course, if the same cave explorer bullied him in prep school, then yes, it would be hilarious.

I don’t have a character named Herbert, so I am assuming you mean Theo here, from context. :’D

I’d like to draw Theo practicing his fencing some day! It’s on The List along with, er, fifty other drawings, ha. There’s just so much I need to make and so little time…

But besides that, Theo is not a particularly sporty guy. He doesn’t tend to enjoy competitive sports, either participating or watching. Physically he’s just not suited to them, and his schoolboy days did not endear him to them.

He does enjoy taking walks and admiring picturesque landscapes. He also hunted with his mother. One of the duties of the Norths is (or was, before he started shirking all his duties to focus entirely on his madness quest) to eliminate monstrous predators lurking on the outskirts of their territory before they could terrorize the mundane locals. Mages can sense magic, and thus are more capable of tracking down and felling corrupt magical beasts than your average person. Also, sometimes one wants a pheasant for dinner on special occasions. So, he grew up learning to hunt, and he’s decent with a rifle. He doesn’t go out to do much anymore, though. His mother’s death and subsequent self-imposed isolation exacerbated his already present issues with social phobia and paranoia, so he doesn’t feel safe outside his house. Someone could see him out there, and Something could happen. (He isn’t sure what exactly, but surely nothing good.)

During the course of Amaranthine’s story he is, of course, forced to go outside again and travel, so he’ll rediscover his hobby of killing animals again. …Good for him. I suppose.

(This is in reference to the tags I put on my post of Theo's romance meme: #ok one piece of commentary: brain problems + highly repressed upbringing = where i put theo on the kinky slider. it had to be there #you should think less '50 shades' and more '50 year old guys waxing poetic about quicksand scenes in old adventure films' for that one #he's not a quicksand guy. but that's the vibe.)

Hahaha, I appreciate your curiosity, but I’m not sure if it’s a terrific idea to share Theo’s “quicksand” equivalents. Alas, I don’t want to encourage the perception that my characters exist to be romantic or sexual wish-fulfillment, instead of the dysfunctional little narrative fidget toys they are, by going too in-depth too often on their hypothetical sex lives. Also, I get my (un)fair share of fetish-mining asks, and if I mention certain kinks, the senders of those asks might think they can wheedle that kind of smut art from me, which… is not the case, even if I did like the things Theo is partial to. Frankly, I don’t have time to draw smut art when I have so many comics of my characters angsting at each other that I ought to be drawing instead!!!

Anyway, complaining over. But I do know what Theo’s “interests” are, and don’t worry, they are suitably cringe. I find amusement in giving embarrassing proclivities to all my favorite characters, even if it will never come up in their stories. It keeps them humble.

The Theo befriending scenarios are becoming more elaborate…!

Magic can’t really do that in Amaranthine (it’s more limited than a lot of people think)! But even if you could, I think Theo might realize something was off eventually. Granted, he is blind to a lot of manipulation when he trusts someone, and for his own stupid reasons he trusts Hyden, so that alone would provide cover for some time. Being nice to him in Hyden’s guise might even fulfill some boyhood dreams of his, so that helps too. Still, I don’t think anyone but Hyden could manage to act like Hyden forever.

Theo abhors liars, manipulators, and traitors (I know, this is very funny considering I just talked about how Theo likes Hyden – again, Theo is not a great judge of character). While he would be mortified at his own gullibility, it’s not like he’d spare you any judgment for being the one to take advantage of his hospitality in the first place.

So, in attempting to befriend him, you would have 1) caused harm to someone he has charged himself with protecting by kidnapping Hyden, 2) committed the sin of deceiving him and 3) wounded his ego by exposing a huge vulnerability in his psychological armor. These are not crimes he is likely to excuse. Among Theo’s many faults are his capacity for spite and appetite for disproportionate vengeance. In other words, he would want to hurt you very, very badly.

Anyway, in summation, this is not a great way to try and win Theo’s affection. If befriending something hostile is what you’re after, I’d recommend purchasing a pet cobra or something, it would be more rewarding and less difficult to manage.

Ooh, this is another one of those “it depends” sort of questions… an Amaranthine Theo is completely unsuited for parenthood because he is just totally off his rocker and devoted to an impossible, nature-impugning, corruptive madness quest, so there’s not really much space left in his brain for any of the tasks involved in parenting.

Also, how well and in what way he would approach parenting would depend on if he has a partner and who they are, if the kid is biological (and therefore an extension of the North line) or adopted (and therefore might be spared some of those expectations), and what the kid or kids are like.

But, I’ll try to speak generally. He does put an importance on family so he would not be neglectful. In fact, I think he’d tend towards being smothering, way too over-protective. He would have high expectations for their academic career (despite flopping in his own) and would be upset if his children didn’t share his interest in intellectual pursuits. He lacks a lot of knowledge about life, and so he wouldn’t be able to pass that on to his children, despite desiring that they be self-sufficient and capable. He would try and keep them from being romantically involved until they could marry, which he wouldn’t think would be difficult considering how he himself is, but I think he would be disappointed and frustrated by the fact that most people (and therefore probably his kids) aren’t so averse to macking on other teenagers in their school days. His tendency towards being neurotic and temperamental would be an issue, and I think even if he tried to control his explosive tendencies around his children, they’d still pick up on it and be afraid of his moods. I think, with his immature development, he would have a lot of difficulty not descending to a teenager’s level of petty sniping if his teenage child did what teenagers do and started challenging him.

So… this is not painting a rosy picture. Don’t get me wrong, he’d try his best, and he would aim to be a good, supportive, and loving parent, but the man has issues. He wouldn’t be perfect. He might not even be good. He is Theo, after all.

Speaking of parenthood, let's get into some...

Family Matters

NO, they did not like each other. Their passive-aggression is as genuine as it is petty. They were the most divorced people to still technically be married.

Love was never in the cards for these two. The marriage was purely strategic, and all parties were aware of that. Leonard would have liked to have his wife love him, if only because it would be much more pleasant and convenient for him, but it wasn’t a requirement. He could seek love elsewhere if need be. He was always an opportunistic fellow that way.

Jo never held fondness for Leonard, either before or after their engagement. The marriage was at the behest of her father, and Jo had always put her duties to her family line above whatever selfish wants she might have had. She was willing to tolerate Leonard, which is about the best you could expect from her. However, he tried her patience too often to maintain even that level of camaraderie.

Leonard liked how Jo looked, and he liked the idea he had of her personality. Because Jo was deferential to her father, he assumed she would be similarly deferential to him. Hahaha. Not so. After her father passed, she inherited the Barony and thus, in her mind, the right to dictate the use of her family’s assets, the alliances she would forge with her noble connections, and the future of her estate. All her plans conflicted sharply with Leonard’s ideas of what he was going to do with the North’s influence, and he thought himself the keeper of their assets by patriarchal right. They clashed often and they both were too proud, power-hungry, and conniving to reconcile.

Leonard stayed because giving up the marriage would be giving up his avenue to social power. If he wanted to appear like he held the reins to potential allies and business connections, he had to stay in the manor, stay in Northcrest, and keep that ring on his finger. But he did take a very “I just live here” attitude to his home life. Jo stayed because her family’s long-held values maintained that it was her duty to do so, and to falter in her duties would be a permanent black stain on her good name. Also, it proved her superiority to the clearly weak-willed, dissolute Leonard, and that was an ego boost she wouldn’t pass up.

