#this isn’t an interest i’ve posted about it years my god

[atlas-dr0wned]

i saw hamilton and i can only think of how much 12 year old me would lose his shit if he found out he’d get to see it 6 years later and FOR FREE?

[viccharine]

what a wonderful caricature of intimacy

(commentary + process under the cut, reblogs appreciated!!)

about the piece: was anyone else obsessed with the line “accessorizing with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie” ???? genuinely, “build god and then we’ll talk” was my FAVORITE song almost entirely because of that line, it’s SOO GOOD. maybe it’s because I’ve kinda made it my thing to illustrate songs, but I really appreciate when songs have really descriptive lyrics/ideas that translate really well into visual art.

also, more about my process: I’ve realized two things about myself and my art w/ this piece:

1. i don’t really like working with color at all!! it’s just not very fun for me, I’d much rather work in shades of black and white and use my beloved screen tones instead :)

2. i like a lot of angular shapes— curved lines make me mad and i would prefer not to mess w them (read: loser who won’t put in the effort to draw anything resembling a circle)

I really enjoyed almost “carving” out this figure—i usually start with a black canvas and add a blob of white that vaguely resembles the form and then slowly using black to carve out the figure. adding the screen tones and creating the back-lit effect was also super cool (the lighting probably isn’t that accurate, but i never said i was GOOD at it)

also, if you’ve been following me for a while, you probably recognize this concept from my earlier dance dance piece:

they are very similar concept wise, but around a year apart!! i think I definitely like the execution of the more recent one better, but it’s cool to see the evolution of my art despite me not making art that often anymore. I can’t say much to whether or not the anatomy in either of the pieces is accurate, but I would probably assume that the recent one is more accurate

usually I would end these types of posts with some commentary about the song, but I really don’t have much to say analysis-wise! build god and then we’ll talk is still one of my fav songs off afycso, and sonically it’s definitely one of the most interesting songs panic! has ever put out—very happy to have finally made a piece to show my appreciation for the song :)

anyway that’s it byeeeeeeeeeeee!

[ohdeerfully]

Hii!! i’ve never requested smth before but i absolutely adore your lil one shots for alastor and was wondering if you could write smth based on someone’s idea?

https://www.tumblr.com/sockmeat/741700944177315840/alastor-in-rut-but-instead-of-him-being-horny-hes

completely fine if not!! i just thought it was a cute idea and would love to see it wrote in an actual scenario!! :3

this is really simple and short but god writing block is killing me quickly... hope u like it anyway!!!!!! mwah mwah

as stated in the request, this is based off of @sockmeat 's post, which you can access by clicking here!

Jealousy Looks Good on You

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: alastor is super possessive, reader is referred to as female but doesn't really effect story at all, thats it i think

join my discord!

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It was that time of year again for Alastor. A few months of absolute physical and mental torture—which, considering he lived in Hell, maybe that was how Heaven finally managed to torment him for eternity. It never took a genius to figure out what put Alastor in such an odd state.

He was a deer.

Deer go into rut.

It was incredibly embarrassing, to say the least, especially for him when the rut was over. However, for his “mate,” who faced the brunt end of his seasonal affections, you didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, it was probably your favorite three months of the year. 

You were currently lounging in the hotel lobby, chatting with Angel Dust about a bar he was interested in going to. You had one leg thrown up over the other, clad in a dark red outfit that had been “mysteriously” placed on the edge of your bed when you woke up—you knew who the culprit was as soon as you saw Alastor a few minutes later in a suspiciously similar outfit of the same color scheme.

He had been sitting next to you for a while, making small, nearly unnoticeable bids for attention as you tried to focus on Angel’s words. A pressure on your knee with his own, a light graze of his fingers through your hair as he lifted his hand to adjust his monocle… to anybody else, the contact would’ve seemed only coincidental; however, to you, it was obvious considering the great care he always took to mind his personal space.

A brief glance out of the corner of your eye confirmed your suspicions. You couldn’t help but lightly grin at the tense grin on his face and the growing expression of frustration as you continued to keep your attention on Angel.

“–so, that being said, I wanted ta invite’cha out with me! And Cherri’ll be there too,” Your eyes turned back towards the spider. You could nearly feel the tenseness in Alastor’s shoulders heighten, and that radio frequency of his tuning up ever so slightly, but still noticeable.

“That bar is no place for my lady,” Alastor responded in a snap before you could even open your mouth. You whipped your head in his direction with a frown. 

“She isn’t your anything, Smiles,” Angel shot back, also interrupting your own attempt at defending yourself. 

It was almost comical, the way your head twisted back and forth with each remark the two made at each other. The tension was rising quickly, and you were getting more agitated with how many times you got cut off from saying a single word.

You were distracted from your own mental anguish when Alastor abruptly stood, hand gripping his cane with more force than usual. There was a dangerous look in his red eyes as he grinned down at Angel.

“She is mine,” Alastor stated with finality. “And what’s mine stays with me.” He reached down and gripped your hand, tugging you up with him. As angry as he seemed he was still gentle with you, at least. 

You’d be lying if you didn’t find the possessiveness attractive. Heck, it would probably be impossible to date the Radio Demon if you didn’t want to be obsessed over and practically owned. You were only slightly embarrassed at the heat on your cheeks when you felt the almost desperate grip of his on your hand, to which Angel pointed at with a defeated “what the hell.”

He basically dragged you away from the situation, ears slightly pressed back. He refused to look at you as you caught up to his steps and walked beside him. He didn’t have to look at you, though, because you already knew the turmoil that was going through his head.

“Don’t be so embarrassed,” You tried to comfort as he opened the door to your shared bedroom. “I think it’s very becoming of a gentleman to protect his property.” You enjoyed the way his eyes glittered with pride when you referred to yourself in such a manner. You didn’t truly consider yourself property, of course, but you simply enjoyed seeing that look in his eyes and the way his chest involuntarily puffed up.

What a different being Alastor was during his rut. More expression than ever with the way his affections and frustrations were so visible in his body language. He pulled you closer to him, squeezing you against his body as he let the two of you fall into the bed. You lifted yourself off of his chest with an elbow and looked down at him.

He met your gaze with his own wide, needy eyes and quivering smile. To put it simply, he looked… pitiful. Endearing. You loved it. He hated it. You knew if anybody saw him in this state he would go on the attack immediately without a single thought. You briefly glanced back to make sure the door had been locked. Just in case.

You smiled at him and peppered kisses on his chest and up, finally nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. He sighed pleasantly at your motions, swooping his arms up to position you on your side in front of him, wrapping himself protectively around your body.

“I crave you, my love,” He stated in an incredibly forward way. His voice lacked the typical radio effect as he spoke, and you realized your skin was also not prickling with the sensation that usually accompanied his presence. You responded by layering your hands over his own, which was resting comfortably against your waist. “I never want you out in such a… dirty place with that overly sexual spider.”

“I know, Al,” You said with a sigh. “Too many ‘hungry eyes’, you’ve told me this.”

He remained quiet, and you could barely feel the way your hair flicked every time he exhaled against the top of your head.

You also remained quiet, opting to just enjoy the moment. These three months went by so, so fast, so you didn’t want to waste time speaking and bickering over meaningless things. You didn’t care to go to bars, anyway; you weren’t much of a drinker. You also hoped to get Alastor’s mind off of his disdain for Angel. While you trusted him to know better to attack one of your friends—more importantly one of Charlie’s friends—you didn’t want to take any chances. He was somehow even more unpredictable during his rut.

You leaned your head back, tilting up slightly to meet Alastor’s gaze. He placed a feather-light kiss against your forehead in response.

He was in for a long three months, but you were going to enjoy every second of it.

[bucca2]

okay not to wax poetic about a minor side character in Skyrim that annoys the fuck out of most people, but it really does sadden me that most people are like “he’s annoying, kill him!” and then do no self reflection on the fact that they only killed him because of a petty personal gripe and because they were sent to do so by a power tripping traitor who LATER ALSO TRIES TO KILL THE LISTENER THEMSELVES.

For a long time I’ve had Thoughts™ on the phenomenon of Gamers (derogatory) who treat any NPC who is even slightly an inconvenience with disproportionate and often violent vitriol, but this post is already getting long. General musings on the tragedy of Cicero’s character and how it’s objectively the wrong choice to kill him below.

Thanks to my partner @wrenanigans I’ve had reason to re-examine Cicero’s character, and his past just makes me so deeply sad. Of course, his journals only cover DB-related events, so maybe he had a personal life he just didn’t write about, but it kind of struck both of us that he feels the loss of his fellow DB members so keenly and yet never really mentions any personal relationships outside of obligation to his fellow assassins. (i.e no family or lovers pre-insanity when he was a normal, extremely capable man) Like of course he went insane. The organization that was his entire life’s purpose not only promoted him to a position where he could no longer do what he joined them to do, but then he watched the organization dissolve around him and all his friends be slaughtered.

Then he was alone with the Night Mother waiting for her to talk to someone and give him direction for eight fucking years!!! Of course he went completely off the deep end! If I was isolated, paranoid (but is it paranoia if they’re actually out to get you?) and constantly on survival mode for that long, I’d be relieved if being a little quirky and doing little dances was the extent of my deviant behavior! (The murder comes with being in the Dark Brotherhood, so I don’t wanna hear any whining about him being stabby. Murder isn’t OK if the Dragonborn does it, but suddenly immoral if people you don’t like do it. In video games.)

I think for most people who don’t put much thought into Cicero and his actions, they just vaguely think “oh, Cicero betrayed the family and tried to kill Astrid, so killing him is justified irrespective of her later betraying us”, which is simply not true. There’s a very interesting post I saw floating around lately about how you can’t treat religion in fantasy worlds like TES the same way you would with religious groups IRL, because in TES there is tangible proof that gods exist, and they can and will fuck with the mortal world for their own whims. The point of the DB quest line is that the Tenets matter, and straying from them and the Night Mother almost snuffed the DB out for good. The narrative of the game explicitly justifies Cicero’s actions and QUITE LITERALLY tells you that killing Cicero is not the right call.

TES has a lot of creative interactivity with picking your own outcomes and going with your own solutions, but quests don’t usually end with “go kill this guy. but you can also spare him… ;)” They usually don’t give you an old wise dude whose spirit you can summon who tells you not to kill that clown. And then if you spare Cicero, he comes back and is a potential companion. Like…I don’t know how much more obvious it can get that you’re not supposed to kill Cicero. I get for most people it’s not that deep, but this is TES. We talk about lore here.

[morphean42]

The whole idea of Edwin being stuck in Hell due to being a sacrifice has never sat well with me, especially taking what the Night Nurse says into consideration. She says she’s never seen an error like his in all her years on the job, but there have obviously been many human sacrifices throughout history, does the show imply every one of them is still forced to suffer in Hell?

Then I was thinking more about it, and I’ve never interacted with The Sandman but from what I’ve learned there’s an emphasis placed on the idea that if you believe you deserve Hell, you go to Hell. I’ve seen some people talk about how Edwin may have believed he deserved Hell, but I just felt the need to make my own post on it.

If Edwin didn’t think he deserved Hell, Death would have come for him like She came for Simon (once he essentially forgave himself). The Night Nurse has never dealt with a case like this, meaning most sacrificed souls probably are picked up by Death soon after arriving in Hell. They aren’t there to be tortured after all, so they would end up wherever the demons of Hell stay until Death came.

Enter Edwin Payne, 16. He’s sacrificed to Sa’al, he’s confused, his catholic guilt takes over. Of course he deserves this, God wouldn’t have let it happen otherwise right? This is a punishment for how he is, those boys had seen it after all, chanting Mary Ann as he was went here. The demon who took him is nice enough, for a demon, but when it becomes clear Edwin isn’t going anywhere, he’s traded off.

Maybe I’m overthinking this all, it would be interesting to see more of Hell in season two. Maybe sacrificed souls are used for a specific purpose, and it’s just Edwin’s escape that stuns the Night Nurse. The idea that Edwin could have forgone 73 years of torture had he simply known he was a good person and didn’t deserve it is some good angst though

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

[cursecuelebre]

Roman God Lucifer of Light, The Morningstar, and the Rising Sun

Attributes

Morning star (Venus)

Light

Dawn

Rising sun

Stars

Director of the Heavens

Knowledge

Music

Twilight

Symbols:

Snakes/dragons

Jar of Light

Venus

The Sun (especially the rising sun)

Keys

Torches

Fire

Roses

Lavender

Bright stars in the night sky

Cats

General Information:

Lucifer before the Roman Catholic Church demonized him was a minor Roman God of Dawn. Since then he is been well known as “Satan” or “the devil” which isn’t true in the Bible Lucifer is never mentioned by name except one passage talking about the Morning Star which can be any god/goddess in the Middle East and nearby nations.

There is not well documented stories about Lucifer other than he works along side of Aurora the goddess of Dawn. Ovid the Pagan poet mention Lucifer as being the son of Aurora and Cephalus or Asterius (depending on what story you read), as she is the first to awake as she rides across the dawn filling the sky with light. Lucifer follows her capturing the light of the stars and pouring light from his jar. He also directs the order of heaven when the dawn comes to being. Known as the “Light Bringer” and “Herald of Dawn” and the Greek name “Phosphorus” which means Light Bringer as well. He is the physical representation of Venus/Morning Star. The Evening Star is his brother Hesperus representing the same star but at night overtime they merge together as one.

Obviously Lucifer isn’t all recognized as being Lucfiercus of Roman mythology. The Roman Catholic church used Lucifer as a scapegoat when demonizing their old pagan traditions. Since then a lot of Satanists and Lucferians see Lucifer as the Christian Devil which is valid. From my experience he doesn’t mind that, even I use the left handed path sources for his symbols and attributes even his sigil I used as a representation of him. I created this post to help people actually understand that Lucifer isn’t evil nor related to Abrahamic faiths in the first place. His origins do not show that, he was a god that helped bring dawn across the sky. It’s important to learn about gods who were demonized their actual purpose to cultures not just Lucifer but a lot of the “demons” we know today were once Gods and Goddesses. There is nothing wrong with seeing Lucifer as a fallen angel or a prince of hell just keep in mind that is not his true origin.

His appearance:

I have started to work with Lucifer early this year and it was quite interesting but in my meditations, that’s where I began to fully understand and work with him and help me to deconstruct my fears about him.

Traditionally he is a young man sometimes a child like Cherub (the classic art painting not Biblical accurate) with wings. I see him as a young man, but he is very bright! From my own experience has light colored hair almost white sometimes black, his skin is pale or gray, but his eyes always burnt orange so bright with massive black wings you would see on angel. At times he appears to me not in a physical sense in my meditations but in the sky as a bright star glowing like the sun. It’s quite beautiful.

My Experience from Working with him.

He has helped me being more empowered and trusting of myself, helping me hone in my skills of magic. Like giving advice and guidance on certain things. People who say he is like a father figure, I can most definitely agree with that, very gentle and very patient. But he will push you through not in a malicious way of course but a very tough love way, that he wants you to accomplish. I notice ever since I’ve been working with him I’m more confident and comfortable with my self and expressing my feelings.

Tarot Cards:

This is the tarot cards I personally associate him with feel free to use it but just sharing it in general sense!

The Sun

The Star

The Devil

[brucebocchi]

Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 3: #30-21

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here and part 2 here. thanks!

We're chugging along. I'd say we're finally getting to the good stuff, and there is plenty of good at this point in the countdown, but I also just really like complaining.

Let's get it.

30. KonoSuba: God’s Blessing on This Wonderful World!, season 3

I have a tendency to refer to the more brainless and/or trashy anime I watch as “junk food.” You know the kind; the ones that don’t really add anything to your life and don’t stand up to the more fulfilling series, but still get the job done when you go into autopilot. I’ve found that, as a habitual (non-metaphorical) snacker, I tend to just reach for something when I’m bored so I have something to do. And looking at it objectively, I don’t tend to enjoy myself while doing it and I usually don’t feel good afterwards.

I feel much the same way about watching KonoSuba.

Not that I think it’s ontologically evil or anything, but KonoSuba often has just as much going against it as it does working in its favor. For every joke that hits, and some of them absolutely do hit, there’s another that makes me question why I’m even watching it. I’m not against dark or even occasionally offensive humor; I adore It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, a show to which KonoSuba often draws comparisons. The issue is that, at its worst, KonoSuba defaults to either “this person is a pervert,” “this person is a pedophile,” or “this man got sexually assaulted.” My issue isn’t with the subject matter so much as the fact that they rarely rise above the level of base shock value and that they keep happening like that. It almost feels perfunctory, like the writers had quotas to meet.

It’s not all bad, though. Even having only gotten into KonoSuba in early 2023, I still found myself lamenting its hiatus, and An Explosion on This Magical World somehow only made the heart grow fonder for the party members that weren’t Megumin. I appreciate that Darkness plays a pivotal role in the third season, because Darkness is hilarious and terrific. This season had a couple of the best jokes and goofy facials in the series. 

Overall, it’s a bit of a wash, but I can’t be too upset. It’s more KonoSuba, and it’s reached the point where that’s practically a value-neutral statement.

29. Wistoria: Wand and Sword

I don’t really have much new to say about Wistoria. It’s not the best magic school anime I watched this year and certainly not the best fantasy, but it looks terrific and it’s a fun enough time if you turn your brain off.

And turning your brain off is a necessity here because Wistoria’s story is as basic as it gets. It’s more or less Mashle if it wasn’t a comedy, and it’s such a transparent, dirt-simple power fantasy that it might as well be an isekai. Guy’s trying to keep a promise to his childhood friend, he sucks at the one thing everyone else does to the point of getting bullied left and right, but he’s super crazy strong in a his own special way. Actually, shit, I just described Kaiju No. 8.

Rule of cool wins out here, and this show does look phenomenal, but it might be better enjoyed via YouTube clips. I’m curious to see where the story goes from here, but I’m not completely sold yet.

28. Chained Soldier

Chained Soldier is horny isekai trash. Chained Soldier fucking rocks. We got big monsters, wild action sequences, unique and memorable character designs, casual femdom, solid comic relief, interesting (if predictable) twists, uncensored boobs, it’s got it all! 

It’s not the best-looking show in some parts, but that’s forgivable. The production values were fine, all things considered, and the action sequences in particular were terrific throughout, but I’m really glad this series is changing studios for the second season. I’ve read ahead in the manga (don’t judge) and Passione is gonna do a bang-up job as the action and shameless fanservice both ramp up.

It’s early in the story and a teensy bit shaky, but Chained Soldier is already a fun time. I have reason to believe it’ll only get better as it goes. And not just because of the boobs.

27. Suicide Squad Isekai

You wanted an isekai starring the Suicide Squad, and by God did you get one. This is a perfectly serviceable series by Suicide Squad standards and a pretty middling isekai otherwise. Nothing about the world in which this series is set is all that interesting or groundbreaking, but you’re here for anime Harley Quinn (and a few other DC villains I guess), and this show delivers.

Fluid, expressive character animation (when the studio wants it), a terrific Japanese voice cast, and entertaining hijinks among Batman’s infamous rogues’ gallery combine for a plenty fun time that ultimately doesn’t have much staying power. If you liked the James Gunn movie, you’ll have a decent time here. No more, no less.

Between Uzumaki’s disastrous production, Lord of the Rings: War of the Rohirrim’s apparent mediocrity, and last year’s unwanted, execrable FLCL Grunge, I’m just glad that at least one recent anime production with Jason DeMarco’s fingerprints on it came out unscathed.

26. ‘Tis Time for “Torture,” Princess

I ended up watching so many discrete series during the winter season that it’s probably not a coincidence that my bottom four series on this ranking (and six of the bottom ten) all aired during that season. When you filter feed, you’re gonna take in a lot of garbage. Sometimes you need some stuff that’s “just fine” to clean the palate.

‘Tis Time for “Torture,” Princess is probably a bit better than even “just fine,” but it’s not gonna be a ready recommendation. The premise is pretty one-note on paper: Warrior princess got captured by demons, they try to coax intel out of her via temptation, she folds, the intel is worthless, and the cycle begins anew. But if a run of over 250 manga chapters and climbing is any indication, the series manages to keep it fresh. Time for “Torture” works because it isn’t beholden to its premise and instead decides to play hopscotch with its own framework. Gradually but noticeably, the unnamed princess and her inquisitors and “torturers” become friends, they all enjoy the spoils of her snitching together, and they really just keep it up because that’s how this stuff is supposed to go. 

Nine months later, I still don’t know why I liked this show so much. It’s just the right amount of silly to me, and it’s cute as hell where it counts. Not the best thing I watched this year but far from the worst. If you want something dumb and weirdly wholesome that’ll make you chuckle here and there, it’s a good pick.

25. Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night

This is one I’m still agonizing over a bit. Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night is a terrific show on so many levels, but I still felt let down by the end of its run. It wasn’t even in the same ballpark of disappointment as Uzumaki or Metallic Rouge, thankfully. Like Uzumaki, it couldn’t live up to the promise of its all-timer debut episode, but on the flip side, Jellyfish largely maintained its high production value. Like Metallic Rouge, it felt like the narrative largely spun its wheels until the writers realized they only had two episodes left, but Jellyfish didn’t leave me feeling like I’d just wasted four hours of my life.

This series already had massive shoes to fill if it was going to be the best showbiz anime produced by Doga Kobo airing this year (“I’d have two nickels” and so on and so forth), but Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night unfortunately ended up getting outclassed on several fronts by shows that just did almost every element better. It looks terrific, it has a memorable cast, the music’s great, and it’s a welcome entry in the “Girls Doing Things” anime canon, but it was outclassed in its own broadcast season by Train to the End of the World, Girls Band Cry, and Yuru Camp. The real shame is that it seemed to have designs on being a tremendous LGBT show if it played its cards right, and instead opted to throw those cards in the air and walk away by the end.

I’d still recommend this show if you temper your expectations of any real narrative punch. There were some tremendous original series that aired this year, but Jellyfish Can’t Swim in the Night just didn’t reach those higher levels. There’s a whole bunch of good in there, but they couldn’t quite piece it all together.

24. Mushoku Tensei: Jobless Reincarnation, season 2, part 2

I’m gonna be real here: I’m sick of writing about this show. It’s exceptionally well-made and, on balance, easily one of the best anime of the decade so far, but the subject matter can touch such controversial and uncomfortable territory at parts that I can’t recommend it to anyone. 

The back half of Mushoku Tensei’s second season actually did a lot of work towards making up for a lot of the less-tolerable moments in the preceding ¾ of the show, even delivering a couple of the spring season’s best episodes, and then it gets weird again near the end. Not nearly as bad as it gets in the first season, nor in the worst moments of this season’s first half from 2023, but still off-putting, even for people who stuck with it for this long. I expect this to continue.

Mushoku Tensei is a great show. Don’t watch Mushoku Tensei.

23. Undead Unluck, second cour

David Production’s adaptation of one of Weekly Shonen Jump’s most inventive and ambitious action series continued into the start of 2024 as the story just continued ramping up and getting wilder.

Undead Unluck had an interesting, if occasionally uncomfortable start, with a fascinating power system and tons of secrets left to be revealed, and as it continued you could start to see the camera slowly pulling back. Midway through its second cour, shit completely hits the fan and any expectations you may have had fly out the window. Undead Unluck’s debut season was an amusing curiosity for most of its run, but the status quo is upended so effectively midway through the second cour that I was completely hooked. There were some infuriating pacing issues at those exact moments that were enough for me to dock it several spots on this list, but it’s still absolutely worth watching.

I decided to read the Undead Unluck manga a couple months ago and for as wildly as I thought the anime ramped up its scope by the end of this run, it turns out that the series as a whole goes to even crazier lengths than that. I’m completely sold now and cannot wait for more.

22. Kaiju No. 8

Counter to the series I just talked about, Kaiju No. 8 is one of Shueisha’s least​​​​ innovative battle shonen series. And that’s okay! Nothing wrong with wanting to see people fight giant monsters and one who can turn into a giant monster himself, and maybe you don’t want to have to deal with Attack on Titan’s incoherent politics to get there.

There is fundamentally nothing special about Kaiju No. 8, but I do appreciate that the protagonist is an out-of-shape thirtysomething desperately clinging to his hopes and dreams. No particular reason. There’s some interesting worldbuilding early in the story, and although it does lend itself to protag Kafka’s strengths in battle (non-”turning into a monster” category), it all falls to the wayside when it’s time for monsters, guns, and explosions. And I’m fine with that stuff, but I was hoping for a bit more of a hook.

All in all, this is a very well-made show, if a little muddy-looking at times. I wouldn’t have chosen YUNGBLUD and OneRepublic for the opening and closing themes, but it didn’t hamper my enjoyment of the show. I just like complaining about that stuff. Looks good, sounds good most of the time, and endearingly dumb. Can’t go wrong with that.

21. Mashle: Magic and Muscles, season 2

I ranked this show’s first season pretty low on my 2023 list, but I was willing to stick it out for another season, and I’m glad I did. Mashle really finds its footing during the Divine Visionary exam arc and irons out a lot of the issues I’d had with the first season, primarily how little the comedy initially landed for me.

A series that initially had my eyes either rolling or glazing over quickly recovered my attention early in the second season. Creepy Nuts OPs are a cheat code, I swear. Even putting the killer music aside, Mashle looks a lot better as well and has a much more engaging story in its second season. You can really feel it gaining its footing and finding a bit of swagger as the season goes on. The fight sequences are much more engaging this time out, and sometimes you get all the satisfaction you need out of seeing an emotionless weirdo punch the shit out of a mean nerd. A bunch of the jokes even land this time around!

I’m glad I stuck this out. Mashle is, at the end of the day, a hilariously blatant Harry Potter send-up, and frankly has no good reason to hit like it does, but I’m finally sold. At the rate it’s been going, Mashle seems to be set to adapt the entire manga, and I’m looking forward to seeing all of it.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi. I’m sending this anonymously but if tumblr glitches and it isn’t anonymous please don’t post this because I’m absolutely completely entirely mortified.

I’m 20 FtM. About a year and a half ago, when I moved out and started at college, I discovered fandom, and began to get really into reading fics on AO3. My parents had heavily restricted my internet access growing up, and as new adult I began to discovered the barrage of content online.

Soon enough, I was spending about an hour or two every night reading smut fics. I never thought anything of it, because, well, it’s just words, it’s not *actually* porn, right?

Recently I did start watching some explicit videos but tried to limit myself to only once or twice a month because the shame I felt as well as the strange dissatisfaction just wasn’t worth it.

After doing some research, I found a study that said that watching porn for more than an hour a week was unhealthy. I thought, yeah, okay, fair enough.

Then I realised: does my fanfiction reading count as pornography?

I kept thinking to myself that because it was text it didn’t count, but —does it? Is that the reason that lately I’ve been feeling strangely dissatisfied and empty after reading/watching? Will I feel like this when I eventually have sex?? (still a virgin, mainly for dysphoria reasons)

I found all this stuff online that says porn addictions can screw you over for life, that you can’t find sexual satisfaction with a partner.

Should I cut back?

I don’t normally masturbate while consuming porn. I feel too ashamed. I normally just sit there and read/watch.

Am I a porn addict?????? Should I quit reading smut? Help.

If you can’t tell, I wasn’t raised in a very sex positive environment and I feel very ashamed. I don’t really know who to talk to and I just feel very guilty so I’m resorting to an anonymous ask on Tumblr.

If you read this, thank you for taking the time. I appreciate it.

— Jason

hi Jason,

I don't think you're a porn addict. I think you're probably just an anxious 20 year old from a pretty restrictive background and now that you have a little more freedom you're kind of nervous about it, which is very normal.

I want to be super clear: written porn is porn. porn is any sexually explicit material designed to titillate; it's existed since WAY before the moving picture existed and it will exist long after the internet has crumbled to dust. people like porn! and it's okay to like porn. the text-based stuff is particularly high on the list of porn that's pretty unambiguously fine, morally-speaking, because you never have to worry that the performer you're watching has had their video stolen by pornhub or that, god forbid, anyone onscreen isn't a willing participant, but I want to be super clear that liking sexually explicit photos or videos of real people is also 100% fine.

obviously I have no idea what study you read, but I'd be cautious about any study being boiled down to such black and white, attention-grabbing headlines. you can interpret a study to mean virtually anything if you want to, and there are a lot of interest groups with a vested interest in demonizing porn. if reading smutty fan fic makes you happy and isn't interfering with the rest of your life, you should do that.

unfortunately it sounds like it's not making you happy lately, dissatisfied and empty feelings. in the kindest way possible, I don't think much of that is being caused by the porn itself. it sounds like it's coming from your gnawing worry that you're a porn addict. maybe it's best to take a little step away from porn and smutty fic for a while, if only until you feel able to engage with it without feeling bad.

also, speaking of porn addiction: that's a very dubious condition, and one that's not scientifically or medically recognized. to be certain, people can develop a reliance on porn that disrupts their daily function and can wreak havoc on their lives, but that's true of anything that causes your brain to spit out happy chemicals. anything that become a maladaptive coping mechanism, including and especially things that are fine and even necessary in small doses. sleeping, exercising, and going shopping are all things that can be life-ruining if done to harmful excess, but that doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong if you like to sleep in, go for runs, or browse your favorite online stores every once in a while.

if reading smut isn't causing you to skip out on your more important obligations, fail to take care of yourself, or bringing on bankruptcy, I think you're probably alright. the biggest danger I see here is you beating yourself over the head with your own anxiety about this, which may be a sign that it's a good idea to take a step back for entirely different reasons than you were worried about.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.23

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

WARNING: Violence

First - Prev - Next

CH.23

“Globnar Tributes! Your penultimate challenge is the team maze! Your teams will be separated in the beginning, and the challenge is to navigate and make it to the end! Whichever team has both members reach the end first wins! Any injuries, even those that would otherwise be lethal, will be time-reversed when the challenge is over!”

“We’ve made it this far Stanley, but I have a feeling this upcoming maze is what’s going to give us the most trouble.”

“They’re gonna start us separated… I don’t have any options for ranged, and your close-quarters could use some work.”

“I am just as versed in boxing as you are.”

“Yes, but you’re all defense, doc. You have to give these guys some aggression!”

“I’d prefer to blast them.”

“Wait, I have an idea. Here, take this.”

“A knuckleduster?”

“I’ll keep the other one. Give me one of your blasters.”

“Your aim is shoddy at best, Stanley!”

“I know, but we can’t cover for each other if we’re starting out separated. We need something to tide us over ‘till we get to the end of the maze.”

“I suppose it’s a strategy…”

“Gimme some credit here, PhD, I’ve been dodging the authorities for years. It doesn’t matter what year or dimension we’re in, a pig is a pig.”

“Alright, I’ll go along with this. Good luck out there, Stanley.”

“High six?”

“I am not falling for that again.”

“Aww, come on man. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“...High six.”

(...)

“You’re the smart one, aren’t you?”

“Intelligence is subjective, Dundgren. But yes.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you - you’re pretty trigger happy. That blaster doesn’t have a lot of juice left, does it?”

“Are you interested in finding out?”

“I’d leave the tough talk to your meat-headed counterpart.”

“Don’t say that about- ACK!”

*Agent Dundgren hits Ford in the hand with his metal staff, forcing Ford to drop his blaster. Dundgren picks him up by the front of the collar and slams him against the maze wall*

“Any last words before I knock you unconscious, genius?”

“Just two.”

“And what are they?”

“LEFT HOOK!”

WHACK

(...)

“Well look who it is, which Stan are you?”

“That is not important, Agent Lolph. All you need to know is that both Stan’s are beating you. Given your partners current… predicament.”

“Whatever you did to him isn’t going to be worse than what I did to yours.”

“...What did you do to him?”

“I stabbed him four times, he’s not getting up until his injuries are time-reversed.”

“How dare- wait, did you say you stabbed him four times?”

“Yes. He went down like a sack of cyberpunk potatoes.”

“...”

“Oh, you’re too shocked to be enraged, huh? You must be struggling to make yourself seem so indifferent.”

“L-Lolpfft!”

“There you are Dun- is your jaw broken?”

“Thhhh-that damn thrigger-happy menath punched m’ withhhh brashh knucksh on.”

“Brutal, I’ll give it to you smart guy, we didn’t expect something like that from you. But, my partners about to pass the threshold and yours is crumpled up in pain somewhere. You both have a lot of moxie, but we have experience on our side.”

PFOOM-BZZZT!

*Agent Dundgren falls over right before he can cross the finish line, smoking from a blast*

“Your experience ain’t no match for this gun, ya idiot!”

“Wh-what!? How are you-? I stabbed you four times!”

“Shoulda went for five, bitch! Ya only slowed me down.”

“MAZE MATCH GOES TO: STAN TWINS. THE TRIBUTES ARE TIED AT SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY FOUR! Your injuries will now be Time-Reversed!”

“Oh thank god, I think the second stab got me in the liver. It’s a very hard-working liver, doc.”

“I know.”

“There is only one final challenge for Globnar. An ancient game, thousands of years old, chosen for its exemplification of pure strategy: The ancient art... of Laser Tag! The one who touches the victory orb first will win!”

“Stanley, I don’t suppose during your travels you came across this… ‘laser tag’.”

“You remember that space arcade I told you about, Blips and Chitz? It had something like it. You use fake lasers to ‘time out’ the other players- they can’t use their lasers while they’re timed out. I never played though, because they use-.”

“ACTIVATE THE FOG MACHINES! YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO START TIME.”

“Oh no...”

“No need for concern, this fog won’t hinder my performance because I was sure to use anti-fog spray on my glasses before- Stanley?”

“...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Can’t…”

*Stan suddenly grasps his chest and throat, breath becoming quick and heavy*

“...C-can’t, breathe-...”

“Oh- Oh, Moses, no-. Stanley! This is fog, it isn’t smoke-.”

*Stan falls to his knees and starts hyperventilating, still holding his chest and throat*

“Stanley- please. Listen to me!”

*Ford kneels down on his knees and grabs Stans shoulders to try to get him to look at him*

“I’m sorry, Stanley… I’m so sorry. You died and you were alone. Your worst nightmare came true, and I wasn’t there for you. I should’ve been. I know you say you’re not upset at me, that you don’t blame me for what happened. But that’s because you don’t remember how much it hurt when I turned my back on you. I saw it in your face and eyes that night and I still did nothing! You were so afraid of being alone but you still severed our bond just so I wouldn’t feel the same fear and despair you did in your last moments. And I couldn’t even stand up to our father back then, or bother to so much as think about you in the years that followed.

I can’t take back what happened to you, I can’t change what happened. There’s nothing I want more than to make it up to you, but I can’t do that if we’re in time jail.

Look at me… just look at me, please. I’m right here.”

“Stanford, I… I-.”

“You’re not alone. I’m your brother, and I’m here for you. I’m here with you, and you’re not alone. Not this time, and not ever again, not as long as I’m alive. I love you, Stanley. And I’m not leaving you hanging this time.”

“Y-you’re here?”

“I’m here.”

“...I’m not alone?”

“No. Never again.”

“O-okay… I think I can pull myself together before the timer stops… What’s your plan?”

“I’ll focus on timing them out, I need you to focus solely on grabbing the orb.”

(...)

“Got it!”

“It is finished!”

“Stanley, we did it!”

“Hell yeah we did! It only took several hours, and a lot of sweat, blood, tears, and a few of my organs.”

“You have made victory in Globnar! Before I give you your time wish, tell us; what fate do you decide for the losers?”

“Death.”

“Stanford!”

“My apologies, I was caught up in the moment. What should we do with them?"

"I dunno, I just didn’t want to go to time jail. I don’t want to screw these guys over. Sure, one of them stabbed me a bunch of times, but so has a solid ten percent of all the people I’ve ever met.”

“...Give them the week off?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“You'd do that for us?”

“I did want to spend more time with the kids...”

“Now, Stan twins. Behold your time wish! The power to alter time paradox free in any way you choose. What is it that you want for your time wish?”

“You go first, PhD. This is the only way to drop the charges on us.”

“...You said our crimes are linked to our DNA signature across time and space?”

“Yes!”

“And it doesn’t matter what name was in use at the time?”

“Correct!”

“For my time wish, I wish to wipe the criminal records of anyone with this DNA signature. Regardless of planet, dimension, or jurisdiction; and no matter what name the crime was committed under.”

“It is done! Both of your legal slates have been wiped clean up to the cosmic level!”

“Wow, good wish… You just saved me a lot of trouble. Now I’m not banned from thirty of the fifty states, or Tijuanna, or Planet Chorus, or-.”

“Any day. What about you, Stanley? Are you going to wish for your memories back? Or to undo your death?”

“I have a better idea - hey, Time Baby?”

“Yes! Speak your wish!”

“Can you give this guy a ‘Get out of Pact Free’ card? Give him a free out from any deal he makes with any entity?”

“Stanley? You can’t be-.”

“We both know your ‘partnership’ with The Triangle is unfair, he has all of the power. He has no reason to be careful with you, or to not eat an entire jar of spiders. What if he turned evil - more evil - or something? I've been burned by guys like that- I've been guys like that.”

“It can be done, but it will be one-time use only!”

“That’s fine.”

“Wait-.”

POOF

“Oh wow, it’s actually a card.”

“It can exist both physically, and metaphysically! All you need to do is think about it, and it will appear to you!”

“You really did this for me?”

“Dude, you were about to take the fall for both of us, and most of the crimes were mine. I’ll get my memories back over time, just like we planned for.”

“Congratulations, twins. Now you are both free to leave.”

“Allow me to send the alert out.”

“Is that my old watch? No way, you got Rick to help you?”

“I cannot stand the man, but yes. It was the only way. Here’s our portal, let’s go.”

“...Hey, Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“⟟ ⌰⍜⎐⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏁⍜⍜, ⏚⍀⍜.”

“Oh, Gromflomish? I didn’t think you spoke it, I thought you only understood it. What did you say?”

“I said ‘after you’.”

(...)

“Be careful with that you darn-!”

“A darn what? You about to call me a wetback or something? Go ahead, hick!”

“For the last time, I’m not that type of southern!”

“We’re back!”

“Stanford! Stan- oh, dear, your hair…”

“Yeah, it hurt me to get it chopped off, but it’ll grow back.”

“Stan! You sonuvabitch, get over here, man!”

“Yeah, yeah, bring it in ya scrawny bastard.”

SNAP

“Fiddleford, how did you break your pen?”

“...It was more fragile than I assumed.”

“I see, an easy mistake.”

“Didja ever find that bastard who killed-.”

“No, but I haven’t given up. By the way, Ford is your twin?”

“Crazy right? I told ya something was missing.”

“At least now you know what meeting a lesser version of yourself is like.”

“Excuse me, Sanchez?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ford, but Staniel-.”

“Stanley. It’s Stanley, Rick.”

“Okay, Stanley, what I meant to say is you're the best of the two, and your brother is a little bitch.”

SMACK

“Talk shit and get hit, you asshole. Don’t talk about my brother that way.”

“Pft, if you’re gonna get like that, fine. Anyways, about this memory gun- I’m gonna need an overnight stay to plan and construct this. The concept version runs a real risk of brain damage from prolonged use. Usually, I don’t care, but I’m not gonna fry my own brain if I’m trying to forget something.”

“That’s all fine and dandy, Mr. Rick. In fact, Stanford, why don’t you work on that with him? Stan, come with me upstairs, I was fixin' to talk to you about the details of your case study.”

“Fiddleford-.”

“Please don’t jerk a knot into each others tails now, play nice Stanford. I have notes on the psychological effects of rapid memory retention in my desk. Come on, Stan. Let’s leave these two to their work.”

“Alright. See ya two in the morning, I guess.”

TAP!

TAP

Tap

Tap...

“... You know those two are fucking right?”

“Of course I know, they're not subtle in any sense of the word. I just pretend I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I don't want to get involved in any drama between them should it arise.”

“Huh, guess you’re alright after all, Ford.”

(…)

Click 

Creak

“F, we don’t need anything from this closet- HOLY SHIT!”

SLAM-CLICK

(...)

“Stanley, what are you doing up this early?”

“Just kinda… felt like drinking all of the orange juice…”

“Why is your neck covered in band-aids?”

“...Y’know, I’ve been with enough repressed Southern Baptists to get banned from the state of Arkansas - I guess I’m not banned anymore though? - And yet… I always underestimate just how repressed they really are.”

“...It’s too early for your fantastical crime stories, just remember to add orange juice to the shopping list.”

To be continued…

Alien Language Decoder

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Hello!

I’m relatively unknown in the fanfiction world which is great, but I’ve got some friends who are known, and I’ve got things to say, from an outsider perspective.

I’m a writer, but I’m also a reader. I participate in the fandom in the way I know how, which is through writing stories.

Here’s what fandom should be. It’s a village, called Fandom, and people all interact in the village in some way. Write, Art, Ideas, Comments, Reblogs, Kudos, Podfics, Bookbinding, Etc etc etc. It’s a Smurf village, because currency doesn’t exist, and everyone does what they can for the community to thrive, for fucking free. They offer gifts, and encouragement, and once a week we all gather round in the center of the village and scream about it in a very unhealthy way. Some people are more active than others, some like to be known, some prefer to remain anonymous, some watch from the sidelines and everything is done with care and a warm heart between our teeth.

There are pockets of that, which, great.

Here’s what fandom is, sometimes.

1/People elevating others to the point of God, sometimes dragging other writers down (for no reason, no one asked to be rated as the best fic writer of all time) to make a point. What is the point? Is there one?

2/People harassing writers for more things. Write an epilogue, write another chapter, write this and that. Writers aren’t your own personal AI machine to make what you want to write. A lot is blamed on age, and perhaps there is an element to it, but I believe it’s just decency. An 18 years old kid is capable of making sensible decisions, just like a 24 years old, just like a 14 years old. Your age doesn’t give you a passe-droit to be a dick to people you admire (!!!???!)

3/I won’t even touch on the subject of hate reading because that’s just straight up insanity.

But it’s just… hate and tantrums and anger breeds more hate and tantrums and anger. There isn’t a virtuous way out of that, and I’d love for people to…just, cater to a more positive experience for everyone.

When your fingers are typing rot on your computer, you are venomizing everything that it touches: the people who will read it AND the people who will respond to it.

So far, from what I have seen, this behaviour leads to only one thing: depressed writers/artists/etc who stop writing/drawing/etc, or pull their work, or take breaks, or retreat from the limelight because it is too much.

You are pushing too much.

Enthusiasm is wonderful. It’s a powerful tool and should be used, everyone on this fandom is posting because we looked at The Thing and thought, “yeah.” No one in the history of the world (I hope) has posted after thinking “that is straight up shit and I hate it with a passion.”

Enthusiasm does need to be curated in a healthy way. I understand that Fandom is for fans, but it is also by fans. No one here is better, everyone here is different.

Some writers have a voice that resonate with more people, or stories that resonate with more people, and that is perfectly fine, but, once again for the people in the back, do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

In what universe, in what galaxy do you believe complaining about someone’s work will make them go “oh right, nevermind all the work I put into this thing I love, let me just do the thing a random stranger is asking me to do.”

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Maybe I sound like bitch, but by god, the shit I’ve heard from my “popular” friends the past few months is absolutely mad. Mad, people.

You are normal people, and SO ARE THEY.

They have lives and interests and they are people. Treat them as such.

Do not confuse Enthusiasm with Entitlement.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, I hope everyone enjoys Le Mange Dieu et le Dévoreur de Mondes, which we wrote and enjoyed writing, and which does not mean other writers weren't doing their own thing and writing other stuff in the meantime, and I HOPE we can all start to have some fucking respect for the people who spend hoursdaysweeksmonths pouring over a project and posting it for fucking free, all at once, so it’s not stressful for the reader. YOU.

Because against all fucking odds, we actually care about our readers. When you’re being nice.

Thank you and good day from a Fandom Elder.

[feetreadyheartbeatsteady]

Oh, Brother!

A few weeks ago I made a post wondering what it would be like if Garrick and Xaden's younger sister are infatuated with each other, unaware of Xaden's ✨abilities✨.

A huge thanks to @softodettes for the encouragement to go down that rabbit hole and the feedback as I wrote it!

The September night is unseasonably chilly as I descend the steps of Basgiath War College to the Iakabos riverbanks. It’s beyond me as to why Xaden insists on meeting with our fellow Tyrs so gods-damned frequently or so gods-damned late, but here we are. 

My stomach twists a bit, but I steel myself. I haven’t seen Garrick since leaving his room early this morning. It’s all I’ve been able to think about today. Is this deadly? Incredibly. You don’t survive a fucking war college if you’re smitten. Get a grip, Fiona, I think to myself. 

With Xaden doing gods-know-what in Cordyn with Cat this weekend, I’d been on my own for the night. Xaden may be our father’s living image, but it’s not easy being having the same initials as the Great Betrayer either. I’ve had enough murder attempts for a lifetime since Conscription Day seven weeks ago. 

In Xaden’s absence, Garrick kindly invited me to his room for safety yesterday evening. The barracks seem to be the attackers' favorite location. Two more weeks til I get my own fucking room. 

One thing had led to another with Garrick and before I knew it, I’d had three of the best orgasms of my life. Who would pass up the opportunity to be with a man when he has a body practically crafted by the gods? Especially when you may or may not have been enamoured with him since you were thirteen? I certainly wasn’t going to say no. We ended up falling asleep together, and I slipped out around 5:30, giving me plenty of time before kitchen duty this morning. 

I can see the group about a hundred yards away and refuse to let myself feel unnerved. I clench my fists and join them, finding Imogen, who is coincidentally next to Ciaran, her own childhood infatuation. 

My older brother stands, arms crossed, Garrick to his right. Holy Dunne does Garrick look good tonight. The moonlight shines through his dark hair and falls across his strong shoulders. Fuck me, those well-defined, sculpted  shoulders. What I wouldn’t do to step across this circle and yank his shirt off to reveal the masterpiece beneath. 

Xaden gives me a nod, eyes narrowing. My brother isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but he has been quite vested in my safety. He slit an attacker’s throat when someone tried to take me out in the gym after challenges during the first week. I’ll call him protective any day of the week, but at least it’s kept me safe in this hellhole of a quadrant. 

“How was Cordyn?” I raise an eyebrow, hoping he’ll read between the lines. I’m more interested in the hellcat he was dealing with. 

“Fine,” he mutters. 

When a few more first year cadets finally join, Xaden launches into his suggestions for the Gauntlet. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Garrick is too much of a distraction for me to pay proper attention anyways. 

A second year starts to offer some advice that must be shit because Garrick holds out his hands to cut them off—--sweet goddess Amari those palms. The way they gripped my waist and encircled my wrists last night leaves me more breathless than I want to admit. 

Xaden coughs quite surreptitiously. Garrick gives him a look, then yields. My brother launches into another lecture about how to prepare for Presentation. 

Someone makes a quip that Garrick laughs at—-what did he find so funny? But I’m quickly lost in the way those soft lips turn up in a smile. What I would give to have those lips once again pressed against my neck, my chest, my thighs, my—-

“Fiona,” my brother says abruptly. “How are the first years doing in challenges?” His jaw has seemingly succumbed to spasms. Serves him right for talking our ears off. 

I toss him a glare for putting me on the spot. Fucking rude. “Nothing has changed since I updated you last week. Imogen is still our best fighter. Bodhi and I are cataloguing the strengths and weaknesses of the first year Tyrs and pairing training partners up accordingly. Eya and Ciaran have created different strength training programs.” My brother gives a quick nod, then starts going on about dragon breeds. 

Garrick crosses his arms over his chest and I’m a goner. I envision the way he’d cupped my ass and hoisted me against his pectorals. Then the way those arms would lay me down and remove every piece of clothing—-

Xaden’s shadows quake through the group in seeming agitation. What is his problem tonight? 

“Someone’s coming,” he says gruffly. “Head back in your groups, but don’t fucking get caught.” 

The Tyrs disperse quickly in twos and threes, leaving only my brother, Garrick, Bodhi, and me.

“I can’t sense anything, cousin,” Bodhi says, but my brother doesn’t meet his eyes. Xaden lets out a huff, staring into the dark with a gaze that would make most cadets run the other way. 

I chance a look at Garrick and can tell he is holding back a smirk. We make eye contact for the first time tonight and he fucking winks. 

That bastard. He certainly didn’t look so cocky last night when I had my lips wrapped around him. The way Garrick moaned my name while yanking back my hair? If we had the chance again, I could make him scream louder. 

“For Malek’s sake,” my brother grunts through clenched teeth. “Bodhi and Fiona, find your way back. Garrick, come with me.” He stalks off, leaving Garrick shaking his head, but quickly following. 

“Cat must’ve done a number on him,” Bodhi mutters. “Gods, I haven’t seen him that strung up since we got here.” 

“No clue what’s gotten into that asshole,” I agree, but I can’t help watching the two retreating figures in the distance, wondering how I’ll find my way back into Garrick’s bed.

[lovebirdgames]

Progress Update - October, 2024

It is time…the first Quarterly Progress Update for our next game starts now! And we're kicking it off with a title drop!!! Drum roll, please! Tom, if you will help me out...

That's right! Heartbreaker joins the fray!

For the record that’s not the real logo, just a temporary one that I slapped together.

Before we get into it I would actually like to glance back at the past and detail what our development timeline looked like for Band Camp Boyfriend. It's possible this one might look somewhat similar.

2015-2017 - Writing 2017 - Commissioned art, created social media presence 2018 - Demo released on Itch.io in August Programming hell 2022 - Demo released on Steam 2023 - Full game released

The good news is this isn’t our first rodeo and I’m hopeful there won’t be so many growing pains this time.  We're also doing 4 routes and a shorter common route so that means less suffering for us. The bad news is I worked part-time 2015-2017 so I blazed through writing and now I work full-time…and I’m old…and my memory is failing me…but it’s okay, I’ve forgotten all the pain.

This time around we want to be sure we get all the writing down before we start commissioning art.  We had the tendency to keep going back and asking for more because the game kept getting bigger (saving up money was also a factor). We’re gonna make sure we know exactly what we want this time. We’d also like to save casting voice actors for much later in the process so they aren’t waiting around for years on end. So the demo for this game will not have voice acting. I believe I wrote about this a little before in our post-mortem. We’re learning from our mistakes, woohoo!

That said, this is what we’re hopefully visualizing for Heartbreaker.

2024-2025 - Writing 2026 - Big art commissioning year, a more exciting project reveal, hopefully demo release later in the year! 2027 and on - Programming hell! Casting! Soundtrack fun!

…If this was to line up with BCB that would mean 2031 release. Oh God. No, I wanna release it in this decade, thanks. This is very tentative and we’re determined to not take 7 years this time.

Enough about that! Here is what we’ve worked on this year!

Concept art: Lite was absolutely awesome (as always) and let us have sessions with her in which we worked on concept art of the main cast together. It was super helpful in bringing our visualizations to life and it will definitely aid in writing the story. I can't go on enough about how wonderful Lite is to work with, and it was amazing to watch her go. She would whip up a number of poses, face types, or hairstyles for us to choose from. It was really fun and we're very grateful for the time she spent with us.

The demo: That's right, the demo is written! Woohoo! Unlike Band Camp Boyfriend with its twisting, long-winded common route, Heartbreaker’s common route is a single day! Alex can sigh in relief because that’s one less nightmare in programming for her.

The demo will contain the one-day common route and the first two chapters of two different love interests’ routes (the other two are locked at the start of the game so you’ll just have to admire them from a distance). 

Brainstorming: Ahh my favorite part…talking long walks or going for coffee and coming up with ideas. Brainstorming is ongoing and includes character profiles, world-building, and route outlines. This game has a lot more lore and world-building than BCB, so it’s more of a challenge, but we’re here for it. I've already done a badly-drawn map of the setting. Just need to finish up some profiles for minor characters and do some of my own badly-drawn concept art. Then we move on to fleshing out the route outlines.

The first route: One goal I have is to try and finish writing the first draft of the first route by the end of the year! Which is insane because October is super busy for me, but I'm sure I can buckle down when it gets colder. It's a bit ambitious, but aim high, right?

That's all I got for now! Hope you're all feeling hyped and uh, patient, because we won't be able to show you any cool art for a while. ;v; Thank you so much for sticking by us and we appreciate every single comment that has mentioned looking forward to our next game! Enjoy the rest of 2024!!!

P.S. Today is my mom's birthday and yesterday was my sister's birthday, and also my best friend's birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAYYYY to these very important people. <3

[ren-054]

Infodump about my Kitsune Clans Backstory (including Natsu)

I’ve been thinking on it and I realized, if I ever wanted to artistically present my view on the kitsune lore, I’d have to either write a whole novel or make a game because I absolutely do not have the time or energy to plan out the reveal of all the info I have

Like I still have ideas for some pieces I’ll want to make, but I’m a yapper first and foremost and I wanted to just put my ideas on the table for future reference

Notes on the screenshots: I should correct the “why would you go to war” line with “if your leaders were mutually super competent”

I would never say that the kitsune never knew what they were doing, but when push came to shove, they all fell short of their duties unfortunately and couldn’t maintain peace

It was a long running tension between all the clans that came to a head with part of the Summer clan being the instigator, but the Winter clan, under Fuyu’s command, technically declaring the war out of vengeance and to exercise their power in the face of being horribly disrespected by their neighboring clan

Leading up to this instigating event, the Autumn clan was in the (possibly unprecedented/emergency) process of exchanging leadership and were not in the position to be doing risky diplomatic decisions while Aki was still adjusting

While with the Spring clan, I genuinely view Haru as a passive individual (at least during the time before the wars) who really didn’t have the experience or wisdom to use his authority with purpose. He prided himself on maintaining peace within his clan and his clan alone. It may have also been within the interests of his advisors or the Spring clan’s culture in general

As for Fuyu, he’s an old man who holds a sense of self righteousness and dignity about him at all times, at least from what I’ve seen in game. He’s a man of pride, to a fault. I’d assume Fuyu would’ve felt off-put by Natsu’s more forgiving and lax leadership style due to their closeness in age—only a difference of about 200 or so years.

Fuyu had a much more pragmatic and cold method of leading which didn’t make him the most popular authority figure in his community, to be honest, whereas Natsu was loved dearly by many his clan members, almost cultivating a family-like dynamic. Fuyu objectively knew why his relationship with his people was so different from Natsu’s, but still it nevertheless stung.

Fuyu ended up being too prideful to realize that Natsu needed direct (and probably less accusatory) confrontation about the issues Fuyu was noticing before they got out of hand like they did. I feel like his lack of understanding and slight jealousy over Natsu’s comparatively gentler nature festered into a resentment that Fuyu wished to watch be “corrected” through Natsu’s own error.

This ultimately led to The Incident, and Fuyu, mad at himself (subconsciously) and Natsu, had no other choice but to take action

————-*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･* —————

Ahhh god that’s so much text _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

This isn’t even talking about Natsu’s time post-escape OR his recovery but fpfpakdjs

If you made it to the bottom of my post, thank you here’s some Natsu concept sketches as a reward :3

[tgmsunmontue]

From the top 2/? (WIP)

IceMav, (eventual) Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

Featuring not-mistaken identities (where they (Ice and Mav) pretend to be in the dark for REASONS), Ice is Jake's Uncle Tom, Mav is Bradley's Dad, everyone knows everyone, (un)requited love, coming out as an older person, and a little bit of a circus-vibe where Ice has a horrible realization that this is indeed his circus and these are also his monkeys.

An AU where Mav married Carole and adopted Bradley to make things easier legally. A USNA Bradley who has been very careful to separate Dad/Pete from godfather/Maverick. They had an argument prior to TGM, but it was around Maverick being careless with his life (RE: Darkstar because Bradley got the call that Maverick was missing, presumed dead). So it was about risk taking and thinking while flying, so that was happening and Bradley admits to the Dagger Squadron that Maverick is his godfather and they have a ‘complicated relationship’ which isn’t a lie per se, however it’s… complicated.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

                Jake has gone still beside him and Bradley feels nervous, wonders if he’ll have even noticed.

                “Uncle Ice?”

                Nope. No such luck. Jake’s voice is pitched a little higher than usual, like he’s maybe trying not to freak out.

                “It’s, uh, a nickname?” Bradley offers, which he realizes is a bit ridiculous considering the sheer number of nicknames they throw about on a daily basis. Jake is staring at him, eyes wide.

                “Like a callsign?”

                “Maybe?” Bradley offers, cringing. God he loves how smart Jake is, but sometimes he wishes that maybe he could just play dumb. For Bradley’s sake and sanity.

                “Iceman?”

                “Yes…”

                “You call the COMPACFLT Uncle Ice?”

                “Ah. Yeah. About that…” Bradley starts, running a hand over his face. Instead of looking more tense or pulling away Jake seems to relax, slumping against him and wrapping his arms around him, back into the snuggling position they were in before Ice’s call had him sitting up to take it, unable to lie in bed with his boyfriend wrapped around him while on the phone with his… well, Ice.

                “Oh thank fuck… I call him Uncle Tom, so… wait. Who’s your step-dad?”

                “Wait, you call him Uncle Tom? Why?”

                “He’s my mom’s cousin,” Jake says, hand waving around impatiently and Bradley guesses they can circle back to that later. “Who is your step-dad?”

                “Uh…”

                “Bradley… Do I know your step-dad?”

                “Yes?” Bradley says, face scrunching up in defeat.

                “Oh my god. Pete. I just thought it was a common name. So, Maverick? Maverick’s your step-dad?”

                “Yeah…”

                “Oh my god… we’ve just set them up.”

                “But Ice is straight.”

                Jake snorts with laughter.

                “No he isn’t.”

                “Mav thinks he is… I thought he was.”

                “Oooohhhh… oh shit.”

                “Oh my god… I just told Ice that I installed Grindr on Mav’s phone. Do you think he’s figured it out?”

                “Oh definitely… wait. Did he know about Maverick not being straight?”

                Bradley swallows, eyes going wide.

                “Uh. I mean. I assumed he did? They’ve been friends for… decades! I know about Mav. Oh my god. I’ve just outed Mav to Ice…”

                “And apparently I just outed Tom to you. There is no way he hasn’t pieced everything together. He’s far too smart. But… Okay, this is either going to be the most amazing thing ever, or it’s going to backfire horribly.”

                “They’re already friends though. They’ve known each other for years. Mav goes around and has dinner with him at least once a week when he’s in town. Surely they would have figured their shit out if they were interested in each other.”

                “Well… not if they didn’t know about each other? Maybe this will be a blessing in disguise?”

                “Or maybe it’s the reason we both get shipped off to Antarctica or something, but sure, let’s think positively.”

…            …            …

                Tom didn’t sleep very well last night, unable to think about anything other than Pete being… not straight. That, and the fact that Pete hasn’t ever mentioned it to him, and he’s somehow missed it. He doesn’t know how he’s missed it, he knows Pete better than he knows himself, or at least he thought he did. He wants to get confirmation from Jake now, because before he goes ahead and starts messaging Pete he wants to know for certain that it’s going to be Pete he’s going to be talking to. Pete is a common enough name, but these could all just be incredibly highly specific coincidences. He didn’t get to where he was without fact checking everything. He dials Jake’s number and waits impatiently for him to pick up.

                “Hello?”

                “Jake.”

                “Uncle Tom, it’s before seven on a Saturday…” Jake complains.

                “I’ve been awake for hours. Tell me more about this guy you want me messaging.”

                “Oh. Uh, well, his name’s Pete. He’s my boyfriend’s step-dad,” Jake says, and he suddenly sounds a lot more awake. “He’s also in the Navy, your, uh, age, and he’s bisexual. You know you could just ask him all this stuff by messaging him, right? It’s not meant to be anonymous.”

                Definitely Bradley then. The idea of Jake and Bradley together makes him smile, glad they’ve found each other. It’ll at least make introductions nice and straightforward. Except Jake and Bradley seem to have gone to quite elaborate lengths to matchmake him and Pete. What does Bradley know? He clearly knew that Pete wasn’t straight, and he guesses Bradley clocked him and… has Pete said something to him? Or is it all just pure coincidence. Tom leans back, because it’s possible, Pete and Tom are common enough names. But surely they’ve put it together now, especially with his call to Bradley and then second call to Jake.

                Well, he can pretend to be ignorant, especially if they know somehow how he feels. He doesn’t think they do, he’s mastered keeping it to himself, years of practice now. Slider only knows because he was the one who told him he needed to practice. He’s dying of curiosity, as to who knows what, and he’s going to assume everyone knows everything, it seems the safest going forward. And he’s also going to assume that if he messages Pete then Pete will… what?

                For once he actually has no idea what Maverick will do. Just a few days ago he’d have said that Maverick would own up, but now he’s wondering if he’d actually play along. He picks up the phone and rubs in between his hands, wonders if maybe Jake is on to something. Well, there’s only one way to find out. What do the kids say now? Fuck around and find out? It seems like a very Mav approach to everything.

>>Hi. My name’s Tom.

>>I guess our kids think we should get to know one another.

>>What did yours bribe you with?

>>Hi Tom, I’m Pete.

>>He said he’d stop meddling in my love life.

>>Plus I get to meet his boyfriend.

                Tom frowns, because Maverick already knows Jake. Unless he doesn’t know that Jake is who Bradley is dating, and to be fair, Tom hadn’t realized it himself until this whole thing came about. Which had been Jake’s bargaining chip when he’d been trying to convince him to do this. Well, jokes on him, he’s known Bradley longer than he’s known Jake, and Tom’s  been around since Jake was born, so that’s a damn long time.

                Ugh. He doesn’t want to think about it, already feels old enough as it is.

>>What about you?

>>What do you get?

>>I get my kid off my back about dating for a while.

>>Think he’s worried I’m going to die old and alone.

                Once he’s pressed send he realizes the truth of the words, not so much what Jake is worried about, but more the little worried looks his sister gives him when she visits. He knows she voices her concerns loud and clear, mainly in the hope that he’ll overhear her and do something about it.

>>Ouch. I think I got the better deal.

>>Maybe.

>>Probably.

>>Are you out to your friends and family?

                This is the question he wants the answer to the most.

>>No. Although thinking about it more now.

>>Some know of course, but it’s never been an active choice. Most just… stumbled into knowing.

>>By stumbled do you mean they walked in on you?

>>Uh. Sometimes. Yeah. Pretty much.

                Tom has to laugh, because yeah, that does sound like the Maverick he knows and loves. Then he realizes that this may be how Bradley found out.

>>Including your kid?

>>Unfortunately yes. Not my finest moment.

>>However it did make him feel comfortable about coming out to me himself.

>>Silver lining.

                Tom rolls his eyes and lets out a breath, because of course Bradley is fortunate enough to know nothing but unconditional love and support, however part of him also feels bad that Bradey apparently walked in on Maverick doing god knows what with someone. He doesn’t want to think about it, if he does he’ll picture it and he doesn’t like the image.

                It’s weird. Knowing it’s Pete that he’s talking to, but that Pete maybe doesn’t know it’s him. The fact that he’s somehow finding out new things about his best friend even after all these years is surprising, but also he wants to know absolutely everything. So he’s going to get to pretend he doesn’t know that it’s Pete he’s talking to, flirt with him under the guise of anonymity and the shield of a screen. Ask questions and get answers to things he’s never dared ask because he’s always been scared of the answers. He’s still scared of the answers.

                This whole thing might break his heart. For good this time.

PART THREE

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 4

Alright so I’ve been toying with this complex mafia!au fic idea for a very long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.8k

Masterlist

Chapter 3

The morning light had not yet pierced the darkness when Y/N was abruptly roused from her sleep by the rustling of security guards entering her room. The sudden intrusion was quickly followed by a stern order; she was being summoned to a meeting with Namjoon.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Y/N slid out of bed to find she was wearing pajamas.

Mrs Shin, YN thought as she recalled last night’s events, that old bitch.

 Still drowsy, she went to open her wardrobe, which was now curiously filled with clothing. Everything black. "How fitting," she muttered under her breath as she selected an outfit.

The girl dressed quickly and was escorted through the sterile, echoing halls of the mansion. The crisp morning air hadn't yet warmed the austere corridors, adding a chill to her already uneasy anticipation.

Upon entering a broad, sunlight-flooded office, Y/N was met by the sight of Namjoon and another man, who had pale skin and sharp, cat-like eyes.

Namjoon turned to face her, offering a nod in greeting. "YN-ah," he said, his eyes briefly scanning her face, "I’m glad to see you looking better today."

"Nothing like a little blackout rest to brighten up those dark circles," Y/N responded sternly.

"I trust you’re enjoying your new quarters?" Namjoon inquired.

Unimpressed by his attempts at cordiality, Y/N offered no reply, her silence laden with indifference.

"I hope you’ve got everything you need up there," he pressed on.

"Cut the crap,” Y/N’s voice sliced through the pleasantries, her stance firm, eyes narrowing slightly, “are you going to tell me why I’m here?"

"Alrighty, then," Namjoon conceded with a slight nod, gesturing subtly to the guards. At his signal, they exited, leaving only the man with cat-like eye whom he had been speaking to earlier. "Let’s get straight to it, shall we?"

As the door closed, Namjoon motioned towards a plush chair opposite his desk, but Y/N chose to remain standing. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid.

Namjoon sighed, « I’m sure you’re wonde-»

"Before you even start, » Y/N cut in sharply, her gaze unwavering, « you should know that I have zero intel. »

"Come on now, Y/N, » Namjoon replied, his voice smooth, attempting to diffuse the tension with a light chuckle, « don’t sell yourself short like that. »  He leaned back slightly against the edge of his desk, his demeanor casual yet calculating, as he watched her closely.

"I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been away for the past four years, » Y/N's voice was sharp, her frustration palpable as she confronted Namjoon across the sleek surface of his desk. « Oh, but wait—you must’ve known, considering you sent your minions after me the second I landed back in this god forsaken country," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Namjoon leaned back casually. "Early bird gets the worm," he quipped, clearly unbothered by her accusatory tone.

« Well, I’m afraid you’re bound to starve,” Y/N pressed, her eyes narrowing as she gauged his reaction. “Even if I did know something, we both know I could never tell you."

"I don’t need information from you,” Namjoon retorted smoothly, his gaze steady and assessing. “Your mere presence will suffice, I’m sure."

YN rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Did I not tell you to do your research? My brother is not one to negotiate. This is not what we do," her voice grew colder, more distant. It was common knowledge that when a member of the Park clan was weak or dumb enough to be taken, they were considered good riddance. Left to fend for themselves, prove their worth. It was all part of the code. “No one is coming for me." Her last sentence hung in the air.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," the man with cat eyes, suddenly spoke up. « Look what came knocking at the headquarters this morning. » He pointed to the desk where a stark symbol lay—a raven, motionless, its neck broken.

Y/N’s jaw clenched at the sight. « Animal cruelty, real classy, Namjoon,” she snapped with biting sarcasm, “Between that and last night’s roofie, you’ve become a proper little delinquent, haven’t you? »

« They’re a bad omen, » the cat-eyed man said nonchalantly, « we weren’t gonna take the chance. »

Y/N stared at the lifeless bird intensely. A bad omen. A chill ran down her spine as she wondered whether she was destined to share a similar fate. Would her neck be the next to break under their twisted sense of precaution?

« But that’s hardly the interesting part, » the man interrupted her train of thoughts, handing her a folded piece of parchment, “here’s what it carried.”

She unfolded it with hesitant fingers to reveal a simple sketch.

A Tiger’s head. In jet black ink.

They all knew what that meant.

"A little old-fashioned, I must say," Namjoon observed with a slight chuckle, "an email would’ve worked just as well."

Y/N stared at the symbol, her mind racing. Her brother couldn’t possibly be willing to declare war over her safety.

Could he?

"Don’t worry," Namjoon said, cutting through her thoughts. « I can assure you your kin hasn’t grown sentimental while you were away."

"Then what do you make of this?" she asked, her confusion giving way to a growing sense of urgency.

"Ah, Y/N-ah, » Namjoon sighed, content, « you really have been gone a long time, haven’t you? » his tone was almost pitying now.

"Spit it out, will you?" Y/N demanded, her patience thinning.

Namjoon leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he prepared to reveal the crux of the matter, his expression serious. "What this means," he began, "is that the game has changed. And whether you like it or not, you are now a pivotal player."

Namjoon fixed his gaze on Y/N, his voice low and deliberate. "Rumor has it your family's operations are teetering on the edge," he continued, observing her closely for any telltale reaction. "It seems your brother's firm hand may be squeezing a little too tight, risking a shortage in your flock soon."

Y/N's expression hardened, a subtle tension in her shoulders as she processed his words.

"Then again," Namjoon added, his tone shifting slightly, "We both know collapse simply isn’t in the cards for your clan. Its unique strategic position will safeguard its continuity… provided your brother knows how to leverage it.”

“After all,” he mused, “The intel your family has access to isn’t just valuable—it's the linchpin that could radically alter the political landscape of the entire continent."

He leaned back his eyes never leaving Y/N. "And let’s be clear," he continued, "the lengths to which some might go to access this information are boundless."

Y/N felt a chill as she absorbed the full impact of his words, her mind racing.

“I’m sure I don’t need to utter their names for you to know the parties interested,” Namjoon added.

The Kims.

The Kangs

The Lees.

Even the Chois, possibly.

Any of the other four original clans, really, could be talked into parting ways with some of their troops. For the right price, of course. Tit for tat.

The stakes were clear, and the players were formidable.

Still one piece still didn’t fit.

“I don’t see what all this has to do with me,” YN stated.

Namjoon smirked, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Apparently not,” she replied sternly.

He let out a heavy contemplative breath. “Why do you think you, of all people, were summoned back here in the first place? After four years away? » He paused, giving her a moment to absorb the implications. « Just when your clan finds itself on the precipice of needing to form a—permanent alliance.”

His words struck a cold vein.

No.

She scoffed, shaking her head as if to dismiss the very thought.

"Come on now," Namjoon pressed, his voice smooth yet insistent, "you didn’t honestly think he’d missed you?"

“You’re wrong-” she continued, denial lacing her tone.

« Oh, but I’m not, » he confirmed with a nod, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “Your birthright, it seems, has become the currency of power brokers." He paused, watching her face slowly decompose. “And word on the street is that your dear brother is bound to start quite the bidding war for a spot in your family tree.”

YN pondered the chilling possibility that Namjoon might be right; her brother was more than capable of pulling such a twisted stunt, if only just to spite her.

Her eyes narrowed; her stance tensed. "So, what is this, then? A proposal? You’re going to force me down the aisle like some 15th-century bride?" The scorn in her voice was unmistakable.

"Do you really think that low of me?" Namjoon retorted, his eyebrows arching in feigned surprise.

"I’ve learned to manage my expectations," she shot back.

"Well, rest assured, there will be no wedding," Namjoon stated firmly, his tone serious as he leaned forward slightly, bridging the gap between them.

« Jesus Christ, stop with the riddles, already, » Y/N snapped, “what the fuck are you trying to achieve, here?”

Namjoon let out a heavy sigh, his gaze intensifying as he fixed his eyes on Y/N. "I suppose," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "we’re offering you- exile, at least until we get some kind of assurance from your clan that this ridiculous quest of theirs is over. »

YN was at a loss for words as she stared at Namjoon in disbelief. The Kims hadn’t built an empire by doing good deeds. Surely, there had to be an angle somewhere.

"So, you’re telling me you didn’t even think to join the auction then, huh?" she pressed with a wary tone. "I must say I’m almost offended. Do you not think me pretty enough for one of your own, Namjoon? »

He rolled his eyes, a gesture that did little to mask the strategic mind behind his relaxed facade. « You know politics is not our game. We couldn’t care less what happens in matters of state, so long as we can conduct our business in peace," he retorted.

"That being said," Namjoon leaned forward, his expression turning grave, "the charter is clear. No blood bonding, no alliances. We won’t let it happen, » he declared, "not again. »

As Namjoon spoke, YN's mind was transported back to the haunting tales of her childhood, relayed by her nanny in the dim glow of firelight—stories steeped in the brutal feuds that had shaped the history of the Korean underworld. The room seemed to fill with the spectral presence of those turbulent times: relentless bloodbaths and deep-rooted rivalries that governed life and death.

One tale, in particular, stood stark in her memory: When the Lees, an ancient and unforgiving clan, had once resorted to hiring a Park bladesman to settle a bitter business score with the Tigers. The one to pay the price had been none other than the young heir to the Kim clan—Namjoon's father.

 The assault, carried out under the cover of darkness, had left the boy permanently marred, a savage act of retribution that inflicted wounds deeper than the visible scars on his face.

To be fair, each clan gave as good as they got. But the end of the war had come with the desire for a peaceful era between the clans.

That’s what the Mutual Prosperity Charter had been for.

Deciding to stay out of each other’s business as much as possible, the 5 original signatories had managed to grow their empires without resorting to backstabbing each other for over 60 years. Of course, there had been... incidents, here and there, but everything was handled in agreement with the charter. An eye for an eye. Never further.

Then again, what’s bred in the bone is bound to come out in the flesh.

She could’ve punched herself for being so blind. They deeply feared an alliance, feared her role in it. These stories were more than mere tales; they served as dire warnings. As YN pondered, the depth of Namjoon's determination became starkly evident. The scars borne by his father were not just physical marks; they were vivid reminders of the perilous consequences that clan fraternization could bring.

Though their concerns were understandable, YN couldn't help but find the intensity of their reaction overblown.

All of that fuss over some stupid old grudges? Pathetic, she thought. Scared little kittens.

“I didn’t know the Kims to be resentful. » Y/N broke the silence, each word dripping with insinuation. «Is daddy still upset? » she continued with a mocking pout, noting the slight tightening of Namjoon’s jaw. “You know, a scar is a mark of honor up north, he really shouldn’t have taken it so personally.”

She paused, her gaze scanning Namjoon’s squeezed fist deliberately. “Where is your father, by the way?” she prodded further, her words calculated to provoke. “I don’t see a signet ring on your hand, so I assume the old man hasn’t kicked the bucket just yet.”

Crossing the small distance between them with a few purposeful steps, Y/N reached out and adjusted Namjoon’s tie. « So where is he, then? »

The man’s eyes hardened, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly as he grasped her wrist, stopping her movements. His frustration was palpable, almost radiating from him in waves as he stared down at her, his voice a low growl. “Watch your tone. »

“What?” her voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and taunting, “Did daddy finally come to terms with the fact that little golden boy Namjoonie is simply too soft for the big job?”

Namjoon maintained a veneer of control, but it was clear that her jabs had struck a nerve. His glance shifted subtly to his subordinate, conveying a silent command that was understood instantly.

Without hesitation, the cat-eyed man moved with a swift, practiced motion, striking Y/N's face with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees.

“Motherf—" Y/N winced in pain, her hand flying to her throbbing cheek as she struggled to regain her composure. Looking up at Namjoon through narrowed eyes, she shot back, "Whatever happened to 'no touching the face', huh?"

Namjoon's response was chillingly indifferent. "Scars have a way of fading over time," he remarked coldly. His eyes didn't waver from her pained gaze, his stance firm and unyielding. "You, of all people, would know. »

Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, the metallic taste of blood seeping onto her tongue—a stark reminder of the precariousness of her position.

Namjoon crouched down to her level, his face impassive but his eyes sharp and calculating. He extended a handkerchief toward her. Gently, almost incongruously tender, he dabbed at the blood trickling from her lip. « Now that things are- clearer, » he began, his voice low and controlled, "remember you are our guest here, just stay out of trouble and there will be no reason for things to get ugly." The underlying threat in his tone was clear, cloaked in the veneer of civility.

As he rose to his full height, he signaled to his subordinate, who had been standing by silently, watching the interaction with an impassive expression.

"All we need to do is wait ‘till this all gets figured out," Namjoon added, his voice carrying a hint of finality as he moved towards the door.

He was about to step out when Y/N's voice, stronger now, called after him.

"And how long do you expect that to be?" she asked.

Namjoon paused in the doorway, turning his head slightly. "Weeks, months, hell, maybe years," he said with a shrug, his tone nonchalant as if it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. "Lucky for you, time is now the least of your concerns." With those words, he stepped out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him, the soft click of the latch a stark finality in the quiet room.

Left alone, Y/N steadied herself, drawing a deep breath as she processed the encounter. She knew the real game had only just begun.

--

Alright, that chapter was a little heavy on information, and I tried to not make everything too obvious or clear-cut, but I don't know if it's maybe too confusing, or not enough. If you can't even understand the jist of it all, do tell me lol. Because it makes sense to me, but I have the bigger map in mind so I'm not exactly objective lol

Anyway, hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn