#this is most definitely incomprehensible to anyone but me but i needed this out of my system!

[immult]

e78 and e79. is this anything?

[usedpidemo]

Codependency (Ive Yujin)

On one side, there’s a mansion worthy portrait of you on the wall. On the other, wards and recognitions from numerous governing bodies with your name plastered in remembrance. The public knows more about the brand than the people behind it; that’s how business works. Unless your name happens to be Musk, Bezos, or Zuckerberg.

You’re nowhere near their level of wealth and influence—far from it—yet this entire building’s future rests on your shoulders. It’s not as easy as it looks.

You’ve always credited your guardian angel for keeping you from harm your entire life. It sounds religious, but from personal experience, it’s real. 

She’s guiding you from the secluded corner of your office.

—————

“And that’s how we’ll proceed with operations moving forward,” you say to the executives in the room—except they're not physically there. Their faces are projected on screen, joining from different countries, with some even joining from home. To be quite frank, you understand very little about your own presentation, and had your acting not been Oscar-worthy, there’s more that would appear absurd than believable. “Do we have any questions?”

For the most part, the top brass appear to be in unanimous agreement with everything that has been laid out. Not a single question, complaint, or rebuttal from anyone.

“Well done, officer. You seem to have a complete grasp and understanding of the situation,” says one of the chiefs, his ripe old age showing through his slow, strained tone. 

Another suit, much closer to your age—albeit barely (he’s in his mid-forties)—adds, “We expect an immediate turnaround, otherwise we may have to cut even more of our divisions off. Should this plan fail, we anticipate closure of even more of our departments, including yours.”

It’s not the most concerning thing you’ve heard this week, but it’s definitely up there–at least top three.

Nevertheless, you remain firm and bow to your superiors as you end the meeting. “Thank you sirs. We will do our best.”

As soon as the video call ends, you let out this deep sigh of relief that’s been repressed the entire time. Thank goodness you have an entire building floor and private office to yourself. 

“Well fuck me,” you mutter, seemingly speaking to the void, taking all the deep breaths you need, wiping the sweat across your head with some tissue. “Tell me I followed through on everything, right?”

“Yeah. Apart from mixing a few things, you mostly got it.” Yujin’s voice emerges from the far end of the room, covered in darkness, away from anyone’s view. The papers on your desk aren’t actually documents or paperwork. In reality, they’re pages of a manuscript with a few instructional, handwritten notes attached. It’s not even your own writing; they’re curated by none other than Yujin herself. “I’d say I wouldn’t have noticed, even if they were a little too obvious at times.”

“These conferences are fucking tiresome. Nauseating even,” you reply. Yujin opens up the blinds, and you stagger away from the immediate sunlight piercing through the room. Simply put, you just want to throw up after yapping all that incomprehensible jargon. “You know what—why don’t we switch places next time? I think you’d be better at this than me, like you already are with everything.”

An unusual comment for the director to make to his assistant, but it’s true. Yujin is so good in every department that it’s borderline farcical. She’s incredibly reliable to the point where you’ve basically deferred nearly every task to her, leaving you with the most boring parts of your job, which mostly comprises of company meetings and private calls. She’s a relatively new hire, having worked in your department for a little over a year, yet her rise up the ranks has been nothing short of absurd. 

“Please, let’s not get carried away,” she softly laughs, flashing a lovely smile you never grow tired of seeing—and you see her as soon as you walk into the building till you clock out.  “I’m fine with the research and paperwork. Regardless of what you want to believe, I think you sold it well.”

You slump back in your chair, somewhat bothered at just how unbothered Yujin is. How she’s able to take all your responsibilities that you should be doing, and without protest. One look at her features tells you all you need to know: that she’s happy to work for you. She could easily be in your position right now, putting you through this exact hell. She could be on that screen making those very threats on your job, in fact. Instead, she prefers to be your subordinate.

If that wasn’t enough of an example, she’s gathering the papers on your desk, putting them back together, good as new. Then she brings you a cup of water from the dispenser. She’s enumerating a list of other, just as unintelligible things that may or may not be important to your discussion earlier. Meanwhile, you’ve been sitting in that chair, your thoughts wandering aimlessly, thinking about anything that isn’t work. It’s almost noon, yet your mind just wants to check out for the rest of the day.

“Um—sir? You okay?” Yujin waves a hand right in your face, snapping you from your tired daze.

You tilt up to her gaze, eyes weary. “Yeah. I’m just—tired.”

“Do you want me to leave? I’ll go and sort out the upper management on your behalf if you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t.” You rise from your seat, telling her, “I’ll take care of it. Go and have lunch,” as you point at your wristwatch, both hands closely pointed at the top.

“You sure? You should go have lunch too,” she replies, showing an alarming amount of concern that it’s almost comical. “Don’t worry about me.”

Shaking your head, you respond, flashing a light grin to reassure her, “I can talk to them at any time. T your break. I’ll call you when I need anything.” 

—————

Truth be told, you didn’t want to see her for the rest of the day, let alone seek her help. 

Yujin is only one call away. After all, she’s your assistant, down to working right outside your office. She’s working on whatever nonsense you’ve assigned her, showing no signs of slowing down. Meanwhile, you can barely call today productive; you’ve only completed two pages of a draft for next week’s presentation. In the time spent between slowly chopping away and stalking her from behind the door, her pretty profile a sight for sore eyes, she’s probably completed this week’s assignments and halfway through the next. She’s that efficient.

Hours pass, until the day finally ends at five. At exactly the top of the hour, she lets herself into your office, her pleasant attitude still in full bloom. “Already completed all the tasks for today. How about you?”

Yujin is not even trying to gloat—not in the slightest—yet it sounds like a punch to the gut. You can only slam your chin flat on the desk in despair, shooting a tired glare at her. She tries to muffle her chuckle, trying to keep herself professional, not realizing you’ve already seen through her facade.

“You want me to help you out? I don’t mind working an hour longer if you need it.” She’s peeking her head over the laptop display, examining for the proof of concept—or lack thereof. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this five plan strategy to me?”

This amount of confidence should leave you battered and deflated. And yet, there’s a sense of relief knowing Yujin will get the job done no matter what you ask of her. It’s enough to turn that frown into a faint, encouraging grin. 

“I guess so,” you tell her, putting down the screen. Getting up from your chair, you close the window blinds and block out the setting sun. “Maybe I’m just tired of deferring all my responsibilities to you, that’s all.”

Her smile looks innocent, demure even, it doesn’t make sense as to how irrevocably kind she is to you. As far as you know, your employees consider you as shrewd and as scummy as your superiors. Forget that you’ve been working here longer; they consider everyone that isn’t their fellow rank a corporate dirtbag who’d step over others the first opportunity they can. It’s a vicious cycle. To have someone like Yujin feels like an anomaly. 

“Don’t worry about it, that’s why I’m getting paid right?” she answers back, pressing her palms on your desk. “Just do what you can and I’ll handle the rest.”

You’re pouring an espresso into a cup, before offering the drink to her. “We should talk, Yujin,” you say, filling up a separate glass with your own. Your fourth shot. “You got a minute or two?” 

“Sure. I always have time for you.” Yujin sits up, taking the drink into her hand, crossing her leg. It’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else but on them. As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, in mind, character, and body. “Is there anything bothering you lately?”

Sitting across her with only a desk separating you, the words never come out. You’ve got plenty on your mind: the messy state of your department, the unreasonable expectations and demands of your superiors, the possibility of losing your job—and Yujin. She’s sitting right there, ready to hear you out, but you never find the conviction to confess your worries. The next few minutes are awkward silence, only broken by the occasional stir of teaspoon and the sip of coffee. It isn’t that she renders you speechless, though one would fairly assume as to why: she’s pleasant to look at, among other things. It also helps that her outfits have been getting skimpier over the past few weeks. Unsurprisingly, you let the flagrant violation of the dress code go unpunished. 

“Sir? Is everything okay?” Yujin leans her head forward, noticing that you’re lost in thought. She places her cup on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows instinctively rise. That glimmer of hope you showed moments ago disappears. What’s left is despair. “I think we might be fucked, Yujin.”

“Fucked? What do you mean by that?”

“We’re fucked. Like, we could be out of a job fucked.”

“Explain?” Yujin cannot comprehend it—then again, anyone else would react the same way. “Didn’t we give the board a five step plan earlier today?”

“We did,” you reply, finally mustering the strength to meet her eyes. “But here’s the thing: we don’t have the financial or human capacity to execute the plan. At least, in the time they demanded.”

“And? We did the research and even the hypotheticals!” You’ve never heard Yujin raise her voice even once—until now. “What could go wrong exactly?”

“They think we can course correct years worth of bad financial decisions in just a few months. That’s the problem. Either way, we’re fucked.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yujin forcefully rises from her seat, threatening to flip the desk. If she only had the strength. “After all the time I spent working on it, you want to wave the white flag and give up?”

You don’t really know how to answer her. At least, in a way that’s remotely graceful and easy to understand. 

“I’m sorry, Yuj, but no matter what—”

“I’m trying—so fucking hard—” she huffs, her fist clenching, trembling violently— “to carry your fucking ass so that we could keep our livelihoods. And not just me or you, but also the hundreds working for us! I know you fucking hate their guts because they’ve said nothing but terrible things about you, and even if none of that is true because I know you better than anyone else in this fucking building, at least have the decency to salvage whatever’s left instead of being a fucking coward for once!”

Yujin doesn’t notice that she’s been outright screaming into your face. You’re taken aback, utterly in disbelief at what she just aired out. If she wasn’t kindness incarnate, she likely would have pulled you by the shirt and choked you till you passed out. She blinks. The realization hits, and she begins to crumble.

“Sorry” is the only thing she can say, in quiet mumbles, slowly falling back onto her chair. Her hands cover the lower half of her face, completely mortified. Her eyes are on the verge of tears before giving out and crying waterfalls. Eventually, she lowers her head out of shame.

Even before entrusting her with such a demanding assignment, you knew there was nothing other than divine intervention that could save your job. This wasn’t what you signed up for, and neither did Yujin. For the most part, this was only to save face. Your face. The board of directors didn’t have any objections after all, and were mostly agreeable with every step of the plan. Either that or their old age is catching up and they hardly understood a thing at all. Like you.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse you from criticism. This is on you, and you should be held accountable. Instead of rightfully performing your part, you weighed down someone else with your burden. It’s the wake-up call you need.

Yujin shouldn’t feel guilty saying all of this and having to apologize. She’s crying on your desk, still softly apologizing between tears, “Sorry—I’m really sorry—” and your heart fucking drops. 

It’s a terrible feeling.

“Yuj, please stop crying,” you mutter, caressing her shoulder. Seeing her look so defeated brings you more distress than anything, including the thought of losing your job. “I should be the one apologizing for putting you through all this. You’re right—”

“I’m so sorry.” She’s still asking for forgiveness, your words mostly going unnoticed. “I just wanted to—”

“You’re right, Yuj. I’m a coward. I’ll admit, I honestly wanted to resign the moment they brought this up. If they couldn’t do a damn thing about it, how else would I know? Seeing you figure out a way made me realize just how much I depend on you to save my ass. I should be the one saying sorry, not you Goddammit, Yuj. What would I do without you, honestly—”

She tilts her head up, her sniffling and sobbing unceasing, resting her head on your chest. “I’m sorry. What I said is still out of pocket and I wasn’t in the position to say—”

“Shush, Yuj. Stop apologizing for being right,” you reply, brushing her hair. “Look. We’ll go forward with your plan. You can write up the whole thing and I’ll present it your way. I won’t muck up in front of the directors, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna quit.”

“Really?” She lifts up her eyes, doe-looking and glimmering.

“Yeah. Might as well go down with a sinking ship, so please stop crying,” you say, smiling. “You made me feel like shit and I don’t like it.”

Yujin laughs. Heartily.

—————

Even though that should havd been enough to appease Yujin, in your eyes, it wasn’t. You had to make it up to her in other ways.

“This place serves really good food,” you tell Yujin, digesting the sights and scents of the relatively small eatery. Meanwhile, Yujin sits beside you, eating to heart’s content without a care. “I can see why you love it.”

“How’d you know this was my favorite place to drop by after work?” she asks, chomping down on the last stick of her barbecue. 

“I have my sources,” you tell her, playfully grinning, unwilling to admit that you’ve been watching from behind your car’s windows for some time now. 

“Don’t tell me it’s Wonyoung, boss.” Yujin pouts, flustered and embarrassed. “I swear to God, I can’t trust anything with—”

“It isn’t her, don’t worry,” you chuckle, amused at her red-faced look. 

“I really appreciate the offer,” she remarks, finishing the remaining half of her drink. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do for my hardworking assistant,” you reply, gesturing to the lone cook for the bill. The charges go up to the hundreds, with most orders belonging to her. While she’s chomping away at the end of a large meal, you secretly foot it on her behalf. How she maintains her figure while consuming this much food, you’ll never know. And when she calls for the tab, she’s told that it has already been paid in full.

“Now you’re just being extra,” she says, facing you, looking insulted by the kind gesture, but in a playful way. Appreciative regardless. “I already told you we’ll pay for what we each ordered.”