AHAHAH. THEO PEGGED FOR INBRED.

Yes, well, as you intuited, the Norths are one of those inbred noble families, like those you mentioned.

They’re a mage bloodline, and in the old days, mage nobility was a separate form of titled aristocracy from mundane nobility. Legitimate heirs had to have magical ability. If a mundane Viscount produced a mundane child, that was the end of the line of inheritance. Hence, noble mages in the Old Kingdoms only married other mages, to try to ensure their offspring could inherit their titles. While not all practiced inbreeding, it was a practice some families employed to try to “enhance” the magical ability and purity of their line, or just keep their wealth and power within their family (the Hyden family is another infamous example).

However, most magical lineages were wiped out during the fall of the Old Kingdoms, and those that survived were scattered to remote areas of the continent. Very few mages still exist, and the North family is one of the only lineages to survive “intact” to the modern day. They cling to their family’s history and their magical bloodline as their source of power and would never risk a union with a mundane. Like many other old traditions best left in the past, the Norths clung to the old ways, marrying within their line, inbreeding like an endangered species (which I suppose you could argue they were).

Of course, as the North’s numbers declined, the marriages shifted from pairing distant relatives to being cousin-cousin pairs. That level of consanguinity isn’t great for your offspring’s health or fertility, as it turns out, and further diminished their numbers (and options) until it came time for Jocosa to make their dying lineage limp along for another generation. By the time she was of age, there were no branches on the family tree left to harvest a husband from. Thus, the Norths needed to go further afield of the stagnant gene pool they’d been festering in.

Because of that, Theo is arguably a bit less inbred than previous generations of his family. The damage was already done, though. The fruits of the North’s unfortunate marriage practices have garnered them a deserved reputation for weak bodies, sick minds and dying young, and so far, Theo is two-for-three. We’ll see if he gets the triple.

Related to the above: if you haven’t realized already, the Norths are fucking freaks. Especially in the modern day of Amaranthine, caring about matching species in a marriage is seen as hyper-traditionalist, bizarre and absurdly impractical. But, well, the Norths are all those things. Jocosa’s parents were a stoat-stoat pair, their parents were stoat-stoat, and so on up the family tree, with maybe some rare exceptions where you might find a few polecats or minks scattered about in amongst the other long pointy-faced carnivores. Jocosa’s parents really would have preferred to have another mustelid marriage rather than wed their daughter to a rat.

But, that was a preference, and magical ability was a necessity. When Jocosa needed to marry, there were no other magical stoats, weasels, or even an otter for them to choose from.

That’s when an opportunistic young rat caught wind that there was a beautiful noble girl in need of a husband, just when he needed a rise in social station. Leonard was reasonably wealthy, and more importantly charming, quick-witted, and not afraid of lying his ass off to close a deal. He befriended Jocosa’s father and was able to delicately pick his way around or find loopholes in the Norths’ strict rules for marriage. Importantly for the Norths, Leonard had magical ability, albeit extremely weakly. You might say he was a sparkler while Jocosa was a flamethrower (in this analogy, in his prime, Hyden was an atomic bomb). Not ideal, but Leonard had enough magic to count as a mage for heir-producing purposes. Ultimately, Jocosa’s parents saw Leonard as the best option in a bad situation, rat or no. Preferable to dying out altogether, at least.

...

AND ON THAT, UH, HAPPY NOTE: thanks for reading and thank you all as always for sending questions about my little guy and being interested in him, even with all his slimy, weird, unpleasant foibles and flaws!

[valentinachatte]

I'm back and i brought an new OC to this blog :3

Meet Arwen Traime, my Twisted wonderland oc

This is some basic information about her

Template by Ai_kan1

Under the cut will be more fun fact about her

All these questions is made by Miriaocs

1. Name: Arwen Traim

- Arwen means a noble maiden, very beautiful, or muse, all three meanings are suitable for Arwen

-Traime Mainly made from Tremaine

- Rook calls Arwen Dame de la pluie, which means Lady of the Rain, which is a nickname people often use (because when Arwen appears, it often rains). Rook also calls Arwen Reine de la pluie

- Floyd calls Arwen stingray-senpai (Akaei-senpai). The reason is because Floyd realizes her danger despite her gentle appearance, but the real reason is because of her ponytail. The stingray looks gentle so I chose that nickname :)))

2. Inpso: Arwen was inspired by Lady Tremaine, when I first learned about the game I also wanted to create an OC, and decided to choose Lady Tremaine without looking at the cast... and then when i finally play the game and saw saw professor Trein, at that time I almost finished building Arwen and couldn't bear to leave her 😅

3. Age/Bday: She is 18 years old. Birthday is on May 20, close to Silver and Deuce's birthday

4. Dorm: Dorm leader of Celfam, when I created her I created her dorm myself. Dorm Celfam is based on Lady Tremaine's flexibility . Arwen is flexible, and knows how to make people do what she wants but is also cold like Lady Tremaine. Currently, she lives with Lucasta (vice dorm leader, who is based on Lucifer), the two are close friends

5. Class: Arwen is in class 3C with Vil and Lucasta. Vil and Arwen talk quite well. Studied together for 3 years

6. Height: Arwen is 1m75 tall, weighs 50kg

7. Hair/Eyes color: Gray-blue hair with white highlights. Two-colored eyes but few people notice because the two eye colors are close together, one eye is jade green, and one eye is emerald green

8. Homeland: Homeland is in the Vault of Memory (imagination country that i created). No one in the cast is from the same hometown as Obv, she knew Kalim and Idia before coming to NRC because her family was familiar with the Asim and Shroud families

9. Club: Didn't join the club because she was too busy with work and because of health issues

10. Subject:

Best Subject: History of magic, Arwen is extremely good at this subject because she is a diplomat and has to remember all the big and small events.

Worst subject: Physical education (make her run 3m and she faints).

She gets along well with Mr. Trein and often asks Mr. Trein to learn more about historical events. Physical education is unavoidable

11. Hobby: She likes sightseeing, especially places with water like waterfalls or lakes, once at the lake near the ruins she met Malleus there, and from then on the two of them often went sightseeing together

12. Pet peeve: chewing makes a sound, she is super annoyed with that. she will glare at the person if they do it near her

13. Food: likes strong flavors because her taste buds are very bad. She has no preference for food, but will not eat poorly prepared dishes. Often shares with Lucasta (Lucista gets it herself)

14. Talent: Excellent diplomacy, very good at talking

15. Unique Magic: "Back to your place"

- Arwen's special magic allows her to control others according to her command (not hypnosis but direct manipulation)

- Incantation: -"heed my words and follow my command, Back to your place"- changed from the sentence - "Cinderella will be put in her place." Lady Tremaine's

- Weakness: very corrosive to the user, the biggest loophole is that you have to know the name of the person you want to use it on before you can use it + the person you want to use it on is too much stronger, it will cost a lot of magic (which can lead to her death, will be explained in the backstory)

16. Quote: -" People may enter and exit our lives, and while it can be difficult to say goodbye, it's a natural part of our journey."- she said to Malleus when talking about her illness, not long after that he Overblot

17. Personality:

- on the outside, she is mature, gentle, kind, and delicate and loves peace but always gives off a very distant feeling. Arwen is considered one of the gentlest dorm leaders (after Kalim ofc) but is still a dorm leader, a trustworthy senior.

- truth is Arwen is always jealous of the people around her, extremely distant from everyone (except Lucasta), cold, cruel, and will do anything to achieve her goals (even harming herself and others). Secretly has a superiority complex, in her heart she always looks down on those she thinks are inferior

- But Arwen is just a child who was forced to grow up too early, living in meaningless compliments but never received any true love or affection, the guilt that she bears. She also struggles with PTSD and Depression . (more will be in the backstory)

School uniform and dorm uniform

Countdown poster

She also appears in Glorious masquerade as an SSR card this is the card that i draw for her

The ref of the outfit is here

[boba-beom]

stay still | CHOI BEOMGYU NSFW

p: beomgyu x fem!reader | g: smut | w: fwb!beomgyu a tease, heavy petting, fingering (f!receiving), marking, degradation; (slut, whore), pet names; (baby), smut with plot, possessive but also annoying gyu 🙄, ruined orgasm rip, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything! | wc: 1k | summary: while visiting beomgyu his friends and family just so happens to stay over too. instead of sleeping in the guest room you end up sleeping in his bed where you talk to him about your crush on one of his friends and wanting to stop your fwb agreement, but he tries to make you think otherwise. | a/n: guys,, this beomgyu is tainting all thoughts in my head omfg

!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

continue under the cut ❤︎

“didn’t we agree to stay quiet? hm?” beomgyu’s low whisper raised hairs along your neck. the deep rasps in his throat never failed to make your eyes subtly roll to the back of your head. or was that because he’s been teasing you since he joined you in his bed. here you are back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling with beomgyu laying on his side.

“gyu- fuck. can you just hear me out for a- a second?” you struggle to face him after having your eyes shut a little too tight, causing you to see luminescent colours whenever you tried to blink your eyes open.

he stops his ministrations of rubbing your clothed bundle of nerves, knowing that your satin shorts have a dark patch spreading across the material. he has your one leg trapped between his thighs and the other spread out a little.

beomgyu knows how to get you shaking, he knows what makes you crave for more and how to tease you. but for some reason he just doesn’t seem to understand the fact that you may or may not have a small crush on his friend whom you’ve only met twice.

“what do you even have to say? that you want to drop me for yeonjun? he has many friends with benefits to go to, what makes you think he’ll drop them for a filthy whore like you?” he sighs, adjusting his position beside you, now resting on his arm and looking at you. his finger grazing strokes up and down your thigh hidden under the blanket you were both sharing.

“why are you being such a dick right now?" you stare right at him with your hand grabbing his wrist, stopping him at a halt from the embarrassingly delicious tingly sensation against your skin.

"me? baby, I'm satisfied with you. but it's starting to sound like you've only been hanging out with me often just to coincidentally see yeonjun too." he air quotes with his other hand.

"maybe I am? I think I like this guy, beomgyu. you're just selfish." you huff, rolling your eyes. he was beginning to irritate you.

"I'm selfish?" his fingers trail closer to your clothed core, slowly pushing the satin material aside. "no panties, as expected. it's very much whore behaviour if you tell me."

you inhale a sharp gasp as he prods at your sopping hole, gathering the slick between his middle and ring finger and gliding it up to circle lightly around your nub.

"see, my whore." he hums closer to your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin. "you like that hm? is that why you're in my bed and not in the guest room with yeonjun?" he smirks as he watches your chest heave just under his field of vision, noticing the way your nipples start to perk up.

"I- I wanted to confide in you," another sharp gasp intrudes your sentence as his fingers prods your entrance and gradually sinking his fingers inside you. "but- oh fuck- you don't care. you're.. so fucking stupid." you manage to mutter.

beomgyu draws out a hum as he leans forward to leave kisses and nibbles along your neck while his fingers work inside your clenching cunt. the familiar feeling of his fingers curling up just how you like it.

"I'll fuck you stupid with my fingers, now stay quiet."

he sucks at the exposed area of your neck as you turn your head away in attempt of burying it in the pillow. his fingers don't stop plunging in deep, picking up the speed in contrast of his slow licks after he sucks at your skin. a short-high pitched squeal leaves your lips as he speeds up.

"did you want yeonjun listening in? he possibly could. you think he knows how much of a slut you are for me?" beomgyu continues his actions, now littering kisses along your chest and clothed nipples.

"beomgyu, I'm-" you swallow back a moan but your shaky breath and heavy heaving doesn't stop. neither does beomgyu's fingers, adding his thumb to simultaneously rub your clit while his two digits are non-stop pumping in your clenching cunt.

"tell me you want me. not yeonjun. just me. and I'll let you cum." he whispers against your chest, licking your perked nipples through your satin cami top.

"okayokayokay, I want you beomgyu. so fucking bad. please make me cum like you always do." you begin to squirm under his body in attempt to reach your climax quicker.

"stay still, yn. you don't want yeonjun anymore, do you? just me, right?" beomgyu returns to kissing your jaw as you sigh in his ear, murmuring countless 'yes's, borderline whining.

"mmm, gyu, m'gonna hah-" your ears are met with beomgyu's low chuckles, fascinated by the way your body won't stop squirming.

"choi fucking beomgyu," you exhale. "why the fuck did you stop?! I was so close." you almost sob from the loss of your orgasm, almost reaching that state of euphoria that only beomgyu's been able to give you for god knows how long you've been friends with benefits.

"sorry baby, it's late and I didn't want to wake anyone up. you were starting to get a little too loud." he whispers the last sentence, shooting you a wink with his stupid grin crawling on his lips. "at least now I know you want me and not yeonjun. you're mine."

he pulls his fingers out of you, not without a few twitches from you, and sticks his soiled fingers into his mouth, taking them out with an exaggerated pop and satisfied groan.

"sweet as always." he winks at you and you scoff at his ridiculous gestures.

beomgyu wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in closer to him as he rests his head on your boobs, which he likes to call his personal twin pillows. in no time he was silent with light breaths as you instinctively run your fingers through his outgrown hair.

"gyu, you're so annoying. but at least I know that you want me too." you smile to yourself, falling asleep with him.

taglist: @ahnneyong @prodsh00ky @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @ttyunz @cha0thicpisces @fairybinie @vatterie @hyuntaena @ja4hyvn @yunkiwii @aprilisque @bb-eilish @ericyjun @bluejin0812 @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @day6andetcetera @dainsleif-when-playable @txt-yaomi @soobinsman @kookthief @lovejoshua @robin-obsessed and just assuming you wanted to be tagged bc of the rbs hehe @hyewka @gyuspeach

© boba-beom ; all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, alter or translate in any way or platform.

[tswhiisftteedr]

Not to be rude but you accidentally put val's story in vox's masterlist instead. Srry I didn't feel comfy dming you. Nothing against you at all I'm just a coward wanting to hide in anon haha. Ig while I'm here could I get vox general hcs pls?

What the Tv do? ☆ Vox General Headcanon + Drabbles (SFW & NSFW)

☆ Vox General headcanon + Vox x Gn!Reader(Employee!Reader??):

Some general thoughts about the tv man and also his relationship with the ‘reader’. This is silly, this is fun, fluffy and smutty.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, Death(literally overdose on coffe nothing gruesome), Drug use(c0caine and others substances), Sadistic Tendencies, Dub-Con, Power Imbalance/Power Play, Obsessive and Possessive Tendencies and Acts, Stalking, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Boss x Employee, Pet Play?(Just collaring and slight animal based pet names), Valentino.

Words: Total: 5496 = Sfw - 2609 + Nsfw - 2887

Note: I only wrote 1 drabble, i might add more if people request it about the specific headcanon they want more on. so I’m not good with request like these, I like when they are more specific so I have sort of something to base my writing on, so sorry if you anon or people don’t like what I’ve wrote, r.i.p. >:/ Though tell me if you want more!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

SFW:

☕︎ Coffee addict and 𓏊 Alcoholic

Vox is the figurative and quite literally incarnation of the ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ phrase.

But we’re talking coffees instead of coffee with him — two cups straight out of bed to be precise. When totalling the day’s consumption, Vox indulges on average, 6-7 cups of 10 oz coffee; in addition to his morning coffees, he likes to have a mid-morning cup, then two during lunch and finally 1-2 cups during the afternoon depending how late he is working.

Is this per say, ‘healthy’? No, not at all, Vox couldn't care less — worst ‘worst’ case scenario, he quote on quote dies, the coffee he had intake ends up intoxicating him due to the splurging amount of it, turning this mondaine drink into a lethal liquid for the overlord’s body. His heart would stop, sub-consequently, him and his body would be out.

Though the good thing — or bad, it all depends on your angle — about hell is that in about the span of 10 minutes his body will have fully regenerate and be back open for business. Some sinners call it it a curse, he calls it a blessing, as this part of the ‘eternal punishment’ practically makes him immortal.

So is he going to work on regulating his caffeine intake? Obviously not!

Worst thing he gets from his ‘little problem’ is a heart attack, and they don’t permanently keep him down. — Sure, they hurt like a bitch, and he would rather not be having them at all to be truthful.

But he honestly he doesn’t see his bimonthly cardiac arrests as that steep of a price to pay. (Honestly how can such a smart businessman be so dumb about his health. * face palming and baffled at the idiocy of it all *)

Now when alcohol is the subject of conversation, Vox takes a slightly different approach, albeit one still characterized by overindulgence.

You see, he prides himself on being the epitome of a charming, classy, and self-controlled casual drinker, compared to his drunkard of a pattern —Valentino— our lovely show host with anger issues and both inferiority and superiority complex is a sophisticated and savvy man.

However, beneath this facade of self-control, which he upholds quite well to the public eye, hides his obvious alcoholism issues.

While he may not be stumbling and blubbering around, picking fights,— in most instances at least— Vox is certainly what you might call a “day drinker."

In fact, this is actually a canonical trait, which was displayed in episode two of the show; Him discussing with others Vees on how to deal with the radio demon’s comeback, a drink in hand.

I presume thatit was a scotch on the rocks due to it’s colour but also it’s historical relevance in relation to Vox’s person— Scotch whisky poured over ice, gained popularity in the 1950s primarily in Western countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

It became a symbol of sophistication and leisure, often enjoyed in upscale bars, clubs, and lounges frequented by the affluent and fashionable crowd of the era.

Additionally, its popularity was bolstered by the rise of cocktail culture during the mid-20th century, as well as the increasing availability of Scotch whisky in international markets. — this fits quite nicely Vox’s character as it is both a drink of his time on earth but also one that remains relevant in the contemporary era.

It easily mirrors Vox's overarching desire to maintain relevance and significance, both in the present and in the ever-evolving future.

The overlord definitely adhere to ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’ religiously. Though he does prefer to enjoy his daily drink around 5 p.m. PRT (Pride Ring Time).

He will occasionally enjoys a drink with his lunch, often opting for wine, although this isn't a regular occurrence for the man.

As someone constantly under stress, with his mind racing to keep up with the ever-changing trends and opinions in hell, Vox is a type to indulge in a nightcap or two before bed.

It helps him unwind and achieve the relaxed state of mind necessary for a restful night's sleep.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Sleep

While the notion of ‘Vox's dreams playing on his screen while he's asleep’ is an amusing concept for fanfiction or artwork, I personally find the idea of ‘the VoxTek logo bouncing around like the DVD logo’ to be more fitting for Vox.

Before delving further, it's important to note that initially, it wasn't necessarily the VoxTek logo projected on his screen; however, I'll address this shortly.

The reason I lean towards the DVD logo concept is because I find it unlikely that Vox's screen would be completely black during sleep. A completely dark screen would imply the device is completely off, no energy is being received or given by it, which would suggest that it is no longer alive. Having some activity on Vox’s screen while asleep would signify that his program is still active, indicating he's still functioning, essentially alive.

Now regarding the widely shared headcanon, I have my own personal take on it.

When Vox first manifested in hell, his 'real name' appeared on screen. By 'real name,' I mean the one he had on Earth, which I believe wasn't Vox —That name seems too futuristic for a person born in the early 1900s or the kind of name you'd associate with a 1950s businessman— Vox is a name he chose for himself after death, symbolizing a fresh start, though I do think that his real name might also have started with a V.

(This perspective extends to other 'Vees' as well, although Velvette seems more plausible as a given name, I suspect it might not be her original one. Valentino, on the other hand, feels like a name assigned to him, but he too might have adopted a new one after death.)

Initially, Vox was unaware of his old name appearing on his screen while he slept since he wasn't conscious during that time. It wasn't until about half a year into his time in hell, during which he introduced himself as Vox to everyone, that one of his acquaintances pointed out this aspect of his physiology. Something along the lines of "Who's V———?" or "Why does V——— show on your screen while you sleep?" triggered a cascade of reactions in him.

Firstly, he panicked, realizing that people had access to his old identity. Secondly, he was puzzled by this phenomenon since no TV he had encountered displayed such behavior, which was normal considering DVDs weren't invented before 1996. — Hell sure was weird, he possessed technological features as part of his physiology before they were even invented— Lastly, this revelation instilled in him a new fear of sleeping.

This behavior stemmed from Vox's desire to construct a fresh existence in hell, complete with a new identity, image, empire, etc. The thought of others accessing his old name and exploiting it to uncover details about his past, including his behaviors, weaknesses, and tactics, filled him with dread.

As a result, he became hyper-vigilant, refusing to sleep unless he was certain of his solitude, fearing the potential repercussions of his former identity being known.

It wasn't until the mid 1960s that Vox had finally managed to upgrade his system, replacing ‘V———‘ with 'Vox'. However, even after this upgrade, he still harboured reservations about sleeping around others for about a year or two. He feared a potential glitch that could revert his screen to displaying his previous name.

Around the late 1970s he had made an adjustment to this aspect of his body once more, replacing 'Vox' with the VoxTek logo after a certain moth had suggested it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sexuality

Our beloved Tv Demon a canonical bisexual man, but I personally believe that while he may have bisexuality as his sexual orientation, — his attraction to men was something he only came to realize after death. Although there were subtle hints of his attraction to the same gender based on how he felt about them, he unfortunately didn't grasp them while still alive;

It would have been the late 1950s, and Vox had been in hell for about a year or two. In his earthly life, he had been with his fair share of women, and even in the "surprisingly not so fiery pits of the underworld," his ability to attract partners hadn't diminished much once got over his TV head appearance and let place for his charming and savvy persona to take over.

