#and thus has ink on the brain?

[littlejuicebox]

Heya!

I’ve been lurking for a while and had this idea rattling around in my brain - how do you think Astarion would be around a sweet & unassuming Tav but he can tell they’re FILTHY in bed, maybe flirting via tadpole?

Love your writing, hope you’re doing well

- 🌹

Tattoo

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for quite a while, unsure if anon will still see it! This mostly answers the prompt, I think. Perhaps a small detour lol.

Summary: Astarion thought you were an innocent, blushing virgin that night in the clearing. He misjudged you. And now you’re all he can think about.

Tags: smut, 18+, masturbation, tadpole fliritng, mentions of oral

Word Count: 1K

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It wasn’t until that night in the moonlit clearing when Astarion realized you had a tattoo. But of course, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to see your enticing bit of body art any other way.

His original intent had been to use his skills that evening in an effort to repay you for the regular feedings. His unique way of rebalancing the scales, as it were. But now that little tattoo, just below the curve of your hip, in the dip where your thigh meets your — surprisingly delicious — mound is all he can think about.

Astarion’s delved his hand in his pants more than once this week thinking about that vision alone. He hasn’t felt the urge to touch himself in decades, but the memory of that dainty bit of ink constantly taunts him throughout the day, stirring a desire he hadn’t known in ages.

He knows it’s ridiculous – it’s just a bit of ink, for god's sake – and yet, tonight he felt compelled to seek relief by wrapping his own pale hand around his cock and rubbing himself ragged once again. And now he’s sprawled in his tent, the remains of his spend still splattered over his abdomen, and his mind is starting to wander back to that night.

He’d seen tattoos on others, of course. In almost any place imaginable. Most of them were horribly done.

But you? Well, you’d certainly caught him by surprise.

You’d seemed the picture of innocence, made up almost entirely of wide, doe eyes and gullibility. Before his proposition, he’d been almost positive you were a blushing virgin. An easy target.

But to have a tattoo in such a salacious location? And then to have your hot, sinful mouth wrapped around his cock, worshiping it with your tongue, as if you’d never tasted anything better? All with those big doe eyes watching his every move and clearly delighted by his own pleasure?

He hasn’t had an experience quite like that for as long as he can remember.

And, well, looks could certainly be deceiving, couldn’t they?

The taste of your blood as he sunk his sharp fangs into your soft flesh while you’d found release had been intoxicating. Part of him wants to experience it again; the other part knows – and desires to avoid – what he will have to do to achieve that particular flavor.

At this point, Astarion isn’t quite sure if he wants to proposition you again or not. Sure, the first time was satisfactory. Perhaps even a bit enjoyable. But still—

Suddenly, the rogue feels a tugging on the edge of his mind, ripping him from his musings. He recognizes this sensation, it’s a tadpole mind link. But something about this is… different. It isn’t accidental, it’s intentional. Someone in camp is reaching out to him.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Good thing he’s immortal.

Against his better judgment, Astarion opens his mind to the call. And there you are, waiting for him.

"I'm surprised you’re still awake,’ You say, and the silver-haired elf is shocked to hear your voice as if you’re right next to him. Interesting.

‘How did you realize we could do this?’ Astarion asks, and he hears your entertained laughter tinkle in the background of his psyche in response.

‘Shadowheart and I figured it out sometime last week. We’ve only used it to talk shit about everyone thus far.’ You reply, clearly proud of your discovery and thrilled by your own behavior.

‘Everyone?’ The rogue asks, not pleased about being the topic of you and your apparent best friend’s judgment.

‘Almost everyone,’ You amend, and there’s a brief flicker of affection in your psyche towards Astarion that you’re certain he notices before you quickly stomp it down.

You feel a ripple of Astarion’s own satisfaction at your amendment. He’s glad to not be the topic of your more unkind thoughts.

‘What are you still doing awake, darling?’ The vampire questions, ‘You are normally the first one snoring.’

There is the smallest wave of offense, and then a resigned acknowledgement at the truth in his statement. A pause of the mental conversation ensues as you seem to carefully weigh your next thoughts and move around in your tent.

‘I can’t sleep. Too much excitement today, I think. Too much pent up energy,’ You start, and then flash a vision through your own eyes, showing Astarion as you look down at your own barren mound, ‘Care to come and help me… release some of the tension?’

Astarion can see the tattoo through your eyes, greeting him in a sensual hello as you drag your fingers down it, on the way to touch yourself. Gods damn it.

He wants to take you up on your offer, but then he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know what he wants. So instead he dances around the topic, avoiding an answer, with a flirtatious admission of his own.

‘I’m afraid I have taken care of my own needs for the night,’ He replies, flashing you the quickest view of milky white liquid now beginning to dry upon his stomach.

A ripple of disappointment on your end. And then another pause.

‘Well… even though I wasn’t extended the same kind offer, you’re welcome to watch me as I take care of my own needs for the night.’ You offer, now teasing between your folds more insistently. You send the rogue another vision of your needy sex and two fingers now shining with arousal, ‘Via tadpole… or in person.’

Astarion has never thrown his shirt on and walked across the camp faster. In his haste, he broke the tadpole connection. But you hear him coming and barely peel back the flap of your tent, displaying the briefest sliver of your naked form.

The vampire pauses for a moment on the outside of your tent, debating if this is the right move. You’re still touching yourself, he can hear the slickness of your sex from here.

“Hurry up, Astarion,” You whisper, somewhat impatiently, as the urge to find release builds within you.

Fuck it, he thinks. He wants to run his tongue along that tattoo again, even if that’s all he does.

He quickly delves into the tent and ties it closed behind him without another thought.

Eventually, he does drag his masterful tongue along that tattoo, and around many other parts of your tempting body, after he decides to help you find a second release.

Simply watching the first one had been enough to make you almost irresistible. He wanted to sink his fangs into you again. Perhaps in your thigh this time, if you’d allow it.

Like a tattoo, his nights tasting you left him permanently altered.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion reader smut #astarion reader insert #astarionxreader smut #astarionxyou smut #baldurs gate smut #baldurs gate 3 smut #smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader

[foliosriot]

The Rotten And Ugly

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

summary: you break up with noah without thinking about the consequences for either of you.

warnings: language. description of a panic attack. self-worth issues. mental health problems.

a/n: anyways this got angstier than i’d originally anticipated so uh enjoy the pain i’m about to serve you on a damaged and thrifted zoopals plate

masterlist

You hate how much he’s gotten under your skin over the years. The way he’s taken a variety of sharp objects and ruthlessly carved his name into your bones. In the intricacies of your veins there are markings that are nearly identical to his tattoos. You swear your hips and waist are permanently speckled with dark smudges, a repeating pattern that looks suspiciously like his fingerprints.

You’re still picking out pieces of him from yourself.

And yet, you were the one to end it. You were the one that told Noah you “can’t do this anymore”, whatever the hell that means. He asked as much, but you didn’t seem capable in giving him a straight answer. So you left the house battling against your instincts to run back to him.

But you were able to fight against them as you let yourself out the front door, leaving behind someone that has been a rock in your life for as long as you can remember. You left Noah standing in the living room, alone and confused. You fucking abandoned your self-proclaimed soulmate.

That was nearly a month ago.

After you left the boys’ house that day, you somehow convinced yourself that you were no longer hopelessly in love with Noah. You gaslit your own brain into believing your relationship — both platonic and romantic — was built on the fact that you were never good enough, that Noah took pity on you from the get-go.

It seemed to work. At first, that is. Because, before you altered your brain, you allowed yourself to wallow in your guilt and anxieties. For three consecutive days you bawled into your pillows, grimacing and crying even harder when the smell of Noah’s cologne met your nostrils. You were throwing yourself quite the pity party, and it was torturous.

But you were the one who was convinced that you never deserved Noah in the first place. You ended it, not him.

When those three days were up and gone, you managed to pull yourself together long enough to allow your best friend, Violet, to take you out for a girls’ night. It was something you needed — it was something that could distract you from your own head.

And the fact that it had worked was surprising. Maybe it worked too well.

At one of the handful of bars Violet had dragged you to you met Ryan. He was tall, lithe build and long limbs. His blackened hair was shorter on the sides, allowing the top to grow longer, thus falling into the beautiful hazel of his eyes. He had snow white skin but his flesh was divided up by swathes of colored ink that had nearly glowed under the neon lights. He’d donned an old Bullet For My Valentine t-shirt and black cargo pants.

Something about him had felt familiar to you. But you weren’t allowed anymore pondering over that inclination as Ryan had dragged you onto the dance floor.

It wouldn’t occur to you until a week later when you and Ryan were on your first official date. If it weren’t for the gauged ears, the round, rimless glasses, or the chunky gold rings, you would have thought he was somebody else. It was almost uncanny.

God, but you could have sworn…

You were wrong, however.

Ryan seemed to really like you, though. He had an eye for finer details and was a real sweetheart. He was obviously taking things slow with you, especially after you had accidentally dumped the story of what happened with Noah onto him over one too many shots of tequila. His genuine concern and sympathy over the entire ordeal had you fawning over him tenfold.

You and Ryan went on more dates since that night. Around him you were pushing down your self pity and replacing it with something you could have mistaken for happiness; you felt content around Ryan.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever.

It was nearing dusk when your apartment’s doorbell chimed. The sound startled you for a moment, but you relaxed as you headed for the door.

But there was Ryan, that smile of his you had anticipated on his face. You swallow down the chunk of disappointment.

“Hey,” you greeted him. You stepped aside to let him inside before gently clicking the door shut. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, sorry! I was gonna text you that I was coming over, but I thought I’d make it a surprise,” Ryan replies with a shrug.

You force a smile, hoping it came off, at least, partially genuine. “Oh, okay. Well, do you wanna watch a movie or something, then?” you asked.

“Sure.”

The two of you walk in to the living room in search of something to watch, be it a movie or a random episode of a TV show. You sit fairly close to each other on the small couch, a minimal amount of space between both your legs.

As you continue your hunt for your entertainment for the night, your anxiety begins to gradually rise. Your heart is thumping wildly and the palms of your hands are growing clammy and there’s a dull throbbing pain behind your left eye. Why is this happening? What the fuck is going on?

You don’t realize when you begin drawing in breaths in quicker succession, until your chest is seizing and you’re hyperventilating. The sound of Ryan’s concerned voice is muted from inside your skull, making you feel as if you were underwater. Tears are spilling down your face but you can’t find the strength to wipe them away.

Then you feel the vibrations of Ryan frantically speaking to you floating around your brain, and you’re not quite sure what he asked, but you manage to choke out one word.

Noah.

Everything became darker and blurrier after that. Time didn’t existence nor did anything around you. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t figure out where you were — if you were at home, if you were at work, with Noah.

Noah.

You think you hear the front door opening and slamming shut all of a sudden. But you aren’t quite sure anymore. This is the most violent panic attack you’ve ever had.

You jolt when there’s an unexpected hand carefully grasping yours. It must be Ryan.

His skin is frigid compared to the heat radiating from you. He begins gently running his thumb over your knuckles, a gesture that feels vaguely familiar.

The thing that finally brings you back to the present is the soft voice in your ear. At least you think it’s soft and gentle. Everything still sounds warbled, but there’s a distinct difference to this voice. You latch onto it and begin pulling yourself towards it in hopes of relinquishing the hold this panic attack has on you.

Darkness begins slinking away to reveal your living room. Your vision is blurry when you come to, but you blink away the tears that cling to your eyelashes, the action almost painful. You take a few moments to carefully and slowly gulp down several lungfuls of air before you turn to the body beside you.

But you aren’t met with the worried glaze in Ryan’s hazel eyes. Instead you see Noah next to you, his head angled down in your direction as he quietly sings.

Oh.

That’s how you were able to get through your panic attack. The only thing that has ever had that kind of power is Noah singing and holding your hand. He did it to let you know he was there the entire time, to provide something to keep you grounded to reality.

“Noah…”

Your voice comes out as a broken whisper. Noah immediately stops singing. His head shoots up. There is a frantic glint in his dark eyes as he searches your face for a moment before locking his gaze with yours.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, one of his hands moving to your face. His palm is cool against your cheek, and you nearly shudder at the sensation of his calloused thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” you counter. You’re trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your heart when he called you baby. But it is much too difficult, especially when he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Like you were worth looking at and cherishing. Your stomach churns mildly.

A muscle feathers under his skin when Noah clenches his jaw. He continues staring at you, save for the single glance he shoots up and to the left.

You hesitantly look over your shoulder, and there, standing just behind the couch with his hands clenching the cushions, is Ryan. The look on his face is tight but unreadable. You feel Noah’s hand lightly glide down until it rests against the side of your neck. Ryan’s eyes track the movement.

“What happened?” You ask Ryan the same question, hoping he gives you an answer. You’re trying to ignore the placement of Noah’s hand, but it is proving to be nowhere near easy.

It takes Ryan a few prolonged seconds to say anything. But when he does finally speak, he says, “We were trying to find a movie to watch, but then you tensed and started shaking. I tried talking to you and to get you to stop crying and hyperventilating. You weren’t responding and I was getting really fucking worried.”

Ryan pauses. He visibly swallows, then shifts his hazel gaze from the hand against your throat to your face. A flinch ripples through your body at the emotionless light in his eyes.

“You managed to say one word,” he continues. His tone is devoid of feeling, almost like he was trying not to show any emotion at all. “Noah. And I automatically knew who you were talking about. So, because I was desperate as shit, I got your phone unlocked and found his contact you kept for some reason. I called him and, well, here he is.”

Ryan looks down at the floor beneath him. Your heart is speeding up once more, and Noah seems to have noticed because he presses his index finger into the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw. The pressure is ginger at best, but it somehow manages to keep you from going in to hysterics once more.

You look back at Noah to see him already watching you closely. Your breath hitches slightly when you notice the familiar loving shine in his irises. God, you have missed him so much.

Noah has one knee bent and resting on the couch, with the other dangling over the edge. Over the course of the attack you had crumpled into a ball — a familiar aspect of these things for you — and Noah had managed to peel away your arms from where they had wrapped around your legs like a vise. He had entered your personal bubble in hopes of helping you. One hand of his hands still held yours with a secure grip.

You felt an overwhelming need to wrap Noah up in a thankful, loving hug. But you still felt Ryan’s presence.

Mulling over your decision in your head kept the room silent. It took longer than you would have wanted, but you knew it was a necessary one to make in the first place.

“Ryan.” You shift just enough to face Ryan more directly. He lifts his head as you force your arm to move. You slowly reach for one of his hands, gathering the strength to talk. “Thank you for being here. It means so much to me.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything initially. First, he rakes his gaze over to Noah, a glare overcoming him.

“I didn’t do anything, Y/N,” he bites out. “All I did was call the ex.”

You feel Noah tense, but he doesn’t speak.

“I’m gonna leave now,” Ryan says, finally stepping away from the couch. “I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

As Ryan heads for the door, you call out, “I’ll call you.”

With his hand already on the doorknob, Ryan stops to look at you. His gaze softens as you make eye contact.

“No. Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. His words are quiet and tinged with a tense of sadness. He gives you a small smile. “This was really nice. I’ll see you around.”

Then Ryan is gone.

And you’re alone with Noah.

Silence sits over you like a weighted blanket. Sitting in the dead quiet with Noah has always been relaxing and comfortable, because there would be times you would lay your head down on his chest and listen to his steady heartbeat. At times like those neither of you had any responsibilities or stresses. You simply existed together in your own little world.

But there is an underlying tension this time around. You’re still angled towards the front door and you can feel Noah watching you. His pinky brushes your collarbone, and it takes all of your remaining strength to suppress a shiver.

Then Noah’s hand slips from your neck, and you can’t help but miss the sudden vacancy.

“Y/N. Can we talk about this?”

Noah’s voice is quiet. His soft tone is tainted with something akin to anger, but you can’t be sure. Maybe it’s sadness or confusion. Either way, you turn your head towards him.

Strands of his dark hair are dangling in front of his face. There’s an unidentifiable glint in his eyes that has your heart stuttering. You suddenly have a desire to reach forward and touch the tattoos on his hands and neck, everything else covered in black clothing. And you think you’re successful at resisting that feeling, when you’ve slowly counted to ten in your head. But you can never rein yourself in very well when it comes to Noah.

You turn to fully face him. He watches your every move with a confused air about him. His body stills completely when you finally stretch your arm out, your fingertips brushing the red apple at his throat. You swear he shivers slightly when your fingernails graze his inked skin.

Noah lets you touch his tattoos without a word or twitch of a muscle. With every movement you make he watches you like a hawk, like he’s going to tear you limb from limb at any moment. You have done this countless times over the years, but something about this time feels different.

This goes on for only a few short minutes. Until Noah grasps your wrists and gently pushes your arms away from him. He keeps his hold on you.

“Y/N.”