Looking at the stack of empty plates on her side—when compared to yours—some part of you believes that to be false. You don’t even have to say anything for her to realize she’s not one to fulfill her own word either.

“Okay—I would have paid 25 percent.”

You can’t place any blame on her. She laughs—at herself. She’s so charming, a pleasure to watch, that you would let her slide, had this not been your intention right from the start.

“Stop.” 

You end up laughing with her too.

—————

“Seriously. Don’t lie, you promise you won’t just suddenly quit on us?” Yujin asks, staring at you as you walk toward your parked vehicles outside the eatery. “This feels like a way to soften the blow.”

Both of you stop right in front of your cars. “Not at all,” you tell her, staring directly into her eyes. “What else do I have to do to prove that I’m not quitting?”

“I don’t know, sir. I mean—you, suddenly asking me to eat out—” she rolls her eyes away, skeptical— “You’ve never done that.”

The cold nighttime air sweeps all over you. Chilly, you rub your arms together, partially regretting the decision to cover Yujin with your coat. She’s relatively unfazed, warm in your garment; even more surprisingly, it fits her perfectly like a glove. 

“I wouldn’t leave if it means I lose you, Yujin.”

It’s not the words you wanted to say. Every part of that sentence leaves your lips effortlessly. A little too effortless.It’s an unconfessed confession, waiting for the right moment to be spoken. Sure, she may interpret it as merely you being codependent on her when it comes to work, but there’s no way there isn’t some kind of other, deeper meaning behind them.

“Lose me? What does that mean?” She asks, even more curious. Of course, Yujin isn’t the brain of your operations for nothing. It isn’t surprising when she figures you out. “You like me, don’t you?”

Just like that, the tables have turned. You can’t deny your feelings any longer.

You gently nod. Perhaps the killing blow could be softer if you find closure, right here, right now.

She leans forward, both of you unable to do anything other than to stare into each other’s deep, longing eyes. The tension between you is the only source of heat in the midst of a cold, lonely night. 

By all accounts, the relationship between you and Yujin is strictly professional. Apart from a few trips abroad, you keep all conversations business related. Mind-numbing, confusing agency jargon. It’s a helpful practice in keeping your space; no matter how attractive she may look and saccharine she may sound, no amount of pleasantry can make company discussion remotely close to entertaining. You’d rather play with the blinds in your office. She’s doing her part too: clock in at nine, clock out at five on the dot. It’s a healthy routine. After hour talks between you are rare. It’s common practice to maintain a firm working relationship. It’s also just common sense. Good organization begins at the top.

Moments like these are strong reminders on why you avoid crossing that line. Yet you don’t stop—not when she’s the one making the first move. 

You kiss. Your lips stay a little longer than they should. The taste lingers. 

You find solace in each other's warmth, in a comforting embrace. She rests her head on your chest, her hands gripping into your shirt tightly. Deep down, you both recognize you’re on borrowed time. Whether through your promotion or your release, you won’t be together for much long. Countless hours spent together, so many occasions—the opportunities are being handed to you on a silver platter, only for you not to take the chance.

Not anymore. You won’t make the same mistake again.

—————

Driving her home was easy; finding your way into your room was half the battle. 

“It took us this long to share a room, huh?” Yujin huffs against your face, finding and capturing your lips even in an erratic, volatile environment. She’s pushing you against the wall, her palms having an iron grip on your cheeks, pulling you close and wildly kissing you. The entire trip up to your apartment floor has been nothing but shaky kisses and clothes slowly scattering from the elevator to your front door.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you manage to mutter, holding her face away for a brief respite to answer, only to be forced back in once again. Any semblance of professionalism between you is abandoned for fiery, passionate lovemaking, future relationships be damned. 

The most surprising thing is how it isn’t as messy as it may look. See, despite the bite marks on your skin, the wrinkles in your clothes, and the rather loud, unceremonious manner you enter your apartment, you’re still in the process slowly unraveling. There’s a conscious effort to make sure neither side comes out completely in ruins. A silent agreement between you. 

Her hands lay claim to your shirt, threatening to tear you apart if you don’t do the same to her. She lifts her head when you quickly peel through her long skirt; you dive in and make it yours. The crack in her voice as she mewls tickles your ears just right. Slowly spreading her legs wide, pulling the panties down her well defined thighs. In response, she tugs at your shirt, popping a few buttons loose. It isn’t as easy as it looks to have Yujin pinned against the wall; she’s actively fighting, trying to seize back control. If she can’t have her way with you, at the very least she can rein you in. Only now do you realize the danger your little escapede.

With her slender legs wrapped around your waist, you can only do so much. Yujin can’t stop kissing you, leading your gaze to anywhere but her pretty, lust-ridden expressions. She wants this more than you do. Against your desires, you end up in the kitchen, propping her on the bar counter as lipstick covers your entire face. The brief respite when she catches her breath gives you ample time to unbutton the rest of your shirt before tossing it aside—something you don’t give her the decency to finish.

While she’s still staggering, lost in her own thoughts, you take her by the shoulder and leave a fresh mark on her neck. A distraction. More importantly, your fingers feel their way around the back of her dress, find the touch of metal—and yank. The zipper follows, the lengthy garment gradually coming undone, until Yujin pushes the rest of it off her shoulders and to the floor. Your eyes gleam like starlight as her bra reveals itself, taking countless mental snapshots at that moment. 

Not even her attempts to redirect your attention can pull you away. 

You push her down on the marble surface. The bar is big enough to fit you both. Joining her atop the counter, your gaze wanders down her divine figure—and you don’t know where to start. Everything about Yujin is designed to be as perfect as humanly possible. No one should be flawless.

“How can you be any more perfect, Yuj,” you mutter, eyes roaming everywhere, soaking in the immaculate sight before you. “How did I not want you any sooner?”

Yujin’s hand traces down your arm. “You could have just asked. My previous employers did. It was a regular part of the job for me.”

You’re shaking your head. Imagine that—an employer taking advantage of their employee offering themselves without any restraint. You would never—except you already did. Your previous assistant can vouch.

“Don’t feel sorry. I want this just as much as you do,” she adds, pulling you towards her face for a soft kiss, clearing all doubt. “Besides, you’re not that much different from any of them. Why stop now?”

“Not that different? Were they just as codependent on you as I am?”

Nodding in agreement, she laughs. 

“God fucking dammit.” 

You sigh. Yujin continues laughing. What a momentum killer. And the worst part is, it’s self-inflicted and completely avoidable. You should have just kept going, kept her speechless.

Still, it’s not the end of the world. You’re on top of Yujin; she has no intention of leaving you anytime soon. Most importantly, she’s unhooking her bra while you’re caught up in your feelings. “But—there’s one difference: I actually love working for you. I wouldn’t mind letting you use me.”

“You love working for me? Why?”

She’s biting her lip, grabbing you by the back of your head. “You’ll find out yourself. You know what to do.”

“What? How?” The word comes out panicked, desperate.

Yujin shakes her head, the smirk on her lips twisting, wicked. “You know how.”

At first, finding what she means proves to be a struggle. After all, Yujin’s not the mysterious type. She always tells you everything straight, condenses complex conversations into digestible servings for easy consumption. It’s not in her character. Yet, one look at what’s in front of you—her naked frame casually lying beneath yours, her hands running all over your bare self—the realization hits you like lightning, and you’re mentally punching yourself for being so dangerously oblivious.

You kiss her on the lips again. You can’t get enough. You’d happily stay in this position all night long. Except that isn’t what she wants. She wants you to go further. 

So you sink further and further down. The closer you get, the more she opens up. A sloppy trail follows your lips, from her chin, to her collarbones, to her chest and navel, and everything else in between. She’s soft to the touch, so flexible and malleable—every part of her, you make yours. Then you get to her core, her inner thighs spreading, and watch as it unravels before you, quivering, soaked, needy. You look into each other’s eyes, hers anticipating. There’s a craze behind your irises, as if some repressed need is crawling back to the surface. It’s slowly driving you wild.

Your name drips on the edge of Yujin’s mouth—a sign of impatience—before suddenly cracking at the point of impact. She rolls her head back, her voice reduced to an airy sigh as your tongue licks up her slit, her entrance, in a slow upward motion. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to devolve into a hungry, primal mess. Her thighs close in and clamp you down, suffocating you while you become more familiar with the sensation and taste of her dripping cunt. 

If only you could hear the full extent of her moans, turning a pitch higher with each passing swipe and slurp. You’re humming into her core, satiated and fulfilled with the taste of her slick in your mouth. Yujin’s hands stretch out for help, for stability as pleasure gradually overwhelms her. Propped underneath her thighs, your hands dig under to reach places that your tongue can’t. She grows erratics, restless, moved by your presence inside her.

“Fuck!” The profanity escapes her lips instinctually, like it’s always been a part of her. She’s writhing, jaw slack, her back arched over the bar, her hands now grasping on your hair, then on the edges again. On your side, the pressure her thighs bring leave you suffocating. It’s too much. You should be begging for your life; instead, you’re enjoying every minute, slowing your pace every now and then to savor the feeling. 

Despite her state, she’s caught you by the wrists. They do little in stopping your tongue from consuming every inch of her, and you end up pushing her forward. You grip her by her thighs and spread her wide. She can’t resist. Fresh air has never felt more soothing to the lungs. By the way you have her legs dangled up in the air, you’re threatening to pull a nerve. She’s screaming, crying out in desperation, 

Still, it doesn’t change the outcome. Yujin finally loses herself completely and comes undone. She cums—blasts jets of slick all over your face and mouth. The counter pools with the aftermath of her orgasm, and you lick it all up, sanitation be damned. 

When you finally emerge from the depths of her tight, drenched cunt, she remains a mess, stamina completely drained, body still trembling from her massive climax. You’d think after that, she would be incapacitated for the night, until—

“Wait.” Yujin deeply exhales, pulls you by the wrist. You aren’t exactly going anywhere. As if struck by lightning, she suddenly rises up. A shit-eating grin forms on her lips, as if the damage wasn’t enough to take her down. There’s a familiar look in her eyes—the gaze of a woman who needs more.

She flicks a sample of her slick from the spot on the counter and laps it up, still eying you with unceasing lust. You remember her words, the question to ponder: “You’re gonna tell me now?”

Yujin blankly stares. The question lingers for a little while. “Tell you what?” she replies, the tone convincing enough to feign innocence.

“Why you love working for me.”

She smiles again, a teasing look. “You’re halfway there.”

“What does that mean?” As you try not to overreact, your assistant turned one night stand tries to stifle her laughter. It almost goes unnoticed, until— “Yuj, you’re really getting on my nerves with all this vaguery bullshit going on.”

“It’s part of the fun, is it not? Do you want me to give it straight?”

“Yes! Like always!” 

Yujin leans close. One hand reaches for your pants, the other still attached to your wrist. She appears like she’s going for yet another kiss, when she stops right next to your ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me. Use me,” before drawing herself away.

On the surface, the stare you give her looks cold. Deep in your mind, the words resonate and ring louder and louder. Four words. “Fuck me—” “Use me—” The arousal bubbles up, manifests on your cheeks. The next few minutes can go so many ways, more than you can imagine. In your eyes, she’s still your assistant, a friendly, dependable worker whom you consider a close acquaintance more than anything. 

The thing is: you’ve already gone far past the point of no return. Her gaze is enticing—demanding—you to keep going. 

There’s no stopping now.

Yujin casually follows you to your bedroom, hand in tow. The rest of your clothes lie discarded in the kitchen—boxers, pants, and all. Gone are the nerves and hesitations; the attitude you have towards her is different. “Lay down,” you command her, voice steely, and she obliges, the bed flopping with the slight crash of her lithe figure. You won’t ever grow tired of staring at her naked body, regardless of it’s position. 

She lays flat on her tummy, observing you rummage through your large closet of suits, pulling a red tie from one of the drawers. “Not the first time I’ve had something wrapped around my neck,” she remarks, raising a curious eyebrow, crooked smile unyielding. “Stylish, just like you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your input.” You’re never this stern towards Yujin. You toss the necktie on the mattress before joining her atop the bed. “Turn around.”

Like the good girl she is, she obliges. That’s Yujin for you; she’ll always follow everything you tell her, no questions asked. On her fours, her plump ass glides face up, in complete view. Another temptation, another part of her to claim as yours. Regardless, you’re in no hurry; you’ve got the rest of the night.

With your erect cock in hand, you line the tip against her sopping cunt. She winces, moans at the contact. “Oh, fuck—” she whines, lifting her head up, her nails pressed into the sheets. As inviting as the call of her tight, wet pussy is to you, you make an organized effort to resist the immediate lull to fuck her hard.

Even holding her figure with your other hand proves to be a nightmare. Her body enraptures you in hypnotic ways. The arch of her back, the curve of her ass, the hourglass frame��it’s a feast for the eyes. You could take your sweet time and worship every little part of Yujin and she wouldn’t mind, but in the midst of your blinding daze, she’s calling to you. Again.

“Are you just gonna admire me or are you gonna shove that big cock in me?” She faces you with a mischievous grin. “I don’t mind both.”

Suddenly, you remember your position in this relationship. You grab her by the throat, face her away again. “Quiet. I don’t want to hear any more from you unless you’re taking this fucking cock.”