His love life seemed unchanged, perhaps with occasional exploration of new kinks, until that fateful night of October 11, 195X...

Vox had gone out for a drink after a grueling day at work, back when he was still toiling away at a low-paying job in an electronics factory, toasters, vacuum, etc. Despite the shitty work he had to go through, he had the perk of taking home broken scraps, which eventually played a role in his rise to success. But let's refocus on his night out, shall we?

He walked into his newfound favorite spot, a comedy bar where he sought solace in laughter and libations after a hard day. Arriving just as the performer began their set, he headed straight to the bar for his usual whiskey on the rocks, with nothing else on his mind. It wasn't until the comedian delivered a particularly hilarious joke that Vox turned to look at them and found his attraction piqued.

It was evident that they were a man with the specific style flashy outfit and makeup they wore. The voice was also a dead giveaway. The person now standing on stage, delivering one funny punchline after another, was a drag queen – a stunning one in Vox's eyes.

He couldn't tear his gaze away; there was something irresistibly captivating about the humorous individual on stage.

After the performance, as they made their way to the bar, Vox seized the opportunity. He introduced himself, and they exchanged pleasantries. They shared drinks and engaged in lively conversation, making for a truly enjoyable night that ended with a bang, quite literally.

In the morning, as clarity returned, Vox couldn't help but feel confused. He had never been attracted to men before, so he initially chalked it up to the alcohol or the fact that his night companion appeared so feminine that he mistook them for a woman.

However, as memories of the night flooded back, he couldn't deny his genuine attraction to every aspect of his partner, even the unmistakably male parts.

Initially, it felt strange to Vox as he reflected on the experience. However, after hours of deep contemplation, everything started to fall into place.

Vox realized he had always felt an affinity towards men, though expressing it as "liking men" might have appeared odd to outsiders. When he used that phrase, it wasn't in the context of sexual or romantic attraction but more of an admiration.

Yet, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that his feelings surpassed mere admiration.

He had never entertained the idea of it being anything akin to sexual or romantic attraction, but his recent encounter forced him to reconsider as he contemplated his life and the events of the previous night.

Vox liked men;

— Vox had always been drawn to the men of his time who exuded masculine confidence and assertiveness, finding their presence alluring and desiring to be in their company constantly.

He liked when they wore classic masculine fashion, such as tailored suits with narrow lapels, fitted jackets, and straight-leg trousers. These outfits oozed sophistication and professionalism, and Vox admired the attention to detail displayed.

Additionally, he liked when men would add classic accessories like fedora hats, skinny ties, cufflinks, and pocket squares to their outfit, they added to the polished and stylish appearance.

The preppy style also appealed to Vox, as he admired men who wore V-neck sweaters, button-down shirts, khaki trousers, and loafers. This style exuded a sense of casual elegance and refinement that he found attractive.

He also had a penchant for rebellious men who embraced a non-conformist aesthetic, often seen in leather jackets, denim jeans, white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Vox liked when men were smart and witty, could keep up with the conversation and also teach something along the way.

Vox liked men who exuded strength and athleticism, finding their ability to handle themselves physically appealing. For instance, witnessing a fistfight between coworkers would stir his emotions, initially attributing his excitement to the violence of the altercation.

However, he would inevitably find himself gravitating towards the winner, intrigued by their display of strength and skill, and feeling drawn to them in some inexplicable way. There was something about winners that captivated him and sparked his desire to get closer to them.

He like men who were daring, adventurous, and unafraid to push boundaries, they appealed to his sense of excitement and thrill-seeking.

He liked men who were ambitious, goal-oriented, and willing to pursue their dreams with determination might have resonated with Vox on a subconscious level.—

After his one-night stand, Vox was determined to clarify things once and for all. Following another grueling day of work, he ventured out again, this time to a gay bar, seeking the company of someone who embodied the traits he found most appealing in men, wanting to ensure it wasn't just the alcohol or the femininity of his previous partner. Without delving into detail, let's just say he had quite the night and afterward, there was no doubt in his mind: ‘he liked women, and he definitely also liked men.’

Following that experience, Vox began seeing more individuals of the same gender. However, he still held onto the notion that while he might be attracted to men, he didn't believe he would be interested in them as anything more than sexual partners. That was until he met Alastor...

Initially, Vox approached the radio demon seeking friendship or perhaps a partnership, given Vox's burgeoning company and rising status as an overlord. However, he soon found himself enamored with Alastor. Unfortunately for Vox, his feelings were not reciprocated. After that, Alastor distanced himself from Vox, leading our TV host to regard his old love as an enemy.

In response to the rejection, Vox decided to cease seeing men altogether, engaging in a series of short-term relationships with women. However, he soon realized he was simply idealizing Alastor and shifted his focus from woman to men for meaningless relationships, attempting to prove to himself that any other man was better than "that Bambi bitch."

But this approach only intensified the emptiness he felt. Recognizing the detrimental effects of his frantic behavior on himself and his company, Vox resolved to regulate and get back on a more business focused path.

The fact that rumours began circulating about his supposed "homoerotic relationships," was also a big push into getting back on track, as a word like that getting out was detrimental to business, since being gay was still stigmatized even in hell, during this time period.

It was around the late 1970s, with the rise of gay rights activism, that Vox began publicly dating men. Coincidentally, this was also when he met and began his business partnership (and more) with Valentino.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Names

Vox has a penchant for using endearing or patronizing nicknames, regardless of the gender of his employees. He will refer to them as "sweetheart," "doll face," or simply "doll."

In moments of frustration or when faced with resistance, he's not shy about using terms like "little girl" or "little boy," or even "kid," to belittle those who question him.

Additionally, he might employ terms like "Princess" or "your highness" as forms of condescension, no matter the gender of the person he is addressing.

NSFW

𓊔 Party

Despite Vox's obsession with his and the Vees' image, when it comes to partying, he becomes a total animal — I’m talking ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ type of wild.

Lavish gatherings marked by obscene spending and excessive drug intake, especially cocaine.

Vox typically indulged in doing lines off his desk or the luxurious crystal table in the lounge. However, what truly exited him was snorting lines off someone, getting his rocks off at their inability to refuse his advances and delighting in the control he exerted as he pinned them down to prevent any squirming.

The slight anxious tears and nervous mewls from whoever served as his snorting surface always stirred something within Vox. While he would grow irritated if they moved too much, the subtle signs of fear, such as the wetting of their eyes and trembling breath, would quickly reignite his unstable emotions. He found himself intensely aroused by their scared state, and more than once, he acted on these desires…

Drabble:

You were a VoxTek employee, more specifically; Vox’s secretary.

As Vox's secretary, navigating Alastor-related tantrums and enduring the grueling hours could be incredibly taxing, but the job itself had its perks.

Thanks to your position in the company, you enjoyed luxurious accommodations in the finest suites the V Tower had to offer.

Despite the challenges, Vox could be surprisingly pleasant, his charismatic charm reminiscent of his earlier days when his hypnosis wasn't as potent. And beneath the unconventional exterior of his TV head, there was no denying the appeal of his well-built physique.

Given the close proximity and constant interaction with Vox, it was inevitable to develop a small crush on your boss. His magnetic presence and the fact he was practically the only person you interacted with regularly since he requested you to work closer to him about three months ago only fueled this infatuation.

You liked your boss, but at this moment, you couldn't stand him;

It was 3 a.m. on a Sunday, the one day of the week you were supposed to have some semblance of off-time, with the luxury of sleeping in until noon.

But instead of enjoying your well-deserved rest in bed, you found yourself reluctantly entering the elevator, begrudgingly making your way to the usually closed-off top floor of the building.

Why? Because you had received a threatening and slightly slurry phone call from your boss, demanding your immediate presence or else face termination.

With your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance, you complied without questioning, even though you loathed every second of it.

After punching in the code provided, you entered the lounge area of the top floor to find all three Vees lounging about. Valentino was enveloped in smoke, while music filled the air.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Come 'ere," Vox exclaimed, his gestures frantic, urging you to approach quickly. He appeared laid-back, friendly, and strangely excited, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of coldness and condescension.

Confusion clouded your expression as you approached the couch, unsure of what to make of Vox's sudden change in behavior. Velvette, noticing your bewilderment, chimed in with an explanation. "He took some MDMA before he called you — actually, he couldn't stop blabbing about your ass once that stuff kicked in," she divulged matter-of-factly, adding another layer of peculiarity to the already bizarre situation.

‘Ah, he’s high — that explains the weird friendliness.’ You thought to yourself.

But before you could dwell on it too long, Valentino's words snapped you out of your thoughts, "Yes, little Voxxy over there couldn't stop talking about how much he wanted his little secretary with him right here. He just had to call you, despite it being the middle of the night. I'm sorry you're losing your beauty sleep right now, cariño," he said, his tone tinged with insincerity from false remorse. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he finished speaking, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment.

“Val, Vel! You can’t tell them that! Or they’ll, they’ll… fuck!” Vox began to say, but something mid-sentence seemed to frustrate him.

Before you could question it for too long, Valentino answered that question for you. “They’ll figure out you have a little crush on them. Aww, don’t worry papi, it’s not like they can say no to you either way,” the moth darkly announced, frightening you, as it was technically true that you had to obey whatever order your boss gave you; it was in your contract after all.

To your somewhat relief, Vox scoffed at his part-time boyfriend's comment, as if to convey that he wouldn't behave in such a manner.

"Shut the fuck, Val!" Vox began, his frustration evident, before redirecting his attention back to you. "And you, lay down on the table." Confused by the request, you briefly wondered if he was joking, but the seriousness etched on his face made it clear that he wasn't. Resigned, you followed his instruction and laid down on the table as he commanded.

As soon as you complied, a smile spread across Vox's face. "Good, good. Now be a good little secretary and stay still as I do some lines off you, m'kay?" he instructed.

Before you could process anything or say something, he pushed your shirt all the way up, ending just under your chest, and tugged your bottoms down slightly — exposing your whole stomach.

Attempting to voice your discomfort, you were promptly shushed by Vox. "Shhh, you're being a table for me right now, and last time I checked, tables don't talk, now do they, sweetheart? So be a doll and shut up," he said, eliciting laughter from the two other Vees.

You complied with his instructions and remained silent as you felt him pour some powder onto your abdomen. Knowing the drugs he usually made you order on his behalf, it was probably coke.

With that, he quickly formed about three lines and began snorting them. The sensation felt odd and somewhat ticklish to you, but what you didn't expect was for him to lick the parts of your belly where the powder had just sat — long lines that started from top to bottom, causing you to squirm involuntarily.

Vox didn't appreciate your movement, because ‘how dare his table move?’. In response, he firmly gripped your waist on both sides and forcefully slammed your hips against the table as a warning to ‘stop moving’.

However, his claws dug into your skin, causing you to cry out slightly. Upon seeing the small tears in your eyes, his mood shifted once more, from aggravation to something more lustful.

He relished the sight of you with tears in your eyes, so he decided to inflict a bit more pain. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he bit at your sides, knowing that you couldn't retaliate due to the hierarchical difference between you.

His bites started from the top, gradually getting lower until they ended up just above your crotch. With a slight, heavy breathing, he remarked, "Now what do we have here? A snack for me? You shouldn't have." As he removed your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear, a slight moist patch formed due to the position you were in.

Sure, Vox was an entitled asshole, but god, did he look and sound incredible when he was being mean and bossy. How could you not get aroused, especially when his face and long tongue ass were so close to your intimate parts.

"You want me to play with you, darling?" Vox asked in a manner that almost made it feel like you had a choice. There was something about it that suggested he might respect your decision if you said no—sure, he wouldn't like it, but he definitely had this thing where he wanted you to want him, to beg for him, to need him. Forcing himself on you wouldn't align with that desire.

You nodded, but he tutted at you, wanting a verbal answer. "No, no, no, it's 'Could you please, sir?' or 'Would love to, Mr. Vox,' or 'Please, I need you, Vox.' You've got to speak up if you want me to do anything to you, got it, dollface?" he clarified, emphasizing the importance of explicit consent, whether it was due to genuine respect for your boundaries or just his enjoyment of your yearning for him, it was a bit unclear. However, knowing Vox, he probably just got off on your embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," you said, feeling embarrassed. "So? Do you want me to give some love to these," he asked, tracing the outline of your underwear, "lovely parts?" He perked up.

"I would love for you to, sir," you managed to speak out. With a 'perfect' from your boss, he was now eagerly devouring you with his tongue, sending small pleasurable shocks through you as he did. No part of you down there was left un-licked.

Just as you were about to reach that sweet, sweet release — Vox removed himself from you, causing you to whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Don't worry," he said, but before you could complain too much, Vox lifted you up and threw you onto the couch, your face soon hitting the satin pillows. As you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you felt your hips being repositioned, leaving you face down and ass up.

Vox quickly pumped his cock a few times, not needing much as it was already hard from the sight of you writhing due to his tongue. Getting close to your ear, he whispered, "Cuz I'm not done with you, dollface."

Then he promptly shoved himself inside of you. Thankfully, whatever he was doing with his tongue a couple of instances ago had prepped you, because, woof, did the stretch sting.

After giving you a few moments to adjust, he began pounding you into tomorrow, playing with your front and sending small shocks here and there. With no regard for his colleagues sitting right beside him —or should I say colleague, as in singular—Velvette had left as soon as he began working you with his tongue. However, Valentino remained, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Your soon came undone due to his rough ministrations, but he was far from done with you...

⫘⫘⫘ Ownership, ⛌⛌⛌ Humiliation & Collar

If you haven't already figured it out yet, Vox is a sadist. He thoroughly enjoys power dynamics and the act of humiliating others.

Continuing from the previous headcanon, picture yourself as either hired as his secretary or as a low-ranking demon in his company who catches his eye. If you're the latter, he'll undoubtedly arrange for you to be transferred to work closer to him.

But anyway, my point is, as soon as you're in his close proximity, he'll literally makes you his bitch on call in the blink of an eye. And obviously, you can't refuse because, one, he's your boss; two, he's an overlord; and three, he's Vox.

Who would refuse that hunk? Even if you weren't initially attracted to him, you'd find yourself becoming so after a couple of weeks, even if it's just some weird mild attraction—you're still into him.

Once he's got you in his grasp and has fucked you at least once, this is when he begins to play with you. He'll make you start wearing a vibrator under your clothes at work, ordering you to remove your clothing every morning and show him, to ensure you did it. Then he'd send you on your merry way.

If he wasn't physically with you, he'd be watching you through his cameras.

And every time you would be talking to someone and he deemed it too long, you weren't paying attention to him, or you were zoning out/getting distracted, he would turn the vibrator on to 'get you back on track'.

Though he did like to sometimes turn the vibrator on just to tease you. For example, you're in the middle of telling him about a shift in his appointment in a room full of people, and he would suddenly turn it on to fuck with you.

He also has a huge thing for pulling you by your soul chain. He just loves, loves, loves summoning it out of nowhere and just tugging you along with it.

For instance, you could be telling him about some issue concerning a recent project, and he would tell you to come closer so he could hear better.

As you walk closer towards his desk, he deems your pace too slow. Without warning, he summons and tugs at the chain around your neck, causing you to fall to the ground.

In an attempt to brace the fall, you put your arms out, catching yourself and ending up on all fours.

But as you try to get up, he would tut at you, ordering you to “Crawl to me.” You’re humiliated, but you still do it as he watches you like a hawk, a satisfied grin on his face.

If you also happen to scrape or bruise yourself when you fell and some small tears form in your eyes, let me tell you, he would get so bricked up as soon as he noticed them.

And of course, he would make you blow him, though it would end up with him face-fucking you, as it usually did.

He would also hold your head down as he dumped his cum down your throat, then he would pull your nose with his free hand, saying that “you don’t get to breathe until you’ve swallowed it all.” And of course, you would do it because you don’t want to literally choke to death on your boss’s dick.

Once he was sure you had swallowed it all, he would finally release you, allowing you to take some air in. Then he would make you stick out your tongue, and he would spit in your mouth, making you swallow that too.

𐂯 Training

He liked using small electrical charges as a ‘training method’, and this method has two stages. This would happen after he already had you as his personal toy— I mean, ‘secretary’.

At first, he uses electricity to reprimand you whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, questioned him, said no to things, or did anything that he considered as bad behaviour.

He would shock you, making you associate ‘bad behavior’ with pain, so you would end up automatically correct yourself before you even do or say something.

If you take a bit too long to ‘adjust’ to this new way of acting, he might resort to a little bit of hypnosis, but he would prefer not to.

He gets off on the fact that he can train you to behave just with his words and actions, without the help of any special ability.

Anyways, when he is sure that he has drilled into you what proper behavior is, he’ll employ phase two. He���ll start training you to enjoy the sting of his electricity.

So, whether he's fucking you, giving you head, touching you, or basically providing any sort of pleasure, every time you would be close to reaching your peak, he would send jolts of electricity through you, gradually increasing the dosage over time.

Things would get to the point that a small shock from him would be enough to get you turned on, and bigger shocks would be able to literally make you cum.

ฅ Pet

For the most part, he wouldn’t see secretary!reader as a partner. It’s only after a while, like a year or more, that he would start considering it.

He views them as his romantic interests, but not on his level. To keep face with the other Vees, even though they both knew about his crush from the beginning because he was so obvious with it, he would call you his pet.

Sometimes literal ‘pet names’ like puppy, kitty, bunny, etc. (Personally, I would love for him to call him his bunny <3.)

What he calls you all depends on your appearance and behaviors. For example, if you manifested with a more feline appearance, he would call you his kitten or kitty. If you didn’t have animal-like features but for example, were very needy, had a tendency to follow around, and were a sucker for praise, he would likely call you his puppy.

𓌏 Punishments

Besides using electric shocks, he is definitely into spanking as a form of punishment—whether it involves pulling down your pants or lifting your skirt, spanking you for every ‘transgression’ you’ve committed is something he’s totally down for.

It can be a really strange experience if you weren't a masochist to begin with because he'll end up having you conditioned to enjoy physical punishments;

For example, he would be spanking you, and you find yourself getting turned on, arousal literally leaking due to his rough treatment of your behind.

Edging and overstimulation are also big in his book, though each has its own set of circumstances where they would be implemented.

For instance, if you weren't paying attention to him because of someone else, he would overstimulate you to the point where you couldn't think about anyone but him, asserting his superiority over whoever had your attention.

If you weren't paying attention for any other reason, he would edge you, because ‘how dare you ignore him when he should be the most important to you!’.

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[karvviie]

omg tell us more about your grif+locus thoughts

OKAY PREPARE YOURSELF. i wrote this all down and did not expect it to be so long. so other than it being a fun yapper/listener dynamic, i think that them being friends could actually be very good for each other.

tldr: Grif and Locus have great potential to have a close friendship that is beneficial to both of their senses of self-worth. They have seen each other at their worst/most vulnerable, and despite this, they show kindness and compassion towards one another. As a result, this can allow them to be emotionally open when communicating, thus forming a healthy friendship that proves to them that they are worthy of being treated with care and forgiveness.

my full explanation under the cut:

sorry guys i really could have worded all this better but i can’t be fucked rn and i wrote it stream of consciousness style. i am too tired to go back and proofread it.

btw i am also ignoring the fact that season 15 was retconned.

ok so. It has been established that grif has low self-esteem. he considers himself as the “hateglue,” and feels extremely guilty for quitting the team. he probably has some attachment issues and problems with feeling unwanted and not being worthy of being cared for (implied by o’malley about his family life)

and locus. he’s got so many problems. mentally and just in general. everyone knew him as the absolute worst version of himself and now he’s trying to seek redemption and atone for all the horrible things he’s done. but locus is doing this all by himself, he has no allies or anyone left that he can call a friend. He probably hasn’t had a healthy relationship with anybody in a long time.

IN COMES GRIF! grif interacts with locus when he’s at a very low point. he has no inhibitions, nothing to repress his thoughts and emotions in the presence of another person. he very quickly accepts locus’s change of heart and opens up to him. They do not insult each other or have any ulterior motives. which is already a big change of pace.

Grif initially knew locus as a horrible person, and experienced first hand his many crimes. despite this, he shows enthusiasm and support when told that locus wants to redeem himself.

Locus, on the other hand, despite how inexperienced he is in making friends and being kind and caring, shows compassion and concern towards grif, listening to his inane rambling and accomodating to his needs (allowing grif to bring his volleyballs on the ship).

Grif is exactly what Locus needs in a companion at this point in time, someone who is honest with him, doesn’t have any ulterior motives and accepts his past mistakes while also encouraging him to be a better person.

Locus has found a real friend, after years of an extremely toxic partnership. grif is somebody that he can also demonstrate care and compassion towards, further aiding him in his journey to being redeemed.

In addition, Grif finally has someone that he can be completely honest around. Someone who has accepted him at his lowest and validated his needs, regardless of how absurd they were.

to sort of quote my recent post, locus is showing grif that he is worth the mess. he is not a burden, he is not there just for people to hate. he is just as worthy as anyone else of care and compassion, even at his lowest.

On the other hand, grif is also showing locus that he is worthy of forgiveness, and that there is someone who is able to look past his wrongdoings and treat him as someone to be trusted and appreciated, no matter how unforgivable locus thinks himself to be.

their first interaction being the way that it was really makes their dynamic work, because they begin their partnership without anything to hide from each other. this opens up so many avenues for them to continue having a very emotionally open and honest friendship, since grif has already shown his vulnerable side to locus, and grif already knows how locus used to be and trusts him despite of it.

now i want to compare grif and simmons to grif and locus.

grif and simmons have a long history together. they are attached at the hip and have watched each other grow as people over the years. they know each other better than anyone else.

HOWEVER, they are both very emotionally repressed people. they avoid showing emotional vulnerability, and struggle to even admit that they enjoy each other’s company.

While it is obvious that they are much closer than grif and locus, they are held back by their inability to be vulnerable and deeply communicate their feelings to each other.

grif and locus don’t have this barrier, as a result of the circumstances of how they met. unlike grif’s relationship with simmons, they don’t have a whole history together of being emotionally repressed that determines how they’re used to interacting with one another.

I really think that grif and locus are the exact type of person that the other needed at the time that they meet. They could be each other’s confidant, the one person that they can trust to be fully accepting, in which they don’t need to feel unashamed about being vulnerable around.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What are your thoughts on vampires in the Harry Potter universe? The little we know suggests that vampires are mortal and can either be born or turned. Full-blooded vampires appear capable of passing down their traits genetically, creating half-vampires, or turning wizards into vampires. How do you think the concept of vampires fits into wizarding society?

Hello 👋

Vampires are a weird one. We're told so very little about them, and they seem more like an afterthought rather than fully-fledged beings. That in itself actually tells us something important — that vampires are kinda rare and not beings you will just stumble upon.

Vampires as Beings

As you mentioned, vampires in HP are capable of reproduction (Lorcan d'Eath who is a half-vampire), this to me suggests they are not only mortal, but that they can't actually turn other humans into vampires. I mean, if they could, they wouldn't need to reproduce. Also, the fact they are mortal (albeit with even longer lifespans than wizards) suggests they are alive and not undead as vampires are usually portrayed.

So basically, long-living but not immortal bloodsuckers that can't actually turn via a bite. The fact they can't turn humans actually makes how they are treated by wizards make much more sense, so that's what I chose to believe. Further quotes and explanations in the next section. It's under a cut because it got long:

Vampires in Wizarding Society

So how are vampires seen in the wizarding world?

I copied all the quotes from the books relevant to this to try and create a cohesive understanding of wizards' treatment of vampires and the interactions between wizards and vampires.

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience. ... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”

[...]

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days.

(PS)

Vampires seem to live in secluded societies of their own, completely separate from wizards. Such vampire communities exist in Romania and in the Black Forest in Germany. In general, it seems vampires rarely leave their own communities and that they don't often foray into wizard spaces. Vampires are spoken of as cool mysterious beings because most wizards have never met a vampire in their life.

So vampires, unlike werewolves, are treated more as a dangerous curiosity rather than a physical threat (especially in the UK where there don't seem to be any major vampire communities).

That being said, wizards do treat vampires as dangerous. It seems reasonable to them to be traumatized by vampires.

Remember I mentioned I don't think HP vampires can turn with a bite? The whole thing with Quirrell is a bit of a proof of that. He was supposedly terrorized by vampires, that was everyone's assumption, so, they would then assume he was bitten and had his blood drunk, I mean, what else would vampires do to terrify him so much? But no one is concerned Quirrell is then a vampire even if it's logical to think he was bitten.

My conclusion from this is that vampires bite for food and the victim isn't turned. I assume most bite victims just die of blood loss, hence the danger factor. The fact vampires can't turn others is a major factor in why they seem to be treated with slightly more respect than werewolves.

I mean, an international singer (Lorcan d'Eath) can be a known part vampire and no one has a problem with it. There seem to be no rules against vampire employment or ownership of homes the way there are against werewolves. And I think this is because they are considered beings and not a disease the way Lycanthorpy is.

Harry looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. Harry had never met a vampire, but he had seen pictures of them in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.

(PoA)

Harry just explains here the vampire look and I wanted to mention it. The fact Sirius is said to look like a vampire (and some descriptions from HBP) suggests vampires in the DADA books and in wizards' minds are, in general, hot.

This quote by Dean and some stuff I'll mention later:

“Wonder what they’ll give us next year?” said Seamus Finnigan gloomily. “Maybe a vampire,” suggested Dean Thomas hopefully.

(PoA)

Suggests vampires are seen as hot, mysterious, and dangerous by wizards and there are most definitely erotic magical novels with vampire love interests. Basically, vampires are seen as sexy, dangerous, exotic, and mysterious by wizards who never met them (which is most of them).

Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them. “Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione was saying.

(PoA)

This shows some of the vampires' better treatment from werewolves. Even though there aren't many vampires in the UK, Honeydukes has blood-flavoured candy for vampires. They are seen as respected enough beings to have their own candy lines that are sold in wizarding shops. I don't think any other magical creature can say the same.

I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!” one of them shouted. “I’m a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.” “No, you’re not!” yelled his friend. “You’re a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron. ... but I’m a vampire hunter, I’ve killed about ninety so far — ”

[...]

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” said Percy furiously. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn’t specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans — ”

(GoF)

But they still are seen as "dark dangerous magical creatures" by some of wizard society. A wizard claims (he's 100% lying) to be a vampire hunter, so I assume some think that's something that should be done.

Even though Percy mentions vampire hunting is illegal according to the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans. So while some wizards think vampires should be hunted down (like some people think werewolves should be hunted down) they are treated as human and therefore are protected by wizarding law, unlike werewolves who are discriminated against legally to a much worse degree.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires — and, of course, his friend Sanguini.” Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry’s hand and shook it enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded. He looked rather bored. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.

[...]

“I would be delighted to write it myself — people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you — ask Sanguini here if it isn’t quite — Sanguini, stay here,” added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. “Here, have a pasty,” said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini’s hand before turning his attention back to Harry.

(HBP)

The final quote I want to bring up is the only vampire we ever see in the HP books. Sanguini is described exactly like Sirius is in PoA and how vampires are shown in DADA books, so there is some truth to these descriptions (or Worple found himself the perfect poster vampire to walk around with). The gaggle of giggling girls is also noteworthy as it adds to the idea that wizards see vampires as sexy, mysterious, and dangerous in a good way.

The fact both Worple and Lockhart find popularity and success with their books about vampire life, again shows wizards are curious and interested in reading about these mysterious beings called vampires. I'm sure there is a lot of trashy fiction dedicated to them because of that.

Sanguini, though, seems more interested in the girls' blood than anything. Like, it seems he doesn't mind drinking the blood from a bunch of random school girls, but it's hard to say if it's a vampire issue or that Sanguini personally just doesn't give a shit (Harry does mention he looks bored).

I find it odd how Worple talks to him like a dog, though. It shows again, wizards' sense of superiority. Even though they treat vampires like curiosities (which is better than most creatures get) they still don't see them as equal even if they are in the camp that doesn't want to hunt them down.

What's more surprising is that Sanguini listens. It's possible Sanguini and Worple are fucking and they are into that sort of thing, and that's my personal headcanon for it. Sanguini was there as Worple's secret date and nothing could convince me otherwise.