Your throat constricts slightly in apparent preparation to cry once more. But you swallow thickly as you manage to meet his eye.

“Noah.”

He tightens his jaw. He lowers his eyebrows slightly as he considers you and your slightly patronizing reply of his name.

“We’re gonna talk about this,” he tells you. “Right now. Whether you like it or not. We need to talk.”

And he’s right, you know he is. Though you don’t know how this is going to go.

You shakily take a deep breath anyways. You nod once, gesturing as best as you can despite your momentary shackles for Noah to speak.

“Why? Why did you break up with me?” Oh god, you’re hoping he didn’t feel your pulse spike at his question. “I mean, you gave me a reason, but we both know it was kinda bullshit. You didn’t tell me the truth. So can you tell me the truth now?”

Fuck. You can’t do this.

I’m sorry, Noah. But I can’t do this anymore.

There’s a pulsing behind your eye. Your head is pounding and your cheeks are tear-stained. And you would be an even bigger liar if you restated what you said that night. ‘Cause by the fucking gods above, you were all in from the beginning. You knew you were in love with Noah a long time before you actually started dating. You have been by his side through the worst years of his life, and he has been there for yours.

You have missed him more than anything this past month. Even while hanging out with Ryan something felt off. Your brain was too hung up on Noah to even fathom forgetting him or replacing him.

So what’s the point of hiding anything else from Noah, since he has seen and witnessed every dark and ugly and rotten thing you hold inside? He saw all the bad and evil that reside deep, deep down and still chose to stay.

But you have been broken for a long time, even considering how much Noah has helped you. There is something damaged beyond repair within. You’re not sure if it’s worth keeping anyone around anymore in order to try and fix it. It seems pointless, really.

Noah is still watching you. His hands are firm around your wrists as he waits for your answer.

“I’ve never been good enough for you,” you finally say, and it feels like a weight is lifted from your chest. “You how damaged I am. You have seen all of the shit that keeps me up at night and you’ve experienced firsthand how violent my panic attacks are. Why the fuck did you stay? You’re Noah fucking Sebastian. Lead singer of a successful metal-core band, who could have anyone he wants. And you chose me? I guess I just don’t see why.

“I’m not worth the hassle or worry. Everyone wastes their time with me. I’m not getting better — I can’t get better! So I removed the variable that was the issue. I removed the problem so you wouldn’t have to. I willingly took the swan dive, ‘cause sooner or later I was gonna self-destruct. I’m a fucking time-bomb, and you know it.”

Throughout your explanation Noah stared at you. He had made no attempts to interject or talk down on your feelings. He listened intently, and your heart aches.

But you can’t take the staring any longer. You wrench your hands away from Noah and stand from the couch. You wobble on your feet for a moment before you regain your balance, shuffling to the other side of the living room.

You turn to look at Noah to see him slumped against the back couch cushions. His arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes are still tracking you. Both feet are planted on the carpet.

“Would you stop looking at me like that?” you demand. “Like—Like I’m being irrational. Or, like—“

“Like I actually care about you?”

You fall silent at Noah’s interruption. His face is nearly expressionless, but you detect the minuscule frown on his lips.

“I’m not gonna stop caring about you, Y/N,” Noah continues, his voice low. You think he may be angry. “It’s not something I’m interested in doing. Because, yeah, I’ve seen all of the fucked up shit inside of you, but you’ve also seen it from me. You chose to stay too, right? So why would I want someone who doesn’t harbor a little bit of pain or agony? That makes you human, and that makes you you. ‘Cause believe me when I say that I am in love with you. Baggage and everything. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Tears had begun falling from your eyes again. Your lips trembled slightly at Noah’s declaration. Your body was shaking.

You watch as Noah gets to his feet. You can’t help but fold your arms around your torso as he slowly approaches you. The blood pumping through your veins and roaring in your ears is deafening.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”

Noah pauses a few paces away at your words. He meets your eye for just a moment before you’re locking your gaze onto the floor.

“Okay. Then don’t promise. I don’t care if you hurt me, ‘cause I’m gonna stay either way.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“What if…” You sniffle as you tighten your hold on yourself. “What if I don’t want you to stay?”

“That’s not happening.”

“Noah, I—“

Noah takes the steps forward to reach you. “The only reason you don’t want me to stay is so you can convince yourself everything was your fault,” he told you. His voice is still low in pitch and peppered with a certain hardness. “I’m not gonna let that happen. None of this is your fault.”

Your instincts are screaming at you to fall into Noah. Every inch of your body is berating you to let this all go and let Noah back in. You both need each other, you know that. So why is this so goddamn hard?

His words hang in the air like a heavy fog. Your vision is blurry from tears. Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. This has to end.

“Get out.”

Noah recoils a fraction at your unexpected statement. “What?”

“I said get out. I made my decision, and you need to respect that.”

“I’m not leaving.”

More tears cascade down your face. Every single one feels like acid eating away at your skin as you raise your head to look Noah in the eye.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Noah.”

Noah doesn’t protest. But you can see the tears in his eyes as he eventually backs away and goes for the front door. You’re shaking uncontrollably as you watch him open the door, chance a glance back at you, then leave. He gently shuts it behind him.

A void opens up in your chest. It yawns wide, a blackened abyss growing bigger and bigger inside of you, threatening to consume your soul.

God, what the fuck have you done? You are so in love with him, and you just let him leave like that. You can’t even begin to believe that you’re this fucking stupid.

But Noah left because he loves you. And that makes the tears fall harder and faster.

You can’t imagine a life where he isn’t there. Frankly, you don’t want to imagine such a life. In every past, present and future you have ever conjured up in your head, Noah has always been there. And you just ruined any chance of fulfilling a better future for both of you.

This can’t happen.

You’re not going to let this happen.

Without thinking you dash for the door and fling it open. At the other end of the fairly short hallway, near the elevator, is Noah. His head is hung and he’s holding his phone. You can’t see his face clearly, but there’s a foreign rigidness to his body that you wish you never have to see again.

“Noah!”

And at first Noah doesn’t react. Then he’s twisting his neck to look your way. The sight of you has him straightening his posture and sliding his phone back in to his pocket. You can see the rise and fall of his chest, a certain anxiety about him that hurts your heart.

Then you let out a loud sob, and Noah is racing for you without hesitation. He gathers you in his arms before your body crumples to the floor. You latch your fingers onto the fabric of his shirt as you cry against his shoulder. One of his arms is fastened around your abdomen while the other is along your shoulders, that hand slipping through your locks of hair and carelessly gripping at the roots.

“I’m sorry,” you sob against his body. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so stupid. I am so sorry—“

Noah cuts you off. “No, Y/N, do not apologize,” he tells you, his own voice thick with tears. “You’re not stupid, either. You were trying to do the right thing for you, and that’s okay. Never apologize for that. Okay?”

You manage to nod once. Then he’s carrying you back into your apartment in the direction of your room. He carefully sets you down on your bed and immediately joins you. There’s blankets around you and Noah is holding you tightly.

You bury your face in his neck with your arms coiled around his shoulders. His arms hold you against him, his head resting beside yours on the pillows.

The pillows were beginning to lose the smell of Noah’s cologne. You were worried they would have trapped the scent of Ryan instead over the past couple weeks, but all you feel is Noah. Every sense is overwhelmed by him and his presence. The feeling of his body against yours feels like coming home once and for all.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x reader #x reader #bad omens #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #alex! ❪ 𖤐 ❫ #alex’s writing! ❪ 𖤐 ❫

[junowritings]

Hi friend, I hope I'm not bothering you. I stumbled across your twisted wonderland writings a little bit ago and fell in love with them. They're so good! I was wondering if you could do an angst comfort imagine with Jamil or Kalim where MC overblots? In game, Crowley piles so much work on poor MC, along with MC being the college's resident problem solver, and some of the students have called them worthless due to their inability to cast magic. I was wondering if you could play around with that idea? Regardless, thank you for doing what you do! Hope you have a lovely day.

Hiyya friend thank you for the love <3 I'm glad you've been having fun with these~! I'll admit this started off as a little thing but then the overblot brainrot kicked in thinking about the effects of blot on a non magic user and it spiraled from there lmao. Please do enjoy this though I had a bunch of fun giving my Scarabia boys some love,even if it is filled with angst!

The realization of what’s happening comes too late, as it always does. 

Eyes have been everywhere, watching your every move since you clawed your way from that coffin into this twisted wonderland. And each of them have expected something from you, saw fit to use you and take advantage of your situation for their own gains. Making yourself useful seemed to be the only way you could earn any modicum of respect, and so the pressure mounted and mounted as every day saw you taking on more responsibilities than you could handle. But you’d been so hopeful that it wouldn’t be that way forever - things would get easier, and you only needed to put up with the pressure until you got home; Crowley promised you that the day you enrolled at the school, and he wouldn’t lie when he was the only one capable of making that a reality, right?Right?

You should never have believed him; maybe that would have saved you.

This shouldn’t have been possible; with no magic to your name or even a magical presence to call your own the thought of you of all people overblotting was laughable, some cruel joke that was humored for the few seconds before you were deemed magicless, and thus no longer a concern. And yet the impossible pools at your feet and clings to your skin and clothes like a parasite as your brain spirals into a frenzy. All you can think about is what they’ve done to you, what they made you do. You were so useless to all of these people until you had some kind of purpose to serve, was that it? Running their errands; being a personal therapist and caretaker to so many dorms when you were still nursing your own wounds; having to take care of everyone else's problems only to return to your dilapidated corpse of a dorm at the end of the day. 

Perhaps it’s the stress, the mental fatigue drawing in all of that leftover magical waste with nowhere to go that accumulated the blot, allowing it to take root after months of being subjected to the worst that magic could do. It’s there which it festered until the pressure became too great, until it now seeps through your bones, your eyes, your fingertips in thick, viscous globs of ink for all to see. And from that blot comes the monster, a patchwork mockery of all of those overblots you’ve dealt with before taking shape of your deepest insecurities and regrets; and your own despondent sobs are drowned out by the screams of its birth as it rises to its full height, writhing and looming overhead.

But it’s imperfect; with no stable magic source to siphon its energy from the blotted creature latched onto you fights only to stay alive. The noises it releases are distorted, a hollow rattle that has the students taking an unconscious step back as a chill settles in the air. Many were smart enough to flee, yet there are those that stay, either foolish or frozen in fear at the sight in front of them.

You’re conscious, barely, the remaining dregs fading in and out of your control as your eyes, half blinded by the inky mass that pours from the blotted thing above you scans the sea of horrified faces. Friends, dormmates, and finally….

…Jamil

♡ Jamil feels the rush of students tripping over themselves to flee, can hear the screams of people too confused or too terrified to understand the impossibility of the situation, but his focus is trained solely on you and the thing that leeches off of you to stay alive. He watches it twist, heaving ink as it takes a defensive stance ready to attack anything that tries to get in its way. Your friends around you all make vain attempts to reach out to you; Ace and Deuce are frantically screaming out for you as they bat away an onslaught of inky limbs, and Grim gets close enough to barely brush your shoulder with his paw before the frantic swipe of the creature nearly sends him careening back in a torn mess had Jack not yanked him back to safety.

♡ For that moment he takes in the scene unfolding in front of him, watching the person who has fought to earn his respect and gain his trust being taken over by the flood of bottled up emotions preyed upon by the blot, and it hits him. Is this what you’d seen during his overblot? Is this how you felt seeing the person you cared for being reduced to a shadow of their deepest hatred and pains? If he closes his eyes he can vaguely recall the horrified look on your face in the muddled memories from his own overblot, but there’s no time to dwell, no time to panic, or scream, or cry when the most important thing is separating you from the blot and making sure you survive. And so he takes a steadying breath, steeling his resolve and shelving his emotions until you’re freed.

♡ Your friends are already mounting an offensive against the overblot and Jamil is right there in stride acting as a defensive force for those better equipped to attack. Each hit has the beast screaming, chunk by chunk being wrested away from its patchwork frame that’s barely holding itself together as is. Your screams echo along with it, only making the fight harder as hesitation hits your friends, Jamil himself almost making the mistake of stepping towards you before catching himself and refocusing on the fight at hand.

♡ He’d caught glimpses of the strain your situation had forced you under, he’d be a fool not to have noticed the pressure you’d been settled with. He knows the pressure well, having to play the part and live your life restricted by the whims of others. And yet every time he’d reached out to you, pulled you to the side away from prying eyes you’d only smiled and told him that you were fine, even if the sallow eyes and the constant tremble in your hands screamed otherwise. Jamil should have never taken you at your word, so sure that if whatever you were dealing with became overwhelming you would open up to someone - open up to him - before it was too much. Who could have ever imagined that it would get to this point? Jamil feels a sickness welling in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it, and the momentary lapse in attention nearly costs him a limb as a writhing hand slams down at his side when the overblot monster lunges forward, warbled voice screaming “-𝔸𝕎𝔸𝕐...𝔾𝔼𝕋 𝔸𝕎𝔸𝕐-!” again and again.

♡ Your overblot fights harder than anything they’ve faced before, even as the half formed twitching mass of energy that it is. Like an animal caged and surrounded it’s got no qualms pulling every ounce of power it can muster to ensure its survival even if it means turning you into little more than a husk. All it takes is watching you crumble, heaving and choking on some invisible force that saps everything from you for everything to finally snap. Whatever strength the creature pulls from you isn’t enough to keep it standing, and no sooner have you dropped the blot caves in on itself, still reaching out to you for more even in its final moments. In the wake of its dissipation the air is thick with an unspoken pressure, and the remaining students even torn up and bruised all make a beeline for your crumpled body, surrounding you in a wall of frantic calls of your name. 

♡There’s a lump in his throat as Jamil approaches the crowd, elbowing his way between Ace and Deuce kneeling before you. His breathing all but stops at the glimpses he catches of you among the hands cradling you, body limp as the remaining blot flakes from your skin and turns to whisps. Those seconds last for an eternity, bated breaths unwilling to ask the question that’s burning on everyone’s tongue. 

♡Are you…?

♡The next moment you’re gasping for air, rocketing up and narrowly missing headbutting the vice dormhead as you all but throw yourself up to retch. You miss the collective breath that everyone releases as the world starts to turn once again, relief flooding the atmosphere now that the imminent danger has passed. Someone mentions making sure you’re taken to the infirmary and Jamil can practically see the cogs turning in your head as you panic, finally coming back to your senses. You insist that you can take yourself there, scrambling groggily to your feet and shaking away the mass of hands supporting you only to immediately buckle the second your feet touch the floor. 

♡How lucky you are that Jamil catches you before you fall, one arm firmly gripping your elbow and the other pressed against your back to make sure you don’t try getting away on your own again. Surprisingly you don’t argue, in fact you hardly even say a word as Jamil whisks you away from the crowd; the silence is only broken on the walk there when Jamil has to stop you from nearly bucking again. You’re gripping his jacket for support when you ask “Did I hurt them?” focused on your hand wrapped into the fabric and not willing to look at him. There’s a pause, and Jamil watches your knuckles turning pale from your grip like you’re afraid of the answer. “It takes more than that to hurt any of those guys;They’ll be fine.” 

♡ Whether it’s the answer you wanted or not your grip loosens on his jacket but never truly lets go the entire walk there even as the infirmary sign comes into view around the corner. There’s no saying what effect the overblot had on you both physically and mentally, so the staff are on high alert as soon as you’re led into the infirmary. The nurse tries to take you off of his hands but you’re still holding onto Jamil for support and he’s quick to take the lead in getting you onto the bed so you can finally be seen to.

♡Jamil only allows the gravity of the situation to hit him once you’re in the capable hands of NRC medical staff, giving you some space to recover without being hounded by people as he tries to collect his thoughts. A part of him wants to stay there with you, especially with the way you’re so reluctant to let go of him during the initial checkup, but you’re drained both physically and mentally and need time to rest, and he needs to start picking up the pieces of the aftermath.

♡ The work keeps Jamil’s mind occupied, and provides a welcome buffer to the what ifs that are already beginning to creep in. But the moment he’s given a moment to finally rest it’s like all his energy’s been drained, using the nearest surface to keep himself upright as the events of the day finally fully sink in. You’ll live but all he can think about is what if you hadn’t; those few seconds where you weren’t moving, repeating over again and again. It’s an image that’s burned into his brain no matter how much he loathes having it there, and it forces his feet to move without thinking, heading straight back to the infirmary where he’d left you. Jamil needs to see that you’re really there, that you’re really safe in that bed and not taken whole by that creature again, and it’s something he finds himself doing long afterwards if only to set his own nerves at ease.  

…Kalim

♡ Kalim is horrified to see what’s happening to you, watching the creature that rises from your barely standing form like it’s tearing itself free from your very shadow. For a split second it’s as though he’s back at Scarabia watching his childhood friend overcome the overblot and change right before his eyes. That familiar chill of fear that he’s hoped to never have to experience again hits him square in the chest and his entire body goes cold as the reality of the situation settles with the wheezing howl that the overblot creature lets loose into the air. 