Showing a little resistance, she tries daring you, “Then f—fuck!”

Her jaw goes wide, frozen in place, her voice abruptly cutting as you undercut her with your cock. You’re no better; pleasure sets your muscles ablaze as you thrust into her inviting cunt. It shows in the deep groan spilling from your mouth. Little by little, you plunge ever so deep until you feel yourself buried to the hilt. That’s when you finally let out this breath of relief—but not for long. 

Her pussy clenches hard. Her heat proves to be suffocating beyond measure. If you don’t act quickly, she could end you in seconds. 

“O-oh God—”

You slowly, painstakingly pull back before throttling your hips into her. Taking these short breaths, every little move you make is precarious. It’s not that she’s resisting you—far from it—but it’s you resisting the urge to cum so soon. Your mind tries to think of anything other than what’s right in front, but even that proves to be nearly impossible. The ripple of her ass, the slight wobble of her breasts, the twisting grip of your hand on her otherwise soft skin—

“So fucking tight. Holy fuck, Yuj—” You manage to mutter before you’re reduced to groans again. 

All you can focus on is keeping yourself together while you’re slowly crumbing away. You find a rhythm in the midst of the madness, pounding away at your assistant’s cunt, your senses overrun by pleasure and the satisfying sound of your skin slapping skin. Elsewhere, your hands can’t seem to find solace in just one area. They’re everywhere; from her hair, to her throat, to the arch of her ass, to her hips, the imprints stay new, eventually creating a patterned sequence that immediately breaks.

You’re fucking these strained cries and prasies out of Yujin’s sweet lips, and it’s quite the mouthful. ’More,’ ‘harder,’ ‘so good—’ until it reaches the point where her voice is so worn from your chokehold that she can only speak in high pitched mewls. Another cycle you wish would never end. 

Slowing your pace, you reach for the necktie, gently tying it around her neck while preventing your rhythm from disrupting. “You’re such a fucking perfect woman, you know that?” you mutter in her ear, kissing the helix and indulging in the scent of her perfume mixed with sex and sweat. “Perfect listener, perfect assistant, perfect body—”

Pulling yourself away from her, you yank the tie along—your makeshift leash. Her body tilts all the way up, a sharp screech suddenly filling the bedroom. You’re not sure if its from the pull or just her moan. Either way, you have her in your grasp. Brushing her hair aside, you mumble, “Actually, I don’t know how to use a tie like that. I just wanted to remember what it’s like to be the boss. Your boss.”

It should have sounded flat, like all your other attempts at being convincing. And yet, she leans her ear backward, trying to recapture your lips. Teasing a little, your lips make what’s considered the most minimal of contacts, before you push her to her fours. You don’t intend to pull on the tie again, but you’re still holding on to it like your most prized possession—and it may as well be Yujin. 

“Of course,” are her first words uttered in a while that aren’t some combination of profanity and praise. 

Grabbing her by the midsection, the rhythm of your thrusts quickens. You feel it. The imminent collapse. And it’s not just the bed quaking and creaking from your sex. She’s pleading now; ’So close,’ she tells you, begs you to let her cum all over your cock. In any other scenario, you’d acquiesce. Here, with all the authority, you’re going to assert your power a little.

“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you cum all over me,” you demand, your hand climbing up to her chest, grabbing at her breast, folding her up slightly that her grip on the sheets transfers to the headboard. “I wanted you so fucking bad for so long.”

“Anything for you. Just let me cum!” she cries out, on the verge of falling apart. Dangerously close.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

“I’m yours!”

“You know what I meant. Say it again.”

“I’m yours! I’m yours!”

Hearing her declare that she belongs to you with such conviction almost upends you too. You almost give in, but narrowaly escape thanks to your utter resolve. The smirk on your face is priceless.

“Perfect. Now cum.”

Just like that, her body reacts at the drop of your command, as if it was hardwired into her. Yujin goes numb—fidgeting, cumming all over your cock—as you continue to pound into her cunt. A single word echoes, going quieter with every incantation: ‘Fuck,’ she whines, caught reeling in her orgasm and catching every breath possible. 

Eventually, it comes to a standstill, the only thing left is for you to crash. Lucky for her, you’re not that far off. You’ve let go of the tie, holding onto her shoulders instead. So now it’s her opportunity to turn the tables on you again.

“Fucking give it to me—oh I need it now, oh God—” Yujin begs, barely keeping herself upright in the aftermath of her climax.

And you just crash down on her, slamming her deep into the sheets, turning her around as you fuck callously, clamping her neck, her moans ringing into your ear. She has a leg wrapped arond yours—as if you had any intention of pulling out. You’ve spent enough time away from her pretty face; now you want to watch her take all your load deep in her pussy.

Yujin’s mouth melds in the shape of a moan as the pressure finally overwhelms you. Burying yourself deep in her, you’re still pumping, fucking your cock as you blast thick load after thick load in her warm, creamy cunt. The sensation leaves you breathless, hanging onto her for dear life as you wait for the moment to pass. Though it may seem like a couple of minutes, the feeling lingers far longer than you can imagine. She milks you of all your worth, drawing every last drop from your throbbing cock until your body can’t move any longer.

Eventually, your bodies wind up together, limbs tangled, wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. The comfort you both needed after a long day.

—————

You gaze down at a tired Yujin. Hours ago, you were the one holding onto her; now she’s the clingy one, wrapping an arm over you. “I really need to know, Yuj.” 

She mumbles into your chest. “What is it?” You feel her soft lips leave lipstick marks on your skin.

You’re brushing away loose, dark strands of her hair to get a better look of her pristine, shiny face. “Why do you love working for me?”

After the passionate night you just had, you still have the gall to ask such a frivolous question. The answer should be obvious by now.

She looks up, smiling—a pleasant, friendly gleam, one you immediately recognize as soon as you walk through those office doors. “Because you’re the first boss I’ve ever worked for that isn’t a total asshole. Also, you’re good at everything.”

You raise an eyebrow and frown. “That’s not—”

“You know what I meant, boss.” The smiling turns into teasing. You realize, then you laugh.

You should be basking in the afterglow of sex, but daylight peeking through your curtain says otherwise. You’re so tired, you can’t move a muscle, let alone grab the phone from the living room to tell the time. All you know is that you should be at work by now, and so should Yujin.

The ring from your phone can be heard loud and clear, even a room and clothing pocket away. As you try to lift your head, Yujin meets you halfway, kissing you before laying you back down.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll write up your leave of absence. Besides, I could use some time off too,” she says, inching her face close to yours.

The notion frightens you. Yujin, your most reliable assistant, never missing a day that isn’t considered a holiday, not by your side when you need her. 

And you need her now more than ever.

“Time off? When?”

“From now. Until you say we’re done.”

—————

(A/N: :bsadcorner:)

(Missing IVE's first proper world tour will always be one of my K-pop low points, even if I already watched and even shared an interaction with them. Goddammit, I can already expect the prices and perks for their next tour will be even more expensive than it already is. Sigh. Anyway, I hope they get their well deserved time off. Thank you for reading!)

[identityua]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

BAKING WITH IDV CHARACTERS

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PAIRINGS: Norton Campbell, Luca Balsa, Victor Grantz & Melly Plinius x GN! Reader (separately)

WARNINGS: Mentions of Norton going through stuff in his lore, Luca’s “fun” time in prison... that's about it.

Send in requests and submissions, It gets boring during breaks in uni:,)

N. CAMPBELL

As seen from the breakfast scene with a rightfully baffled Journalist -- whole grain bread for him is a delicacy. Safe to assume Norton is not just a peasant, he is dirt poor. So poor in fact, he wouldn't be able to afford a popular at the time drink called "Saloop" not even with a tea bag found in the trash pile. That drink can be made even by street beggars, by the way.

Keeping that in mind there is no way he knows how to go about it and what to do. Cooking? That's a different topic. Norton had to take care of his sick family while breaking his back with exploitative labour in the mines. He's got the emergency level of skill for preparing a stew.

Despite the era-specific sexism, he wouldn't be the one for writing kitchen-related work off as "not a man's job". He may be insecure but Norton is not a jerk... at least not in that way. That said, baking is definitely something he sees as an activity for the privileged. Read as anyone with a spare penny in their pocket.

Don't overwhelm him with something fancy like a cheesecake or lord forbid a croquembouche. He wants to experience the rich lifestyle, for sure, but imagine introducing sugar so early on to his virgin taste buds... not a good outcome. Bread might be a good place to start.

Say, one day you approach Norton with a wonderful proposal to bake something together. "What a wonderful bonding experience for couples!" you might think, leading him by the hand into the manor's well equipped kitchen.

Wrong.

For some incomprehensible reason (trying to impress you and compensate for his inferiority complex) Norton all of a sudden decided he is Gordon Ramsay. With a whisk in hand (holding it upside down) and a determined look, he goes into battle. He doesn't need help, Norton never needs help. He is a provider, he's strong, what's a little baking to him?

Reassure this man for the mental health of all the kitchen staff to put the eggs down and to let you help out. He might scoff, argue, complain -- don't take it personally. Norton is a complicated guy though I am sure you know that by now. He does too. Emotional intelligence is not really in the cards here (try to develop some by breathing in coal dust since you were a kid) so he can’t put a finger why he is so upset.

He wants to be vulnerable with you, sure, but there is a blockage. Call it disorganised attachment, inability to regulate emotions, trust issues – whatever it is, it is there. Norton knows he is an inadequate partner and is set on the idea that you deserve better. You’ll need an immense amount of patience even with small tasks like these (hey, you chose this battle not me), however the reward is worth it. A glimpse into a playful man you fell in love with – who smears flour on your nose while you are distracted.

Now, Norton wholeheartedly believes he is someone for tough love. Kisses, hugs, cuddles – that’s all for the “sleazy gentlemen” not a seasoned miner like him. Don’t remind him of the way he curls up by your side like a cat with the mirthiest of grins the moment It’s lights-out in the manor. Norton’s got a reputation to uphold. He tries to convince himself of that by not really providing much closeness during your baking session, other than an occasional ruffle of your hair or a shoulder bump.

Oh how quickly things change If someone else walks in. Anyone is a rival in his eyes. Your friend wanted to greet you and give you a sweet hug? Excuse him, your man’s got a sudden velcro strap attached between you and him. One of the most jealous people on Earth because of his insecurities, so he feels the immediate need to establish his dominance here. How? Nasty glances in the intruder’s direction and pulling you into an impromptu make out session. That’s how he saw his coworkers treat their partners so he assumes this must be the way.

Maybe set some boundaries about that. Or not. I don’t know what you are into…

It might take longer than usual (your lips might be bruise as well) but the two of you will end up baking a nice, fluffy loaf of bread. He will claim that “Of course It’s great, I made it after all!” but somewhere deep inside his chest is squeezing with affection. Norton is not stupid, he can read between the lines and figure out that you know of his weaknesses. Usually, that thought would keep him up at night and gnaw at him until he pushed you far away. So far you would never see him the same way those “coworkers” did when beating the money out of his clenched fists.

However doing something so simple and new with you without judgement – It’s about the only kind of love he can stomach. Pun intended. He’ll eat like half of the bread with no bev, please make sure he doesn’t choke.

L. BALSA

My knowledge of him is minimal but I’ll take a crack at this.

Unlike Campbell, this one grew up in wealth. Fancy balls with those puffy gowns and tuxedos, golden leafed ice cream, all the lovely things that come from an obscene amount of pretty banknotes. You’d think your sweet Luca would surely know how to make some scones? Now why would you ever think that. Of course he doesn’t.

Three causes: he never lifted a finger to cook for himself, he is a man in the Renaissance period(I think) and he simply forgot how to. Memory loss does that. The triple knockout to your proposition. No, thank you, Balsa would rather stick to his inventions. After all, he is utterly and completely obsessed with the technology he builds.

At times like this, you start to think he doesn’t truly care for you at all. What’s the point of trying If some metal bits come before you? Stop, take a breath, and reconsider. Remember the times he would writhe on your shared bed in agony due to his traumatic brain injury. Recall the way Luca would grasp onto you in these vulnerable moments. Just think, would he show the weakest side of himself to you If there wasn’t a deep connection between the two of you?

Unfortunately, you cannot expect a “normal” relationship with this guy. But again, you did sign up for this. So, expect him not to even acknowledge you for the first time you ask to bake together. He is completely entranced with the wires in front of him, fixated on the electricity currents. Sure, Luca will be grumpy when you interrupt his “flow” to ask again but truthfully – It is hard for Balsa to stay mad at you. He will reject like I said beforehand, however here’s the twist.

This little genius will never reject the notion of spending time with you. His love language may be physical touch, words of affirmation, but quality time takes the cake. Pun intended. After spending so much time wrongfully (?) imprisoned, he craves human connection. Human connection that doesn’t involve him being tortured by either the guards or other inmates. Balsa is also terrified of betrayal so he wants to be beside you 24/7. Just in case.

Being at the manor is stressful and traumatic for all participants, so his coping mechanism is to drown in work. Forgive him for that, Luca loves you for all you do and your unwavering support. Therefore, he will propose a diplomatic compromise. You get to bake while he sits at the kitchen table and tinkers with some new device. Deal?

Go ahead and mix the ingridients with your leg propped over his, Luca will appreciate it wholeheartedly. Unfortunately no holding hands before marriage, or simply because it would get in the way of his and your working space. Sure, maybe you don’t get to cuddle by the stove like they do in romantic novellas. But isn’t this so much better, because it is uniquely your lover?

While the pastries bake take a moment to cradle the side of the “Prisoner’s” face in your flour-powered hand. Gently run your thumb over his cheekbone. He will subconsciously lean into your touch without missing a beat. That is just how much Luca Balsa trusts you – his partner. After everything he’s gone through It’s an indicator as bright as a red stop light of the depth of this inventor’s feelings. He doesn’t exactly state it out loud in favour of letting you know that “everyone wants a piece of this handsome genius”. However, It’s obvious to anyone else that you are his sole anchor and reason to live.

You remind him to eat, take a breather, bring him relaxing tea just the way he likes it. You ground him when Luca’s hands shake from the painful memories of the past, you hold him, you console him. In return? He will keep on working, playing this hellish game and at a whim will relocate all of his heavy equipment across the manor to the kitchen – If it means you are happy. Balsa is a dreamer, and he dreams of a future where you are together in your own house, baking in the kitchen with all the fancy equipment you might ever need. Made by him, of course.

Over freshly baked sweets and a cup of tea, your lover will share all of his ambitious ideas running through his mind. He will also take note of the taste in his mouth and urge you to write down the recipe on some paper for him. Why, you might ask? A reminder of the future he wants to build with you to keep in a diary, since it has proven to be much more reliable than his own mind. Luca is dedicated to you just as much as he is to scientific discoveries after all.

V. GRANTZ

Holy yap incoming! This one is my favourite man from the survivor faction.

Can Victor cook? Silly question. Having spent most of his adolescence without much parental support or much human contact – he is highly independent. The Postman is responsible to a T, capable of performing all the housework necessary for survival. Can your lover bake? That’s a different topic in Its entirety.

From his deduction letter It is known that he shares his meals with Wick. Therefore, Victor’s food must be something that a dog can digest. Carbs and starchy foods are not ideal for his little carnivorous friend which leads us to the conclusion that baking is not your partner’s forte.

Out of all characters in this post – he is the hardest to get through to. Come on, Victor is as talkative as a wooden plank. You thought Norton was avoidant? Think again, mister postman here will fight tooth and nail to keep people away from him. So, what happens when you through sheer patience and understanding manage to become his friend? And later on, Victor’s partner? He will never say no to you.

Bake together? For the love of everything, Victor would run into a burning building after you. That’s just who he is – utterly self sacrificing and endlessly brave. The point is, it doesn’t matter what Grantz was doing before you approached him with the wonderful proposition to bake. He will drop everything and promptly nod, following you with Wick at his heel to the kitchen.

Choose a recipe that is dog-friendly beforehand. It would make both of your boys happy. Did I mention that you became Wick’s co-parent the moment his human friend opened up his heart to you? Now you know.

Make sure to properly compliment your postman every time he does something well, like mixing the wet ingredients together at just the perfect speed. Watch as warmth blossoms across his face and your partner faintly nods, muttering a “thank you” with the brightest of smiles. His love language is without a doubt words of affirmation, considering how much linguistics matter to him.

With anyone else, he would take face-to-face conversations with a massive brick of salt. Victor doesn’t trust people not to conceal their intentions, only ever being truthful in letters. With you, It’s different. He knows your pattern of speech does not differ from your writing abilities. You wouldn’t lie to your love, would you? So Grantz has no reason to doubt your praises even If he feels undeserving of them.

Much more playful than others in the manor give him credit for. Victor is not “shy” he is simply reserved and prefers to keep to himself unless in trusted company. He literally voices his dog’s side of the “conversation” don’t be quick to assume your partner can’t have fun. Prepare for harmless tickles and nose flicks, this guy is sweeter than the pastries you two are preparing.

Unfortunately this vulnerability is only available for you to see. The moment someone else enters the kitchen, Victor is social distancing and keeping his eyes down on the baking tray. He’ll let you handle the talking part, occasionally sharing looks with Wick as If saying “Can you believe this?”. He’ll get a “woof” in response from his four-legged friend, which is up to interpretation.

Don’t let your gaze linger a beat too long on the person (without reassuring Victor afterwards) otherwise his train of thought is actively de-railing. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, of course not, your sweet postman just… thinks you can do better than him. So many options out there for someone as wonderful as you, why stick around him? That’s it, time for Grantz to overthink.

In no way would he pull you away from the conversation, at least not the same way Norton would. As your lover, he respects your decisions and relationships. Just don’t mind the slow slide towards your side of the table and the hand lingering over your fingertips. Squeeze his hand back, and we’re all good, you can carry on.

Regardless of whether someone interrupts your baking session or not, It is an incredibly enjoyable experience. The recipe will be followed to a T, you can count on your partner to take on that responsibility. If you pay close attention, you’ll notice how Victor attempts to plate the “worst” ones for himself. The pastries with uneven edges or a burnt bottom cannot be offered to you in his good conscience.

Make sure those are evenly split between the two of you, feeding your protesting lover a perfectly done piece. The postman will be so flustered at the gesture of you feeding him in public, he’ll forget completely what he was protesting about in the first place.

M. PLINIUS

This one right here. She is the perfect choice for baking together. I don’t know how you managed to bag someone as incredible as Melly but props to you.

Having grown up in poverty and later on married into wealth, she knows how to do it all. Cooking, cleaning, reading, baking – you name it, Miss Melly can probably do it. She has a slight preference for sweets as well, considering her breakfast choices and the fact that she keeps bees. Entomology is quite rewarding when you get to snack on honey from your test subjects.

I imagine It’s quite easy to find your lover busying herself in the manor’s greenhouse, slouched over another specimen of… whatever she is studying. Your proposal brings an immediate quirk to her lips which curl upwards in sheer delight. Melly is quick to offer some freshly collected honey as a healthier alternative to sugar. Of course, your heath is her priority, but getting to show off the efforts of her bees is a nice bonus.

She doesn’t necessarily rush to the oven though, unlike a certain postman… no. Melly has to finish up her tasks and tidy her working space first. Offer some help to make the time go by faster! She’ll be appreciative of your thoughtfulness and follow you to the kitchen – elbows interlocked.

Record-fast preparation for your batch of goods. She’s efficient, adaptable and co-operates well with your actions. Out of everyone mentioned in this post, a relationship with her is the healthiest – and it shows. You two are in-sync with each other, practically gliding across the kitchen like two swans on a pond’s surface. You do know swans bond for life, right?

Miss Entomologist is the epitome of elegance in everything: from thoughtfully brushing your hair out of the way – to whisking the egg whites to reach a perfect fluffy consistency. It’s not hard to tell how much she adores you, her love, her little bug. While reserved, she does not shy away from showcasing affection towards you. Expect the unexpected wrap of her arms around your waist as she whispers compliments through her veil. Don’t spill the batter now!

Quality time and acts of service are her strong suit when it comes to loving, so baking is the perfect way to showcase affection. She is understandably disappointed If someone was to interrupt your bonding time and snatch you away for a chat. It’s hard to notice, but you know her – the slightest tug of her lips downwards. You can only guess the look in her eyes under that veil, that only you ever get to see. Those are the fruits of Melly’s trust you get to reap.

Don’t take it the wrong way, she isn’t jealous in the slightest of your interaction. No, this lady is secure in her attachment and her trust in her lover. Does she appreciate that you cannot decorate the scones along with her because someone was itching to talk? That’s a different question.

If this certain someone was taking way too long than appropriate, then, she would gracefully insert herself in the conversation and ask them to leave. Politely, of course. This woman has a way with words and it is attractive to no end.

Once the delicious treat is served, settle into the secluded garden chairs along with her and a cup of steaming tea. She would spot a butterfly on top of a chrysanthemum and erupt into a passionate rant about this specific one’s traits. The lifespan, the importance to the environment. Please, make sure you listen carefully to this monologue. In moments like these your lover’s soul is bare to the touch. Handle it well.

Melly conceals her face specifically because she wants to be perceived for her intelligence – not her (stunning) appearance. However here, in the manor’s garden along with her most precious beloved, a honeyed scone in hand… it is no grave matter If her veils is lifted by the wind. She won’t rush to pin it down. Instead, you will get to see a sight reserved only for you – Melly’s affectionate eyes. Crinkled at the corners in a sincere smile, a smile that should be appreciated with the earnest of kisses from you.

Not really proofread! If you spot mistakes… oh well.

[sikyulioness]

✨"Illusions of Fate"✨

If all you want we can make this a chapter series ✨

_________. ._________

The world of hunters was a brutal place—one where survival depended on raw power, strategy, and sometimes, a little bit of luck. But there were few who knew power like you did. As the Monarch of Illusion, you held sway over reality itself, a being whose grace, elegance, and boundless confidence could make anyone’s head spin. You were the definition of perfection, and you knew it.

But perfection could be... boring. After all, when you had everything, what was left to do but to seek out the most interesting and dramatic things the world had to offer? That’s when you came across Sung Jinwoo.

He was nothing short of a legend in the making—a player who had climbed his way from the lowest ranks of the hunter world to an almost incomprehensible power. But, you couldn’t help but notice that despite his power, the poor man was terribly lacking in finesse, in style.

That’s where you came in.

---

The night was still, a perfect evening for a bit of drama. Jinwoo was on a raid, as usual, leading his group through the dungeon with a focused and steely determination. He had no idea that he was about to face something much more challenging than mere monsters or enemies. No, you were far more complicated—and far more entertaining.

You appeared suddenly before them, stepping out from the shadows with a dramatic flair. The very air around you shifted, bending and twisting as if it couldn’t decide whether you were a goddess or a mirage. Your attire was nothing short of extravagant—flowing silks that shimmered in the faint light, delicate chains of starlight adorning your neck, and a regal, confident smile that made everything feel like a performance.

Jinwoo’s eyes snapped to you instantly. His sword was at the ready, and the atmosphere around him crackled with tension. But you didn’t flinch. Oh no, you reveled in his reaction, enjoying every second of it.

You tilted your head as you regarded him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, well, what do we have here?" you purred, your voice smooth as velvet. "Sung Jinwoo, the legendary Player. How adorable."

Jinwoo’s grip on his sword tightened as his eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he demanded, trying to size you up, but you were always several steps ahead, a whirlwind of power wrapped in elegance.

You shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, almost as though you were bored by his lack of recognition. "Who am I? Darling, I am the Monarch of Illusion, the undisputed diva of the realm. But if you must call me something, you can call me Princess—it has a certain... charm, don’t you think?" You gave him a wink, your expression playful but undeniably confident.

Jinwoo’s brows furrowed in confusion, his stance still defensive. "Monarch of Illusion? What do you want from me?" he asked, clearly not sure what to make of the situation.

You stepped closer to him, the air around you shimmering with every movement. "What do I want? Oh, darling, it’s not about what I want—it's about what you need," you purred, voice low and sultry. "You, my dear Jinwoo, are an incredibly interesting man. You have power, strength, but you’re so... dull."

Jinwoo’s expression hardened. "I don’t have time for games."

You chuckled lightly, as though his words were nothing more than a passing breeze. "Oh, but darling, this isn’t a game. This is a performance." You twirled around him in a dramatic circle, as if the world itself was a stage and you were the leading lady. "And I’m here to make sure you play your part... perfectly."

Before Jinwoo could respond, you raised a hand, and suddenly the world around you both began to shift. The ground beneath your feet turned into a pristine, glossy stage, lights twinkling as though you had just stepped into a grand theater. Your illusions wove themselves around him like a dancer—graceful, fluid, and full of life.

Jinwoo tensed, sword still raised, but you didn’t give him a chance to act. You stepped forward with a fluid motion, just inches from him now. "Do you know how boring it is to see you hide all your power behind that stoic little face of yours?" you whispered, your breath warm against his ear. "You're strong, but you’re so... predictable. You’re playing a role that doesn’t suit you, Jinwoo. Don’t you ever want to shine? To truly take center stage?"

He stiffened at your words, but you could see the flicker of something—curiosity? Was it possible that you had finally caught his attention?

Before he could speak, you raised your other hand, and an illusionary wall of mirrors appeared, reflecting countless versions of you—each one as flawless as the last. You smirked as you looked at the confused Jinwoo, letting the multiple images swirl around him, creating a labyrinth of light and shadow.

"Let’s see how well you handle this little test of yours, shall we?" you teased, twirling once more, your voice like honey. "Show me what you’ve got, handsome. I’m dying to see if you can make this interesting."

Jinwoo’s gaze sharpened. He could feel the intensity building, the weight of your illusions pressing down on him. But instead of backing down, his eyes hardened with resolve. He would fight. He would win.

With a grunt, Jinwoo launched himself at the nearest reflection of you, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. But the illusion flickered, and it wasn’t you—it was another reflection, another image. You had anticipated his every move.

Laughing softly, you tilted your head and glided just out of reach. "Oh, darling, you’re so cute when you’re frustrated," you purred, your voice a mixture of mockery and admiration. "But you’ll have to do better than that to catch me."

Jinwoo’s frustration was growing, but he knew he had to focus. He closed his eyes for a moment, clearing his mind, and then—he struck. This time, he didn’t rely on just raw power. He focused on his instincts, on what he knew about you. And when he opened his eyes again, it was as if the illusions were clearer, the reflections weaker. He cut through them with ease, one after another, until finally, he found himself face to face with you.

You stood there, just beyond reach, watching him with that playful glint in your eye. "Oh, bravo, darling," you said, clapping lightly. "You’re not as hopeless as I thought. But don’t get too cocky. You still haven’t seen the best of me."

You winked, and in an instant, you were gone, replaced by an illusion that faded into nothing. The world around Jinwoo shifted again, returning to normal, but the feeling of your presence lingered, like the echo of a dream that he couldn’t quite shake.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but there was an edge to it. "I’m not interested in games," he said, though there was something different in his eyes. "But I won’t forget you."

You appeared before him one last time, your smile sharp and knowing. "Oh, sweetie," you purred, stepping close enough that he could feel the heat of your presence. "You’ll never forget me. But don’t worry, you’re so much more interesting than I thought. Keep it up, Jinwoo... and maybe we’ll see each other again soon."

Before he could say another word, you were gone again, leaving only the lingering memory of your touch, your words, and the taste of something dangerous in the air.

Jinwoo stood in the now empty arena, still reeling from the encounter. You, the Monarch of Illusion, had not only caught his attention—you had distracted him. And despite himself, he knew he’d be thinking about you long after this night ended.

You were a diva, a force of nature, and perhaps... just a little too captivating for him to ignore.

_____

The End

[tls12lessthan3]

honestly i respect the grindset of people who even try to imagine kim dokja having sex at all ever 🫡🫡🫡 it's borderline impossible in my brain. he'd need like 50 years of getting comfortable with his sexuality And with the people who want him And being okay with even the tiniest bit of vulnerability before he'd even think about it. kudos to fic writers who would be willing to depict that mess tbh

literally. with all the issues he has it's really an uphill battle. honestly it's one i've just about given up except when im willing to play around a bit with characterisation. like i used to think that maybe if you made the sex a little less....vulnerable? it might work for him? e.g. friends with benefits sex where they're at least pretending it doesn't mean anything, hate sex, getting out post-battle adrenaline, etc etc. something where there would presumably be some extenuating circumstance or feeling kim dokja could blame for their desire to fuck him, rather than the incomprehensible idea that they just might want to. allow him to keep up that wall he's so fond of, and you might just be able to maneuver him into a position where he both feels safe enough to have sex and is able to believe that due some bizarre reason that does NOT include a genuine attraction to him the other person might want to do so.

but i've changed my opinion on that primarily because i don't think kim dokja is fully comfortable and happy with the distance he keeps between himself and others and i don't think emphasizing that barrier would ultimately let him have the best time getting down and dirty. like he definitely feels the most safe when he's got a nice thick wall between himself and anyone who might want to know him but i would also say, especially in moments that would otherwise be very emotional he feels anywhere from mildly embarrassed to actively upset that he is so far from everyone else. and i think that would be true for sex too. even though be built the wall himself! so i think he wouldn't be able to have sex unless he felt safe (aka, distanced from the proceeds and their emotional implications in some form) but neither would he be able to open up the way he needs to to enjoy himself. because he isn't the type to enjoy meaningless sex, he just isn't. i can't make that work in my interpretation of him. but he can't open up either!! so he's stuck!!

and then there's the issue of his shame surrounding sexuality and probably how he's internalized the title of virgin as thoroughly as he's internalized being a 'loser' in every other part of his life

anyway i used this ask pretty much as an excuse to ramble but yes ultimately i agree i can't see him having sex unless whoever he's having it with has been very carefully easing him into it AND its post epilogue where he has MAYBE eased up on some of his self-hatred and intimacy issues.

but because its a part of his character that is so rarely explored in text (chinese dress and gater belts aside) i do think it's really fun to see other people's interpretations of him and how he could be manuevered into having sex. its like a philosphical thought experiment to me. so ultimately me and you are saluting the kim dokja sex truthers together 🫡

[sapphorror]

I am endlessly plagued by totally normal and appropriate feelings re: Zim and Dib saying each other's name's like that (if you get me, you get me), but I'm too lazy to make a compilation so I did the next best thing and wrote this piece of highly questionable literature about it instead

It's when Zim drops the suffix that Dib knows for sure things are about to get serious.

Most times, Zim spits out Dib’s name like it’s an insult, the tone indistinguishable from the one he uses when cycling through his roster of a schmillion and one derogatory titles, all of which smear together but might as well be a single moniker for the uniform way in which they’re spoken. Really, it’s not much different from the way most people tend to address Dib, as if the burden of tolerating his presence is an unpleasant but inevitable chore—just a bit more vehement and with the addition of arbitrary modifiers Dib’s long since learned to tune out. Sometimes it’s as if Dib has ceased to be a name at all and is instead a definition, the scientific classification for a new species of grotesque freak.

But every now and then—just often enough to keep Dib perpetually suspended in a state somewhere between eager and on-edge—the energy shifts, his last and most dire signal that a very dangerous game has already begun. There’s just as much contempt and an even nastier mocking edge, but there’s no mistaking it for another petty jab. It’s a knife shoved right in his middle, cold metal chill and the sharp numbing spark of a body going into shock, precise enough to leave his psyche spitting up rivers of rage or fear or both, but even as he’s shuddering around the lethal wound, there’s something in him that can see the care with which the blade has been sharpened.

More often than not, Dib only gets to be stabbed through the fuzz of a transmission as Zim describes his doom to him from wherever he’s judged a safe distance, the edges dulled by that slight alteration in quality that not even the best in Irken tech can entirely eliminate. That’s all well and good and gruesome enough, but it’s the occasions on which Zim’s enacted his plans in person that really stand out in Dib’s memory. Felt from beneath the full weight of every decibel, Zim’s voice almost sounds less sing-song than serenading, some single-minded ritual of seduction. A taunt, yes, but also a reassurance—that he really is every inch the monster Dib needs him to be, and that just for this moment, Dib is the sole locus of his attention. A creature of the cosmos, witness to incomprehensible wonders, stirred by Dib more than anything else, and under such exceptional circumstances, could anyone really claim he’s crazy just for being a little bit obsessed?

Zim's name sounds good in Dib's mouth.

Granted, Zim’s name sounds good in anyone’s mouth; there are some things simply too perfect to be butchered. With Dib, though, there’s a difference Zim can’t put his finger on. Of course, Irken names never roll off quite right from the humans’ flat, flappy tongues—too many hard consonants and clipped syllables for them to manage. Tak’s always sounds like the slam of a door, and poor Skoodge got stuck being addressed as something seen smeared on the sidewalk, stretched and squished at the same time. Even Zim’s name, unbutcherable as it might be, sounds slippery in their mouths, or else too quick, too sharp. Not with Dib, though—coming from him it’s slow and sibilant, a sort of sliding hiss, and that isn’t right either but for some reason Zim likes the sound of it, maybe even more than he does the real thing.

Things aren’t always so theatrical, of course. Far too often, Dib just shrugs the word off with all the dismissiveness due an old raincoat or coats it in enough casual contempt to make the internal cooling systems in Zim’s PAK falter by a couple dangerous degrees. No, if Zim wants the reverence he’s owed, he has to earn it, and that’s perfectly fine—it’s not as if the Dib has ever proven particularly difficult to entice. A mysterious occurrence, the suggestion of a scheme, any lure to lead him in by his overactive sense of curiosity and he’d be there, crying out for Zim’s attention as if his arrival hadn’t been half the goal in the first place. Sometimes he shows up already stumbling-sick with anger, at others sounding so ecstatic it might even be mistaken for sign of fondness, but in every case there is the one critical constant; that his presence itself is a papered-over proclamation of the most all-encompassing, unashamed want.

Not that Zim has ever been unwanted—the very notion, absurd!—but within the most walled-off corners of his mind, he’s willing to allow that maybe, just possibly, there’s a chance he’s never been wanted quite like this. Like a prayer or a pipe dream, the promise of settled scores and spiteful satisfaction, as if Zim’s somehow both the solution and the cause to all of Dib’s problems at once. The grating celebration always comes so premature, as if just seeing Zim, speaking to him, is by itself a form of vindication, and Zim’s never been the least bit pleased to let Dib have it. He knows it’s not much like an Invader to be running from something he could so easily fight, not much like an Irken, but the inevitable dogged pursuit that follows is proof of Dib’s dedication desperation, and what possible shame could there be in indulging that? After all, no consequence of getting caught is scarier than losing all cause for a chase.

[kazarinn]

I'm finishing up the retranslation for Saint Tail's anime right now, so I'm at the stage where I'm thinking about my next few projects, and I've currently at least decided that I want to do something for Megumi Tachikawa's other works as well. Tachikawa is an incredibly amazing writer, and it's such a shame that her work has been so poorly represented in translation; even beyond the fact that a good chunk of her work hasn't even been translated at all, the ones that were translated seem to have been run through the translation equivalent of a meat grinder.

I prioritized Saint Tail both because it's her most famous work and because it's the one that took the most damage (it's definitely pretty disturbing to find out that around half of the plot was translated to suggest the opposite of what it was actually supposed to mean!), but I do want to call attention to Cyber Idol ☆ Mink (localized by Tokyopop as Mink), generally considered to be Saint Tail's spiritual sequel. Unlike with Saint Tail, the Tokyopop release of Mink didn't flip it horizontally, and it doesn't have incomprehensible nonsense lines like "Great Big Deal!!" that Saint Tail's release did, but...well, I think some examples would demonstrate it better.

Here's Tokyopop's version of a spread from chapter 6:

And here's the proof of concept I sent to my group when pitching this series (done very quickly, so definitely not my best work, but probably enough to get the point across), which was translated directly from the Japanese text:

...Huh? That's not even remotely similar! The original scene is meant to draw a clear parallel between Mink's view of the chocolate and her view of herself, and the progression of the scene plays on the ambiguity of whether "あたしじゃなくて" means "this isn't from me" or "this isn't me". The reason Mink is considered to be Saint Tail's spiritual sequel is that it explores similar concepts of self-identity and the feeling of inadequacy compared to an idealized, sanitized self, something Mink is even less subtle about than Saint Tail was at times, but the nuance here seems to have been lost in translation. (In fact, I'm not entirely sure what must have led to the Tokyopop version's interpretation; the Japanese text doesn't resemble what's there at all.)

Which also means that when you get to later parts of the series like this...

(Tokyopop version)

(Our proof of concept retranslation)

In this case, the Tokyopop version roughly corresponds to the Japanese text but interprets it in ways that really don't get the point of this scene very well, ranging from not catching the specific use of "small and tiny" (ちっぽけな) invoking the earlier scene with the chocolate to making too many specific assumptions about Mink and Kyo's feelings that are actually out of character. (Let alone the fact that the way they phrase Mink's lines here really just doesn't convey the sheer level of desperation and emotion at all...)

For instance, it's a very important part of Mink's character that she doesn't have self-awareness about wanting to feel needed; she says 必要としてくれるなら because she legitimately feels like she's useless or has nothing to offer without the help of the WANNA-BE program. This kind of thing is a common trait of Tachikawa protagonists, and while I know many people might think it's not that big of a deal, I think the difference between "wanting attention and thinking your alter ego is cooler" and "having insecurity from believing you'll never be good enough unless you blot out all the undesirable parts of yourself" is big enough to mean something to a lot of people who would be reading this!

In any case, once I'm done with Saint Tail, I do have some other projects I want to prioritize first, since Mink's official translation is at least somewhat readable (kind of a low bar, but...). But I did want to call attention to this for now in case anyone was interested, because while Saint Tail and Mink are far from the only shoujo or magical girl manga from this era to have such poor treatment in localization, I don't think this issue has been well-documented when it comes to Tachikawa's work, and it really does break my heart.

[randybutternubber]

Heyyyyyyy do you have any funny head canons on the children :-9 if they squabble and stuff in your opinion. Give me the sillies !!!!! (I do too but I wanna hear urs)

YOU HAVE OPENED THE GATES OF HELL PREPARE FOR MY BORDERLINE SEVEN PAGE ESSAY ON THESE RANDOM FUCKING CHILDREN

I decided to do the ones that get less attention in general, especially since I have the most thoughts on them

HCs under cut because I may have gone overboard with the length

Ghost kid

Best friends with a batmin ball that had a very poorly drawn face on it from the age of six to eight.

Sebbo (spoon girl) buried the batmin ball using a spoon as a shovel after it got neutered by the barber (he thought it was a bug and shat his pants)

Not a native of the nowhere and was taken to the nowhere on Halloween, hence the ghost costume

Lost their arm pretty quickly after being taken to the Nowhere. he’s quite a friendly child and is very compassionate towards animals, but unfortunately, this has its downsides as not all animals in the Nowhere want help.

Friends with Sebbo

Has been squatting in houses since day 1 of living in the Nowhere and has no plans to stop

Would go CRAZY for squishmallows

Doesn’t have well formed empathy/sympathy for humans but is super compassionate towards animals

Zero concept of gender and doesn’t care what you call them, he just want to pet your dog

Nonverbal but has very expressive body language

Spoon girl

Her name is sebbo (based off of game files)

She sneezes like a middle aged divorced golf dad and due to her nose bleed these sneezes are NOT victimless

LEGENDARY rage tantrums

Literally only wants to watch gen 1 my little pony, Formula One, or a very specific documentary about some random Swedish sheep wool factory

Swedish

If you compare her to pippy longstockings you will end up needing to go to urgent care for a rabies shot

Calls ghost kid Ande (sounds like Andeh) which means spirit in Swedish. (His file name is actually spöke for anyone wondering, which also means ghost/spirit in Swedish. The only reason I’m not giving him the Sebbo naming treatment is that spöke absolutely does not sound like it’s spelled (sounds like Spurkeh) and Ande actually sounds like a name. I’m a quarter swedish and have a very Swedish family on my white side so I got the most incomprehensible Swedish lessons in the car ever, so please don’t roast me in the reblogs if I got this wrong, I remember like five words and this is one of them, same thing with Korean😭

Living embodiment of “ANDE WE’RE 10 NOW, WE SAY CRAP, NOT POOP”

Broke one of her legs at some point in the Nowhere and ended up in the hospital (HC based off of concept art where she was in a wheelchair and using crutches)

Has severe trauma revolving around doctors and medical stuff

Has never seen another ginger in her entire life but will fight to be the alpha

Warrior cats kid

Expert at digging and climbing out of holes, THE CHILDREN YEARN FOR THE MINES!!!

Rusty

Has a cleft lip

This isn’t a HC but something that not a lot of people realize; he has a lisp

Only reason I’m not drawing him as ginger because of his name is because I also designed Noone as ginger and he lost in a 1v1 to a rabid cabbage patch kid. He’s been through enough

He’s around 14

Very lithe

Despite being a trapeze and tightrope performer, he is TERRIFIED of heights, making his experience at the circus even worse

The dummy has been malding over Rusty for a ridiculously long period of timeand bro had no fucking idea and nobody even knows the reason why 💀

Also a warrior cats kid but kept in on the downlow. Yes he did name himself Rusty after firestar but if you tell anyone he will cry

Noone

A nice kid but will deadass ask some of the most insensitive questions and has NO idea. Also verbally cooked a middle aged man and spent like a whole episode sassing him so she can definitely be mean if she wants to

Also has really severe medical trauma along with trauma from being paraded around on TV because she was the first person to be cured of whatever the shit water sickness is

Her real name was Ruth, but once she started forgetting her parents (they basically ditched her anyways 😭) she started just using Noone as her real name

Master of inappropriately prolonged periods of intense eye contact

Really dislikes/is afraid of dolls/dummies because of what happened to Rusty/in JuJubee’s toyshop

Very untrusting of people post Nowhere abduction because of how Otto treated her and because of the ferryman. Plus basically every kid she met in TSON was met with a terrible fate (Goo kid is probably alive but she doesn’t know that)

Autism (all these children got some sort of neurodivergence though, I mean just look at them)

WORST BACKSEAT DRIVER EVER (ASKED TO LEAVE THE ROWBOAT)

Has a few scars on her face from her right before she had a seizure when getting clockwork oranged. She tried to take the mri suction thingies off her head but she ended up scratching up her face in her panic

[noodyl-blasstal]

Piano Man

Big thanks to @ceilingfan5 who sang "pretty lizard" to the tune of "pretty woman" this morning, it got stuck in my head, morphed into "pretty wizard" and now we're here. Enjoy below or on Ao3.

-

Kravitz is tired. Kravitz is tireder than tired. Not in body, his hands would keep skimming the keys forever and always if he doesn’t occasionally put them away, and he can’t ever resist singing along to something whether he knows the words or not. No, what Kravitz is tired of is fancy people parties and all the fancy people nonsense that comes along with it.

The pay is good enough, that’s how he knows he won’t walk out, no matter how bad it gets - someone has to keep his apartment paid for - but these parties are always full of the most obnoxious people. His mouth is dry and his back is sore and Lydia, sorry, Ms Adventurezone, because ‘we don’t use first names, darling, it’s uncouth’ has been promising him a break for the last 23 minutes, but every time he winds down she suddenly appears to ask him for just one more song. It looks like she’s on her way to derail his break for the seventh time when someone, a glorious, perfect, wonderful man in a huge elaborate hat steps into her path, blocking her from Kravitz’s view which definitely means she also can’t see him!

Kravitz mentally beams gratitude at his saviour and respectfully doesn’t notice exactly how fantastic the guy’s arse looks in those silky trousers as he finishes up the song. The man is probably just intervening by accident, Kravitz needs to reign in his impulse to romanticise. There’s no deeper plot to rescue him from Lydia’s clutches, but he definitely needs to take advantage and escape while he still can - in fact, it looks like Edward, sorry, Mr Adventurezone, is headed his way. Kravitz will commando roll under this piano to escape if it comes to it. It doesn’t. He cuts the song a few bars early, pretends not to see Edward (ha, take that!) and beelines for the bar.

“Hey Krav, you sound great!” Ren waves in greeting.

“Thanks.” He croaks slightly.

“Say no more.” She laughs as she hands over a glass of water. “I’ll be back with your tea in a tick. Have this in the meantime.” She nudges a plate his way too.

Kravitz smiles his thanks and is already shoving the lemon-y mousse topped biscuit into his mouth. He needs to start eating before he comes to these things. They always say they’ll feed him and it’s rare they bother. Praise the lady for Ren, her fancy cocktail bar for hire tends to mean they coincide at a lot of these events. They very quickly worked out that they had allies in each other and used it to their advantage whenever possible.

“Anyone sat here, handsome?” Asks a voice over his shoulder.

Kravitz prepares to turn away whichever entitled prick is trying to ruin his break, but clamps his mouth shut when he realises it’s his saviour.

“No, no one is, that’s good, that’s fine, it’s free.” Kravitz intends to pat the seat invitingly, panics, withdraws his hand, and ends up caressing it instead. Perfect. An incredibly normal gesture. Maybe the guy will just turn and leave, spare Kravitz from any other awful attempts to flirt.

The man sits down instead.

“Thank you.” Kravitz says, realising slightly too late that the guy probably doesn’t have any idea what he’s thanking him for.

“No problem, I figured you were due a break. I used to work these things before, well, you know.” He waves a hand as if whatever incomprehensible thing he’s alluding to is obvious. “She hates that she has to invite me instead of hiring me. The handle’s Taako, by the way, what’s yours?” He crosses one knee over the other and his trouser leg parts to show a length of dark skin. Kravitz wants desperately to find out exactly how high the split in the thigh goes.

“Kravitz.” Says Kravitz. Focusing on doing anything that isn’t staring intently at Taako’s thigh. Not that Taako seemed to mind, he definitely grinned when he noticed Kravitz go slack jawed. But still, he could have misinterpreted, easier to stick to small talk. “What did you use to do at these things?”

“Steal, mostly, you know, light pick pocketing here, grand theft auto there… the usual stuff.”

Kravitz’s eyes widen. Fuck. He couldn’t tell Sloane about this one, she was already keeping the list of ‘reasons Kravitz isn’t allowed to pick his own men’ and ‘being immediately attracted to possibly a mob boss’ was likely to make it into the top 3.

“I’m joking, Krav.” Taako takes a sip of his drink, swallows slowly, eyeing Kravitz as he does.

Kravitz’s stomach clenches, he likes this, he likes this a lot. Taako’s welcome to observe him as much as he wants, preferably when he’s wearing less.

“Of course. Yes. You got me!” Kravitz manages a short laugh, it’s breathier than he intended it to be.

“Good to see you, Taako!” Ren greets Taako, plonks a cup down in front of Kravitz, winks, and leaves to attend to the disorderly queue because none of these people knew how to wait their turn.

“Do you like these things?” He asks Taako, then sips gently at the tea. It’s sweet, honeyed and fiery with ginger. Ren’s good to him.

“Nope.” Taako says passionately, looks like he means it. “They’re boring as all hell, my guy. No one is any fun.”

“You seem fun, the hat’s definitely fun.” Kravitz points at the spangled monstrosity atop Taako’s head.

“I’m a wizard and a genius, obviously I’m a delight. I meant the rest of them.”

“No one else is worth it?”

“You think Lydia’s fun?”

“I thought she might be if she respects you.”

Taako snorts. “I’ll let you know if that ever happens, but I wouldn’t hold out hope… fuck, speak of the devil.”

Kravitz turns to see Lydia stomping over. By the time he turns back, Taako’s gone.

“Kravitz! There you are.” The vulgarity of first names didn’t extend to talking to ‘the help’ clearly. “You need to be very careful about overdoing your breaks, you were supposed to take 15 at 9 and it’s already half past. You wouldn’t want me to review you badly would you?” She smiles her awful poisonous smile and eyes him with undisguised glee.

Thankfully he knows this dance. There’s no point in arguing. He’s only had 5 minutes and the reason he didn’t go at 9 was because of her, but she’ll just use any rebellion against him. He just nods demurely, finishes his tea in a long gulp, and says. “Of course.”

She looks disappointed about the lack of fight in him, which is exactly what he was hoping for. He leaves without another word.

–

The first few times he thinks he might have imagined it, but Taako is definitely gravitating closer to the piano. Kravitz didn’t notice him at all before, but he’s danced by, walked past, or stopped to look on appreciatively. Kravitz smiles every time he catches his eye and Taako’s even winked back at him a few times, but he needs to do something to show he can be the fun person Taako’s nights are lacking.

Lydia doesn’t seem to notice the Thong Song instrumental he works into the rotation, Taako spits champagne through his nose and claps so hard Kravitz can hear it over the general smattering of applause when he finishes a piece. It emboldens him enough to try something, he just needs to wait for the perfect moment.

Taako finally does a walk by, flicking his gaze to Kravitz as he finishes a song and transitions into Roy Orbison.

“Pretty wizard, walkin’ right past me”

Taako pauses.

“Pretty wizard, the kind I liked to meet Pretty wizard, I don't believe you You're not the truth No one could look as good as you Mercy!”

Taako turns, wide eyed. Points to himself, innocently.

“Pretty wizard, won't you pardon me? Pretty wizard, I couldn't help but see Pretty wizard, that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me? Rwar-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r”

Kravitz gives it beans with the roar, if there’s a bit, he will commit to it. Taako laughs delightedly, it’s worth it.

“Pretty wizard, stop a while Pretty wizard, talk a while Pretty wizard, give your smile to me..eeeeee Pretty wizard, hey hey hey Pretty wizard, saw you look my way Pretty wizard, say you'll stay with me 'Cause I need you, I'll treat you right Will you maybe, dance with me tonight?”

Kravitz wiggles his eyebrows alluringly. Taako laughs, not unkindly, eyes soft, the corners crinkled with mirth. Lydia’s aggressively trying to catch Kravitz’s eye but he resolutely refuses to look away from Taako.

“Pretty wizard, can we go for coffee? Pretty wizard, just you and me? Pretty wizard, I’ll even spring for the whipped cre-eeeaaam”

Taako’s laughing so hard that he’s dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief, trying desperately not to smudge his eye make up.

“Okay I see you’re dairy free, okay I guess I’ll get the coconut cream, but wait I could get you some lactaaaaaaaaaid A scone, or two, or three? I can do that for you, you’ll see! If you’ll just go out with me, Oh, oh, pretty wizard”

Kravitz plunks out the last notes and laughs at Taako lounging dramatically on the front of the piano.

“Here’s Taako’s number, handsome, cha’boy can do dairy and he’s absolutely going to need those three scones tomorrow.”

“Kravitz!” Lydia yells.

He starts playing a jazzy version of Ace of Spades.

“Kravitz! I know you can hear me. We didn’t discuss any deviations from the playlist or the lyrics.” Kravitz nods as if he’s listening to everything she’s saying, and not staring at Taako.

“If you like to eat scones, I tell you I’m your man. Plain, fruit, cherry, they’re not all the same to me. The pleasure is to spread, jam, butter, or cream instead, If a scone is what you need, the only place you should be’s, Paloma’s Bakes, (Paloma’s Bakes)”

[januaryisnotanartist]

I think people need to stop telling me about ants and just admit they can't write Cosmic Horror.

I asked you for advice, I asked so many people for advice on how to write Cosmic Horror, and all anyone could tell me was about ants understanding the human perspective and then having to be an ant again no longer able to grasp that knowledge but knowing that they knew it.

And that's... not advice on how to write Cosmic Horror, that's just telling me what Cosmic Horror is.

It's like asking how to write romance and being told romance is all about romantic connections. like no shit. You also gonna tell me I write comedy by being funny?

I am so indescribably angry, because I don't know how to express to people that "metaphor about ants" + "it has to be incomprehensible but not too incomprehensible" is not advice.

It doesn't help me.

(Even when I asked them to stop mentioning the ant metaphors. "I know you said not to... but it's so good" yeah, because it literally just defines the fucking genre.)

Cosmic Horror is about existential fear blah, blah, blah. Great. could you give me advice on how to evoke that in my writing? without mentioning ants. again.

You mentioned the ants, the horse has been beaten to death, I understand the ant metaphor STOP TELLING ME ABOUT ANTS AND DEFINING THE GENRE AND GIVE ME SOME ACTUAL FUCKING ADVICE OR JUST ADMIT YOU CAN'T. WRITE. COSMIC. HORROR.

There's nothing to be ashamed of, it is literally the hardest genre to write, most people who set out to write it fail, whether it's because they end up with nonsense because they wrote horror-but-lol-so-random or because they veer off into eldritch, which is not the same thing.

If you can't write it, fine, I myself am probably going to give up, but stop repeating the definition of the genre and acting like it is the enlightening advice I need when it's really, really not. Like I haven't now heard 35 different iterations of the ant metaphor in my quest for a single piece of good advice.

[corawithfanfiction]

X-Men Next Step Is Evolution I White Wolf & Polaris (and Wolverine)

you know our love would be tragic (episode 12)

episode 10 - episode 11 - episode 13

my materialist!

summury: Bucky (Winter Soldier/ White Wolf) finds surprises and familiar faces waiting for him at the Academy. Lorna (Polaris) wants to apologize to Logan (Wolverine), but Logan has other plans for reconciliation

warning: dirty language, body deformation, foreplay , unconsciousness, bad language, fighting, anxiety, uncertainty and reading consciousness.

Ask for permission before quoting or translating!

✗

"Does Ororo know you're here Barnes?"

Emma's voice filled the room as everyone's gaze shifted between the blonde woman and the former sergeant, serial killer and new Avengers member on Captain America's side.

Remy got up from where he had fallen, shaking the shards of glass off himself. Raven was still unhappy that Remy was here, but Emma's words had piqued her curiosity and she put her anger aside and focused her attention on her friend. By this time, her blood - red hair had turned a brighter blonde than the sun and her blue, scaly skin was smooth and fair.

Sam sat up a little straighter at the mention of his friend's name.

Logan listened to his feelings while Lorna calmly and quietly watched where this was going. Everyone in the room was calm, but their heartbeats and breathing were rapid. Everyone was aware of their own power, and in a fight, both sides could get hurt. So Logan, with years of wisdom and fatigue, leaned back and listened intently to all his senses.

Emma tore her gaze away from Charles, who was standing directly in front of her. She turned around and came face to face with Bucky. Her movements were unhurried, her brow furrowed for a split second as she ran her cold gaze over the man's blues for a moment. It was a detail that had escaped the attention of everyone in the room except the two old metal men. Emma's gaze softened and she finally put a peaceful and sincere smile on her face. Taking a step closer to Bucky,

she said, "Don't tell me you forgot about Ororo when you remember everything!" she said with mock reproach and playfulness.

Bucky's body was still uncomfortable. Anyone in the room could see his tensed muscles, and it was hard not to notice them. Emma didn't need to observe the super soldier in front of her to notice them, she already knew every thought going through his head. Still, she was familiar with his life, he had already been abused in the past and she couldn't intrude into his thoughts without his permission. So, keeping a sweet smile on her face, she began to speak in a way that only the two of them could understand.

"Undixelele yonke into. Ebengafuni kukushiya apho kodwa uyayazi ukuthembela kwakhe emantombini. Ndiqinisekile awusithembi kangoko." *

(She told me everything. She didn't want to leave you there, but you know how she trusts girls. I'm sure she doesn't trust us that much.)

The look of incomprehension on everyone's faces was definitely worth seeing. While most were frowning, the super soldier had a smile on his face, unlike the others in the room. "W- wena, uyalwazi ulwimi"

(Y-you speak Xhosa?)

Emma continued laughing, happy that the man in front of her was relaxing and beginning to trust her.

"Ewe, ndiyazi malunga neencoko zakho no- Ororo. Besithetha emva kweseshoni yakho nganye. Ugqirha ongaqondakaliyo awanxibelelelana naye emva kokuba enyamalele ecaleni kwakhe ume phambi kwakho ngoku."

(Yes, I also know about your conversations with Ororo. We were talking after each of your sessions. The mysterious doctor she contacted after she disappeared is standing in front of you now.)

After Emma's last words, the super soldier let out a laugh, "Andikukholelwa Frost." At Bucky's words, Emma and Bucky shared a hug.

(I can't believe it, Frost!)

Remy said, "If you're done with your cryptic conversation, can you tell us why you're hugging?" "Because not everyone in the room is a telepath!" she said reproachfully, pointing at Charles and David.

Logan was trying to decipher the African language he had heard. Sam's brow furrowed in disbelief as he watched his friend's movements.

Lorna wondered why Bucky knew Emma. Emma Frost, Ororo Monroe and James Bucky Barners. What could these three possibly have in common?

Bucky skipped Remy's question and asked Emma, "Uyayazi ukuba u Aneka uyakucaphukela, akunjalo?"

(You know Aneka hates you, right?)

At Bucky's words, Emma let out a loud laugh and grabbed Bucky's right shoulder with her left hand and squeezed, "Oh loo mfazi uhlala eyithiyile i - crystal telepath. "

(Oh that woman always hates crystal telepaths)

Sam looked at Emma with a relieved and grateful smile as Bucky leaned in and said something in Sam's ear. There was no conversation between Emma and Sam, but Captain America thanked her and Emma said it was no big deal.

Charles Xavier was proud to witness such moments on the roof of the Academy he had founded, and he shelved his doubts about his work. Remy, David and Lorna, on the other hand, watched uneasily, never understanding what had happened, and perhaps waiting for someone to explain it to them.

Raven didn't understand what was happening, but she had lived enough to know who Bucky Barnes was, Ororo's connection to Bucky, and why Emma spoke the official language of Wakanda. Yes, maybe she didn't understand what was being said, but she knew more or less what was being said. That's why she stood her ground without compromising her demeanor.

Logan could not decipher the familiar language being spoken, but his sophisticated ears clearly heard the conversation of the two strangers in the room. He smiled in understanding, a smile so tiny that even he couldn't feel it. He empathized with Barnes, understood him and kept what he had heard to himself, pretending he had never heard it.

After all, it wasn't every day that he met someone he could empathize with as a centuries-old lump of metal whose past had been forced into oblivion.

Everyone had scattered to their rooms, the strangers at the Academy had been given rooms too, they would be staying here with the X-Men for a few days.

Lorna sat cross-legged on her bed, thinking about what had happened. What she had to do at the Casino, Remy showing up, Logan taking so long to recover, saving Anna, Logan saving Lorna, and what had happened when they arrived at the Academy.

It was a difficult day for Lorna. She had used her powers like never before, and she had done it in front of people she never wanted to know. Sinister now knew that Lorna was a mutant too, and he wasn't going to hesitate to share this with the members of the Casino. Assuming that the entire Casino knew who Lorna's father was, it wouldn't be too hard for them to guess the powers she had acquired. Lorna was one zero behind in this battle. She felt she had lost everything she had gained.

Her safety, her privacy, and Logan.

As her thoughts began to overwhelm the young woman, Lorna jumped out of bed in a huff. Tearing off her t-shirt and tugging at the collar, she ran to the window in front of her and opened it wide. She tried to regulate her breathing with the cold night air. She didn't know how long she stayed there, but finally she went inside. Her body was white with cold, and tomorrow she would probably have a runny nose and start sneezing. She didn't care. She started to step wherever her mind took her. She opened the door to her room and walked the path she knew by heart. When she came to the familiar door, she waited with shaky breaths for the courage that had disappeared and left her to return. After about five or six minutes, she turned back with weak steps, believing she could not do it. She had just taken her first step when the door she had not dared to knock on opened.

“You are confident enough to come to my door, but you don't have the face to come in!” As soon as she heard Logan's voice, Lorna's tears began to accumulate, ‘Logan…’ she whimpered in a voice that even she could not hear, and she came face to face with the man behind her. There was no compassion or understanding on Logan's face. Yet when he saw the trembling girl about to cry in front of him, he stepped aside and said, “Come in.” As Lorna entered the room with weak steps, the door closed behind her

“What do you want, Lorna?” There was exasperation in Logan's voice.

Lorna tried to find her voice as she studied the man before her. The wounds he had sustained today had already healed. Still, he had taken so long to wake up and it terrified Lorna. At a point when she thought she had found his voice, she said, “I actually came to apologize,” sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. It didn't help that Logan laughed derisively as she finished her sentence.

“An apology, huh?” he said sarcastically. As he took a step toward Lorna. His right hand grabbed Lorna's chin hard and their eyes locked. “Apologize for what, Lorna, huh?” Lorna couldn't hold back her tears any longer, sobbing softly and silently.

“YOU WILL APOLOGIZE!" Logan yelled, his harsh voice making the woman in his hands jump. “Where do you want to start? Are you going to apologize for leaving me in a fucking casino with people who would love to tear me apart for adimantium? Or for not telling me sooner that we were going to a place full of people who knew about my past that I didn't even know about? Are you going to apologize for leaving me to die, Lorna, or for wooing me in the laps of the fucking bad guys right in front of me!”

“Logan, I-I-I…” Lorna cried a little more with every word Logan said, but it did nothing to ease his nerves.

“Fuck off, Lorna” he let go of her hand on his chin with a deep sigh, he could see the imprint of her fingers as she poured it behind her back. James Logan Howlett might not remember much of his past, but the marks Lorna had left on him triggered his memory every time. He loved seeing the traces of his hand on the young woman's white skin, the memories of the night before coming to life on Lorna's body. He might have been proud to bear Lorna's scars, but they were gone from Logan's body before the night was over. He wasn't a sick maniac, he didn't mean to harm the young woman he was with, he would have been proud to carry the paths Lorna had traced with her fingernails, the spots she had bitten and bruised, but his fast-healing body wouldn't allow it.

With a rush of thoughts he turned back to Lorna and grabbed her by the throat, pulling her to his lips. Holding their bodies close enough to become one, they kissed each other until they ran out of breath. When they pulled back, Lorna was apologizing, planting kisses on every inch of Logan's face. Finally, Logan stopped Lorna. He looked into her eyes, red from crying,

“Don't apologize anymore,” he said. Lorna smiled, perhaps for the first time today, and wrapped her arms around Logan's neck. After wrapping her legs around his waist, Logan stepped toward his bed. After placing the woman in his arms on her back on the bed, he quickly got rid of the thin pajama top, which meant tearing pieces of fabric so he wouldn't waste time, flipped her over on the bed and planted his hips in the air.

As Lorna took short, quick breaths in anticipation and excitement of what was about to happen next, Logan smiled down at the girl trembling beneath him with anticipation. After getting rid of his t-shirt, he took his time pulling down his sweatpants and slipping them off his legs.

“I didn't like the way those men looked at you, they looked at you like you were a piece of meat.” he ran his hands over the thighs in front of him. Logan's voice was pleasant as Lorna shivered at the touch “Hmm, do you want me to touch you baby? I could pin you to this bed until you cry for me to stop and take your mind off this day.” “I haven't even touched you yet,” Logan whispered, laughing harder at Lorna's body shaking with anticipation. Finally, he stopped torturing the young woman and turned her over on the bed again. Now Lorna's back was on the bed, her legs spread wide at Logan's movement.

Lorna looked up at the man towering over her. Logan's powerful body overshadowed her. He stood there in all his glory. As their eyes locked, Lorna could form her last coherent thoughts. He was now the protagonist of Lorna's warning, the one who had killed hundreds of people, the one who caused fear in everyone who heard his name.

When Logan's face aligned with Lorna's stomach, she was looking for something to hold on to. In contrast to their fight and the high decibel screams and moans they were about to let out, Logan lowered his voice, his voice tight and thick with lust, the hunger that had been building up between Lorna's sleeps causing her to feel Logan's words against her skin “I'm going to make you moan for every minute I lay there as a dead piece of metal baby, I don't care how many days you won't be able to walk, you're mine tonight and every night after that!”

After a long day, it was going to be a difficult night for the telepaths and sensory-sensitive mutants at the Academy.

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[absurdly-overpowered-astronaut]

Ooh, the Connor T1 stuff sounds interesting!

I’m like 90% sure I’m going to re-write this but probably the part I like the most so TvT

“The stars are pretty.”

“Yeah.” I reply dumbly. My breath froze in the cold night air. I felt like I can vaguely remember being enraptured by it as a kid. Thinking I was like a fire breathing dragon but it no longer excites me.

I dig into the depths of my mind for something to talk about. “Canis Major.” I said after riffing around in my brain for any sort of star related knowledge I had stored up in there.

“Where?” The other boy asked. I watched his eyes twitch back and forth scanning the cold night sky for the cluster of stars.

I formed my fingers into a point and gestered towards where I’d spotted it. It took a minute but soon he meet eyes with it.

“Oh I see now!”

“Doesn’t much look like a dog does it?” I laugh dryly

“I think I can see its um- leg if I tilt my head and swint-.”

There is a sickening silence again. A dip in conversation I can’t stand. Whenever it's quiet I feel like I’d done something wrong or that I could be doing something better.

“Incredible isn’t it?” He says suddenly

“You think so?” I ask

“Yeah that people all cross history and all across the world have looked up at the sky and saw all these different things. Objects , animals , mythological figures and such.”

“I don’t think I see it that way. If anything I think it's a testament to how boring we all are as a species.”

“Come again?”

“Well we looked up at the endless; the incomprehensible and when we couldn’t understand we decided we wouldn’t see it as it is but as something familiar, as something that made sense to us.” I explained “We looked up at light from distances beyond our wildest speculation and thought “looks a bit like a dog, don’t it?”

I paused before continuing “it baffles me”

“Ha- when you put it that way it is a bit ridiculous isn't it” he swiped a lock of hair behind his ear and out of the way of his eyes. “and also a bit sad. The idea that you’ll be seen by millions of eyes but only as something within the limits of their experience.”

“That's how everyone sees everyone isn’t it?” I asked. Humans will just see what they want to see in each other.

“I’d like to believe there are people out there who will take the time to listen to you and see you for well you.”

“It's a nice thought.” I say but I don’t agree. Who’s to say a self let alone a true one even exists? “But in objective reality-”

“You're always going on about that.”

“About what?”

“About objective reality. What even is that?”

“Well see this coin.”

I held out a small 50c coin

“Yeah.”

Then I let it fall to the ground below.

“Now it has fallen from my hands and hit the ground.”

I explained the concept. It couldn’t be any more simple. The coin had fallen and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

“But it's not so.”

I’m caught off guard by the reply. How could that be? “Eh- what do you mean by that?”

“Who’s to say it hit the ground?”

“You saw it didn’t you? So you must know that the coin falling to the ground is the one object truth”

“Yes but isn’t it just as true to say that the coin sailed gently to the Ground?”

I didn’t follow his line of reasoning

“Or” He got up and hung upside down from the bench.

“Now from my perspective the coin has risen from your hand to the ‘sky’.”

“Or even to call what you were holding a coin isn’t objective. Other places call it other things or a small child with no concept of money might call it a circle or a plaything.”

“That's semantics.” I rebuke simply

“How about this then. Take these two statements “the boy died” and “the boy was killed” both meet your definition of objective reality. Though both are things that happen they are filtered through our subjective perspectives so as soon as a human knows of a reality it is no longer objective.”

“To say anything is objective you would need to find something that everyone agrees on and that's a sisyphean task if I’ve ever heard one.” He said “We can’t even all agree on whether to live or that we should be kind to each other.”

I turn his words over in my mind and it still doesn’t sit quite right with me.“But even your example acknowledges that the boy must have objectively died”

“I concede on that front”

[tragantia]

I used to wake up early. Go for a run, take a shower, prepare breakfast. And then I would head to Uni or to work, depending on what I was doing at the time, with the entire day ahead of me. But that is another life, belonging to a different person. I have changed, I think. More than any disease or any bite could have done, it's the world that's changed me. Not even killing has affected me more than the subtle ways in which the gears of life, of the world and its people, shift to suit their needs. I remain, in a way, like a child who has just discovered that there is evil in this world, and I may just be part of it. I wish the night sky would light my eyes as soon as I open them, as if someone had lit a thousand candles in front of an altar just for me. Far behind are the days of prayer, of going to mass at school, of wondering and of mysteries. The mysteries have faded into this neverending dusty road, like an oil spill.

It´s not the night sky what greets me when I open my eyes, but the roof of our stolen RV. The most recent one, that is. When I joined them, this gang, or clan, or whatever they are, I was told the norms were strict, but simple: you gotta kill to stay alive, you can't get caught no matter what, and you need to keep moving. And stay the fuck away from the sun. That´s why no light penetrates the windows of the RV: all have been covered with tape. This is part of the routine. We feed, we destroy the evidence, and then we keep moving, usually changing vehicles. I don´t check the time, I don´t want to wake anyone up. But my internal clock tells me it must be late afternoon or early evening. It's summer, so it´s not dark enough to go out yet, we still have a few hours to spare. Last night we managed to put some good distance between ourselves and the last place where we fed, a crappy roadside motel in the middle of the desert with only a handful of hosts. As if someone was going to miss them anyway. I sigh, looking at the rusty roof of the RV. This was the only option we had when we checked the cars parked next to the motel, everything else was too small for all of us. But the piece of shit has definitely seen better days.

I shift a bit, trying to get more comfortable, but a strong pair of large arms is keeping me locked against the chest of the one who bit me. Severen is all sorts of crazy, but he has been completely dedicated to me since he brought me into the pack. If something can be said about him, is that he is protective. Almost like a jealous, rabid dog. At first I thought it was only an act of territoriality, and sure, there is some of that, but then again there is a softness in his eyes that I can see only sometimes - when we laugh at something silly, or when he kisses me, or when he undresses me when we get some time alone. He's mostly an asshole, and a total flirt who chases anything than moves, but he is also the most loyal man I have ever known. And he can be sweet, and silly, and terrifying, and all of those at the same time. He makes me feel like a stupid schoolgirl infatuated with her first love, instead of a grown ass woman. The bastard. I'm such an idiot, I think, as he mumbles when I shift on his lap. He's still asleep, but pulls me closer to his chest. Thanks fuck our body temperature is basically as cold as the one of a dead body, otherwise I would be boiling. I breathe deeply, inhaling his scent. Musk, leather, cigarettes, and the smell of sex from the previous night. Sweat. A hint of bourbon. I sigh, content. I'm so stupid, even his smell makes me feel safe. He pulls me closer to him, mumbling something incomprehensible in annoyance. I chuckle, turning around to kiss his jaw, and I feel him stirring under my weight, almost like a content feline. He locks his steel blue eyes with mine, now fully awake.

'Yore not goin' anywhare, baby', he mutters.

I smile, leaning into him.

'As if you were gonna let me, you shithead'

I hear him chuckle lowly with that silly cackle of his. I rest against his body, enjoying our closeness until it's time to get up. The night will bring its own terrors, but at least this moment is ours.

- - - - - - - -

This came out of nowhere! Not sure what to think about it yet. It doesn't even have a title. I just needed some comfort 🥴 it's done in first person as I needed that kind of connection. And obviously my religious imagery had to be there because why did I get traumatised in school otherwise 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ also haven't done any proofreading nor anything so BEWARE

[jextell2514]

Hi! Tal here! If you’re feeling inspired to write anything please do! if you need any inspiration I really like your Amber time travel au and also the Jarra and Amber swap. But whatever’s on your mind is good!

ummm for fic recs I’ll read most fics if they’re in a fandom I’m in. Ummm really angst and fluffy stuff is fun! I love hurt/comfort and character studies. I like canon divergence best as an au setting! Esp crossovers idk why lol.

thanks for offering to do this btw!

Of course! Honestly I mostly just wanted some external motivation lol so thanks for providing!

I've been thinking lately about the Jarra and Amber swap because I was talking about it with someone IRL, and I think I actually do want to acknowledge the language barrier because of the angst potential. The snippet I already wrote would probably change a little but not too much because I headcanon that Jarra (like the nerd she is) actually learned English, kinda like how some people learn Latin today. So does Fian, although that's more for plot convenience.

Amber, however, most definitely does not speak Language.

I woke up and looked around wildly. I was in an unfamiliar room, with a strange man sitting by the side of the bed I was in. What had happened? Where was I? Adika wouldn't have let just anyone come to see me, and he certainly wouldn't have let me be taken--

Then I remembered. The package from my mother. Opening it. The voice in my head. The crystal cage, trying to crush me out of existence as my three-year-old self took over my life.

I wasn't in the crystal cage anymore, but I wasn't in my unit either. That meant the imprint was removed, and I was awake, but... since I wasn't in my unit, it might be too late to escape.

The stranger was saying something, but it sounded like gibberish, and I knew it must be the language of another Hive. Elden's Hive.

This man couldn't be Elden, because he didn't look anything like Forge, but he must be working with him to kidnap me to his Hive.

The stranger repeated the same gibberish phrase, but more urgently.

I decided to play clueless. If I could get some privacy, I might be able to call someone for help, explain that I hadn't requested this transfer of my own free will.

"Where am I?" I asked.

The man's eyes widened in apparent concern. He said another incomprehensible word, then tilted his head at me in a questioning motion.

"Where am I? What happened?" I said, frustrated. Not only had they kidnapped me, they couldn't even bother to translate somehow?

He pursed his lips, then pulled something off his sleeve that looked almost like a dataview but wasn't. Maybe they had different dataviews here.

He waited in silence until a blonde boy, about my age, came rushing in, and exclaimed a single word. "Jarra!" Perhaps that was the man's name? The man stopped him from coming right up to me, and they began talking to each other in their language.

Eventually, I gave in to my irritation and said, "What is going on?!"

The boy paused and looked at me. Then, finally, he said something that I could actually understand. "Why are you speaking English?"

"You haven't exactly deigned to imprint me with your language yet," I said acidly, and regretted it. Lucas had said that imprints could damage my telepathy, and I had seen in his thoughts just how vital I was to the Hive.

The boy's brows furrowed. "I'm guessing... Jarra, you don't remember me?"

"My name's not Jarra."

[lockandkeyhyena]

hey, reaching out to you as a csa survivor who was abused in a very similar fashion to the victim in your hell story (though my abuser was an older student rather than a teacher) sending this on anon because ummmm anxiety haha

i dont really have much to say other than i think what you're writing is very important and needed. i personally had a really difficult time with the idea of a story that centers a possible "redemption" (for lack of a better term) of an abuser. it brought up an inner conflict that i've been dealing with in my head for a long while between a big part of my values being "restorative justice is absolutely the way to go and endless punishment will not help anyone" and the the angry, broken child within who keeps clawing at me and wailing "i hope they suffer and burn for eternity for what they've done to and took from me"

i suppose my hurdle is that the thought of seeing my abuser as anything more than a monster that took advantage of me is really really difficult, and something i still struggle with to this day. i'd much rather think of them as a demon that lurks in my memories rather than a person who is still alive and breathing today. that thought is just unbearable to me.

but stories like this and related topics have forced me to think genuinely to myself if i would actually feel better if i knew that they were being tortured for eternity for what they've done. it feels like such an elementary concept that has been taught time and time again (a victim's burning want for revenge and the impact such an angry mindset has on any possible healing is a concept that im exploring in my own story) but its one that i keep returning to with no definitive answer. im slowly beginning to land on the conclusion "no matter what i do or what becomes of them, what happened happened and i cannot dig at or punch or scream at the past to get it to change. all i can do is focus on myself, my future, and healthy ways to heal from it. i will never forgive them for what they did to me but i can only hope that wherever they are, they aren't hurting anyone else."

there's still a small but vocal part of me that hopes they die in the worst ways imaginable, but conversations like these and the media that sparks them allows me to realize that despite how awful and disgusting they are, abusers are still human. their actions cannot and should not be justified, but they're still human. and even though that thought process is still very difficult for me to fully comprehend - and i will never not hate an abuser, and i will never forgive them either - being able to examine beyond their actions and why the gut reaction of dehumanization can be destructive in multiple ways is important.

wow i did NOT mean to write this much haha im really sorry for putting an essay in your inbox, i just figured that getting a survivor's perspective and what type of inner conflict a story like this can spark in us would be valuable to you in some way. sorry if this is incomprehensible i have a lot of Feelings about it clearly.

but tldr this is a long-winded way of encouraging you to continue with this project. your intentions are clearly good and its obvious that you plan to handle this topic in a brutally honest yet respectful way, which is honestly all i can ask for lol

this is. just so kind, thank you so much for your words of encouragement <3 it means tons to me. this story is very special to me and i plan to handle it in the most responsible way i can

[fereldanwench]

So I've been kind of wondering for the past couple of months if doing a revamp of my posing/photomode guide for AMM would still be a worthwhile endeavor.

One of the main reasons I made it was because back in the day, posing NPCs (especially any that didn't have the generic male locomotion) was not the most straightforward thing to do, to say the least. But when AMM got the major update that had poses built into the menu, I wasn't sure if it would really be needed in the same way, which put it pretty low on my list of priorities.*

*That guide was also very time-consuming to put together, and while I was happy to do it because I like sharing and organizing information, the main reason I was able to dedicate so much time to it was because I was unemployed. Which, both thankfully and regrettably (lmao), I haven't been for a year.

There are still some quirks with how poses work in AMM (like the way the poses reset if you unfreeze or move a character), but my guess is that it's probably a lot more accessible and a lot less confusing now than a year ago.

I think the support and development for PMU have also done a lot to make posing/expressions (especially for V) way easier than it was in the past.

But it's possible that all of this just seems so much easier to me because I've also been at it for a while now. I don't really feel like I have as much of a beat on where folks, especially newcomers, are with this stuff anymore--Maybe it still feels really overwhelming and incomprehensible.

So, to get to my point: would folks find an update/revamp of that guide beneficial?

I think if I did do one, I would probably streamline it a lot--It would probably just be a refreshed version of the little practice scene to use some spawned NPCs, lights, and maybe a decor item; I think that was what most people used in the current guide anyway. I wouldn't go through explaining how to install AMM, each menu tab in detail, locomotion stuff, etc.

I've also kind of gone back and forth on doing a couple of video tutorials. They'd be a lot easier and quicker for me than writing out step-by-step instructions. But, I know for me personally when I'm learning new processes and software and whatnot, I prefer text over video--Not sure if I'm the minority here.

Poll here for quick feedback, but if anyone wants to share any specific thoughts, questions, struggles, etc., feel free to reblog/comment to do so. (I might not respond to everyone, but I'll definitely read any feedback.)