♡ Even though he can see it with his own eyes it’s almost impossible to come to terms with the fact that this is you. The one who always went out of your way to help people, who was so kind and there for everyone to help deal with their problems with hardly ever a thanks in return - there’s no way that the trembling, half coherent body looking out at the world with nothing but hatred burning behind ink stained eyes is really you. But it is, and there’s a beat, a split second where your eyes meet his and that anger flickers to grief, a lapse of the real you looking back at him before the hatred consumes you once again.

♡ It’s hard to think straight, and Kalim’s got little concern for his own safety as he joins Ace, Deuce and Grim in trying to reach out to you however pointless it may seem. He has to reach you, has to get to you somehow to make sure that you’re safe and get you away from that thing; he has to-!

♡ There’s a whoosh of air barely inches from his face, and Kalim only has a second to process the mangled claw that makes a swipe for him before there’s a hand winding into the back of his clothes , pulling him back into the dirt before those claws can bury themselves into his skull. It's enough to shock him back into the present moment, only now hearing the panicked voices of his friends and classmates as the chaos unfolds; there’s others here, and every single one of them is in danger the longer that this overblot is free to wreak havoc onto its new domain.

♡He hesitates to fight you - he just can’t bring himself to do anything that risks hurting you even though he knows that standing by and doing nothing it’s only going to make the problem worse. So he calls out to you, shouting your name with a near frantic desperation begging you to come to your senses even as the creature you’ve summoned continues it’s assault, gouging into the earth in its attempts to get at him with half formed joints. His cries are drowned out by the overblot monster’s screams, garbled words sounding like white noise ringing in the air only ever cut off when a sudden blast of magic from behind Kalim has the beast reeling. 

♡Your friends round up to make a wall effectively creating a barrier between it and the students, their faces grave as they realize what it’s going to take to make sure everyone gets out of this situation alive. The last thing he sees before they close in is you, the blot still dripping down your face as you let out an enraged scream, the months of bottled up emotions sending goosebumps up Kalims skin before you disappear back into the overblot’s hold.

♡Hesitating will only result in you getting more hurt, so Kalim tries to pour his focus onto helping elsewhere. Hoisting himself to his feet he takes charge in making sure that everyone not directly involved in the fight has a clear path to get to safety, ensuring that the debris scattering through the air never has a chance of hitting any of the students and causing more damage. All the while he’s fighting not to be distracted by the sounds of fighting - the gurgling of the overblot, the shouts of everyone co-ordinating together and struggling to turn the tide of the fight. He can’t allow himself to think too hard about what’s happening to you; the people he’s helping are looking to him as dorm leader to keep them safe and get them out of there, and if he thinks about it for too long he knows he’s going to slip up and someone’s going to end up hurt or worse. 

♡ A bloodcurdling howl brings everything to a standstill, and all at once something snaps in the air, the pressure on the back of Kalim’s skull dissipating as the blot that has soaked into every corner of the area breaks apart and disappears, no longer held together by magic. That means only one thing, and Kalim immediately drops everything that he’s doing to get back to where you are. The terrain is a mess and he trips up more than a few times on the huge chunks torn out of the earth beneath his feet as he grows more desperate to see you, to get to you. 

♡His heart drops into his stomach once he finds you through the sea of people who were fighting you not moments before, now crowded around you in a protective circle. You’re curled up on yourself, unresponsive and Kalim immediately sinks down onto his knees in front of you, not caring for the last broken pieces of the overblot that try to claw at legs for purchase even as it sinks back into the mindless puddle of waste it came from. Hands trembling, Kalim holds you as close to him as he can, wide eyes scanning your face for any sign of reaction, a sign that you’re back. The time stretches on and he feels his throat burn the longer you go without waking up; he’s here, calling your name over and over again, can’t you hear him? It’s okay to wake up now, everyone’s safe! You're okay right?... right?!

♡A groan cuts his thinking off, and there’s no holding back the sob he almost chokes on when you finally come to. You’re blinking away the haze that’s making your head pound and finally make out his face, caked in mud and debris and smeared with stark tear tracks as he cries. You bring a hand up to try and wipe away the tears and grime but that only makes him cry harder, though you don’t have time to feel bad before he’s pulling you even closer, pressing your face against his shoulder and wrapping his arms around you so tight that your ribs groan in protest. It’s not like you have the heart to push him away though - you’re so tired and drained and all you can think about is how glad you are that he’s here as you zone in and out of him gushing about how he’s so glad that you’re going to be okay.

♡Kalim refuses to let you go even as the others begin to crowd around to check on you for themselves; now that this is all over the last thing he wants to do is leave you on your own again much to the frustration of Grim and your other friends. It takes Jamil stepping in and none too subtly warning him that there’s a chance you’re still suffering from complications unless you get to a nurse and find out for sure before he relents, but even then he’s going right with you to the infirmary, taking a seat right next to the bed you’re propped up in and holding your hand and supporting you through the entire checkup.

♡All he can focus on is how tired you look, the exhaustion palpable now that the blot has washed away from your skin and clothes. He knows that it isn’t from the blot though; Kalim may be naive but he knows you were suffering before the overblot overwhelmed you. He’d tried so hard to help - offered you to stay at Scarabia any time you needed a break, insisted that you could always rely on him for anything, to tell him anything, just say it and he’ll be there! And yet it wasn’t enough to save you from all of this, and he can’t help but feel guilty that he couldn’t help you when you needed him the most…♡ You have to convince him not to call in the best doctors from back home just to come and see you the second the nurses are finished with their tests, insisting that he really doesn’t need to go that far despite his protests that he wants to make sure that you’re really okay. He’s already rattling off about how things are going to be better once you’re all healed up - he’ll come to see you everyday, of course, and he’ll make sure to bring plenty of things to keep you happy so that you can focus on resting and feeling better! It’s almost enough to forget the fact that everything that happened wasn’t just some dream your stress addled mind conjured up; however, even so exhausted you don’t miss the concern hiding behind his seemingly carefree smile, grip on your hand squeezing every once in a while as though to reassure himself that you’re both still here - he hasn’t lost you yet.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #scarabia #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #twst kalim #twst jamil #jamil x reader #imagines #twst imagines #twst overblot #angst #no one's having a good time here #but at least everyone's alive for now lmao #it's midnight so there's more than a few mistakes but i love this thank you for the request mwah

[transgenderer]

this article is really cool, ive never seen such a radically biological study of memory! also, check out the properties of their model organism:

After an extensive search for a suitable experimental animal, I settled on the giant marine snail Aplysia (Fig. 1A) because it offers three important advantages: Its nervous system is made up of a small number of nerve cells; many of these are gigantic; and (as became evident to me later) many are uniquely identifiable (3, 4). Whereas the mammalian brain has a trillion central nerve cells, Aplysia has only 20,000, and the simplest behaviors that can be modified by learning may directly involve less than 100 central nerve cells. In addition to being few in numbers, these cells are the largest nerve cells in the animal kingdom, reaching up to 1000 mmin diameter, large enough to be seen with the naked eye. One can record from these large cells for many hours without any difficulty, and the same cell can be returned to and recorded from over a period of days. The cells can easily be dissected out for biochemical studies, so that from a single cell one can obtain sufficient mRNA to make a cDNA library. Finally, these identified cells can readily be injected with labeled compounds, antibodies, or genetic constructs, procedures which opened up the molecular study of signal transduction within individual nerve cells.

also some remarkable results about determinism in neural development

Kupfermann, Castellucci, Carew, Hawkins, John Byrne, and I worked out significant components of the neural circuit gill-withdrawal reflex (Fig. 2). The circuit is located in the abdominal ganglion and has 24 central mechanoreceptor sensory neurons that innervate the siphon skin and make direct monosynaptic connections with 6 gill motor cells (Fig. 2C) (12–14). The sensory neurons also made indirect connections with the motor cells through small groups of excitatory and inhibitory interneurons (15, 16). In addition to being identifiable, individual cells also have surprisingly large effects on behavior (Fig. 2B) (4, 14, 17). As we examined the neural circuit of this reflex, we were struck by its invariance. In every animal we examined, each cell connected only to certain target cells and not to others (Fig. 2C). This also was true in the neural circuitry of other behaviors in Aplysia including inking, control of the circulation, and locomotion (4, 18)

anyway the big takeaways here are

you can get long-term learning without changing the connections between neurons if you change the *strength* of the connections between neurons (and you can directly measure these changes)

short term memory forms even when protein synthesis is inhibited, but long term doesnt, and they were actually able to piece out which protein cascades (like, you go and transcribe one protein from the DNA, then this starts a process that transcribes other proteins, etc) are involved!

another detail, about how you can have synapse-specific changes when stuff is going on in the nucleus, which shares a huge number of synapses:

The finding of a transcriptional cascade explained why long-term memory requires new protein synthesis immediately after training, but it posed a new cell-biological problem. A single neuron makes hundreds of contacts on many different target cells. Short-term synaptic changes are synapse-specific. Since longlasting synaptic changes require transcription and thus the nucleus, is long-term memory storage a cell-wide process, or are there cellbiological mechanisms that maintain the synapse specificity of long-term facilitation? To examine these questions, Kelsey Martin cultured one Aplysia sensory cell with a bifurcating axon with two motor neurons, forming two widely separated synapses (Fig. 4A). In this culture system, a single puff of serotonin applied to one synapse produces transient facilitation at that synapse only, as expected (50, 51). Five puffs of serotonin applied to one branch produces long-lasting facilitation (72 hours), also restricted to the stimulated synapse (Fig. 4B). This long-lasting synapse-specific facilitation requires CREB and also leads to structural changes. Thus, despite recruitment of nuclear processes, long-term changes in synaptic function and structure are confined only to those synapses stimulated by serotonin. How does this come about? Martin, Andrea Casadio, Bailey, and I found that five puffs of serotonin send a signal to the nucleus to activate CREB-1, which then appears to send proteins to all terminals; however, only those terminals that have been marked by serotonin can use these proteins productively for synaptic growth. Indeed, one puff of serotonin to the previously unstimulated synapse is sufficient to mark that synapse so that it can capture a reduced form of the long-term facilitation induced at the other site by five puffs of serotonin (Fig. 4B)

[fhs-event-week]

Propaganda for Goldami (under the cut due to lenght):

They have so much in common and yet they're so different at the same time. They both struggle with loneliness and repressing their feelings as a response, they would understand each other, and help each other, like no one else could. But their personalities are so different, Golden is a romantic craving real love and clinging to anyone who will give it to him, prone to helping anyone around him, while Cami separates herself from anything of the sort and is literally in the villain squad. They also have some drama to deal with, regarding Cami hypnotizing him, literally taking away his agency: Golden's biggest fear. And yet he doesn't recognize her as the one who did that. Oh, I wonder how that could go! (Submitted by @chocottang)

The name of the game here is POTENTIAL! The mere idea of the girl who once brainwashed the person she will later develops feelings for, and be romantically involved with, is very intriguing on its own.

How their turbulent first interaction (mind control) could ever evolve into something like friendship or romance. Does Cami regret having brainwashed Golden? Does she view it as an obligation she had to fullfill? Do the two talk about it? Does Golden remember the mind-control/ know it was Cami and if so, is there a lingering weariness toward Cami? Does she pick up on this, and if so how does she grapple with someone fearing her. Later down the line with someone she has feelings for/is dating, still "fearing" her, whether its on a conscious or subconscious level?

What does she think of Golden remembering, or not remembering? Is it guilt? How does she react as she realizes someone who was "simply a tool for bigger plans", becomes a real person to her? An individual person. Cami's view shifting from a how she previously saw Golden, or how she thought she saw them, possibly how she convinced herself to see them? Has she convinced herself she saw Golden as a simple tool in order to not think about the weight of mind control, of having the power to take peoples autonomy? There is just no way Cami sits in this relationship without wondering if she is somehow "brainwashing golden again" into "doing as she says again. Even if her brainwashing/mind-control abilities are something she has to fully intent for them to function, the inking of doubt, and the self-demonetization is a turbulence worth exploring.

Then there's Golden and how his whole personal struggle in life is being controlled and bossed around by family, drowning in work to do. Would he even be allowed to date someone in the first place? Regardless of whether or not he is allowed to, does he have the time for one? How much guilt does he feel over not being able to be there for extended periods of time, dates having to be planned in advance, and even being unable to respond to a simple text in a timely manner because hes so busy? How does it feel to have adoring fans, your name known, then have your own attention set on one person? Do her eyes on him blur and blend with the masses, can he distinguish surface level adoration and true deep feelings? If he can, can he believe it, can he believe anyone knows him enough to develop such feelings? How hollow does that make affection feel? Does he take certain gestures for granted, view them as normal, or do they maybe make him uncomfortable due to their semblance to fan culture? There are so many questions to ask and think about between them. (Submitted by anonymous)

Propaganda for Joysagi:

My only and best defense it's that one drawing and that they were GOING TO BE REAL BUT EDDO CHANGED IT AHHGGG They're literally took it away from us. 2016 was too afraid of wlws it seems They're sun/moon themed in my brain. The girlies ever. I wish eddo showed something more abt usagi that isn't related to loon and thus inmediatly forgettable so I could defend it from her side u_u From Joy's- considering the way her family treats her i just think having a more brave and adventurer gf is so nice for her,,,, like- almost two worlds meeting --- also i hc they both know karate and i love that for them. They kick people together ♡ They're just my princesses . Joysagi for the win (Submitted by anonymous).

#fnafhs #fhs #poll #fhsz3r0 #fhszero #fhs ship tournament #goldami #joysagi

[lurveinn]

Sirius threatens Lucius

Diagon Alley is bustling with peasants and riff-raff in the days leading up to the Hogwarts term; Lucius sneers at the crowds as he makes his way into the higher-end streets of Knockturn, which remain, thankfully, invitation only. He has a meeting with a real estate contact at midday, after which he’ll meet Father for the most intimidating appointment in his social calendar thus far- a full council with the Blacks, to formally ask for Narcissa’s hand in marriage. Of course, it’s merely a formality; he was promised one of the Black sisters years ago, but up until a few months ago, it was to be Andromeda. Now, Andromeda is being paraded around Europe’s marriage market, under Bellatrix’s watchful eye- from what he has gathered, she is tempted by a mudblood boy in England. There are even rumors that he is poor, though he isn’t sure of those- although he hasn’t spoken to her since the end of their courtship, he knows Andromeda, and she loves her finery. She’s as much of a snob as he is. 

And Narcissa; Lucius has sampled many women, from all over Europe, pure-blooded and though he won’t admit it, even half-blooded, yet none have taken him quite as she does. She is lovely. He wouldn’t dare express it to Father, who much preferred for him to marry a dark-haired girl (“A Black that looks like a Black, Lucius! The prestige is much greater that way”), but frankly- she is perfect. She already fits the part of a Malfoy- her hair is half white-blonde on her right side and half ink-black on her left, a trait that she clearly inherited from her Rosier side. She wears it in a complex braid that Lucius yearns to untangle, run his fingers through, and then plait back up. The rest of her is completely and utterly Black, from her storm-gray eyes to her high cheekbones; yet, unlike her cousins and sisters whose features are beautiful in a striking manner, Narcissa is angelic. It is said that there are no creatures on Earth as gorgeous as the Blacks, and in three hours, Lucius will officially have acquired the most heavenly of them all.

He thinks of her throughout his meeting, though he focuses when the matter of payment comes up, and as he exits the establishment, he is so lost in thought that he completely misses the figure trailing him. They say that Blacks aren’t made to be discreet, that one can hear their footsteps a mile away, but somehow Sirius has managed to creep up on Lucius. Faster than he can call a greeting, there is a wand at Lucius’ throat and two piercing eyes (just like Narcissa’s, his useless, traitorous brain reminds him) boring into his. 

“Malfoy.”, Sirius says, coolly, as if cornering your future brother-in-law two hours before you’re supposed to receive him at your home is a routine occurrence. 

Still, Lucius knows how to deal with a Black. He remembers his father’s words: act nonchalant no matter how they insult you, do not respond in any way that could even remotely be interpreted as a threat, and do not, under any circumstances, insult their family. 

He responds genially: “Sirius. I knew we’d be meeting today, but I wasn’t expecting you at this moment.” 

Sirius brushes it aside. He’s sixteen and fierce, a Slytherin who wormed his way into Gryffindor to prove a point, already betrothed to his cousin, who is identical to him in both spirit and appearance. The crown jewel of the Black family, Orion and Arcturus insist, though Sirius does his best to go against all etiquette ingrained in the rest of the Sacred 28. But then again, Blacks are always a bit crazy; Bella is the same, and Father says Sirius takes after his namesake grandfather greatly. Lucius isn’t scared of Sirius- a Malfoy is just as great as a Black, no matter what they insist-, he’s seen him grow up, seen him in nappies, but in that moment, he understands what Orion sees in him- he is fearless. He almost feels a sense of pride towards the man Sirius is becoming, before the little brat has to ruin it all: 

“I’ve come to threaten you.”, Sirius states, matter-of-factly. Blacks are always so dramatic. He hopes Narcissa hasn’t inherited the characteristic.

“Concerning?”, Lucius asks, though he has an inkling as to where this conversation is going. The Blacks are Wizarding Britain’s most tight-knit family and ridiculously protective of each other. He recalls Sirius and Narcissa’s shared time at Hogwarts- Lucius was in his seventh year when she was in her fifth and Sirius was in his second- when the boy spent much of his time in the Slytherin common room. Prim, proper Narcissa would loosen up around her cousin, especially when it was just family around, holding Sirius’ hand, combing her fingers through his hair. Often, Bellatrix would come to visit her sisters and Sirius at school, and they would all retire to one of Slytherin’s abandoned common rooms; nobody went in, of course, unless they had tacit permission from the Blacks, but the sound of laughter would carry through the dungeons on the occasions that the cousins forgot their silencing charms. It was a foreign concept to Lucius, such a large family. Malfoys usually have a maximum of two children, and never more than one son.

In the present moment, Sirius’ eyes cloud over at Lucius’ lack of reaction, but he gets straight to the point:

“I trust you, Lucius, I do. I support you and Cissa. But, and this is coming from me and from Bella-  if your father dares to lay a hand on my cousin, hurts her or any child that she ever has with you, then I will hunt him down and slit his throat, Azkaban and consequences be damned. Keep that in mind.”

The wand against Lucius’ throat is dislodged, and Sirius Black turns on his heel and walks away.

#lucius x narcissa #sirius black #lucius malfoy #narcissa black #narcissa malfoy

[softxsuki]

Hey! Uhm well I was wondering if you could do a ran or rindou haitani x reader self harm urges post if not both because I've been struggling really hard to try not to do it and losing sleep because of it. I hope you understand have a great night/day 😁

Shinichiro Comforts Reader With Self-Harm Urges

PLEASE DON'T READ IF MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM AND OLD SCARS WILL TRIGGER YOU MORE THAN IT WILL COMFORT YOU.

Pairing: Shinichiro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, old scars, urges to hurt yourself

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 690

Summary: In which Shinichiro comforts you after finding out about your urges to self-harm again

[A/N: Written with Shinichiro like you asked for in your other ask since I don't write for Ran or Rindou yet :3. Sorry about the delay, I took a nap since I've been sleep deprived lately, and my nap turned into a 5 hour long sleep...oops. But I hope this was worth the wait, and hopefully it provides you with some comfort to help those urges go away! Remember everyone, your comfort characters love you and wouldn't want you to hurt yourself; that includes Ran and Rindou. Though I don't know much about them, I just know that their s/o would be the most precious person to them, so knowing you were hurting yourself would break their heart. ily, thanks for trusting me with your urgent request <3]

Shinichiro:

Shinichiro is the type of guy who tells you he’ll always be there for you, and he really is

So long as you actually tell him whenever you’re struggling, he’s not that great at picking up on the subtle hints that you’re struggling on your own

Of course he knows about your history with self-harm, you’d both spoken about it on one of your heart to heart conversations where all your inner, darkest secrets were spilled to each other

Because of this, he has tried to be a little more observant towards you, making sure you’re not suffering alone, and feeling like you have to rely on self-harm to feel better

As soon as you do open up to him one night about your recent urges to self-harm again, he’s on high alert, racking his brain for the best words to soothe you

Knowing you have this internal struggle to harm yourself makes him feel useless, I mean, what could he possibly do or say to stop you from feeling this way? He didn’t want you to feel judged or bad for feeling the way you do…

So he does whatever comes to his mind first; he grabs a sharpie and gently holds your arm in his hands, flipping is over so he can see your wrists

Evidence of your older battles are evident on them still, scars that will always remain, yet are a testament to everything you’ve survived through thus far, a strength in you he greatly admired

He slowly draws a heart on your wrist with the sharpie, as you look on in confusion at his actions. He blows on your skin, allowing the ink to dry before pressing a kiss to it and allowing you your arm back

“That right there is my heart, whenever you feel the urge to hurt yourself and don’t feel confident enough to tell me about it, just look at the heart…if it fades, just let me know and I’ll redraw it for you as many times as you need. If you hurt yourself, you also hurt me,” he says softly, looking into your eyes

Shinichiro wasn’t the best at emotions and letting you know how he felt without getting blushy and nervous that he’ll mess up his words, was close to impossible

“Oh gosh, this is stupid right? I’m sorry, I was trying to be cool…Look, I just want you to know that I’m here for you and I care about you so much. It’s hard for anyone other than you to know exactly what you’re going through, but I promise I’ll be by your side to help you through anything you need. If you feel these urges to hurt yourself, maybe we can go out and blow off some steam. We can go to a junkyard and just smash up a few things. Just…please don’t take out your frustrations and complicated emotions on yourself. I’d rather you hit me and scream at me than harm yourself, Y/N.”

He means every word and is ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel better, you only need to say the word

After your confession on the urges you’re feeling, Shin keeps an even closer eye on you, hoping that he doesn’t feel too suffocating. He just doesn’t want you to resort to temporary solutions to your feelings and would much rather target the root cause so you can feel better about things moving forward

Checks up on the heart he drew on you to make sure you’re taking good care of it, and smiles happily when he sees it’s still intact, peppering kisses to your skin, and embracing you

However, in the slight chance that his tactics don’t work and you do resort to your own methods of coping, he isn’t disappointed, but he is hurt and upset at himself that he couldn’t do enough to help you

If you fall once, just get back up and try again–that’s what he believes, so he’s right there by your side to pick you back up and try again until those urges never return

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 08/23/2023

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro x you #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers comfort #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev comfort #shinichiro headcanons #shinichiro comfort

[orbital-inclination]

Me: I do not need another thing to think about I’m in the middle of drafting a comic and some 4-5k ish words into two chapter drafts I do not need—

My brain: ok but what if in an inverse twist of the undertale multiverse, all au monsters are sentient/robotic androids, sort of like how bitties are in Bitty AUs. With different “brands” representing different AUs. Thus allowing things like “coding” to have a very literal meaning. Underfell bots are constructed for gladiator cage match’s for the entertainment of betters (and probably 100% illegal), Swapfell Gold and AU off shots are military androids sent off to fight wars for their human owners and governments so human soldiers never have to be faced with the brutality of their nation’s international policies. Meanwhile, Class, Swap, and Outer are all domestic brands with varying emphasis on subgenres; pop stars, fashion icons, artificial internet celebrities designed to market certain company’s as “approachable” to the masses, or even legal unpaid domestic servants or nannies.

(Info dump continues below)

Outcodes are fun because they are individuals who were corrupted in some way, and therefore considered disposable by the company who made them. Realizing this individually or because another outcode contacted them, most who are still online out in the world are in hiding. A caught outcode is sent back to the factory to be destroyed and recycled. It’s a death sentence.

On The Star Sans: Dream, Blue, and Ink are outcodes who independently escaped captivity, met each other through happenstance and have since established not just a team but a found family in the process. They live double lives, by daylight they pose as functional domestic bots, and by night they are the Star Sanses, heroes of Ebott City! Motivated by the altruistic desire to help others in need (humans included) but especially other monsters/bots who need help.

Legally, a domestic bot must be registered to a human owner. Normally the bot has no control over this. Dream, Blue and Ink have found a way to bypass this system. Independently they’ve picked out decent people to live with. The humans are unaware they’ve been setup. Dream picked a kind but lonely elder woman, who without family nearby, needed someone to help her live safely and independently. She sees Dream as the grandson she never had. To the surprise of no one, Ink chose an artist; an eccentric magician who moved to Ebott from France, intending to settle down after trotting across the globe for a good couple decades. Ink has accepted him as a father figure. Blue is happily rooming with a professional athlete who volunteers to coach at the local high school, the women has a busy professional life and when she’s gone, he has run of the house and equipment.

Error specifically is one example of a horrible tragic case of a classic sans being tossed into gladiator rings, miraculously survives his first match and than every single one after that but at a steep cost. The brutality of the ring gradually corrupts his code because he is being forced into a function that conflicts with the programming he was “born” with, (the birth of Geno), and later, utterly desperate, Geno hacks into his own systems. Though surviving the attempt is not intentional, he does. His owner, believing him to be defunct throws him out. Error awakens in a trash heap, finally free; and vows untold destruction on the men who made him. (And naturally all of Ebott city too)

And also later: Y/N finds and mends Error’s battered body (after a vicious fight with another outcode) and this starts a very tentative relationship or something idk this is as far as I got.

#orbital chatter #long post #I need to get this out of my head so I can actually focus on what I want to focus on!! #robot!au #automon!tale

[tavina-writes]

NMJ, JGY, and Vices/Hobbies Meta

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about this particular quote from MDZS chapter 49, which is often cited as “NMJ has no hobbies canonically besides killing Wen and practicing saber” and I have to say that after reading the Chinese version I don’t? Necessarily agree? I don’t think this is what that scene was about at all. 

This is going to be long, so meta under the cut. 

The Fantranslation of the passage in question:

Jin GuangYao nodded lightly and sat as he had been told, “Brother, if you’re concerned for HuaiSang, softer words would do no harm. Why this?”

Nie MingJue, “Even when a blade’s at his neck he’s still like this. Looks like he’ll always be a good-for-nothing.”

Jin GuangYao, “It isn’t that HuaiSang is a good-for-nothing, but that his heart lies somewhere else.”

Nie MingJue, “Well you’ve really discerned where his heart lies, haven’t you?”

Jin GuangYao smiled, “Of course. Isn’t that what I’m the best at? The only person whom I can’t discern is you, Brother.”

He knew of people’s likes and dislikes so that he could find suitable solutions; he loved running errands and could do twice the work with half the effort. Thus, Jin GuangYao could be said to be quite a talent at analyzing others’ interests. Nie MingJue was the only person whom Jin GuangYao couldn’t probe out any useful information about. Wei WuXian saw this already, back then when Meng Yao was working under Nie MingJue. Women, liquor, riches—he touched none; art, calligraphy, antiques—a pile of ink and mud; the finest green tea leaves and dregs from a roadside booth—there was no difference. Meng Yao tried everything he could think of yet still couldn’t find if he was interested in anything beside training his saberwork and killing Wen-dogs. He really was a wall made of iron, impenetrable by even the sharpest blades.

And here's the official translation of the passage in question:

Knowing a person's likes and dislikes, and then catering to them accordingly, made getting things done easier. You could accomplish your goals with half as much effort. As such, the ability to discern people's desires was truly Jin Guangyao's forte. The only person he could never seem to pry any useful information out of was Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian had seen this firsthand, back when Meng Yao had worked under Nie Mingjue's command. The man never laid his hands on women, alcohol, or material wealth; paintings, calligraphy and antiques were all piles of ink and mud in his eyes. Top-grade premium tea tasted the same to him as dregs from a roadside stall. Meng Yao had racked his brain and still failed to identify anything Nie Mingjue might have a taste for, other than training with his saber every day and killing Wen dogs. He was truly an iron bastion, with no weaknesses to exploit. Volume 2, Page 319

I’ll go through with the chinese, my own translation based on what the Chinese says, [explanations of a few word choices along the way] and the analysis of what this actually means.

金光瑶微微颔首，依言落座，道：“大哥既是关心怀桑，稍平和些劝诫也是好的，何必如此？”

聂明玦道：“拿刀架在他脖子上逼都这样，看来是打死也不成器了。”

金光瑶道：“怀桑非是不成器，志不在此而已。”

聂明玦道：“你倒是把他志在何处摸得一清二楚。”

金光瑶笑笑，道：“那是自然，我岂非最擅长于此？唯一摸不出来的，也只有大哥了。”

Jin Guangyao nodded slightly, sank into a seat, and said "Since Da-ge is worried about Huaisang, wouldn't it be better to persuade him calmly?"

Nie Mingjue said, "Even when I've got a knife on his neck [aka even though NHS is being forced to do whatever] he's still like this, it seems like even if one beat him to death it wouldn't make him become good at it." <-- this seems to be a response to JGY's "why don't you try to persuade him to practice saber gently and calmly? to which Da-ge is like "if I can't get him to do it while yelling at him, lmao you think gently critiquing him will help? lol"

Jin Guangyao said, "It's not that Huaisang is useless, it's just that his strengths don't lie here [with the saber]" <-- I'm assuming that since NMJ and NHS were yelling about saber stuff before JGY got there that JGY and NMJ are still talking about NHS and the saber business

Nie Mingjue said, "It seems like you've got him entirely figured out."

Jin Guangyao laughed and said, "isn't that natural? I'm predisposed to this [figuring out people/finding out what they like] the only person who's still murky is Da-ge."

This particular conversation is not particularly antagonistic! JGY is trying to persuade NMJ that he could persuade NHS to practice the saber with honey and NMJ is like “I don’t think that’s probable.” and then JGY says “oh, saber isn’t really NHS’s skillset!” and NMJ says “looks like you have him all figured out!” and then JGY laughs and goes “I’m a natural at figuring people out, but Da-ge you’re really mysterious to me. (also the only person mysterious to me, people who are called Jin Guangyao)” Like, idk, this doesn’t sound particularly terrifyingly argumentative or upsetting to me.

知人喜恶，对症下药，最好办事，事半功倍。因此金光瑶在揣摩人嗜好上可谓是一把好手。唯有聂明玦，金光瑶试探不出来任何有用的信息。

Knowing people's likes and dislikes and [here the prescribing medicine is an idiomatic saying for "and then appealing to the root of their nature"] is the best way to get things done, to get the most reward for one's effort. Jin Guangyao, therefore, could be said to be a good hand at figuring out people's hobbies. Only in the case of Nie Mingjue, could Jin Guangyao not find any useful information.

The word for “hobbies” herein is 嗜好 which is another word for addiction. Now, there ARE other more common words for “hobbies” in Chinese and they are more commonly used when not referring to addictions, they are: yule and aihao. Yulei being “amusement, entertainment, recreation,” and aihao being “hobby, interest, thing one enjoys and takes pleasure in.”

Pleco screenshots here for emphasis on word meanings:

So the more accurate translation here is "Jin Guangyao, therefore, could be said to be a good hand at figuring out people's addictions."

当年孟瑶在聂明玦手底下做事时魏无羡就见识过了，女·色酒财一样不沾，书画古董在他眼里就是一堆墨水泥巴，绝酿佳茗和路边摊茶渣在他喝来没有任何区别，

孟瑶挖空了心思也没试探出来他除了每天练刀和杀温狗以外有什么特别喜好，简直铜墙铁壁刀枪不入。

听他语带自嘲，聂明玦反而没那么反感了，道：“你少助长他这幅德性。”

In the past, when Meng Yao was still working under Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian had already experienced this: feminine charms, wine, and wealth were equal in that [nmj] did not touch them. Painting and calligraphy, antiques were just a pile of ink and mud. There was no difference between him drinking excellent tea and the dregs from a roadside stall.

Meng Yao hollowed out his brains [spent a lot of effort thinking about this basically] and didn't figure out besides practicing the saber every day and killing Wen-dogs if he had anything else of particular habits. <-- THE XIHAO HERE IS NOT HOBBY. THE XIHAO HERE IS HABIT, ESP ONE THAT YOU'VE WORN A GROOVE IN.

He [NMJ] was just like an iron wall, neither swords nor spears could penetrate it.

Hearing [JGY's] self deprecation, Nie Mingjue, on the countrary, became not as upset, and said, "stop encouraging that part of his character" <-- talking about NHS's love of painting and fans again.

Now, the important thing to remember about this analysis of both 1) the dynamic between JGY and NMJ and 2) what JGY thinks NMJ’s hobbies, preferences, vices, addictions are is this: neither JGY nor NMJ are implied to have been talking or thinking about NMJ’s wartime preferences during this conversation or even during the war.

What JGY and NMJ actually say in this scene are peppered through with WWX’s own thoughts on observing this scene between them, and neither JGY nor NMJ actually say “JGY believes that NMJ’s only hobbies [during the time JGY served under NMJ at Langya front] are practicing the saber and killing Wen-dogs.] In fact, JGY and NMJ don’t mention 1) the Wen at all in this scene and 2) the only time they talk about saber training is the fact that NHS is doing 0 of it.

What they DO however, say to each other is this:

JGY: you could probably persuade Huaisang to train by persuading him gently!

NMJ: lmao if threats don’t work, bribes won’t either.

JGY: Huaisang isn’t useless, he’s just talented in other ways.

NMJ: you’ve got him all figured out haven’t you?

JGY: haha, you know me Da-ge, I’m a natural at figuring people out. Except you, Da-ge, you’re very mysterious.

NMJ: don’t encourage his [NHS’s] bad expensive habits.

In the middle of this conversation, Wei Wuxian from his own (not unfiltered or unbiased) perspective observes this about NMJ during wartime: "yeah that JGY, he's great at finding out people's addictions, he sure is! but Chifeng-zun doesn't really have any of those lmao. at least from back when I knew Chifeng-zun during the war. He doesn't like girls, doesn't like wine, doesn't like wealth, doesn't like calligraphy or paintings or antiques. Wow! Meng Yao must've worked really hard and found nothing!"

JGY and NMJ in fact, don’t talk about 1) the war 2) the wen or 3) NMJ’s interests, hobbies, vices, or addictions here at all. Nor does JGY claim that he spent a lot of time searching for NMJ’s hobbies and found only saber practice and Wen-dog killing. Nor does JGY claim to be good at finding out people’s addictions, he just made a joke about how NHS’s interests are really obvious and “but you Da-ge are a mystery to me.”

And thus concludes my dissertation about how this really says nothing about NMJ’s hobbies, interests or vices, he could be collecting incense burners and a lover of bubble baths for all we know.

#nie mingjue #jin guangyao #my meta #long post #meta #I'm so tired of the take that da-ge has no hobbies besides murder #we have no fucking idea what they are canonically #but that's not what this scene is saying #imagine making a joke about your da-ge being mysterious #and people taking it as all da-ge does is murder all day #is this nieyao? idk #rs: mutual therapy coffin

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

It just randomly came to mind, because that's what my brain does.

I've been thinking about the twitter outrage towards INSIDE OUT 2 director Kelsey Mann stating that he and the filmmakers dropped the characters Guilt and Shame from the movie. Mann stated he felt what they were trying to do with that version of the story wasn't "fun", it was "too heavy", and it made it a kind of movie that you wouldn't want to watch again.

“I don’t want to make that movie. I want to make a movie that’s really meaningful and when you’re asked, ‘Do you want to see that movie again?’ You say, ‘Yes!’ Because those are my favorite movies. And those are the kinds of movies I want to make. And I did not want to return to that movie with that character. It’s not that funny.”

... While being as vague as possible, because this is an interview for a movie that isn't even completed nor out yet. I'm excited for the movie and I'm sure there's WAY more to Mann's comments than meets the eye, ditto the actual movie itself. Because I'm not gonna jump the gun and assume he or everyone at Pixar are a bunch of chickens trying to undermine their own strengths.

I sometimes like to imagine Twitter being a thing years and years ago...

Animated movies lose stuff all the time when being developed. Stuff that you see in the special features sections of DVDs, in the "Art Of" books, hear about in interviews, etc.... Stuff that sounds cool or stuff that you think "They should've kept that!"

Let's try one, huh?

Social media... Mid-1965. At the news of Walt Disney throwing out veteran story man Bill Peet's moodier, darker version of THE JUNGLE BOOK, the studio now moving forward with a more lighthearted, jazzy musical road trip-like approach...

"Betrayal! What has Disney come to! Have you seen THE SWORD IN THE STONE? Remember how they laid off all those animators and the whole Ink & Paint Department after SLEEPING BEAUTY flopped! They've all gone soft, I tell ya! This is going to be a DISASTER!"

THE JUNGLE BOOK was one of the highest-grossing films of 1967, a massive hit abroad, and recognized as one of the iconic Disney animated films. Would I love to travel to an alternate universe where Walt okayed Bill Peet's original take on the material? Absolutely, that movie sounded really, really cool! But I love the finished film so much, it's the reason I love animation and it's the reason why I even do what I do.

That's just one example... Could you imagine the collective moaning over the versions of BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, ALADDIN, and THE LION KING that got thrown out? BEAUTY AND THE BEAST originally was supposed to be more like the 1946 adaptation directed by Jean Cocteau, ALADDIN was going to be more in the vein of a '30s Cab Calloway sort-of musical, and THE LION KING was aiming to be a straight-up animated National Geographic documentary with a lot of silence and lyrical storytelling. Jeffrey Katzenberg and other then-Disney execs razored into those versions and trashed them...

I'm sure there were a select few who noticed back then, but I digress.

Or how about a sequel, for that matter? THE RESCUERS sequel was originally supposed to be like a James Bond movie, complete with a Bond-esque mouse who accompanies Bernard and Miss Bianca on a mission involving the Soviet Union! But a little movie called CROCODILE DUNDEE happened, and there was a brief sort-of Aussie rage going on in America... So, those executives told the filmmakers to chuck the Bond-style RESCUERS 2, and have it be set in the land down under... Thus it became THE RESCUERS DOWN UNDER.

I love that film, and it's a fan favorite of many... But that Bond-style movie also sounded really, really cool! Social media in 1988 or whatever would've been like "What??? They threw out that awesome-sounding movie so they can chase CROCODILE DUNDEE??? That movie will be irrelevant in a few years!"

But it happened...

The epic KINGDOM OF THE SUN becoming the goofy THE EMPEROR'S NEW GROOVE, oh yeah that wouldn't be greeted too kindly. I'll throw in a Pixar example, too: Social media would've probably salivated over the "Black Friday" version of TOY STORY.

I thought I'd just make the comparison, lol.

[sunriseverse]

soooo about the dmbj sunrise au I read your iron triangle fic about it and the concept has me by the throat I would like to know more about the sunrise verse 👀 anything you feel like sharing

okay, let's see if i can do this in a manner that in any way makes sense, is organised, and is reasonably useful.

for starters, i'll toss over this introductory post, if you want a tl;dr that i made a bit ago (it is very abbreviated, and doesn't cover a majority of the verse beyond the barebones): sunrise at a glance.

i've been attempting to figure out a way to explain sunrise, and i think the best way to do it would probably be chronologically, starting from the effective beginning of history, as it pertains to rosemary and thyme. then i'll go a bit deeper into some world specifics, such as the martial sects, upgrading, and the politics of the zhang sect as it stands prior to the end of the sha hai parallel era. finally, i'll talk about some inspirations, both aesthetically and thematically.

PART ONE: the history

while technically the sunrise canon runs more or less parallel to real-world history up until slightly after the establishment of the mongol empire (565 before zhang reunification, abbreviated henceforth to BZ; real world equivalent somewhat varying depending on when you consider the mongol empire as having conquered china), once it diverges, it diverges rapidly. the yuan dynasty is founded in 448 BZ, and by 458 BZ, the first prototype silk-weaving machine is created, and rapidly thereafter (420 BZ) the first textiles factory is founded in chang'an (modern-day xi'an).

in 425 BZ, a pair of twins named zhang yihai and zhang yishan are born. due to their family's impoverishment, they're left at a daoist nunnery not long afterwards. they were trained in cultivation techniques from a young age, but were not considered remarkable enough to become disciples of any particular local master, and instead became wandering disciples, training sporadically under various independent masters in return for services rendered.

however, while they didn't become remarkable in this period of time, they were educated to a respectable level, both in cultivation techniques and scholarly arts. then, in 400 BZ, while travelling, they discovered a vase that was able to increase the abilities of anyone who held it. realising the potential of this artefact, they rendered it into an ink to create tattoos with, binding its abilities to their own bodies, and shortly after, created the zhang sect, the tattoos becoming the marker of the sect. unbeknownst to either twin, the vase was an artefact that had slipped into their world from a different world, and if they hadn't rendered it into an ink and bound it to themselves, carrying it would have aroused the attention of its original owners, the entity known as the hive. this binding also gave the zhang an innate ability to better resist hive-madness, ie brain damage caused by exposure to a humanly incomprehensible world and

for about five years, the zhang sect slowly rose in prominence, with zhang yihai and zhang yishan acting as co-leaders of the sect, known by a variety of titles (the most character-relevant being zyh's title of 锷女士 [e nvshi, lady of the blade/master above], and zys' title of 馥郁君 [fuyu-jun, lord of fragrant flowers]) . however, as time passed, the two siblings began to differ on what they wanted the role of their sect to be in the world—zhang yihai wanted the sect to be more martially-focused, aiding the people in a more immediate way, while zhang yishan felt the sect should be more scholarly, aiding the people by collecting and preserving knowledge, with the sect splitting roughly in half with which disciples sided with which sibling. In 400 BZ, tensions between the two siblings reached a boiling point, and the two came to blows—a fight which led to zhang yihai killing zhang yishan (partially due to the fact, which she didn't know at the time, that she was qilin-blooded and thus functionally immortal).

after realising what she'd done, zhang yihai took on the title of zhang qiling, as she was the only remaining member of her family, and carried her brother's body and performed his final rites. from that point on, she withdrew into seclusion, excepting for a brief period where she bore a child to continue the family lineage. without firm leadership, the zhang sect stagnated, faltering in its previous rise to prominence, and faded to a mostly unremarkable status, with its members split hereditarily from that point on either into hai or shan subjects, depending on which sibling their ancestors had aligned with.

in 360 BZ, the xie and hong families emerge. in 340 BZ, industrialisation accelerates, and the first steam engines are produced to power factory equipment. in 330 BZ the remaining jiumen families emerge, and align with the zhang sect.

in 300 BZ, wang zanghai compiles research on the zhang, and comes to believe that a hive artefact is responsible for their immortality. he artificially creates a rift in changbaishan in order to steal a hiveside artefact, but is killed in the process, with the artefact becoming lost.

in 200 BZ, the first steam engine train is created to allow for an efficient long-distance means of transporting goods. the first telephone is invented in the same year. in this window of time, the first people to find wang zanghai's notes on the zhang form the wang clan, vowing to bring the hive into the world, as they believe that this will allow immortality to be granted to all who come in contact with it. as the zhang are believed to be the enemy, they begin to infiltrate the jiumen.

in 120 BZ, the first automobile is invented. zhang ruitong, future leader of the zhang sect is born in 100 BZ. in 0 AZ, the ming dynasty is founded, and zhang ruitong succeeds in reuniting the zhang sect, as well as raising its status to that of foremost martial sect. in 85 AZ, xiaoge is born in tibet, and two years later in 87 AZ, hei xiazi is born in the chimkent (şymkent) area, a politically fraught region which will come under the control of the kazakh khanate, founded in 97 AZ.

in 95 AZ, an earthquake disturbs the hiveside artefact that wang zanghai stole, bringing it to the hive's attention, and the changbaishan rift begins to expand. as part of an agreement between the jiumen and the zhang sect, the xie heir is sent to fight the hive behind the rift. when the xie heir fails to return in the winter of 105 AZ, the jiumen renege on their agreement with the zhang, not wanting to lose any further heirs. the wang, embedded within the jiumen, begin to purposely open rifts, beginning the hive incursion. with zhang ruitong's death, xiaoge becoming sect leader, as well as the first zhang to undergo upgrading to become a ranger, and in spring of 105 AZ, the zhang elders form the first board to govern the sect, arguing that xiaoge is too inexperienced and busy with his responsibilities as a ranger to govern properly.

in 109 AZ, the first non-zhang sect, the gongsun sect, hosts a zhang ranger as the ranger programme expands. in 152 AZ, much of the lao jiumen are killed when qiu dekao trades the names of families with histories of grave-robbing to the government, as well as accusing them of wartime profiteering through the black-market sale of artefacts retrieved from hive-tainted areas. those that survive flee to beijing, where the jiumen become the jiumen association.

in 160 AZ, zhang qishan, better known as fo ye, heads the gutongjing research projects, an attempt to try and find a way to give immunity to hive-madness to zhang rangers through the study of a hive-touched species of snake, the heimaoshe. the project fails, but fo ye becomes aware of the wang, and trades zhang sect secrets in return for a reduction of rifts in the vicinity of his family, the somewhat estranged southern zhang. by 165 AZ, the zhang sect's influence is comparable to our world's mid-level nobility. by 170 AZ, the iron triangle have all been born (pangzi in 161 AZ, and wu xie in 169 AZ). the internet is invented in 169 AZ, and in 170 AZ, conscription of all qilin-blooded zhang sect members begins as the number of volunteers had dropped sharply in recent years. the same year, the zhang main board implements the first "kill switches" in upgrading procedures, allowing them to remotely terminate rangers if they are deemed a danger due to rift-madness. in 186 AZ, conscription is expanded again, this time to any zhang sect members of lower status whose positions are deemed non-essential.

in 190 AZ, the iron triangle meet. between 190 AZ and 195 AZ, the events of rosemary and thyme take place, and in 195 AZ, due to the discovery of anchoring as a method to make rangers' jobs no longer a death sentence, the draft is expanded again to include all adult zhang sect members, excluding those who hold high-level positions. in 197 AZ, xiaoge takes wu xie's place behind the rift in changbaishan. over the next ten years, a parallel to dmbj's ten year plan/sha hai takes place. unlike in dmbj canon, the reason wu xie kidnaps li cu is in order to find the lost wang hive artefact, which is drawn to innocence—something that wu xie, by this point, firmly lacks. in 206 AZ, the sha hai plan comes to a head, with the majority of the wang being destroyed. in the spring of 207 AZ, wu xie returns the artefact wang zanghai stole to the changbaishan rift, after which point the remaining rifts begin to naturally close as the hive is satisfied. in august of 207 AZ, xiaoge returns from hiveside, the iron triangle is reunited, and the hive incursion officially ends, ending zhang conscription, and xiaoge disolves the zhang boards, ending the sect's massive sociopolitical reign.

PART TWO: world specifics

part i: the zhang board, and sunrise as a dystopia

in the era of rosemary and thyme, ie the final years of the hive incursion, the zhang sect is not only incredibly powerful martially, but also politically. since the first hive incursion and the creation of the ranger programme, the zhang have been able to gain an unparalleled control over the martial world specifically, and the general populace more broadly. this is largely due to a number of facts: firstly, the zhang, as the only sect who produce rangers, are viewed as, and actively work to reinforce the view of themselves as, protectors of the empire. secondly, as areas become hive-poisoned after a rift is opened, the common people are encouraged to relocate to zhang-affiliated martial sect territories/compounds, as hive-poisoned areas remain dangerous for a long period after the rift is closed. the zhang-affiliated sects, aside from hosting rangers, also host subsets of the main zhang board, known collectively as "the zhang boards", comprised half of zhang, one quarter of the host sect, and one quarter of scientific and medical specialists, who are in charge of the ranger(s) each affiliated sect hosts.

in return for protection, those living in zhang-controlled areas must adhere to a number of zhang sect regulations. this includes the restriction of access to media that is labelled by the zhang main board as "anti-cause", including anything that criticises the zhang sect's power. this has led to the highly-lucrative, but also highly-dangerous, black-market for media such as film and literature, periodicals, the creation of pirate radio, and so forth. depending on the severity of what someone is reported as possessing, they can either be demoted and given restrictions, or they are given a hearing to determine a sentence, or, in extreme cases (such as being found to be actively associated with anti-zhang groups), exiled from the sect compound either for a set period of time or indefinitely.

zhang sect members are under stricter watch than the average zhang-affiliated person. rangers specifically are heavily monitored, especially in their access of non-sect created materials, and they are discouraged and punished for possessing any materials that may be interpreted as criticising the zhang main board, its marriage and reproductive policies, and its treatment of potential and active-duty rangers, especially any materials that may suggest the draft should not exist, or that the rangers and their families should be compensated for what is essentially a suicide job. for more "mid-level" crimes, forced confessions, similar to those of the 60s/70s in our world's china, are used as a way to reify the confessors of their position within the social and legal order, reinforce to others within the collective that they will be discovered and punished if they do not comply with zhang sect regulations, and communicate that noncompliance is harmful to the collective, ie the zhang sect as a whole.

in regards to marriage and reproductive policies, the zhang sect is incredibly strict within the sect. all of-age sect members are paired based on a number of factors, such as qilin blood status, place within the sect hierarchy, and history, both personal and familial, with compliance to the main board's policies. the aim of these pairings is to produce as many children as possible in order to maintain the ranger system, and thus the zhang board's power. while non-heterosexuality is not explicitly penalised, any sect member who shows resistance to marrying and producing offspring will face both social and legal pressure, and, in extreme cases, punishment in an effort to continue the zhang bloodlines. the only reason that xiaoge is allowed to maintain his relationship with the iron triangle is due to the fact that he is the first ranger and, at least in name, the leader of the sect, and the main board would risk losing power if they attempted to treat him in such a way, and, in this specific case, they would prefer for his family line to die out, since he survived the upgrading procedure all those decades ago despite their hopes, leaving them no possible rivals for control of the sect—and, even then, he faces unspoken pressure to minimise the nature of their relationship as much as possible.

part ii: upgrading, and the precarious position of living weapons

upgrading is the colloquial term used to describe the process which the zhang undergo in order to become rangers. during the process, the body is torn apart and replaced with an average of 60% tech, or "mechanics", a number which varies depending on the "generation" of rangers (xiaoge, and the first batch, would have been about 70%, while newer rangers hover around 55% as improvements in tech optimise the mechanics). this is all done without anaesthetic, as anaesthetic runs the risk of causing the body to be unable to integrate the mechanics properly. generally*, the zhang are the only ones with the training necessary to survive upgrading.

however, even the zhang are human, and their minds are not meant to be able to comprehend input from non-organic systems, even with a large portion of modern zhang training going towards trying to equip potential rangers to deal with this input. in an attempt to solve this problem, especially that of a ranger potentially risking not being able to interpret a warning from their mechanics of a failure, interfaces were created. this allows the ranger to pull up a number of systems, such as diagnostics and recommended courses of action, and in newer generations of rangers, interfaces even allow rangers to access predictions of results of a course of action based on damage/injury levels, control nanotech particles to disperse them to mitigate any critical injuries until a fight is completed, and so forth. the interface in a proper upgrade is implanted in the cerebral cortex. included within newer generations of interface implants are hard-coded the ability to receive a specific command from the zhang boards that allow them to remotely "put down" a ranger if they're deemed a threat—usually due to rift madness aggression, but there have been a number of times where the reason was more muddy; more than one ranger in only the early stages of rift madness was "put down" not long after they began to question the zhang board.

part iii: the exception to the rule

while generally only zhang are able to survive upgrading, there is one notable exception: that is, hei xiazi. however, as the only official method of upgrading is through procedures administered by the zhang. hei xiazi, though, realised early on that the money was quickly drying up in grave robbing and instead booming in the trade of hiveside artefacts, and, already cursed due to a previous tomb excursion, opted to undergo a black-market upgrade.

however, due to the fact that it was black-market, it was essentially a one-of-a-kind event, and one that was largely done with an understanding of zhang upgrades obtained through extrapolation of zhang abilities, and a small amount of study of rangers' corpses which had not been recovered by the sect in the early days due to physical distance. as such, hei xiazi's systems are......................unique, to put it lightly. his mechanics are exposed to the elements rather than being hidden beneath synthetic skin, and a lot of the more specialised pieces are often not what they should be, but rather the closest substitute—something that is a persistent issue, as demonstrated in whatever was left. especially of issue is his interface system—half the time it doesn't work, and it often displays errors for minor issues, or mislabels critical issues as minor ones, and generally is an annoyance. while zhang rangers' interfaces are designed to seamlessly integrate with their personal usage style, hei xiazi's interface is akin to a video game tutorial pop-up—bright red, and almost impossible to dismiss. an amusing issue hei xiazi deals with is that while zhang rangers' interfaces run on their own, specialised frequency, his runs on a separate one—one that, in some areas, is also used by niche pirate radio broadcasters, meaning he has to manually disable his interface entirely or suffer listening to whatever is being broadcast directly in his head. also, unlike zhang rangers, his systems whirr audibly—not loud enough to not fade into the background, but noticeable enough if you pay attention. he also tends to run hot.

part iv: zhang ranger duties, and power-plays of the boards

zhang rangers are assigned to specific sects, and the area that falls under that sect's control is what they are responsible for. if a rift opens in their host sect's territory, they are the ones dispatched to fight the hive and seal the rift. in some cases where a rift is larger than usual, rangers from nearby areas may be deployed to help in the effort, in which case they will use sense-sharing to synchronise their attacks. i wrote a more in-depth post on sensesharing, and therefore anchoring, here: a beginner's guide to anchoring. once a rift is closed, a ranger is summoned back to their host sect, where they are hooked up to a system that projects a recording of the fight for the sect's board to review their conduct, which also forces them to relive the memories as if they are happening again. while it's justified as searching for early signs of rift madness, it's also a thinly-veiled means of asserting board control over the rangers, and if the rangers are found in error, they can be disciplined or given restrictions. while ostensibly rangers are highly-respected warriors, honoured for their sacrifices for the people, the boards, and the zhang elders, see them as potential threats to their power.

part v: sha hai, the bronze gate, and wu xie's honed ruthlessness

as noted, wu xie chooses li cu specifically because of his innocence. while earlier in the ten year period, wu xie may have been able to find the wang zanghai artefact, due to the events of 205 BZ, this became an impossibility. in 205 BZ, in order to contain the rift in changbaishan, wu xie created the plans for the bronze gate, and contracted a team to construct it. once it was completed, in order to minimise the possibility of anyone discovering a weakness in the gate, and thus its abilities to contain the changbaishan rift and the hive, therefore creating a possibility for xiaoge to have to go behind the rift once more, wu xie not only destroyed the plans he had created for it, but also killed the entire team.

PART THREE: inspirations, acdemic reading i've done, and other mischellanea and closing remarks

it will come as no surprise that sunrise is inspired by the 2013 film pacific rim (dir. gdt). for a long time, i've wanted to create something that gave me the same amount of passion as that film gave me in 2018-2020, and the idea of drifting, in specific, is one that's always fascinated me. sunrise was intended to be a one-off, pacific rim-inspired, fanfic—and, since then, it's grown into something far larger, as evidenced by the fact that my reply to this ask is over 3k. it is no longer merely daomu biji with pacific rim added as a topping, but its own thing, which i spend a not insignificant amount of time thinking about, speculating on, and adding to not only weekly, but even daily. however, aside from pacific rim, there's a number of other pieces of media that have inspired me when it comes to sunrise—his dark materials by phillip pulman, bad and crazy (2021), and the ascendant trilogy by k arsenault rivera are all works that have, in one way or another, shaped me, both as a child and now, as an adult, and impacted my writing. more generally, science fiction as a genre and explorations of dystopian fiction have heavily informed me in creation and in writing sunrise.

my tagline for the verse on ao3 is simple: the blade that cuts your chains still cuts another’s neck. sunrise is meant to be not just one story, but rather a world in which stories exist—stories which impact both the characters, and the others in the world they live in. things that seem like victories at first turn out to be tragedies for others—anchoring saves xiaoge's life, and the lives of other rangers, but also causes the expansion of the ranger's draft, putting countless other, previously-safe, sect members at risk. wu xie's construction of the bronze gate ensures the hive will remain contained—but it costs the lives of the entire team of builders to ensure that safety. the good of the many does not outweigh the good of the few; sunrise is not a world of black and white, but rather shades of grey.

besides media influences, sunrise has also benefited greatly from my own delving into academic texts. i'm lucky enough to now have access to an almost unmatched library of texts on chinese history, and historical society, culture, and a thousand other things, at least in the united states. while the texts i've read may not have had obvious impacts upon the world of sunrise, they've allowed me to better build the world of sunrise into a living, breathing thing in my mind. of the texts i've read, i've most appreciated food and environment in early and medieval china (e. n. anderson) and sexuality in china: histories of power and pleasure (howard chiang). i'm on break at the moment and also plan on reading the development of chinese martial arts fiction in order to solidify my portrayal of wuxia in sunrise.

sunrise has also allowed me to experiment with narrative in ways i had not done previously—both in terms of linearality, and in terms of perspective. all sunrise instalments so far are told in a non-linear format, and the next instalment i am (very slowly) working on includes both third and second person povs.

there is a large amount of miscellanea included in my lore notes, but it's largely specific to pairings rather than the overall world of sunrise, and so has therefore been committed. hopefully, this has been a decent exploration and explanation of the 'verse. however, i am always open to further questions, so if you have something specific you want to ask, please, feel free! and thank you, once again, @child-of-the-fairy-folk for asking me about sunrise :)

#ask #sunrise verse #this is over 3.8k TT.TT i am so sorry #c.txt

[schrijverr]

Mr. Kaspbrak's Office

Eddie and Richie seen through the eyes of Eddie’s secretary, Maria, as she slowly uncovers more of her boss’ private life.

On AO3.

Ships: Richie x Eddie

Warnings: none

~~~~~~~~~

Maria was the secretary of the old LA department manager before he is replaced by Mr. Kaspbrak, who keeps her on as secretary, because she obviously functions well within the company thus he sees no reason to replace her.

She appreciated him for letting her keep her job, however that does not mean she is ready to work with Mr. Kaspbrak. If she is honest, Mr. Kaspbrak is a mystery and a stern mystery at that. He has been her boss for six weeks now, which means she knows all his habits and oddities. Currently she is ordering lunch from the list of approved places, making sure to put in careful instructions as to how the food is supposed to be prepared and send over.

It’s not that Mr. Kaspbrak is rude to people working lower wage jobs that his, she has discovered, he is just very particular. The same way he carries hand sanitizer everywhere he goes and has a handkerchief to open doors with or push elevator buttons.

Mr. Kaspbrak is a clean man.

But that is not the only odd thing about him. If Mr. Kaspbrak was merely a tad too clean and particular then Maria would count her blessings and continue on. As stated before, Mr. Kaspbrak is a mystery, which shouldn’t be possible for her, since her job is literally to manage his time.

Yet in his Google calendar most of his nights are blocked out in a color coded system that simple states busy with no further explanation. She is sure there must be a system, but she can’t figure out why or what. It is even more irritating, since all of his other appointments and meetings are in another color coded system, but all of those are clearly labeled in a system Mr. Kaspbrak had made her learn. So, why did it only apply to business?

Yeah, yeah, she understood that Mr. Kaspbrak is obviously a private person, but she can’t help the curiosity that clings to her.

It is not just how private he is or how clean that makes that curiosity worse, the fact is that Mr. Kaspbrak is a mystery to a bigger extend. He has a scar across his cheek and walks with a cane, something he never comments on. The rumor mill has it he is a mafia boss on the side, something that isn’t helped with his New York accent intermingled with words that belong in neither LA or NYC and the intense look he gets in his eyes or how he can snap if someone messes up.

Maria herself doesn’t believe these rumors, of course. Mr. Kaspbrak is her boss and she would never think any sort of thing about him when he pays her well and treats her with more respect than most other senior workers. A boss, who looks at her eyes instead of her boobs and doesn’t make weird comments about her immigrant status is a win in her book, so she won’t participate in that sort of gossip.

However, he does not make it easy for her. It’s the sixth week and she gets a call. Like always she picks up with: “Mr. Kaspbrak’s office, this is Maria Rivera speaking. How can help you?”

There is a snort over the line as someone mutters in an amused voice: “Mr. Kaspbrak.”

Unable to help the little offense on her overall good boss’ behalf, she says: “Sorry, but is there anything I can help you with?” in a pointed voice that tells whoever is there that she will hang up if he does not.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” the voice says and Maria thinks she has heard it before, wracking her brain to place it. “Eds left something important looking by the door. Knowing him, he’s probably talking himself into a breakdown trying to find it.”

“Something important?” Maria repeats. “I’m sorry, I can take your message, but I need more information than that, sir. What is your name?”

“Oh you can just connect me through to him,” the voice says casually as if it’s that easy. “I have no idea how to describe what I’m looking at other than ink on paper. And you don’t have to bother with the whole sir thing, I promise.”

“Alright, uhm, can you try and describe it better?” Maria asks, not just wanting to bother Mr. Kaspbrak without it being necessary.

“Well, it is a manila file with papers in it,” the man tells her in an unhelpful manner, though he is obviously trying, because he gives up with a sigh and asks again: “Can you just put me through?”

“I can ask, if he has the time,” Maria resigns herself to having to bother Mr. Kaspbrak and hopes it is truly important. “What is your name, sir?”

“Tell him his favorite trashcan is calling,” the voice says.

“Sir,” Maria replies in a ‘please be serious’-tone.

“I am quite serious about that,” the voice replies in an equally stubborn tone. “And please, no sir for me.”

Maria argues for a little longer, then decides that this might be above her pay grade. A mysterious caller, who uses a code name and claims that her very organized boss forgot something important. It sounds ludicrous, but if Mr. Kaspbrak is in the mafia, she’s not getting involved.

“Please hold for a moment, sir,” she informs the man on the line, before putting him on hold and getting out of her chair to knock on Mr. Kaspbrak’s office door, crossing her finger that he is in a good mood.

“Come in,” he calls, sounding annoyed. Not good.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” she opens the door where Mr. Kaspbrak is standing, surrounded by all the stuff from his bag, as if he is trying to locate something important. The call is starting to look more and more legit. “Someone is on the line for you. Says you left something and told me to tell you the caller is your favorite trashcan. He wouldn't give me a proper name, sorry, sir.”

She expects Mr. Kaspbrak to get angry with her and send her away, instead he surprises her by smiling. Actually smiling. He rarely does that. Then he says: “Connect him through, thank you, Ms. Rivera.”

“I will, sir,” she tells him before returning to her desk. She hears the phone ring for only a second, then she hears Mr. Kaspbrak say: “Please tell me you are looking at my files from the Lemmin Inc. assessment,” before the door falls shut.

Safe to say, her curiosity is piqued. And yeah, she knows that she should just ignore this weird instance, never talk or think about it and hope it isn’t anything she can end up in a ditch about if she ever does.

However, then Mr. Kaspbrak has the audacity to leave his office after he hangs up, which never happens without it being on the schedule, coming back with the file and looking happier and relaxed than she has ever seen him at that time in the day. Not to mention that Mr. Trashcan as she named him in her heads starts to call more often.

The second time it happens she doesn’t fight him on not giving her a name, since Mr. Kaspbrak obviously hadn’t minded the first time. The third time Mr. Kaspbrak told her to just connect him through if he called, never giving her any more information than that.

Whenever Mr. Trashcan calls she can hear Mr. Kaspbrak laughing, like whatever is being said is funny enough to crack through the professional exterior. Maria doesn’t believe that anyone calling himself someone’s favorite trashcan had a sophisticated sense of humor to make Mr. Kaspbrak laugh.

But it isn’t just that. Mr. Kaspbrack often leaves after his calls, as if that is a thing he does. Spoiler, he doesn’t! Yet for Mr. Trashcan he leaves, often making her cancel the lunch order she just carefully put in.

It’s enough to make her curious. Very curious.

A part of her wants to ask. She has been working for Edward, as she is allowed to call him now, for six months already now. Half a year is long enough to be able to ask about your boss’ private life, right?

Yet Maria knows that for Edward it isn’t. He doesn’t like mixing his domestic life with business. Last week an intern asked if he was from Maine when he let ‘Ahuy’ slip and Edward raised such a pointed brow and told the intern that it was not relevant information for him to know, so why in the world was he wasting Edward’s time with asking it? The intern nearly cried.

Afterwards she saw him doing breathing exercises in his office. If the question if he’s from Maine is enough to make him do breathing exercises to calm his anger down, she can’t imagine how her questions about Mr. Trashcan will land.

So, she keeps connecting his calls through to Edward’s office and feeling curious. She tells her sister all about it when she calls her, the two of them gossiping like they always used to when they were kids.

Her sister wants her to ask, claiming it is better to know and get out now, before she is called out to bury a body. Though Maria suspects it is more because she has made her curious and she wants Maria to ask to satiate her own curiosity as well.

However, the theory that Mr. Trashcan is Edward’s lover that her sister concocted always makes her laugh. She can’t imagine Edward falling for someone like Mr. Trashcan.

Obviously she doesn’t know Mr. Trashcan at all and Edward barely all things considered, but Mr. Trashcan always makes stupid jokes or does silly voices when he calls, sounding like he is in the middle of some odd happening too. She can’t picture him next to stern, orderly, clean Edward, even if he were gay, which she thinks is a possibility. Edward wouldn't tell anyone at work if he were, that much is clear.

Still, whenever the phone rings she wonders if it’s him. Wants to ask. Burns to know more. But she doesn’t, she likes her job.

After seven months of working for Edward, however, she gets some more information. The phone rings and she picks up with her standard greeting: “Mr. Kaspbrak’s office, this is Maria Rivera speaking. How can help you?”

“Ah, Maria, hi,” Mr. Trashcan greets her.

“Hi, sir,” she replies with a friendly smile. He calls often enough that she knows him well enough to warrant, though she rigorously sticks with sir, fearing that she’ll slip up and call him Mr. Trashcan to his face one of these days. “Edward is in his office.”

“It’s still hilarious you call him Edward,” Mr. Trashcan says and it makes her wonder if Edward is even his name. A small ridiculous part of her wouldn't put it past him.

Electing to ignore the strange comment, she says: “I’ll put you through.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Trashcan says, before she pushes the right buttons.

As always she hears the phone ring for a second. However, unlike always Eddie doesn’t pick up, instead the phone rings until it goes still. Concerned, since this has never happened, Maria gets up and knocks on Edward’s door.

“Come in,” she hears Edward call out.

She pushes open the door, unsure of how to say this now that she has been let in. She opens the door to find Edward completely fine, which is a relief. A part of her had imagine him lying on the floor having a heart attack, something that seemed almost more likely than him not picking up the phone in a businesslike manner. Then she says: “You had a call, sir. Did it not go through right?”

“Oh, it did. I’m busy and I didn’t expect a call,” Edward tells her, indeed surrounded by stacks of work that only ever seem to grow. “Who was it?”

“Uhm, your- your favorite trashcan?” Maria answers, phrasing it like a question, because there is no other way to indicate who was on the line.

“Fuck,” Edward curses, something that has never happened, before digging his cellphone out of his bag, which he keeps in there as to not distract him while he works.

Maria stands on the threshold for a few seconds, unable to move and just staring at her boss. She has never seen Edward swear, or do anything unprofessional like it. He rarely doesn’t pick up calls and he never frantically digs out his phone, which he keeps away so it won’t distract him. Whoever Mr. Trashcan is, he might be more important to Edward than Maria first thought.

It is only when Edward holds the phone up to his ear anxiously that she snaps out of it and quickly retreats back to her desk. She vaguely hears: “I’m so sorry,” in a tone she has never heard Edward use.

Another fucking layer to the mystery.

At least until the next time Mr. Trashcan calls. As always she picks up professionally: “Mr. Kaspbrak’s office, this is Maria Rivera speaking. How can help you?”

“Hi, Maria,” Mr. Trashcan greets pleasantly.

“Hi, sir,” she replies. “I’ll connect you to the office.”

“Wait,” Mr. Trashcan says.

Maria halts, she has never saw this coming and is a little cautious about what Mr. Trashcan might want from her. So, a little apprehensively she asks: “What can I help you with, sir?”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Mr. Trashcan answers. “I know I said that before, kind of gave up on it for a bit, thought you were really stubborn. But Eddie, sorry, Edward,” Mr Trashcan snorts, interrupting his own seemingly senseless rambling, “just – well not just, but last time I called – he said you still referred to me as trashcan, which explains a lot. And I mean, it’s not terribly off, but it’s just stupid. Eddie can get a little weird. I get it though, but still. Fuck, I’m rambling.”

“Just a little, uhm, sir?” she adds, unable not to despite just being told it was unnecessary. She has been trained to be polite.

“Ah yes, that,” Mr. Trashcan exclaims. “Just call me Richie, I’m Richie. None of that sir stuff. And nice to meet you, kind of. Sorry.”

Richie.

Richie.

Maria has a name for Mr. Trashcan. It might not seem like much, but after seven months under Edward, she finally has a first name of the person, who calls the most. She grins and it might be obvious in her voice, but she doesn’t care as she replies: “It is nice to sort of meet you, Richie. Shall I put you through to Edward?”

“Yes, please,” Richie says gleefully, which doesn’t dissuade Maria’s smile as she puts him through to the office. His enthusiasm for her boss is kind of cute, if she’s honest. She hopes that her sister is right and that if there is something there, they hold on to it.

As she hears the familiar ringing that is cut off by Edward’s greeting, she turns the newly acquired information in her head. Richie. Mr. Trashcan is Richie, somewhere in her brain there is a connection, she thinks, but it escapes her.

Then she is reminded of another aspect of the conversation. Richie called Edward Eddie. It is almost comical to imagine anyone calling her boss such a nickname, yet there it was. It rolled easily off his tongue, thus must be used often. Wild.

Richie and Eddie. Her boss and his caller. She knows that now. Knows something private. It feels like she has a foot in the door.

It should be a little weird how badly she wants to know about her boss’ private life. Maybe it even is a little weird, but Maria can’t help it. She has moved away from her family and isn’t the most social herself either. This is the closest thing she has. Besides, being a secretary is mostly boring and nothing is more entertaining than imagining wild scenarios of a childhood filled with adventure and thrill for her boss, who wouldn’t come close to dirt unless he absolutely had to.

So, she cuts herself some slack about the oddness of her behavior and looks forwards to the next time Richie calls, wondering if she’ll get more information.

And she does!

Now that Richie has introduced himself to her, he stays to chat more often before being patched through to Edward. He is quite funny, but also asks after her well being and her day, which is a nice change from the corporate soulless being she often talks to.

Over the course of three months she learns that Edward swims, because he wants to do cardio, but running is out for him. His cane is due to an injury of some sort, since Richie refers to Edward being hospitalized, which is crazy. Edward also likes to read.

All in all, the list isn’t long, but it is something. Maria’s boss is slowly become more human all by a voice, for which she doesn’t have a face nor an indication of how he relates to Edward, just that he calls and makes him laugh and often leave.

Richie is also a mystery, but less so. Despite the fact that she knows even less about the man, he is so open when he talks that she feels like she knows more about him than she does. She knows about his visits to the coffee shop near him and his neighbors, but not what he does or how he knows Edward.

His voice is also familiar. At this point she isn’t sure that is because she heard it somewhere else or because she heard Richie so often. It is like he settled in alongside Edward, getting more comfortable calling more often as Edward got more comfortable at the company.

In short, her boss and the company he keeps, give her something to focus on as she slowly colors in the picture of who they are.

A big chuck of the picture is filled in, a lot of pieces clicking together, when she finally meets Richie in person. Not only that, but also sees Edward interacting with Richie, beyond the fact he picks up the phone and knows him by trashcan.

She has been working under Edward for the past ten months when it happens. They have been swamped by a big one and everyone has been working late. Maria doesn’t think Edward has gone home, except for the fact that he has a clean suit on each day.

The phone rings and she mentally crosses her fingers that it isn’t more work that she has to send Edward’s way. She likes her boss, despite the particularities. “Mr. Kaspbrak’s office, this is Maria Rivera speaking. How can help you?” she picks up.

“Maria, hello,” Richie greets her.

“Hi Richie,” she replies, mentally preparing for what she has to tell him. “I am so sorry, Edward is very busy right now. He is not accepting calls at the moment.”

It’s quiet for a second, then Richie asks: “He has been eating alright, right? Not skipping lunch breaks to work himself to the bone?”

“I don’t think I am allowed to give you that information,” she says apologetically, able to hear how concerned Richie sounds and thinking off all the half- or un-eaten lunches she has had to throw away.

“Fucking hell,” Richie mutters, not directed at her it seems, because he then says: “That is understandable, thank you, Maria. What floor is his office on again?”

“The 30th,” Maria answers, before realizing the implication.

“Alright, thank you,” Richie says and hangs up before she can ask more. It leaves her sitting there dazed and confused.

She wonders if she guessed correctly that he is coming by to check up on Edward. Her sister’s voice speculating about them being lovers echoing in her mind. Then immediately she wonders if Edward would allow such treatment during such a busy time and if she should warn him.

Maria looks back to the office. She can almost hear the frantic typing and see the thunderstorm above his head. Honestly, she doesn’t really need an angry snapping. If Edward is to let his frustration out on someone, let it be Richie.

So, she goes back to her work and tries to convince herself that she made the right decision, before trying to convince herself she misinterpreted his words.

However, twenty minutes later someone steps off the elevator that obviously does not fit into the office, which makes her question that. He is tall, scruffy and dressed in an odd print shirt with novelty socks peaking up from his beat up sneakers.

The fact that he looks like a college student hit by an aging beam, makes that it takes a second before she realizes that she has seen this man before. Because the man walking down the hall is Richie Tozier, America’s favorite Trashmouth.

Suddenly it all makes sense and at the same time it totally doesn’t.

What Maria means is that Richie makes sense. Mr. Trashcan. It clicks why Edward would recognize that name in relation to Richie. Why he wouldn’t just give her his name, hell he has just been nominated for an Emmy for that Bill Denbrough adaptation, of course he wouldn't want some random secretary to have his number. It now also makes sense why he is always making jokes. It is quite literally his job.

What absolutely doesn’t make sense is why Richie Tozier knows her stern boss. Nor why Richie makes time in his probably equally busy schedule to call so much. Nor why he is coming to check up on her boss.

Another fucking mystery.

The fact that Richie came out as gay after a two year disappearance flashes through her brain alongside her sister’s voice. But the idea of the man, who thinks asking someone if they’re from Maine is unprofessional, being together with someone, who tells dick jokes for a living, seems absurd. Plus that still leaves the question of how they met.

Yet there he is and very few other explanations spring to mind as he comes closer and closer with her trying to hide her shock behind some professionalism. “Mr. Tozier,” she squeaks, when he gets to her desk.

Richie laughs a bit awkwardly, but smiles kindly: “Ah, so you caught onto that. Sorry for being odd on the phone, I felt like I was in a terrible spy movie.”

“Totally understandable, sir,” she replies.

“Please stop with the sir,” Richie says. “And Richie is fine too, I promise. I’m more laid back than Eddie over there.” He nods to the closed door, Edward hasn’t noticed him through the glass wall, still furiously working.

Maria remembers this is her job and tells Richie: “I can let Edward know you’re here, but he might not be open to visitors at this time. This might be a wasted trip.”

Richie smiles as if he knows something she doesn’t. However, she has gotten used to not knowing something during her time under Edward, so she takes it in stride as Richie requests she alerts Edward to his presence anyway.

So, she gets up and knocks on Edward’s door as she opens it. He looks up with a snap and grimaces apologetically as she says: “There is a visitor here for you.”

“That’s not on the schedule,” Edward frowns.

“I know, but-” she starts, before she is cut off.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie exclaims behind her, waving manically. “I have sat through all your lectures about proper nutrition and how bad stress is for you, so I am here to repeat them to you over lunch. Get packing, dickhead.”

Maria is sure her eyes are falling out of their sockets, they must be by how she is staring at Richie, because he is insane. No one calls Edward Eddie, what is he thinking with Eddie Spaghetti or dickhead. Not to mention that pulling him away from his work is neigh impossible, trust her, she’s been trying for nearly a year.

However, instead of exploding Edward chuckles. Chuckles! Maria looks back around to see the most unlikely look on Edward’s face, a relaxed grin is right there on his lips and he looks fondly at Richie. When he replies, it is equally out of character. “Like you can repeat what I told you in any way, fucker. You tell dick jokes for a living.”

“You love my dick jokes, besides your mom said I was pretty close to you when we were making sweet sweet love last night,” Richie shoots back.

“Don’t you think you should stop those jokes now that she’s dead?” Edward asks, a revelation which is horrifying to Maria, but both men are smiling fondly, so she decides to try and disappear into the background.

“I stop the moment it stops being funny,” Richie defends himself.

“It was never funny.”

“Agree to disagree,” Richie shrugs. “Now get up, I’m hungry.”

“Your treat,” Edward surprises Maria by getting up without protest, shrugging on his coat, before turning to her. “Maria, please tell anyone that comes by to come back later. I am out for lunch. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Make it 45,” Richie protests.

“Alright, 45,” Edward gives in with an easy smile, stepping into Richie’s space with a familiar ease that makes Maria’s heart ache in a good way.

She suddenly realizes that her sister was right as she watches Richie throw an arm around her boss, which gives him a blush, though he doesn’t shrugs the arm off, instead leaning into it. She also realizes that right now, she is not looking at her boss. She is looking at Eddie, Richie’s boyfriend, who usually doesn’t exists on the work floor.

Being allowed to witness this is a privilege. He is letting her see a more private part of himself, something he doesn’t allow anyone else at work. It gives her a sense of accomplishment, so she gives him an assuring smile and says: “Of course, sir. I can try to move your two o’clock and get you an hour and a half.”

Eddie looks between his desk and Richie with anguish, trying to decide which he should prioritize with the pressure everyone is under right now. Then Richie nudges him and softly says that it’s okay, which is enough for Eddie to say: “That would be great, thank you.”

“No problem, sir,” she responds, before sitting at her desk and grabbing the phone, trying to make it seem she is focusing on that instead of watching the two men leave.

Richie dives into some elaborate story it seems and Eddie is laugh at some points, raising his eyebrow at others and seemingly arguing as well. It’s a little odd, but they look happy and domestic. It’s sweet really.

Maria doesn’t think she will ever fully solve the mystery that is Edward Kaspbrak. However, he kept her on, because she functions well and she is grateful for that. Beyond that, he has proven himself to be a good boss and she likes working for him.

If functioning under Eddie means keeping gossip away and creating lunchtime with his boyfriend, later husband, during busy periods, then that’s just fine with her.

Maybe he’ll tell her how he met famous comedian Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier when they’ve been working together for ten years. She doesn’t get her hopes up, but a girl can dream.

~~

A/N:

For those who read my Suits fic, yes Lemmin Inc. is back, whoooo

Also I love POV Outsider fics, they are so so good and I have read all of them and I needed more, so here I am, enabling myself xppp

#rr writing #it 2017 #it 2019 #it stephen king #reddie #OCs #outsiders pov #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #richie x eddie #post it chapter 2 #eddie kaspbrak lives

[trisscar368]

Jonathan Harker is misquoting Hamlet.

“Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant when he made Hamlet say:—

"My tablets! quick, my tablets!

'Tis meet that I put it down," etc.,

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.”

The passage in question is from Act 1, scene 5 (line 107 to be precise).

Yea, from the table of my memory

I'll wipe away all trivial fond records,

All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,

That youth and observation copied there;

And thy commandment all alone shall live

Within the book and volume of my brain,

Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven!

O most pernicious woman!

O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!

My tables,--meet it is I set it down,

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain

Hamlet here has just been confronted by the ghost of his father the King, and told that his mother the Queen helped his Uncle to kill his father. He’s had a very similar realization to dear Jonathan that something is deeply, unnaturally wrong. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark Transylvania, and the supernatural walks the earth.

Now prior to the play beginning, Hamlet was a student at Wittenberg, which is a university town in Germany (where Martin Luther and many reformers taught, and known as the home of one Doctor Johannes Faust). The tables he’s referencing are writing tables - a rather ingenious erasable notebook. The pages were covered in wax, and you could make notes with a metal stylus and then wipe the page clean with a wet sponge. When Hamlet was written there were no graphite pencils (pensils, which are mentioned prior to that era, were a type of paintbrush) and fountain pens wouldn’t be invented till the 1700s. If you were going to write something in ink you needed someplace to sit; a writing table was portable, like Jonathan’s journal. But they were expensive to make, and by the 1890s the technology was long forgotten. [x]

So dear Jonathan is misquoting a passage about memory and note taking, saying now he understands why taking writing things down is so important. But Jonathan doesn’t have the history to understand what those “tablets” actually were. That was lost when modern technology came about. And he doesn’t understand what Hamlet is doing.

It’s easy in context to understand that the reference is to school and note taking, but you must have the whole instead of just the one line to see the picture. Hamlet is replacing his prior life with this new knowledge and commandment (avenge me!), he is rewriting himself and starting down a dangerous path. He’s been exposed to a horror and it’s changed the genre of his life.

That is very accurate. Jonathan just doesn’t understand yet. Nor does he understand how applicable the passage is to the Count - one may smile, and smile, and still be a villain. All the politeness and courtesies Dracula extends hides something dangerous.

It’s very in theme with the novel - it’s not until Mina and Jonathan begin to gather all the letters and journals, putting together the context, that they understand what they’re dealing with. Something forgotten, something lost when the world modernized.

——

Now, there is a Doyleist reason that Jonathan is misquoting this passage - reportedly a friend of Stoker’s, Henry Irving, insisted on the line being said thus during his performances of Hamlet. Irving was rather well known for misquoting Shakespeare and his performances sound … colorful, to say the least. So there is at least one reference to a man who sounds very like a certain Count slapping on a mustache to pretend to be a carriage driver :D

#dracula daily #shakespeare may be one of my obsessions lol #it is unfortunate entirely in character that I’m writing meta about this damn book >.< #dracula meta #long post

[ranchthoughts]

Thai QL Favorites Tag Game

Tagged by @telomeke, @chickenstrangers, and @wen-kexing-apologist (thanks!! <3)

Credit also: this game was created by @thatgirl4815 as Thai BL Favorites Tag Game.

Once again, I am forced to make decisions (!!) about media... this is so hard.

Favourite Thai QL:

Bad Buddy was made for me in a lab I think, the way it checks all my boxes. I also have a deep enduring love for MSP.

Favourite Pairing:

(Like many others, interpreting this as favourite pair of fictional characters) Pat and Pran's dynamic is everything to me. The teasing, the understanding, the care, the commitment to the bit...

Most Underrated Actor:

I do not feel qualified to discuss the quality of acting, nor whether or not people are underrated... but I will throw my hat in the ring for Fluke Pusit (he does what he needs to do! Would be interesting to see him anchor a series like Gawin has gotten to with Be My Favourite)... and pretty much every woman ever in a BL.

Favourite Character:

Oof oof oof. So many are near and dear to my heart. The ones who occupy the most brain space are Pat (Bad Buddy), Gun (MSP), and Li Ming (Moonlight Chicken).

Favourite Side Character:

Sending love to Li Ming (technically a side character?). Ink from Bad Buddy; love her, love her relationshisp with the other characters. I also was unreasonably delighted by Sky (as someone who didn't vibe with most of the rest of SCOY).

Favourite Scene:

Completing this tag game is teaching me I need to keep detailed lists of everything, because I forget.

Bad Buddy ep 5 fight scene and rooftop confession scene, of course. Thanks to @chickenstrangers for reminding me about my beloved, the ep 11 Chinzhilla fight scene in MSP (the emotions were perfect, everyone was acting their hearts out, I've rewatched this sequence in isolation multiple times).

Ooh also @kattahj reminded me of how much I love the scenes with Li Ming and Jim in Moonlight Chicken - the rage, the love, the passing of the torch...

And @lurkingshan reminded me of the sniffing scene in ITSAY... god the atmosphere and ambience and TENSION was out of this world. The scene of Teh and Ohaew airing out their feelings in the hammock is another amazing scene.

Shout out also to any and all scenes involving Vee and Dome in You're My Sky, especially the hands scene and the looking across the river scene. Love that they just kept starring in short queer films.

Favourite Line:

I'm not the type of person who notes specific lines of dialogue (and if I do, I rarely remember them for things like this).

The ones that stick with me thus are those that get repeated a lot by others - Pat and Pran's "Do you want to be friends?" "No" and "You've got to stop doing this to me" are powerful and so revealing about the characters and their dynamic. Shout out also to @wen-kexing-apologist 's list of lines about being weak around each other, those are always sweet.

Most Anticipated:

Only Friends. Mixing pairs? 👀 Sluts? 👀 First and Khaotung AND Neo AND Mark AND Force and Book? 👀

Healthiest Relationship:

Pat and Pran - their balance between bits and genuine care is wonderful

Tinn and Gun - sweethearts fumbling their way into their first relationship, with a maturity beyond their years

Most Toxic Relationship:

I mean, there's a lot of relationships in QLs that I don't think would work all that well in real life, but I do tend to suspend my disbelief while watching the shows and thus can't think of many examples now.

I mean, VegasPete is not what one would consider "healthy" and neither are TharnType... not a huge fan of the convoluted lies or inequalities the relationships of AkkTheo (Enchanté) or PuenTalay (Vice Versa) are born from... ?

Guilty Pleasure:

I like taking pieces I like out of every show I watch, regardless of quality or how "problematic" it is, so I don't really feel guilty about any of them? Shows that are controversial or oft-disliked by others that I latched on to in some way: Enchanté, Vice Versa, The Shipper (wait, is that QL?)

Most Underrated:

I mean, everyone has said it but: He's Coming to Me

I'm also going to throw my hat in the ring for You're My Sky - people are talking about this on the dash now and I'm very happy

I think pretty much everyone has done this game at this point, but if you haven't, here is your open invitation to do so! Love to see what people think

#ranch reviews #tag game #thai ql tag game

[eager-wolfboy]

For the Unusual NSFW asks:

(Answer to you own comfortability!)

4 - Genie granted you three NSFW wishes. What are you wishing for?

14 - What body part would you worship on other people to the end of time because NGHHHH?

22 - What’s a toy you’d love to use? Why?

32 - What is your most unusual turn on?

41 - What’s the best orgasm you had in past months?

46 - What scent do you find arousing?

Bonus questions:

1 - Are you satisfied with your sex life? If not, what would you change? If yes, is there something you would still like to improve to make it even better?

3 - Did you find out something new about yourself?

My own questions:

Are there question(s) you were hoping to answer? If yes, which one(s)?

I've seen you around my notifs and want to make an effort to be be more social! On the chance I shall return, may I go by 👑 anon?

Hehe, I did answer all of these, but I’m a yapper, so it’s all under the cut. Thank you for sending them!!!

General Questions

Genie + 3 wishes:

I tried my best to pitch these like an actual genie was going to fuck me over if I worded these wrong, haha

I want a strap (the dildo, not the gun kind) and a matching harness. The harness will perfectly fit anyone who wears it, however they choose to wear it, and it will be effortless to slip on and off per their desire. When they wear the strap, it can transform into anything they desire the strap to be. When they wear it, the sensation of the strap will travel to its wearer as if the strap were a part of their body. The strap can be removed from the harness, and if someone is touching/holding it with intention, the same powers apply. When someone wears the harness only, without the strap, the ring where the strap usually sits can transform into any hole the wearer desires, and the sensations travel to the wearer. Essentially, I wish for a shape-shifting dildo and harness for me and all my peeps to use, to get insurmountable levels of euphoria, hehe

Whenever I need it, brand new quality condoms and lube (i.e. not expired, no rips or holes, still in its packaging, hasn’t been used before) that is proper for the context of the scenario (i.e. if we use the shapeshifting dildo, then shapeshifting condoms would appear) will appear somewhere I will effortlessly find without shame of retrieving it (i.e. they cannot be high on a shelf, or appear in front of my family during dinner, etc)

…I want the genie to have sexual intercourse with me, per their consent. The sex cannot begin without full honest disclosure of boundaries and protective barriers like safe words, aftercare procedures, plans for the acts, etc. No matter what, both parties must treat each other with respect before, during, and after the sex. The both parties are obligated to stay until both parties have been properly recovered/taken care of after the intercourse, in all regards. If either of us wanted a repeat, the other party is easy to contact and discuss with, per our respective consents.

Body part I worship:

Uhh hm. I don’t quite know yet; everytime I’ve seen a body I find attractive thus far, everything has had equal magnetism

I suppose I’ll say the neck area? I’m really into marking and stuff like that, and doing that right next to someone’s ear sounds deliciously devious, hehe

Toy you’d love to use:

The desperate playthings that wanders onto my page.

Something controlled by an app so anyone in the world could play with me flusters me to no end (I’m a bit of an attention whore). I’ve wanted a knotted dildo for as long as I’ve known they’ve existed. I have wolf ears and I’d really like a matching tail

And y’know, the all-powerful shapeshifting dildo/strap I made for the genie question would be pretty baller too, bwahahaha

Unusual turn on:

…well, pen ink is probably the most bizarre, but I’m making you read the arousing scent question for that explanation, hehe

But in terms of fantasy stuff, I kind of forget what counts as unusual? My brain is rotten from the internet age, bwahaha. Sometimes my brain wonders if porn has been made for a certain niche so I’ll look that up and sometimes it ends up being arousing. Oh, like dick biting! That was an impulse search, and I mean, I wouldn’t actually bite someone’s genitals at risk of hurting them, but there’s something so…. real to me about the thought?

I mean, blowjobs use your mouth. A mouth that isn’t really made for that activity. It’s designed to daily bite and tear through flesh, or even just tough food/material (shoutout to the vegans hehe). We have teeth that specialize in stabbing and grinding, our jaws are made to snap closed and maim, and the saliva of our tongues, that beloved “wet, warm heat”, is really used to destroy whatever touches it on a molecular level. And all of that is tucked away or ignored for a shared pleasure. But, at any time, I or my partner(s) could just “chomp!” and it’s game fucking over and. We just choose not to. It’s… powerful, and hot

Best orgasm:

This past weekend, I was on the phone and got teased by my friends, and I couldn’t sleep, so after the call ended I fucked myself for hours. It felt soooo good; I’m squirming just thinking about it. I finally had access to a toy and the fullness wasn’t just good, it was downright relieving, haha. And I didn’t want the fun to end so I just kept edging myself and fuck, I was so desperate for it by the end, I couldn’t stop my little whimpers and pleas for more. My entire body was tingling after I gave myself permission too

Arousing scent:

okokokokokokokoo hear me out… benzaldehyde. It’s is a common, natural chemical in cherries and almonds and apple seeds, and is a rather large solvent component in pen ink and perfumes.

How did I learn this? Well, about a year ago, I found a ballpoint pen. And it smelled. Reeeeally fucking good. Everytime I wrote, the paper would smell like cherries after, and my favorite fruit is cherries, so at first I was like, “oh, neat!!” So even before this sexy stuff, I was just obsessed, couldn’t stop smelling it

But then, some wonderful Internet person talked about using the smell of benzaldehyde to make a “dangerous, luring” heat scent, like a spider attracting mates like they’re prey. Having to Google what benzaldehyde was, and learning it was in the pen I was practically huffing each time I used it, was so humiliating but so arousing. In a way, I had been lulled in by the scent; I was obsessed with it. I ended up in a pretty long rut because I was unable to stop myself from obsessing over the smell of this pen, freshly associated with my embarrassment and the unstoppable allure of a heat and hhhhhhhg because of dom(me) omegas in general please use me like I’m nothing more than your dildo holy fuck

My poor hyperactive high-libido brain still hasn’t been able to break that dissociation from benzaldehyde and heat. Sooo yeah. Some specific ballpoint ink pens, specifically that benzaldehyde solvent they have, really turn me on, haha

Bonus Questions

Critiquing my sex life:

Despite being a virgin, I’d say I have a rich sex life. Some aspects I’m happy with and some I’m not. Making this account was probably one of the biggest steps I could’ve taken to bettering that; it’s just one of the only spaces I feel comfortable expressing myself like this, not to mention exploring gender/sexuality identities. I want to keep working on interacting with people!

I also just want to try out new ways of orgasming! I have a very particular method, which is good and can be fun to exploit all on its own, but when I’ve tried other ways they’ve been way more pleasurable despite me not being able to orgasm from it. So I want to work on breaking that old routine.

Finding something out about myself:

Yeah, I didn’t realize how into primal play I am right now until I started answering these, haha!

The genie question was tough but fun; I was wondering at some point if I should just make a necklace with shape-shifting powers for first wish, but it didn’t feel sexy enough, bwahaha

I was thinking about a portal for the third wish, like any party could instantly travel the to meet, but I got dizzy trying to make the bounds for that one, bwahahaha. Plus, I thought the genie fucking me would be a funnier punchline. And also because I. Kind of maybe got a little horny while writing all of this, haha.. i mean, I’ve been chipping away at answering these non-linearly since last night, I think you can tell which ones I started answering towards the end here, hahahaha

Though, also, I didn’t really realize how high my libido was until recently!! So there ya go, I think that’s like 4 new things learned?

Your Questions

Questions I wanted to answer: Yeah, a couple!!!!

I REALLY wanted to answer that scent one because I’m into a/b/o so much it makes me look stupid bwahahahaha. So thank you, thank you!!!

37 "What's your opinion on sexting?": I fuckin' love it. More people should do it really. With my specifically, hehe. (Really, I wanted to answer this one so people knew that there was an open invitation)

42 “Do you like going commando?”: I do! I usually don’t sleep with any underwear on actually, unless I’m menstruating or something. Although sometimes wearing underwear, especially boxers with a harder seam has its… appeal

69 “Would you let your partner pimp you out”: ….mhm. I’m learning more and more that I like having a lot of attention on me — I think that’s why I had my whole phase on packs taking care of each other’s ruts/heats — and I’d trust the ones I have in mind with that. I mean, in practice, I’d want to discuss it a little more, make sure there’s a lot of trust and safety going on, but. Yeah, the thought of it is pretty…. Hnnf, yeah

People with vaginas 2 “favorite way to jerk off”: one of the funnest ways for me to jerk off is when I tug against it like it’s my dick. Maybe is TMI but sometimes I use my pubes as an “anchor” to stroke myself and it just does something for me. I’ll do the classic two finger handjob too, bwahaha

Re being 👑:

Hehehe, absolutely you can, you cutie frickin' patootie *kicking feet, giggling, twirling hair* !!!

Thank you again for asking all of this; it was hella fun. Keep asking more if you’d like, and feel free to drop by anytime! I’d be more than happy to hear from you and help you, in any way you desire, my prince ;p

#👑 #an original #ask #anon ask #ask game answers

[pinkiepiebones]

Zombie can I get a hc about some band ghoul interactions with each other? Who's closest with who, who would bite who if they had teeth, etc

You send this prompt on 3 December 2022 and I'm only just now writing AND it's not even a proper prompt fill I am sorry!!!! -

The one the fans like to call Dew is regarded by those in the upper echelons of the clergy as the most monstrous of the ghouls. Of course, ghouls are not summoned to be monstrous- they're free labour that just happen to have the countenance of mouthless, black-eyed gargoyles. But this one in the band, the one with the gnarled horns covered in sharp scales, the one that continues to shape-shift for itself a perpetually grinning mouth of needle-thin sharp teeth... That one's a creep.

Special was lounging on the ceiling of the library, his back against the fading fresco donated by Hieronymus Bosch during the reign of Papa Recalcitrant the Eighth (how did they allow that name to go on for eight Papas, Special had wondered). Somewhere in the forest of blackened bookcases, each shelf sagging with the literal and metaphorical weight of the knowledge painstakingly inked and hastily scribbled and even embroidered into the pages of the books the cradled, somewhere in the dense sea of arcane and profane knowledge, Special's human, Papa Emeritus the Fourth, wondered, looking for a specific book.

"Lemme order it off Amazon," Special had offered, holding his beloved phone up in his talons.

"Amazon does not carry the twelf-century litanies I'm looking for, Spesh," the Papa had countered as he geared up for the perilous library journey.

Many hours had past and the nameless ghoul known to all as Special was bored out of his skull. He had stayed on the ceiling to keep an eye out for the Papa's signal fire- they both agreed that if the Papa- Copia, we'll refer to him as his given name from now on- that if Copia had become too lost or too entranced or bewitched or otherwise indisposed by the library, he would light the nearest bookcase on fire to say to Special "fly down and save me, love." And yes, this would be far faster than Copia attempting to send a coherent text message.

So Special stretched- a learned habit, as he had no muscles to grow sore- and sat up to glance down at the literary labyrinth.

He looked up- er, down- and saw the nameless ghoul called Dew looking up at him.

/WHAT ARE YOU DOING/ Dew said- well, not quite 'said,' as ghouls don't possess the equipment to speak; they project their thoughts telepathically to the intended recipient, although it has been known to cause severe unpleasant reactions in humans. But 'said' is less for me to type.

Special shrugged. "I'm waiting for Copia and scrolling through tumblr," he replied- well, not quite 'replied,' as Special is a ghoul and thus also communicates telepathically; however, his telepathy happens to hit the human brain in the exact same way auditory stimuli does, thus earning him the nickname of Special. But, again, 'replied' is easier for me to type.

The ghoul called Dew spread it's ghastly wings, shaped to resemble tattered, decaying old appendages (all ghouls come with wing-like growths; some ghouls decide to alter the texture and appearance of them to resemble the wings of a bat or a bird or even the fins of a fish. Not Dew, though) and silently ascended to join it's sibling on the ceiling.

"What about you," Special asked, almost setting his phone beside him before remembering the problem of gravity and instead using his tail to firmly grasp it, "what brings you up here?"

/CAN'T SLEEP/

"We're ghouls, man, we don't sleep."

/YES. I LIED./ Dew willed it's wings away from sight and sat like Special, crossing it's legs and leaning back on the palms of it's grey talons. /I HAVE NO REASON TO BE HERE/

"And yet, here you are."

/HERE I AM./

The two fire ghouls sat in a silence that was only broken by the occasional rustle of fabric as Special, glamoured to appear human and wearing actual clothes, fidgeted to find a more comfortable position.

/SPECIAL/ Dew said suddenly. Special sat up straighter and turned his glamoured green eyes to his always-grinning sibling. "Yeah?"

/I AM GLAD YOU ARE HERE AND THAT YOU TEACH US IN THE BAND HOW TO APPEAR HUMAN./ It turned it's head and with no flourish it was wearing the glamour of it's band attire, black eyes replaced with wide lenses, twisted horns replaced with small and tasteful ones. Dew had created the full image of the stage-worn helmet (the helmets are quite real and not glamoured, created by Archbishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis to amplify a ghoul's innate shapeshifting powers).

Dew smiled and said- well, here it's more like 'projected it's telepathy through a series of rudimentary vocal chords in order to mimic the resonance of auditory speech- "I don't think we thank you enough for what you do. I know I don't, anyway."

The other ghoul smiled with perfectly imperfect teeth and ran a hand through his short messy hair. "Aww, well, you're welcome, and, uhhhhhh, and thanks for that." He gave Dew a gentle, sibling-like shoulder punch. "You're a good kid. You're a weirdo who licks too many things, but you're a good kid."

Dew nodded and reverted itself back to it's original ghoul form.

The two sat in silence again, watching smoke rise and curl around their hair and horns.

/THE LIBRARY IS ON FIRE AGAIN/ Dew mused.

Special nodded, then said "oh shit, that's Copia. I gotta run, bud!" He stood and hopped off the ceiling, wings emerging from his back (and effectively ruining another shirt), and swooped down to find his human.

Dew chuckled. /YOU ARE A GOOD KID TOO, SPESH./

#spooky ideas #microfic #ghost bc #special ghoul #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost