#apparently i still have some sense of self preservation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wannaeatramyeon · 9 months

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Fem!reader Isekai in Lookism ?

Anon, so sorry I'm answering this exactly 3 months later. You're my last request from May and I was soooo close to deleting it because I have had exactly zero ideas. Then I got partly inspired by @honeyhotteok fic here and now I'm running on less than 3hrs sleep in work and it's your fault. Oh yeah, and I've completely twisted the ask as well. It's not even close. So all that wait was for nothing 🙇🏻‍♀️

Adventures of YOUR part time job in the Lookismverse

G/N. You work the graveyard shift in a convenience store. You meet bizarre characters on different nights. Part 2

There's something wrong with people your age these days.

Everyone seems to be either in a gang or up to some shady shit. Seriously what is going on. Is this all a big joke that only you aren't in on?

Just the other day you swear you saw a group of guys in boiler suits punch through some walls across the street. Like what the fuck? What did the wall ever do to you? And then someone apparently called Tabasco starts chanting something about Burn Knuckles and oh my fucking god it's 11pm please shut up.

Oh course you never said that, you still have some sense of self preservation.

And how does anyone even have the time for all this. Between school and this part time job, you barely have enough hours to sleep.

You miss Daniel, the coworker who you haven't seen for a good year but used to gossip into the early morning with. He always seemed a bit nervous and fidgety when you voiced your concerns and observations, but you just assumed he was a nervous and fidgety kinda guy.

There would have been some fun stories to share. Instead now you work the graveyard shift on your own.

Case in point, the guy standing in front of you looks like one bad conversation away from a mental breakdown.

And really you're not in the habit of checking out customers but he cuts a striking figure. Every exposed inch of skin besides his face inked, and (you silently ask for his forgiveness for the objectification) the biggest chest you have ever seen. What even is this guy eating? What is this guy injecting? Lifting?

The question is almost out of your mouth but then you see the look in his eyes and slam your lips shut.

Nevermind. You ring his purchases through and tell him to have a good night.

You're restocking the shelves when you notice a guy with a scar across his lip and nose, dripping blood from god knows where all over your freshly mopped floor.

Which is alarming in itself but come on man. Look at the floors. You're making it so fucking gross.

He notices you watching him, gives you an apologetic look and says he'll take care of it.

He makes a quick call and in comes 26 guys, one after the other and they line up in front of him.

You know it's exactly 26 because you counted all 26. And you've also watched all 26 pairs of dirty shoes trample over your previously nice clean floor.

The blood drippy guy asks politely for the mop and bucket and you think this must be some sort of prank because why the hell is this even necessary. 26 guys to share your one solitary mop and bucket and to clean a goddamn floor that you managed in 10 minutes.

"Get out." He blinks at you, taken aback by your tone. "Or I'm calling the police."

"You can bring your pups in!" You call out to the emo teen lurking outside.

Health and safety be damned because look how fucking cute these dogs are!

He hesitates but then the rain grows heavier and all three rush in.

You miss the suspicious glance he gives you, too fixated on how adorable the dogs are. You don't even mind their wet fur or muddy paws because look at these little babies!

And huh, this guy must really love them too with his, you squint, God? Dog? hoodie on. D'aww that's so stinking sweet.

Damnit, you knew these two would be trouble the moment they stepped foot into your store.

The tall blonde just gives off a distinct creepy vibe and the shorter one has his entire eyebrows shaved off.

Shaved. Off.

You couldn't help but stare when you put their purchases through and noticed some regrowth and stubble. Is this a trend you missed out on? Either way you're glad because there's no way you're shaving off your own eyebrows.

They converse in Japanese, not even saying a word to you. No thanks or anything, which is fine you suppose. But then they pay you in fucking yen.

They're out the door by the time you see the cash and fuck. Your boss is going to go apeshit when he finds out.

"What do you think, sweetheart?"

A new blonde guy addresses you tonight and for crying out loud, you just want a quiet shift.

What do you think of his white suit? With the garish LV logos? That it's tacky as fuck. That anyone with any sort of taste would never ever wear that. You keep your actual thoughts to yourself and instead just say it's fine.

That does nothing to subdue the blonde. He does stop talking to you though, and just mutters bitterly under his breath. You catch the words blind and tasteless.

His partner smirks at your response.

And isn't that a whole other kettle of fish because it's currently 2am and you're indoors and who the hell wears sunglasses right now. You think he's a douche of the highest calibre.

The smirk is wiped from his face when he asks for cigarettes and you ask for ID. He doesn't have it on him.

"No can do. No ID, no sale."

He leans aggressively into your space, and reveals his eyes peering over his sunglasses.

My god, what is up with this duo? One with the tacky suit, and this one with the ugly black contact lenses.

You don't budge and the guy is dragged out by the blonde cackling.

Ugh. That laugh gives you a headache for the rest of your shift.

You really wish customers would stop involving you in their conversation.

This one, who looks exactly like how you would imagine a SoundCloud rapper that has their mother following them and no one else, asks you to listen to his music.

He insists that he's good as the blonde girl rolls her eyes.

You listen to about 10 seconds and make up your mind.

He's wrong. He's very wrong. You want to suggest he gets checked out at the doctor because clearly his ears aren't working properly.

Instead, you mention you like Duke Pyeon, he's more your taste. Has he heard of him? It's the wrong thing to say though because this guy looks angrier than you've ever seen anyone.

"Don't start Vin, I've seen you listening to his music." The girl scoffs.

'Vin' shouts in indignation and storms off with his friend trailing closely behind.

"Can I help?" You ask with your customer service voice and customer service smile.

He has been standing in front of the hair dyes for a good ten minutes as his friend looks increasingly bored and you can't blame him.

"No thanks, I'm just browsing," he responds and you tell him you'll be just over there if he needs anything.

You kill some time playing on your phone, look up, and both of them are still in the exact same spot.

The one with the H on his neck looks about ready to tear his hair out.

"Come on bro, just pick one!"

"No Warren, this is important. I need it to suit my new aesthetics."

You shrug and return back to your kitty kat restaurant game.

"Cool glasses," you tell the guy walking around the store and he looks affronted at first before realising you're being sincere and gives you a small smile instead.

You wonder if you can pull off orange tinted glasses too or whether you'd just look like an idiot. It's probably the latter you decide when you ring up his energy drinks.

"I'm a boxer," he offers, as if you're judging the amount of caffeine he's going to slam down.

"Ok?"

"I need it for my training."

"Sure."

You've seen weirder purchases and weirder combinations. The people coming in looking frantic and buying a single plunger or pack of toilet paper never fails to make you chuckle.

To be honest the amount he's buying is a bit nuts, and you wonder if he's going to drink it all in one go. You probably wouldn't sleep for a year if it was you.

"Enjoy your training," you say, heaving and handing over the bag of 19 cans.

A mute blonde gestures at you

You try to use some sign language, but he looks at you as if you're crazy. At least you think he does but you can't see his eyes.

Somehow you're able to decipher he's lost his dogs. Four. Golden retrievers. And he asks if you have seen them.

(Huh. Do you have telepathy? Do you have the gift?)

You tell him no and he sprints out.

You spend the rest of your shift trying to move things with your newly discovered psychic powers.

Spoiler: you have zero powers. Zilch.

You think you might be having a stroke.

Because on what planet did this K-pop idol think the disguise would work. Cap and mask on but tufts of pink hair poking out and dressed completely in white.

It's like he's asking for attention and for people to ooh and aah over who that could be.

As he leaves, you shout that you can't wait for his next album. He turns around in complete shock that you recognised him, as if you solved the world's hardest puzzle.

It's a good job that DG has such a pretty face because what an idiot.

You hear two voices mention the words Daniel Park and your ears perk up, wondering if it's about your old colleague.

Nah. You're just being silly. It's not an uncommon name at all and too much of a coincidence.

"I haven't seen Daniel in ages! Have you heard from him, Zoe?"

"No," you see her friend shake her head from the corner of your eye.

The brown haired girl tilts her head in thought, "I wonder how Zack is doing too. I haven't seen him in so long."

"Ohhh~ you miss him!"

"O-of course I do! He's a friend!" She blushes bright red and you chuckle to yourself.

'Friend', sure.

For the rest of the shift, you reminisce about how you used to tiptoe around your feelings with your boyfriend, Taehoon, too.

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cuubism · 5 months

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Happenstance [5x Hob and Dream met between their regular meetings] - bonus epilogue

Hob’s not the smartest man, but usually he’s got his wits about him. When you spend a chunk of your life accosting people on the road, you learn to keep an eye out for other people trying to accost you on the road. Not this time, apparently. This time, Hob’s walking about with his head in the clouds like a loon, paying fuck all attention to his surroundings, because he’s thinking about Dream.

He’s been doing that for a while. It’s not been long since Dream returned to him, since Hob kissed him, since his lovely old stranger seemingly accepted his courtship, and left him with a promise to come back. Hob’s been thinking about it nonstop since. It’s better than drugs, and Hob’s tried a lot of drugs.

Hob has unlimited time. If he wants to spend several months of it just thinking about the way Dream felt in his lap, and against his lips, and fantasizing about more, that’s what he’s going to do. Who’s going to stop him?

Apparently, the answer to that is, some guy with a crowbar. Really, Hob has been so spacey he’s lucky he only got knocked out and kidnapped, and not fully run over by a bus.

It’s all Dream’s fucking fault, anyway. Hob will tell him that when he sees him. Whenever that is.

As things stand now, he’s chained to a wall in some guy’s basement, which doesn’t bode well for seeing Dream some time soon. No one’s really talked to him since he woke up, and he’s not certain if this is because he’s done a poor job of obscuring his immortality, or if it’s something to do with his association with Dream. He wouldn’t have thought anyone knew about that, but then, he hadn’t thought so in 1789, either, and then that Constantine woman had come after them.

Too many damn cameras around nowadays, he thinks. It’s only getting harder to stay under the radar.

He’s just glad it wasn’t Dream that they captured. Granted, Dream probably could have freed himself instantly from this. Hob’s almost gotten one of his hands out of the chains, no magic required for that, just a few centuries’ worth of experience getting into trouble. Still, he’s glad that it wasn’t Dream.

He keeps working on twisting one of his hands out of the bindings. It’s actually easier with his hands above his head as they are, he can leverage gravity that way, but he still can’t quite get it.

His adrenaline is running high, with no real outlet, and that’s not helping matters. He can’t die, but the situation is still making him nervous. They don’t usually try to drown witches these days. They don’t usually believe in witches these days. Usually. Somehow Hob thinks this lot might be of a different mindset.

He’s still working on wiggling his arm free when the room plunges into darkness.

Wind swirls around him. His cuffs make a shrieking sound and then snap, releasing his wrists and dropping him to the ground. Somewhere upstairs, he hears someone scream.

The lights flash, and then Dream is standing in front of him. He’s a void of darkness cut out of the fluorescents, his expression as dark as the knocked-out lights. Hob wonders if he’s been catching up on missed films. Very horror movie, that entrance.

“You were serious about that!” Hob exclaims, delighted. “About not leaving me there!” He’s practically forgotten about getting kidnapped and chained up already, he’s far too thrilled about Dream coming to rescue him.

Dream scowls. “I do not speak falsehoods,” he says. “These arrogant ‘magicians’ dare to act against us. I have made them see the error of their ways.”

Us. Hob could start singing.

Dream finally walks over to him and crouches in front of him. He studies Hob, head tilted. “Your concern about this matter, or rather lack thereof, is disturbing to me.”

“I was concerned until you showed up, love,” Hob tells him. “Very dramatic entrance, by the way.”

“I see that being unable to die has had a detrimental effect on your sense of self-preservation,” Dream says, but there’s a smile in his voice now.

“I’m great at self-preservation,” Hob protests. “You’ve no idea how many situations I’ve not gotten involved in. Don’t judge me on one—”

He breaks off as Dream cups his face in one hand, strokes his thumb over Hob’s cheek. His gentle, sure touch makes Hob go still.

“I am glad to find you unharmed,” Dream says. Will Hob ever get used to Dream looking at him like that, with that care? No. He doesn’t want to.

“I suspect those guys upstairs are feeling glad about it, too, right about now,” Hob says, but his voice is tight, too affected by Dream’s touch for real humor.

“Mmm. I may consider showing mercy,” Dream agrees. “Eventually.”

“It’s hot when you’re scary like that,” Hob tells him. He may still be a little loopy from getting whacked upside the head. That, or it’s just the high of Dream’s melodramatic rescue. “Help me up?”

Dream stands, taking Hob by the arm and pulling him smoothly to his feet. Hob sways, and braces himself on Dream’s arms. It’s far from the first time in his life he’s been hit in the head with a blunt object, but it never gets less shitty to deal with.

“Now you get to be the gallant rescuer,” he says. “What was this about, anyway? None of them even told me.”

Dream touches the back of his head, where there’s blood clotted in his hair, the gash just barely scabbed over. “You drew some attention to yourself in searching for me,” he says. “That is what I have gathered from their dreams. I suspect they wanted to question you about it.”

Hob gets a chill, but not because of his own endangerment. “Does that mean there were people out there who knew you were trapped the whole time? And didn’t do anything?”

Dream inclines his head. “Not many. But yes, there were a few who had encountered Roderick Burgess over the years, or who considered themselves a part of the deep occult underground.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hob’s perpetual tendency towards violence rears its head as he contemplates tracking those people down and letting them know what he thinks about it. He reminds himself that he’s going to have to fake his death after this already, and there’s no need to create more problems for himself.

He supposes he shouldn’t be offended at other people’s passivity, he himself has stayed out of things plenty of times when he could reasonably have taken action. But it’s easy to take offense, to take it personally, when it involves Dream.

“I would recommend against taking action on that,” says Dream, with a tiny smile as if he knows exactly what Hob is thinking about. “Though disappearing for a while may be advisable.”

“Might be time to explore a different country,” Hob agrees.

Dream holds out a hand. “Come. I will return you home.”

“This really is a gallant rescue,” Hob says. He’s still delighted about it. “One more thing, though.”

He takes Dream’s hand, then leans in to kiss him.

He thinks Dream might have made himself just a bit taller for the sake of this dramatic endeavor, because Hob has to lean up just slightly to kiss him. Dream’s lips are ever so slightly chilled, and he tastes charred, like the aftermath of a lightning strike. It’s addicting. The power of him.

Experiencing it makes him even more grateful that Dream let him see him in a more vulnerable state, too, when he came back to him after his imprisonment. He’s clearly more than capable of keeping up that all-powerful aspect, he didn’t need to show Hob anything. He did anyway.

“A kiss of thanks?” murmurs Dream, as they pull apart.

“A kiss of ‘I wanted to,’” Hob says, which draws a chuckle from him.

“Let us return, then, and perhaps we can do more of what you have wanted to.”

“You do know how to tempt a man,” Hob says. “Alright, darling.” He squeezes Dream’s hand. “Take me home.”

Traveling via Dream’s sand is extremely disconcerting, and Hob’s pretty sure that no human was ever meant to experience it. It’s rather like stepping into a tornado, but one whose winds manage to get inside his head instead of just buffeting him from without. He thinks they might travel through a couple different planes of existence, and a few of nonexistence to boot. He tries not to think about it too hard, he’s too concussed to deal with it.

Regardless, it does get them back to his flat, which is a relief. He half-wonders if Dream will leave, then, having seen him safely home, but he stays. Lingering just a bit awkwardly in the living room as Hob quickly showers and changes into clothes that aren’t covered in blood and grime.

It makes Hob smile to reemerge and find him perched on the edge of the couch, reading a book with an air of affected disinterest. But he looks up when Hob comes out.

“Sorry, love,” Hob says. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone out here.”

A smile tugs at Dream’s lips at the endearment, and he leans ever so slightly forward, as if he would chase it where it lingers on Hob’s lips. “It is no matter.”

“You hungry?” Hob asks.

Dream frowns. “Should you not be resting?”

“Those guys made me miss dinner and I’m starving,” Hob says. “I might be mildly concussed but I’m pretty sure I can still boil water. Come on.”

Dream follows him silently to the kitchen, making no further protest.

Hob makes them some food, just pasta and sauce. Dream leans against the counter, sipping wine, as he works. Hob doesn’t trust him to help. Kingly types never know their way around a kitchen.

“You know,” he says as he sits down at the table, puts a bowl of pasta in front of Dream and then starts eating his own probably faster than is truly advisable, “the rescue was extremely entertaining and all, but I would also love to see you in situations that don’t involve extreme peril.”

“I will try to visit more, then,” says Dream.

Hob blinks. It’s that easy now?

“I intended to return earlier, but I had more left to do than I anticipated,” Dream continues. “Is it not customary for lovers?”

Hob chokes on his food.

Lovers, now? Zero to one hundred in an instant with this one. Not that Hob is opposed. He’s always been greedy and he’ll glut himself on Dream if allowed. He just… didn’t think he would be allowed.

He takes Dream’s hand on the tabletop. Dream hasn’t eaten anything, not that Hob really expected him to.

“I guess it is,” he says, grinning.

Dream smiles, that small, true smile that Hob loves more each time he gets to see it.

“Is that what we are?” Hob continues, playing with Dream’s fingers on the table. “Lovers?” And, because he knows better now than to leave that sort of question in Dream’s hands, adds, “Because I’d like that. Don’t know precisely what that means to you, though.”

Lovers could be something all-consuming. It could also just mean that they meet every hundred years as they have done, but they get to have sex, too. Hob knows which one he’d rather.

“It means…” and here Dream does pause to think, as though the city he’d already built of them in his head is not proving so well-mapped in reality. Doesn’t Hob know the feeling.

Dream sighs. “I have frequently proven an insufficient lover,” he admits. “What it ‘means’ matters little, for that rarely seems to bear itself out.”

In all his recent loony mulling over Dream, Hob’s also been thinking about dreams. Bit hard to be in love with dreams sometimes. But now he thinks, also, that it must be terribly frustrating to be the king of all imagined possibility, and then have to contend with the limitations of reality.

“It matters to me,” Hob says. He squeezes Dream’s hand. “Tell me?”

Dream doesn’t speak again. He stands and comes around to Hob’s side of the table. Leans over him, wraps a hand around the back of Hob’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. His grip is gentler than Hob thinks it really wants to be, in deference to Hob’s head injury—if Dream had his way he would pull hard but he doesn’t, and that alone sends a rush of tender heat through Hob’s body.

He cranes his head back, lets Dream’s grip move him. Dream curls around him, as if to blanket Hob with his form, slots a leg between his, and kisses him. With tongue. With teeth. With that would-be-strength with which he’d grabbed Hob’s hair, ferocious possession held at bay by gentler care. God does Hob want to tell him to damn the injuries to hell, he’ll live—he wants to feel that in full.

Dream gentles the kiss. Nips at the corner of Hob’s mouth, then licks over where he’d bit. Nuzzles into Hob’s hair, tucks his nose by Hob’s ear. Hob wraps an arm around his waist, holding him tight, and Dream buries himself close to him in a way that reminds Hob of when he’d convinced him to stay, to sit with him and admit, even if just by implication, that everything was not quite all right.

“That’s what it means?” Hob says, still breathless from the kiss.

Dream’s somnolent voice rumbles through his body. “Yes.”

Hob smiles to himself, and tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. “Good.”

#dream: stop smiling. you were kidnapped #hob: yeah we should do it again some time :)#hob might have a little bit of a power kink when it comes to dream. just a LITTLE. just a TINY BIT #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #of course the fic had to open and end with hob getting mugged XD

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maniculum · 6 months

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Bestiaryposting: Wutugald Results

All right, time to see what everyone came up with for the Wutugald! Again, if that statement confuses you, you may find an explanation at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting . If you want a refresher on the description the artists were working with, here is the original post:

This was a pretty good creature to start with, I think; the random number generator did us a solid with this one. It laid to rest some concerns I had: will people be able to put aside their real-world knowledge of these animals and draw as if they had never heard of them? Yes, apparently -- a number of comments and notes indicated that several participants had guessed what the Wutugald was, refrained from sharing that information, and drew something that fit the description while being nevertheless a fully distinct animal. I was also concerned about some of the upcoming entries that specify a type of animal (bird, serpent, &c.), wondering if that constraint would be a problem -- but a number of people drew some Very Good Birds for this one, so I feel reassured that future entries that are Explicitly A Bird will still be material we can have fun with.

So, let's see what people created. I'm putting these in roughly the order in which they appeared, below the cut:

@cosmic-flora (link to post here) produced this in Paint pretty shortly after the original post went up, and posted it with a brief explanation of their design decisions -- they were the first but not the last to interpret the rigid spine as spikes and the single tooth as a beak, and also to provide the creature with claws for digging.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) was also quick off the mark, posting this the same evening along with an explanation of their design process. I'm genuinely impressed by how quickly they were able to draw something so naturalistic -- this went up within like four hours of the original post. This was also the first (but again not the last) to include an apparent reference to the Wutugald's ability to change sex by including both male genitalia and noticeable teats. Also, I wonder if the coat pattern on the baby is a sneaky reference to the animal this is based on, as Silverhart does indicate that they figured it out.

@elodieunderglass (link to post here) created this rendition, which I think does a good job at capturing the vibe in the bestiary entry, of a creature that the medieval author clearly sees as discomfiting and somewhat sinister. That is a grin that makes me worry about the critter's intentions.

@geeoharee (link to post here) posted this along with a brief explanation of their design decisions. The human face and the speech bubble are great, I think -- it makes me smile. I think this is the first non-mammalian Wutugald, but several more come later.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) drew this with a dip pen, apparently, which is cool. Also this might be the cuddliest-looking version, but my desire to hug it probably says more about my own sense of self-preservation than anything else. That is a cute face, right? It's not just me?

@cinqueform (link to post here) produced this wonderfully medieval-styled image. We can see here the ruler-straight spine and the depiction of the Wutugald's sexual ambiguity, as well as a human-like face for imitating speech. Also a very nice stylized letter W.

@rautavaara (link to post here) has also done a medieval-style rendition, which is excellently sinister in presentation. That is a Worrying Creature. It's also the first (but again not the last) avian interpretation of the Wutugald, which I think really works. Also I'm not sure if this is a sneaky nod to what the animal actually is, or just a case of "great minds think alike", but Rautavaara's interpretation of the rigid spine is very similar to the one in the actual Aberdeen Bestiary illustration I will show y'all at the end of this post.

@spontaneousmusicalnumber (link to post here) posted this along with a brief explanation of their design process. I think they're right about the side pattern being appropriate for a bestiary critter.

@strixcattus (link to post here) did another avian rendition of the Wutugald complete with a fantastic lengthy reinterpretation of the bestiary entry through the eyes of a modern naturalist. Seriously, go check that out, it's very good.

@fidgetyhands (link to post here) provides this image of the Wutugald along with an explanation of their design choices. They also note that limitations in terms of artistic material are probably relevant to a lot of bestiary drawings.

@jamiethekeener (link to post here) gives us this Wutugald in the act of digging. She instructs that we should not ask why her interpretation of Wutugald ended up being so unsettling, which I cannot deny that it is. (That smile... that damn smile.) I also want to highlight the interpretation of the rigid spine as a shield-like plate along the back.

@thewhetherman (link to post here) gives us this rather-frightening-looking creature, along with a brief commentary that definitely ups the spook factor on this whole thing.

@bruncikara (link to post here) also went with a medieval stylization, with a very period-appropriate pose and frame. We can see again some digging claws and a nod to the animal's sexual ambiguity. Wicked-looking single tooth, also.

@mobileleprechaun (link to post here) has given us what I think is our only invertebrate Wutugald by interpreting the rigid spine as a shell and the single tooth as a radula. Shown here with its half-lion offspring.

@illogarithmil (link to post here) has also taken inspiration from medieval bestiary art, noting the unusual color and perspective choices typical of the genre. Note the straight tail, the skull, and the doorway in the background -- presumably into a tomb of some sort. The diamond-pupilled eye is striking.

@qwertyprophecy (link to post here) gives us this Wutugald who manages to strike an excellent balance between "cute" and "villainous". Like, I would expect to see these hopping around to signal that the Protagonists have entered the Sinister Fantasy Kingdom, but it's also kind of adorable. I think the gemstone pupil helps with that vibe. Vulture face is for easier eating of corpses, I assume.

@aaclysm (link to post here) provides both a final version and a "messy bus sketch". We can see the stone-like eyes, the single tooth interpreted as a beak, and the rigid spine interpreted as a carapace. Kind of griffin-like vibes, which I'm enjoying.

@scarlettbookworm (link to post here) gives us this drawing, which has some delightful details. I like the lines on the shadow, which I assume is meant to indicate the magical effects associated with it. Also love that the Wutugald's ability to change sex is acknowledged by giving it a little trans-pride flag to wave with its tail. I believe the text in its speech bubble is intended to be word-salad, demonstrating that it imitates but does not understand human speech.

@pachelbelsheadcanon (link to post here) gives us another very cute Wutugald. (More of these than I expected are downright cuddly.) I'm particularly delighted by the attempt to take the whole "single tooth that closes like a casket" thing at its word and make it work. They provide in their post an explanation of what's going on with that and some other interesting zoological details of their creation. I also enjoy the idea that the Wutugald talks like bot-generated spam.

@changeinenthalpy (link to post here) has produced this fairly-intimidating-looking critter. This definitely looks like something that could dig up and eat a corpse if it wanted. Nasty claws on that beast. The shiny gemstone eyes give it an unsettling gaze also.

@aethergeologist (link to post here) gives us this creature, which I both want to pet and also want to keep a healthy distance from because those claws look like they could mess you up. They provide an explanation for their design choices in the linked post.

@karthara (link to post here) has added to our store of avian Wutugalds, and includes a brief explanation of their design choices in the linked post. I like how happy it seems in the side view -- all excited about its corpse-digging plans for the evening.

@moustawott (link to post here) created this delightfully prehistoric-looking beast, and provides a detailed account of their design choices in the linked post. I think the snapping-turtle face really works here, and this is probably one of the most dangerous-looking interpretations of the Wutugald.

@cattorneyatlaw (link to post here) has drawn an unusually porcine Wutugald. Probably one of the spookier pig drawings I've seen. They provide an explanation of their design choices -- including "why a pig" -- in the linked post.

@curiouslyodd (link to post here) has given us a Wutugald with a very unsettling face and an interesting fur pattern. In the linked post, they not only provide an explanation of their design choices, but also a detailed and well-written reinterpretation of the bestiary entry based on the animal as they have drawn it. Go check that out.

@treesurface (link to post here) has done an interestingly chimeric Wutugald, and includes a brief explanation of their design choices in the linked post. I like the head particularly.

And... hm. We're not going to be able to fit all of the images in one post. The limit is thirty, right? Stay tuned for a bit, I guess. The remaining Wutugalds will be in a reblog of this post, along with the reveal of the animal's identity and the Aberdeen Bestiary's interpretation of the creature.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #wutugald

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 8 months

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Jouno's "Death" and Characterization

Actually I'm adding onto my thoughts about Jouno's death scene because it really is brutal, even compared to the earlier "deaths" of the arc.

[ID: A screenshot from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. A vampirized Akutagawa bites into Jouno's shoulder. Blood spatters on Jouno's face, scrunched up in pain. End ID.]

I binge-read the manga very quickly on my first read, and so I think there was a lot that I kind of overlooked, especially when it came to Jouno and his characterization. I found the guy interesting, but I wasn't as invested in his character as I was with some of the others.

But even then, his death shocked me with how... cruel it was. And going back and really paying close attention to his character, it hurts a lot more.

[ID: A set of three images from the Bungou Stray Dogs manga. In the first, a speech bubble says "You have what it takes to join the Decay of Angels." Jouno's face is carefully neutral and he says nothing for a panel. In the next, face still neutral, he says "What are you saying?" In the second, a panel of Jouno, bound and smiling in prisoner's garb, is overlayed by Fukuchi saying "Jouno, you were originally an executive in a criminal organization. Seeing the good prospects in your ability and that sense of hearing, I recruited you six years ago, for the sake of this day." Jouno lifts an eyebrow with a small frown on his face and exhales a small puff of air. In the third, Jouno, smiling, says "Yes. From the start, I've known no pleasure but that of tormenting others. Besides, you even said it, that you initially recruited me for the sake of this day." His smile looks a little tight. End ID.]

Looking at Jouno's face here... I'd honestly say he's a bit hurt by this turn of events. He has a very similar background to Dazai. This is the equivalent of Dazai being told that he was only hired by the Agency because they actually wanted him to take up the mantle of the Demon Prodigy again, but this time for their benefit. Because that's his true nature, right?

Jouno was only recruited... because he was never believed in. He was Fukuchi's little criminal pet project, one that didn't go as he intended at all - and Jouno dies for it, only shortly after he starts to get accustomed to the idea of himself as a good guy (even if he's still... morally ambiguous, to be diplomatic about it lol).

But yeah, let's take a second and look at Jouno's particular brand of cruelty - that sadistic streak where he wants to hear the suffering of others... and how easily this was overshadowed by one old woman's quiet gratitude. Fukuchi remembers the beginning of this scene... but he's left unaware of the aftermath of it and how Jouno changed (fitting, for the man forever caught up in the war; who still lives like he's on the battlefield). Jouno is largely self-preservative - it seems likely that, given his criminal background, you stayed alive by asserting your power over others, and Jouno does this by striking fear into others and deriving pleasure in that reaction - but it pales in comparison to appreciation, which Jouno states makes the sounds of fear like silence. The old lady is such a small thing really, but it apparently left a huge impact on him.

I think it's quite a decision made to characterize a guy who is hyper-sensitive to sensory input as being strongly affected by the kind of reactions he gets from others. Jouno compensates with fear and intimidation, but he actually wants to be appreciated. Whether Jouno genuinely cares about justice as an ideal is up for debate still, I believe, but we can be positive he likes being liked far more than he likes being feared. So, while Jouno thought he was appreciated for his pursuit of justice under Fukuchi, and had come to the realization that he prefers helping over harming - his role with the Hunting Dogs was always a cage. Jouno was likely essentially drafted - he joins or he is probably sentenced to capital punishment. Obviously, he takes the offer - as Jouno does not want to die (again, remember he's self-preservative!). Now he's stuck as a Hunting Dog due to the intense monthly surgeries to maintain their bodies, but he's made a pretty sweet life for himself - Jouno is powerful, respected, feared, and he basically gets to act however he wants so long as he is ostensibly pursuing justice (a corrupt cop, really)... only for him to realize he actually does want to help more than hurt, and to then have it be revealed that he was never expected to change for the better from the very beginning.

He was drafted due to this expectation Fukuchi had for him, and when he did not live up to this expectation... his exits are blocked, he's set on fire to stop him escaping, then stabbed from all directions, like one would trap and corner a threat that needs to be contained, or a wild animal. There's... some pretty significant dehumanization to that.

It gets worse though, because Fukuchi is right about Jouno being different from the other Hunting Dogs, but he's off the mark on what's different about him exactly. The difference is largely in that even though Jouno took precautions in case he couldn't make it out (having Aya follow him), he is not devoted (or solely devoted) to that ideal of justice that drives the rest of the Hunting Dogs, nor was he at all intending to sacrifice himself or accepting of that fate.

[ID: A panel from the Bungou Stay Dogs manga. Jouno wears a concerned expression, a sweat drop on his cheek. His hair flies up a little as he moves across a background of dark lines for dramatic emphasis. The sound effect is a shudder. End ID.]

"Be strong... there's nothing to worry about/Don't panic, it's all fine" <-The words of a man who is very much trying not to panic (also Yuki Kaji did a great job in this scene - chefs kiss. The voice acting in the anime is so so good). Jouno's mental narration grows increasingly more desperate in his attempts to escape, even as he outwardly continues that show of pride and bravado, concluding with his "wish" to hear Fukuchi's later suffering - which is what he does to avoid letting others see vulnerability in him.

All the other people who died to Fukuchi had some kind of acceptance around it - Akutagawa sacrificed himself to allow Atsushi to escape and was accepting of that; Tachihara had no intention of a sacrifice play but was prepared to die rather than be turned by Bram, and found his resolve through a mix of the Mafia's and Teruko's influence. Jouno was not ready to die at any point in this fight, nor was that ever his intent.

About Jouno's dynamic with Tecchou: I find it really interesting that the closing and opening lines of the chapter where Jouno slashes at Fukuchi and "betrays" him are things like "at heart there is one intent" and "if there is evil, cleave it" - while they're really just the external hooks for the audience, not any character's thoughts or anything, I do find it intriguing that this sounds a lot more like Tecchou's philosophy than anything we'd seen of Jouno up to this point. In this way, I think Tecchou (and Teruko as well!) has had far more of an influence on Jouno than even he cares to admit.

And I think it's really good that Tecchou appears to be there for Jouno - he's got conviction in his capacity for justice as strong as a samurai and the ability to call him out and believe in him like that of a best friend. While Jouno's death is brutal, it actually validates Tecchou's belief in him - but this is not something anyone else really seems to see in Jouno, perhaps even Jouno himself until that moment. It recontextualizes their interactions: Jouno is the challenger. Tecchou just seems to kind of humour him, really. He doesn't treat Jouno like a threat or an obstacle. He's completely unafraid of him, either simply not reacting to his goads and threats, or calling him out on his bs when he takes his cruelty too far. It's like Tecchou's socializing a feral cat sometimes hjfhdbjvh

But remember that Jouno's grandstanding and desire to instill fear is likely self-preservative. Jouno sees Tecchou unafraid of him and goes "why is it not working??? He must think he's stronger or better than me, or else, he's just really stupid. I need to prove myself stronger than him so he doesn't think he can gain the upper hand on me." And meanwhile, Tecchou is just like "ok buddy let's go get some lunch. I like spending time with Jouno even though he's apparently mad at me for something idk what." Because Tecchou's lack of fear isn't actually because he's cocky or an idiot, or because he doubts Jouno's skill or strength - far from it. He knows full well how dangerous Jouno is. He just thinks "Jouno wouldn't do that". And it's that simple to him. I honestly believe Jouno hasn't quite figured that part out yet, and that he's reading his dynamic with Tecchou entirely wrong on his end. It's the epitome of that rival dynamic where one takes it super seriously and the other is just like "cool man anyways wanna hang out". Anyways I really hope their reunion is given some attention, when it happens.

You might've noticed I said "when it happens" and also that I put death in quotes at the top there - I actually have a question for all of you since I just thought of this on my re-read. Jouno was stabbed multiple times but since he's a Hunting Dog with advanced healing and enhancements I sincerely doubt that actually killed him. Then he was bitten... but the vampires seem to turn really quickly, and we see Jouno's thoughts for a while afterwards. Jouno didn't actually die in that scene, as it's stated he's "near death", and he's captured and taken somewhere by Akutagawa. It's highly likely he was just turned into a vampire, as he was bitten (perhaps his enhancements make the vampire ability take longer to get a hold), but I'm kind of wondering now if he wasn't "taken with them" for some other purpose and Fukuchi has him captured or comatose or something. Well, whatever happens... I hope he comes back to the manga at some point soon (though probably at this arc's conclusion if I'm being honest).

#storyrambles #bsd #bsd meta #bsd jouno #argh my 4 am thoughts plagued me and compelled me to write this :/#anyways jouno's cool :)#i appreciate him a lot more on my re-reads and during my season 5 watch #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective.#bsd spoilers

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seethesin · 8 months

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i hate that i love you

pairing: Shane McCutcheon x F!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, established friendship, cheating, hatefucking, fingerfucking, service top!shane, power bottom!reader (mdni, 18+)

a/n: this is my angst attempt. as per usual, i have to add smut to it. still rubbing my brain cells together for some fluffy ideas. enjoy :)

"I can't fucking believe you, Shane."

Who were you kidding? You knew her; this was inevitable.

Monogamy was uncharted territory for Shane. There was a reason she was so hesitant to commit to any romantic relationship when the opportunity presented itself. When things got stagnant, she got fidgety. Her eyes wandered and before she even knew it, she was leaving a trail of broken hearts and crushed egos in her wake.

As one of her closest friends, you understood how Shane operated. You've come to accept everything that came with her. Each night there was a new woman in Shane's bed and each night you were kept awake by the constant reminder that what you wanted would always be out of reach.

From the beginning, the lothario's charms never worked on you. According to Alice, you were impervious to the Shane test since they met you. Whether it be your strong will or grounded sense of self-worth, you refused to be wooed by the shaggy-haired ladykiller you now shared a house with.

But as your friendship deepened, pesky feelings began to brew in the pit of your stomach. Unlike the women she slept with, your friendship allowed you to see Shane in a three-dimensional light. Her fierce loyalty to her friends, immense love for those close to her, and unwavering determination to meet her goals dragged you further and further down a rabbit hole you weren't prepared to venture through.

You despised the way your heart would hammer in your ribcage anytime she flashed a genuine grin your way. You hated how meaningless touches made your stomach flip and your breath hitch. And you loathed sitting through any conversation that included Shane fucking a woman that wasn't you. But no matter how frequently you recognized your feelings, you could not pursue them.

You heard those women when they left your house. A switch flickered on for most of them but the ones who didn't realize soon enough were left devastated. There would be no next time. There were no feelings to talk about. It was just about the sex.

Shane needed to stay your friend.

So you did what you did best; you swallowed your feelings and shoved them down deep into your gut. This was an act of self-preservation.

It didn't take long for you to find someone else. She was sweet, compassionate, and most importantly, could commit to a relationship. It was what you needed and what you couldn't get from Shane. You've been dating steadily for a month now. A blissful, healthy month may you add. You had even introduced her to your friends who were thrilled by the new addition.

Except Shane.

Any time you brought your girlfriend along or even mentioned her to Shane, her mood did a one-eighty. She was uncharacteristically colder, more aloof, and found any excuse to leave you sooner than necessary. Saying it hurt would be putting it lightly. You expected Shane—as one of your closest friends—to support you the same way she did for Alice, Bette, and the rest of the ladies. Was your happiness less important to her than everyone else's?

Apparently so.

Tonight, you were coming home from Tina and Bette's house. They had asked you if you could watch Angie and naturally, you agreed. As you made your way up to your front door, it opened on its own, revealing your girlfriend. She was in a wrinkled dress, had unkempt hair, and smudged makeup across her face. The two of you locked eyes and she visibly paled. Like a deer in headlights, she froze, lower lip trembling. Without a word, she ducked away from your sight and hurried away. Looking into your house you saw Shane sitting at the kitchen table, hurriedly closing the clasp of her belt.

This instigated the current screaming match you and Shane were currently participating in.

"She didn't tell me she was seeing anyone!" Shane yelled, elbows digging into the hardwood table as she cupped her head in her hands. You paced around restlessly, gritting your teeth before snapping your attention back at her.

"I've brought her over here before, Shane—you met her numerous times already! Were you too busy shoving your tongue in her cunt to notice?"

Shane's lips mashed shut at your response, eyes trained on the floor. She had no response and you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you threw your hands up.

"You don't even fucking care," you breathed, pulling the chair across from her out so you could sit down. "Why do you not fucking care?"

"I'm sorry," she starts, and no, no she is not sorry. If she was sorry, she wouldn't have done this to begin with. Shane wouldn't have fucked your now ex-girlfriend—she finally decided to try calling you by the way, not like you were going to pick up now—in your own house.

"Bullshit."

Your anger churned in your gut and seared up to your throat like bile. The rage triggered your buried feelings for Shane, melding them together into something that made you physically sick. Right now, you hated yourself more than Shane. This was a grave offense and here you were, wanting nothing more than to crush her face between your legs. You wanted to yank her by her hair, part her lips, and shove yourself down until she was gasping for air. Digging half moons into your palms, you stared daggers into her head.

"Why did you do it?"

Shane is silent, but you can almost feel the gears turning in her head. She wants to say something, but she refuses.

"Shane."

Nothing.

"Shane, look at me."

She obeys instantaneously, jerking her head up to meet your gaze.

"Why did you do it?" You ask again, each word staccato as you wring your hands into fists.

"She wasn't good for you." she finally replies and you laugh in disbelief.

"So what is good for me, Shane? Is being cheated on good for me? Is my friend taking part in that good for me too?"

"No—"

"Then why did you do it?" Your voice slides an octave higher, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. You can feel your throat begin to close as a stray tear rolls down your face. Quickly, you brush it away.

"Because I love you."

That does it.

The dam in your chest breaks and you finally cry. Shane is stunned, plastered to her seat as she watches you rack into sobs. Gently, her hand slides forward on the table, finding your hand. You recoil as if she slapped you and she retreats back to her side of the table.

"No, fuck you; you don't get to say that to me." Not when you spent all this time getting over how you felt about Shane. You couldn't go backward.

But a sick, nasty part of you reveled in the proclamation. It was warped validation that everything you've felt for her was reciprocated. It satisfied you in a primal way and your stomach twisted itself into knots over it. Not even bothering to filter out your rampant thoughts, you ask her the question burning on your tongue.

"How did you fuck her?"

The silence after you spoke was deafening. Shane's eyes are wider than saucers.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

She looked at you like a cornered animal.

"I—" you get out of your chair, stalking around the table before standing in front of her. Glaring down at her, your hands find themselves on the arms of her chair. You lean in slowly—predatorily—before speaking again.

"Show me, Shane. Since you love me so much." Your voice cracks from crying, but the venom drips from every word.

Shane's throat bobs as she swallows. Her hands are on your hips, dragging you forward. You're already working on the button of your pants, unzipping swiftly before shoving them down your knees. Your underwear comes off soon after and both garments are abandoned on the floor.

Cautiously, she beckons you forward. You comply, lowering yourself into her lap. Your cunt brushes against the rough denim of her jeans and you refrain from groaning. An arm hooks low around your hips while her dominant hand worms itself between your legs. Her digits find the wet slick of your pussy and she glances up at you.

You nod.

She plunges two fingers inside of you. Your walls immediately adjust to the intrusion, stretching deliciously. The moan escapes your lips and you teeter in Shane's lap. Your lips meet the junction of Shane's neck and you bite down roughly. Smoothing the newly forming bruise with your tongue, you sneer at the way Shane hisses.

"Faster."

She adjusts her wrist and immediately hastens her pace. Her fingers are like a piston, thrusting in and out. They curl against the spongy wall of your pussy and you throw your head back, breath shaky. Your hips swivel in rhythm with her thrusts, taking every ounce of pleasure Shane willingly gave.

The edges of your vision begin to darken as you feel the heel of Shane's hand rub against your clit. You gasp, rutting aggressively into her touch as she continues fingerfucking you. Your hands thread themselves in her hair, pulling down to expose the curve of her neck. Moaning, you leave a trail of hickeys down her throat, smirking at the way her face contorts in painful pleasure. She curls her fingers inside of you at just the right angle and you finally cum with a shout.

Your body goes rigid as your knees buckle into her sides. Bobbing on Shane's fingers, you don't stop until the high of your orgasm subsides and reality comes crashing down around you. Swiftly, you pull yourself off of Shane's lap before disappearing into the bathroom to clean yourself up. You return a few minutes later, sliding your underwear and pants back on.

Shane is still glued to her chair. Her fingers are still coated in your slick and she has not made the effort to wipe them off yet. She stares at you numbly and you begin to walk towards the front door.

"I'll be gone by the end of the week, Shane. Then you can fuck whomever else you want in here."

There will be no next time. There are no more feelings to talk about. It was just about the sex.

Shane could no longer be your friend.

#shane mccutcheon #shane mccutcheon x reader #shane mccutcheon imagine #the l word #the l word imagine #tlw fandom #tlw #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #wlw #lesbian #wlw nsft #lesbian nsft #lgbtq #lgbt nsft

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berenwrites · 3 months

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Caring - Stranger Things - Steddie

Rating: G | cw: none | tags: pre-steddie, fluff

Prompt: Love is letting someone take care of you (@starryeyedjanai)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 1. How could I resist?

Also on AO3 | All my other Stranger Things Fic

Caring: Now It’s Your Turn

Eddie can literally feel the nervous energy that is the only thing keeping Steve going. He’s pretty sure the other man hasn’t stopped moving since they all emerged from the Upside Down.

It’s finally over. The nightmare is finished.

By some miracle, everyone who went in this time is alive, and they brought him back too. Vecna is dead, a charred mess that Eleven made sure was never, ever coming back. Eddie isn’t sure how that happened. He isn’t sure of anything from the time he “died” to the time Steve “the hero who has zero self-preservation skills” Harrington refused to hit him with a nail bat and instead wrapped him in a hug until he stopped struggling.

Apparently, Vecna’s hold on him was worth shit when Steve was in the equation. Well Steve and possibly bats.

The fact that he has a vague sense of Steve in the back of his brain now had been freaking him out, but he is currently settling into numb acceptance. They were definitely going to have to talk about it, but that is a problem for future Eddie. He doesn’t have enough brain power to think about more than one thing at a time, and his current focus is the fact Steve is ready to drop.

Looking at Steve, no one would ever know. Except possibly Robin, because she is giving Steve worried looks too.

Apparently, Steve’s house had become the group’s base for their final offensive against Vecna. Everyone had returned there once it was done, and ever since, Steve had been running around making sure everyone else had everything they needed. They had all taken showers, had clean clothes and food, been patched up for minor injuries, and had been allocated places to sleep. All except Steve.

Eddie had had an embarrassing crush on Steve ever since his King Steve days. Their short time together before Eddie had done his own hero bit had only cemented that and made it grow. It hadn’t stopped. Maybe it is mental exhaustion talking, or the shock of not being dead finally sinking in, but he can’t take his eyes off Steve.

Before the Upside Down it had seemed like such a big, impossible thing. After coming back from the dead, nothing seemed completely out of reach.

He shares a glance with Robin as they watch Steve moving through the huge Harrington living room, checking on everyone, making sure they have everything they could possibly need, and they come to a silent decision. Standing, they both make a beeline to their target. Eddie slips one hand under Steve’s right elbow, while Robin does the same on the other side.

“What..?” Steve starts to say.

“How many fingers, Dingus?” Robin asks, holding up her hand. “I thought so,” she says when Steve squints hard, as if trying to guess.

“I need…” Steve begins.

“To sleep,” Eddie finishes for him.

“But,” is the weak protest.

“No buts,” Robin counters. “Everyone is fine, everyone is looked after. Now it’s your turn.”

Steve looks between them, clearly ready to object, but, surprisingly, sags against their united front.

It makes Eddie smile for the first time since Steve shattered Vecna’s hold on him, as Steve lets them lead him towards the stairs. He doesn’t really have a handle on the fluttery feeling in his chest yet, and he still has to let himself deal with, well, just everything, but it’s a start. That Steve is letting him and Robin do some looking after settles a place inside him.

For now, it will do.

All my other Stranger Things Fic

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie lives #post season 4 #steddielovemonth #eddie x steve #steddie fic #steddie fluff #steddie ficlet

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justrainandcoffee · 2 months

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Home (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc)

Alfie Solomons x Rose Coldwell (ofc) masterlist

Summary: Alfie is staying at the distillery while the men from Birmingham are there. He doesn't trust them around his place. In consequence, he feels tired and grumpier than usual. The visit of his wife, maybe can make him change his mind.

Warnings: None, except some veeeeeery slightly mentions of sex. The return of the king: Beast. I missed this little creature.

Words: 650.

Supposedly this was going to be just a moodboard plus a little blurb and it ended up as a whole drabble 💁‍♀️.

Those were hard days for more reasons than one. Alfie was not able to go to home because of extra work. Tommy Shelby's men were there at all hours and Alfie simply didn't trust them. In consequence, the last week he barely had time to see his wife.

It's late when Alfie heard voices and laughs. Fuck them. He sighed trying to focus on the papers on the desk.

Next to him, Beast, the feral chihuahua who lived there, was sleeping. Alfie looked at the animal. The man liked him, there was something on its personality -fearless, vicious, with no sense of self preservation...- that reminded him of himself. But now, sleeping, no one could say that Beast was indeed a beast. The ankles of everyone there were safe for now.

Few days ago, one of the Brummies ended up with a bruise on one of his eyes because he tried to touch Rose when she was entering the distillery, thinking she was a some random woman. It wasn't Alfie who caused the bruise. Now, no one said a word nor looked at her when she walked into the bakery. Except the Jewish men, who knew her, and greeted her amicably.

Alfie lifted his eyes from the paperwork when he heard the door opening. Finally something good on his awful day.

"Luv, what are ya doin' 'ere?" It's too late. I thought ya were already sleepin' at home."

"I'm visiting you, Al. I need to know you're okay, sweetheart. You look tired and I miss you."

"I miss you too, luv. I look tired and I'm tired. Have ya seen them? All they do is laugh and talk all the fuckin' time. Fuck them."

His wife approached him and started to massage his shoulders. "You need to rest, Al. How many more days do you think you're going to handle this situation? Sleeping here, eating badly... You need to trust your men, they can control the Tommy's ones."

"Mmh."

"I miss you, Alfie. And I need you, too. I understand the situation, I support you. You know that, but... You're my husband and I can't see you overworking and stressing yourself because of it." She put her arms around his shoulders and rested her head on his. "I miss you," she repeated, whispering in his ear.

"I know, Rosie. Fuck, I know. I miss you too, miss home, our evenings, your company..." Alfie left the pen on the desk and stroked her hands. "But..."

"I know."

Alfie couldn't say that her voice sounded angry but disappointed. She kissed his temple, "I know. Do you at least have five minutes for me?"

When Alfie nodded, she sat on his lap and put her lips on his. After all the stress, feeling her, kissing her it was like a day in the paradise. She was using the perfume he liked it the most, Alfie knew she was trying to persuade him to left his place to go to their home and as she was unbuttoning his trousers, apparently, she was going to succeed.

Not for the first time they had sex on his office. And in this case it was exactly what Alfie needed. He was kissing her neck, while the hands were still on her waist caressing her skin.

"I love ya," he said against her neck. "Let's go home."

"For real?"

"For real."

Alfie wasn't there when Ollie arrived at the distillery before the sunrise. There was a note on his desk saying that he was at home with his wife, he was planning to return after midday. Finally, Ollie thought.

On Alfie's chair, Beast was contemplating his surroundings. Ollie wasn't that stupid to try to remove him from there. The dog seemed proud of himself. And it seemed, too, that Alfie had left in charge the only one, besides him, capable of keeping the order in Camden Town. And he wasn't wrong.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie x rose #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x oc #moodboard #tom hardy #beast of camden town

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c0la-queen · 16 days

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You | Tord x Reader

Here we go! I'm sorry if this isn't my normal quality, I wrote it while fighting off a headache... but also, I wanted to be a little silly! Because these are silly guys! I hope you enjoy the slight cliffhanger I left it on, hehe! Mwah, mwah!

Warnings: Tord is a bit of a weirdo, stalking behavior, obsession, Tord is 100% making assumptions about you and your personality, love this little freak <3

Words: 1.5k

---

Being a quiet person is not always an easy thing.

Some people would think it was. You never have to worry about saying the wrong thing. There were less chances of you offending anyone from your words.

Or, some people think the opposite. "I could never handle being so quiet" they say. It must be a headache to be around so much noise.

And… they were right, in Tord's opinion. It was nice to not have to get stuck in awkward conversations. He had the added bonus of being intimidating, so people eventually got the hint and stopped trying to talk to him. However, he also had to keep enough Advil on hand to tranquilize a small horse, considering he decided to live with the three loudest motherfuckers on the planet. Pros and cons, and such.

There were times when it proved to be nice, though.

Like right now.

The odd occasions where he had the day to himself. Tom and Matt were at work, Edd was visiting his parents, so that left Tord to his lonesome. What a great day.

As much as he would have liked to spend the whole day in the house, he couldn't. He needed to go grocery shopping - the fridge looked abysmal. At least it was warm and sunny outside. Still, he dragged his feet. He really didn't want to go to the store.

Ugh.

He was the son of the Red Leader. He had seen much worse shit. He had killed men in cold blood without batting an eye. He was not going to be bested by the looming possibility of social interaction.

…maybe he needed therapy?

…

Nah.

If Tord ever managed to invent a time machine, the first thing he was going to do was find the person who developed wireless earbuds and give them a kiss.

Being an intimidating looking person was a great way to ward off unwanted conversations. But there were always people who had no sense of self preservation and chose to try and talk to him anyway. Wearing earbuds while he was out helped with that. Nobody was stupid enough to try and deliberately get him to take his earbuds off. (Except Edd and Matt, but they know that they'll get away with it.)

The basket handle on his arm was starting to dig into his arm as he stood in front of the pasta aisle, watching his pet idiots (roommates) argue on the group chat over what type of noodles to get. Edd wanted Ziti, Tom wanted Angel Hair, and Matt wanted Bowtie… for some reason.

Tord was busy calculating the risk vs. reward of banging his head against the shelf until he bled out of his ears when it happened.

You happened.

Through his music, he heard the sound of laughing and giggling. He glanced to the side, expecting a gaggle of obnoxious, immature 20-something year olds with the sole purpose of ruining everyone else's relaxing shopping experience. And that's mostly what it was. But, standing in the middle of them was you.

Hello, you.

You were laughing, just like the others. But not the fake laughter of conformity - no, it was real, genuine laughter. Tord didn't think he had heard anything so beautiful. He even paused his music just so he could hear it in its pure form.

The more he looked, the more he saw of you. You were like the sun, so golden and bright compared to these others you were standing with. He could tell you weren't like them, he could tell you weren't using some made up personality to try and fit in.

What the hell were you doing with people like that?

Then, you were moving. Your little group had apparently decided the joke wasn't funny anymore, so you were moving on. Disappearing into the next aisle. Disappearing from his life.

Tord threw a couple boxes of noodles into the basket without even looking at it, shoving his phone back in his hoodie pocket and moving on to the next aisle. He pretended to deliberate over what brand of laundry detergent to get as he subtly watched your group at the other end of the aisle. He was able to get a better look at you.

You were wearing a brightly colored cardigan, wool by the looks of it, that perfectly matched the colors of your earrings and purse. You liked to coordinate your outfits. You had on a little skirt that teased just enough of your thighs to draw attention without being slutty, but you also had black tights on. You liked to look attractive while still feeling like you were being modest. Your earrings and the clip in your hair looked like they had been bought from the girls' department store in the mall right across from Matt's store, that was always playing mind numbing pop songs and had unicorns everywhere. You liked cutesy, almost juvenile things.

Tord wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything about you.

A peaceful day all to his lonesome where he would force himself to get groceries before wasting the day away on the couch quickly shifted - now, he was spending the rest of the afternoon with you.

Well, almost.

You and your friends were walking around town, enjoying the warmth and dipping into any stores that caught your attention. Tord was also walking around town, a good distance behind your group, enjoying your warmth and drinking in every detail he could get.

And he had learned plenty.

He had no idea why you were friends with these people. From what he could tell, you were stifled in this group. They would talk over you, ignore things that you pointed out, refuse to go to stores that you wanted to go to, tease and taunt you, and walk ahead of you. Despite it all, you always kept a smile. You kept shining, kept illuminating the area around you.

They don't deserve your light.

Oh, but you knew that, didn't you? You knew, but you were so sweet and gracious that you gave it to them anyway. Maybe if you shone bright enough, warmed their skin enough, they would finally give you attention.

Tord would give you that attention. He already was, and you weren't even giving him your sunlight.

And he never would ask you to.

No, your sunlight was going to be a gift that he had to earn. It would be a blessing that he was going to work hard to have bestowed upon him.

He would never exploit you.

Like they did.

Tord slipped into the coffee shop, running a hand through his hair. The warm weather was causing a light amount of sweat to gather on his skin.

He pretended to look across the overfilled menu, taking in the names of all the absurd drinks available. He already knew what he was going to get.

"Hi, welcome in! What can I get started for you today, sir?"

The barista was smiling at him too much. Her eyes drifted down his chest, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Her pupils her dilated. She was checking him out.

Not that he cared. On an objective standard, she was pretty. But she didn't shine. She wasn't sunlight. She didn't brighten up the entire room just with her smile. She didn't make the birds sing by just looking in his direction.

She wasn't you.

"Iced Americano."

"Will that be all for you? We have a whole menu of signature flavors. I'd recommend-"

"Just an Americano."

The barista blinked in surprise when he cut her off. Typical. A pretty person with a shallow mind that couldn't comprehend the idea of a person not being interested in them. She huffed softly before ringing him up and telling him his total.

He paid, then turned to go sit and wait for his order to be made. He didn't get very far, though, before he almost ran into someone.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I totally wasn't looking where I was going!"

It was you.

You were talking to him.

You were looking at him.

You were so warm.

"It's fine."

As Tord fled like a fucking coward, you gave him a sweet smile. You smiled at him. And he just walked away. Asgardians above, his father would have been so disappointed in him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he sat at a window table, watching your friends snicker at the coffee shop mascot.

"Mate, you've been out shopping for like 4 hours. Where are you?"

Edd's voice drifted out from his phone speaker as Tord pressed the screen to his cheek.

"Something came up."

"Did you get the bowtie noodles? Did you? Tord?"

There was a muffled 'Matt, get off me' and some shuffling fabric before Edd's voice returned.

"The fuck do you mean something came up?"

Tord glared at the boy you were talking to, watching you give him an adorable pout. Oh, the things Tord would do to you.

"I found the perfect girl for us."

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld tord #eddsworld tord x reader

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dokk-fukuro · 1 year

Text

Shrift [Fyodor Dostoevsky x f!Reader]

A/N: mentioned of female genitals, smut, slight degradation, orgasm denial, aphrodisiac, some sort of dubcon.

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

The instinct of self-preservation is only half of the requirements that are necessary to avoid problems. A sense of tact and banal politeness can also help prevent worse outcomes, but not for me, apparently, because I still don’t quite understand what I did to deserve the fate of being a prisoner in some damp basement. How long have I been here, what am I for, and who is my kidnapper? I don't know the answer to any of these questions. However, sometimes it is better not to think about such things, especially if the fantasy is rich. And yet, how could a thug from the Black Lizards unit be useful to someone? I only know how to kill. A kid picked up from the slums, taken from his parents who didn't care about me or my brothers. From us it was possible to blind anything, so they blinded. But none of us complain about it. Life in the mafia is not so bad, at least it's better than stealing and getting punished if we get caught.

Twilight reigns in the basement where I sit. Almost nothing is visible here, but even subtle sounds echo. All this time, it seems to me that I became a target simply by accident. Whether they torture me or not doesn't really matter. After all, my comrades most likely abandoned me, and none of them even look for me. In my mind, I apologize to Gin, who instilled in me the will to fight no matter what, to Higuchi and Akutagawa-san. I can't escape, they don't know where to look for me, so leaving me to my fate is the best decision they can make.

I hear someone's steps. It doesn't bother me, it doesn't confuse me. I was preparing for this moment. Now the one who will torment me will appear before me. In exchange for what? Not a single idea comes to mind what anyone might need from a Black Lizard fighter. We all know only what will be useful. We are not initiated into the details, and no one asks for more. Everyone is satisfied.

“It was not easy to drag you here, but the Master ordered.” I hear a voice. I raise my head to see the one in front of me. A pale, slender young man appears in the light of the lamp. It's hard to say for sure how old he is. His wide smile from ear to ear is a little unsettling and reminds me of the times Higuchi saw Akutagawa-san at the end of the corridor. She always frightened me much more than this freak with a bandaged head, who keeps looking at me with unblinking eyes. “And his wishes are my command. Tell me, darling, are your hands numb?”

I frown, trying to guess who put me in the basement and why. And only at the moment when this someone voiced, I realize that I can’t lift a finger. The blood has drained from the limbs, so they almost don't feel like my own. For the first time I wanted to cry like a little girl, ask questions, burst into three streams of tears, but I suppress these desires in myself. This shouldn’t be in my nature, otherwise shame on me as a fighter of the Black Lizards.

"What do you need me for?" Still, I can't resist asking a question. The young man in front of me squints contentedly, as if he had been waiting for this moment. True, he definitely does not like that his question is ignored. I get punched in the stomach, knocking all the air out of my lungs.

"I think I asked a question. It's impolite of you to leave it unanswered," he reminds me, but before he clearly wants to hit me again, I hear someone else's steps. Someone in front of me abruptly stops and clears the passage, standing near me. Clearing my throat, I raise my head to see the one in front of me. Pale, black-haired, with a snow-white cap on his head. His purple eyes are dead, as if there is no sign of life behind them. Even in Akutagawa-san's eyes, I didn't see that. He has a little life in them.

Silence reigns. No one says a word and it honestly pisses me off, which is pretty amazing. After an indefinite time of silence around, I hear someone's voices, and now, when silence is around again, I want to scream. Why was everyone silent? The silence feels like torture.

There is a stir on my right as a young man with a bandaged head moves away, leaving me alone with the man who entered after him. Compared to me, he is tall, which is even a little uncomfortable. Even Akutagawa-san, who is also taller than me, doesn't push as hard as a stranger does. His gloved hand grabs my lower jaw and squeezes it hard.

And it begins to dawn on me who is in front of me. In the meantime, I heard Kouyou-sama raging about Ace, saying that he allows himself too much. To be frank, no one liked him much. I didn't like seeing him around from time to time. Head of the Port Mafia Executive Committee. His ever-sly squint and smirk, as if he won the lottery from this life, strained. I wonder if this asshole is still alive? Most likely not. And now the one that Ace was holding back in his prison is holding me in the basement. Fyodor Dostoevsky.

“And you are not one of the talkative ones,” it only dawns on me at this moment that he has been addressing me all this time. I purse my lips and... I hear clicks above my head. Hands fall, located along the body, and rushing blood pricks unpleasantly in them. I still can't move a finger, so trying to grab the hand that's still holding my face fails miserably. But why would he release me? Even more, why does he need me?

Through simple deductions, the only completely rational thought comes to mind. I can be used as one of the possible leverage. Dostoevsky is not so stupid, and probably already knows enough about me to use it. The brothers will definitely not be able to ignore my sudden disappearance, so it will only benefit him if those whom he challenges arrive in his lair. And, it seems, with this conclusion I fall into the very “ten”. At least that's what Fyodor's grin indicates. Can he read minds? Or is my thought process so obvious to him? Most likely the second.

“You are not so stupid if you managed to figure out part of my plan so quickly,” comes to my ears in confirmation of my guess. A closer look seems to eat away my soul by the teaspoon. Under the gaze of dark purple eyes is so uncomfortable that I want to scream. I can hardly restrain myself, for which I get laughter in response. Quiet, slightly husky. The whole situation seems to amuse him.

He doesn’t say anything to me anymore, he just leads me like I’m on a leash. On the other hand, it will be better if I obey, although I have nothing to lose anymore. However, it still surprises me that no one is going to force any information out of me. Although, knowing who Fyodor Dostoevsky is, this is also not surprising. He doesn't need to torture anyone to get what he wants. He, like a rat, can penetrate anywhere, get the right information and go unnoticed. It remains only to hope that my brothers will be smart enough not to be provoked and not to be led by their emotions. This will lead to fatal errors. The mere failure to comply with the order for all of them can be very costly, to say nothing of the fact that one of my older brothers may well question the correctness of the decision taken by our leadership. If only they had enough brains...

The corridors seem the same. Only the people in them are different, so it makes no sense for me to remember the path. I walk in complete silence with Fyodor. He doesn't give any explanation, he doesn't say anything. On the other hand, it's even better. Around the next turn, the same young man with a bandaged head is waiting for us again. His thin lips curve into an ear-to-ear smile. All I hear is “So she’s ready,” but I don’t attach much importance to this, although my mind is hysterically rushing about in search of explanations. What am I ready for, what will they do with me? For the first time I am so scared that I am ready to call for help. I'm being handed over to that strange person, but I... don't mind.

There is darkness before my eyes, I can’t see where I’m going, I listen to every rustle, as if my life depends on it. However, there is some truth in this. Any of my wrong actions can entail such consequences that death seems to me the most humane solution. In front of me, someone hums a simple tune, leading me by the hand. Disorientation in space leads to the fact that I seem to almost collide with something, but I am abruptly pulled to the side with the words: “What a careless creature.” It sounds with tenderness and even some pity. I'm still not asking questions. I obviously do not need it on foreign territory. Here I am destined to play by the rules dictated by the one who runs everything. And this is Fyodor.

It looks like we're going outside. At least fresh air without a hint of dampness gives an opaque hint of it. Behind me, someone chuckles nastily, fixes my wrists, and a stabbing pain pierces my shoulder. It's like a syringe. Apparently, they decided to poison me or stuff me with something that would force me to kill my own people, and then carry myself away after them. They push me in the back and I fall onto the metal floor. Something closes behind me. The sound is similar to the doors of a truck or minivan. The rattling of the ground beneath me makes me think I've been pushed into a car and taken somewhere.

Where are we going? “I need to keep my mouth shut. How many more times do I have to repeat myself in order to remember once and for all? In answer to my question, I hear laughter. Nobody gives me a clear answer. “You will find out everything yourself,” and I begin to like it less and less. As well as the fact that I get hot, my breathing becomes heavier, and my body begins to tremble. Is this the effect of poison? Not likely. More like the effect of some kind of drug. And, what is most disgusting, the way the car is driving on obvious off-road makes the situation worse. Any bump, any unevenness in the road makes the car shake, sending vibration along my body, and the inability to see anything in front of me only aggravates the situation.

The silence around is alarming, and only somewhere in the distance is heard how someone plays the cello. Hope I'm not mistaken. But for some reason even this does not calm me; on the contrary, I start to get even more nervous, and every step becomes only more difficult to take. All sounds, smells, even a slight change in air flow - everything is felt many times brighter. I bite my lips, feeling the heat build up between my legs. I need at least some touch, at least a minimal amount of friction... no, it only makes the situation worse.

Someone else's touch on the shoulder makes me stop and breathe out noisily. I can’t think clearly, I can’t concentrate on at least one thought. My hands are behind my back, the handcuffs are unpleasantly pressing on my wrists, my clothes also seem to fetter my body. And it dawns on me what they did to me. But for some reason I'm not even horrified by the realization that I somehow don't care. My mind has been drugged, my body yearns for someone else's touch, but I don't care if it's because of what I've been injected with. Desires override common sense.

The melody gets louder and then cuts off. I hear the rustle of clothes, as someone rises from his seat. Steps. One, two, three. I shake a little when the sensation of someone else's warmth gets too close to me. Touching my hair feels good. I purse my lips, it is not clear why, I can obviously be easily read, like an open book. The door behind closes. Clicks behind the back.

“No, no, don’t take off the blindfold, it’s not time yet,” yes, he definitely sees right through me, so I let him do whatever he wants with me. Hands rest on my shoulders, and I exhale noisily. A smile is heard. “It seems that Ivan went too far with the dose. But that's even better. You're so receptive and it's so dirty. I will cleanse your body and soul from sins. Come with me.”

It's Fyodor by the voice. He languidly draws syllables, his speech is viscous like syrup, just as cloying, the touch of his gloved hands - I'm still sure that he wears them - slow, studying, and I almost squirm in his hands in impatience. Anything, please, but let this agony end. The desire, which already painfully reduces the inner side of the thighs, does not come to naught, but is only fueled by someone's touches. It is unbearable!

He takes me by the hand and leads me somewhere. Apparently, I was too immersed in the concentration on other people's touches that I notice the coolness of the air only moments later, when Dostoevsky pushes me, and I fall on the bed. It's cold, it sends goosebumps all over my body, and I can't hold my breath on the verge of a moan.

Rustling of fabric. I can't figure out if it's because I'm fidgeting in the cool bed, or if Fyodor is undressing, but his hand is touching my bare thigh. My parted lips tremble; the touches are so weightless, there are so few of them, that in this agony I am ready to beg for more. I almost suffocate, my head is spinning, and the ghostly touches, which already seem like a dirty joke of a naughty imagination, do not stop. My body is being explored with hands, as if studying reactions to touch here and there. When a hand comes to a stop on my neck and squeezes it, I let out a moan, unable to control myself.

“Your sinful desire is so strong that it’s disgusting to touch you. I have not yet begun to caress you, and your face is already twisted in sweet agony. Such a vicious one,” Fyodor clicks his tongue and laughs huskly. His hand unclenched and grabbed my chest, squeezing noticeably. “But I can't do anything about myself. You poison my mind with your desire, you should be ashamed.”

His words, like poison, penetrate the skin, spread through the veins, igniting the flame only stronger. I should be embarrassed, that's a fact. I should be ashamed that I can't control myself, can't just find the strength to push him away, pull off the blindfold, and just run away. However, even if I try, it is unlikely that it will go unpunished, and then I will have to guess: he will beat me, or someone else will do it. But in this case, I definitely won’t leave alive.

My mental tossings do not go unnoticed, that's for sure, because again I hear laughter in my ear, and a whine escapes my lips. I can't take it anymore! That's too much! His voice sends goosebumps down my spine, turns on a drugged mind, and the pain from the force with which he pinches my nipple brings me back to reality. I am in a stalemate, completely naked on the bed in the arms of Fyodor Dostoevsky, who does with me whatever he wants, as if I were a toy to satisfy his desires. Exactly his desire! And somehow I don't mind at all.

The palm that tormented my breast descends lower to my parted legs, stroking and squeezing the inside of my thigh, slapping it as dry, hot lips attack my neck, leaving painful kisses that will bloom in hickeys. I can't hold back any longer. I arch my back, long moans and pleas to touch my pussy, to stop this torture, break from my lips. I can’t take this anymore!

His hand circles around my labia, parting them a little, but his fingers don't push any further. Where Dostoevsky touched me with his palm, it was burning hot, as if it was still there, but I hear rustling and something falling on the bed, and now another slap on the thigh feels more painful, it is more sonorous. The brunet took off his glove. And now he is attacking my body with double fury. I can even feel the teeth digging into my skin, but all I can do is moan and move towards him. More. I want more!

Once again, my breath tightens in my chest as I feel two fingers pierce inside me with that characteristic wet sound. Shame washed over me from the bottom of my stomach to my head, but I had to accept it while Fyodor sucked and almost gnawed into my chest. I don’t even think to bring my legs together. I just spread them wider. He laughs and gives me the order to remove the blindfold, because he wants to see my face in moments of sinful pleasure.

“Such a pleading look. You're so pathetic underneath me But this is not enough, you must understand.” Dostoevsky continues to move his fingers inside me, pulling out moans from my chest. I tighten around his fingers, look at his body. Sickly pale skin, as if he had anemia, without a hint of scars. The brunet is subtle, but with all this he has incredible strength. The look of his dark, purple eyes literally devours me, and the wide pupils give him only more gloominess.

He drops kisses on the places where he left marks. There will definitely be bruises, and then his dry lips cover my bitten ones, while the knot in the bottom of my stomach pulls, dissolving in languor. I'm about to come, but everything is cut off, his fingers leave my body, leaving me on the edge. I'm almost ready to cry.

"Please, Dostoevsky." I can barely manage to squeeze out as soon as the distance between our lips increases. He pretends not to understand what I want from him, and for some reason I am ashamed to say this out loud. The brunet touches my body, squeezes the nipple with his fingers, squeezes my chest, rubs his erection on my thigh, but doesn’t bring me to orgasm. “Please, fuck me. I want to cum.”

Fyodor laughs hoarsely. He clearly has more composure than I do, although judging by the way his body trembles, he's on edge too.

“What a pervert you are. You want to feel the dick inside you so much that you’re ready to beg.” It doesn’t matter what happens to me later, if I feel good now. With one movement, Dostoevsky fills me to the accompaniment of my loud moan. He doesn't give me a minute to get used to it, he starts to move, groaning gutturally, my lower stomach feels nice as I feel the young man pushing deeper and deeper into me. Fyodor stares into my eyes as his pace gets faster and rougher, his hands clutching painfully at my hips, digging their nails into my skin, my legs pinned against my chest as he ram unceremoniously into my body, making me scream.

With another deafening scream and a sharp, deep thrust inside, everything subsides. Dostoevsky freezes, looking at me. Disheveled, out of breath, with a maniacal smirk on his face.

“We are not done with your shrift, sinner. I will fill you again and again until you repent.”

#My writing #bsd #bsd x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #dostoevsky x reader #bungo stray dogs #bsd smut #bsd dostoevsky #dostoevsky smut #fyodor x reader

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still-a-morosexual-help · 1 year

Note

there's obviously a lot I want to see in nightbringer, but one thing I haven't seen mentioned yet is solomon. I want to see why so many demons (including the demon brothers) see him so badly. he doesn't treat the mc, a human, the same way he treats demons and we don't ever get to see him be an asshole but I kind of want to? just to see how much his character has grown

according to the game page apparently solomon is helping the mc mask as a demon too so it would be fun for others to notice that solomon is very nice to some random "demon" they never seen before lol I just want to let him live up to his reputation for once, we hear so many things about him from others in the game, but he's always such a sweetheart to mc, and the few scenes we do see of him being a sneaky or a little mean don't seem like enough for demons to feel the way they do about him

also mc pretending to be a demon would be so easy, like the mc is so fucked up I feel like even real demons would find them off-putting, especially if they play it up a bit

While talking with MC in S3 I believe, Solomon says he only started treating the demons he had pacts with (72 of them) like friends recently. I believe it's heavily implied that up until that point he treated them as tools for him to use rather than actual people.

He also got Asmo blackout drunk while Asmo was already in an upset/vulnerable mood in order to make a pact with him, solely so he could get closer to Lucifer. Current Asmo says he doesn't mind, but past Asmo might have actually being pissed about it, Lucifer (& Belphie) would have definitely been pissed about it given how Lilith's interactions with humans went

Given those two points^ there's a high chance he tricked more of his 72 demons into pacts with him

He was also working with/for Michael at the time and I don't think there'll be many demons with anything good to say about Michael, specially at a time where the war had just settled down

Also in one of the recent events MC asks Solomon to tell them something scary (or something to that effect) and he tells them about taking control of the Devildom - Barbatos (who's known Solomon for a long time and is very observant) says that Solomon sounded a little too sincere

Also I really wanna know why he got basically kicked out from the Sorcerer's Society that he helped form and why he had a falling out with his previous apprentice that was so bad that even thousands of years later he still isn't welcome within the society

Plus his whole thing with the ocean! Living by the ocean for a time, liking fish but hating the ocean! If they follow the irl myths it probably had something to do with Asmo and I can't wait to see that trainwreck

Oh yeah gen MC has shown multiple times that they're very down with setting people on fire, very down with destructive violence and very turned on (or at the very least, not disturbed) by the brothers casually mentioning things like eating humans or eating/killing them even (*cough*halloween event*cough*vampire event*cough*paws event*caugh*) and has NO sense of self preservation to the point that it usually freaks the actual demons out

I can't wait to see how this shit plays out. I hope MC gets to be just as unhinged as in og OM!

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just-jae · 3 months

Text

Hazbin Hoetl 5-6

Spoiler warning!

Not gonna lie, at first I was cringing a bit at Lucifer. I was expecting him the have, like, grace and baddie energy. but he's talking to himself pretending to show off rubber ducks to a crowd.

And of all the potential dynamics he and Al could have had, competing father figures was NOT on my mind at all dude. Al? Dad?

But, I watched these last two episodes a couple (okay maybe several) times over and, it's really growing on me. It was definitely the predeveloped impressions getting in the way of really enjoying these characters. Even the irks I had about Alastor aren't really irks anymore, especially with "Dad beat Dad having much better animation and a banger number for Al (seriously wtf he's horrific in this episode)--

"Could you butt out of my song?"

"Your song? I started this!"

"I'm singing it, I'll finish it!"

Before, I was seeing it as how well they pull off my (and arguably the long simmering fandom's) idea of these characters instead of how well the characters as they actually are are told. So many people thought this show would be a super serious deep dive on Christianity and commentary on religion itself. But at this point, it really feels like Heavan and Hell are metaphores. They focus a lot more on personal issues like relationships, coping mechanisms, flaws like nievety, displaced senses of self worth, etc.

Charlie's idea of what "gets people into heaven" is naive and brochure-like. Adam gave a literal list of three items that seemed overly simplistic (and turned out to be wrong).

But at least they had some idea about it. The higher angels themselves had no clue whatsoever, their only concern was preserving the status quo. And even when things are called to question they fall back to old ways just bc they're scared to change anything. Sera didn't have any malice toward Hell, she just doesn't want to make things worse, having Angels fall, have Hell attack Earth or Heaven, have more evil spread, by changing things.

Getting a better idea of what all of this is about makes it so much easier to appreciate things I initially was put off by. It just has a context that it fits into now.

Lucifer being this disillusioned depressed dork with "yeaaaah, No." energy fits into what we've seen of heavenly culture (uncanny innocence, annoying teen pop-culture energy, being perfectionist yet blind to their own flaws)

And The "Hell's Great Dad" song really broke the ice, especially when Mimzy busted in singing ITS MEEEEEEE-- like

Love her. I wasn't expecting to see Mimzy AT ALL since she was removed from the main cast. And after seeing people talk about her and how they were wondering about her, it definitely felt like popping in the way she did was a response to that. Even I was wondering bc you don't just drop a former love interest for a character like Alastor, but still have them show up in the pilot-- I wanted to see Mimzy lol.

like literally:

"It's MEEE, It's MEEE,

I know you were all waiting for MEEEE!

I'm Here, what a GAAAS,

Took a while but I'm here at LAAST"

Like, im sorry but I felt like she was pointing at me personally, not the other characters, and that was hilarious.

It's so random but doesn't feel out of place at all somehow. The tensions were already super high, so a random screaming woman busting in with even higher energy is like-- wtf?? :'D??

She was a blast the entire time tho, and actually tied into the reoccurring theme of only reaching out to someone so they can do something for you.

It also definitely pinched a side of Alastor, irritating that he does apparently NEED to be there, there's some obligation he actually has to the hotel, or at the very least some stakes to not holding things together, not bc he defended the hotel but bc he specifically says "I can't have that here" , he also doesn't refute the claims Mimzy makes about him. Al clearly adores her and isn't surprised by her antics at all yet still tells her to leave. With the mention of Alastor's "leash" in the same episode BC of Mimzy was just such a great way to use her character. A fun entrance, thematic relevance, and a great plot device to reveal more about Alastor's situation and motives.

Like I said, at first the food tasted cold. I was thinking to myself "Eh, nothing really that crazy ig" but the more I watch the episodes and get over whatever my expectations were, the more I enjoy what's there.

Like, at first I was thinking, "Oh no Lucy's another akward dork, a normie, a loooooserr" (not that being an akward dork or a normie is bad but those were the vibes I was giving off, I'm sorry)

But I keep watching "Hell's Greatest Dad" and NOW it's like

LOOK AT HIM< LOOK AT HIM GO

Like, he's fugghing adorable with the "WAP BAP BOOM"

the puppets and the circus imagery, and just the innocent unmalicious enthusiasm. He's stumbling around over barely knowing his daughter and is now sprinting to make up for being so absent-- and even that absence is implied to be due to chronic depression and pining, missing heaven and having to live in hell forever, not only being the one who supposedly created it by accident, but tried and failed to fix it, even having his own theme park ripped off by a deadly Sin. The show calls it out bluntly, but despite his cheery tone and, yeaaah, no, yeaaah, no" attitude, they did a great job showing that his depression manifested in detachment and disinterest. It sucks for the people it effects but it also sucks to be the one who dropped the ropes in your relationships.

So seeing him brjghtenup and glow over just helping his Charlie put her hotel together was great. He feels useful and wanted again. And imo it's a double edge sword as well if Lucy feels like he has to be useful to be a decent dad.

So, idk. I guess I do want to see how he handles trying to be in Charlie's life again, especially since, at this point Alastor knows and has supported her more than he ever has-- despite the rough beginning and the mockery. (Also Lilith's face being faded out was sus af)

I'm convinced that in Al's case it's definitely not from a genuine place, at least, we still have no reason to believe it is. He was glaring at Lucy as soon as he walked in, and the nearly every comment on how great his relationship with Charlie is was also a jab to piss off Lucy instead of a genuine expression.

A performance, in short.

Still, the fact that someone who's only just met Charlie has a better relationship with her than her father has got to suck to realize if you're the father.

Also-- the scene at the club-- I was pretty mixed about it, like, doing drugs, itself isn't bad-- it can be unhealthy and it can put others at risk if you're resigning your cognizance and self control for the sake of coping with stress-- so it can very easily enable bad things, especially if you become addicted, so,imo is pretty wreckless and definitely a vice. But it doesn't make you a bad person.

But then again angels also seem to think premarital sex and promiscuity is bad too. (Promiscuity puts you at risk for disease, and like drugs can be driven by vices, but, again, the thing itself isn't bad and can still be a healthy practice when it comes from a healthy place)

I'm genuinely proud of Angel for actually growing though, seeing him take care of Nifty and protect her from Val got me on the "Fuck em up" energy. It's always great to see a group of friends watching out for eachother when they know there's a danger to what they're doing-- ESPECIALLY when one of them is new to it all. That's why if you ARE going to do drugs or drink or whatever, definitely don't do it alone or without someone you trust with your safety.

And also never feel like you have to do those things to maintain relationships, some people feel like it would be an insult to imply they dont trust someone or just for being disinterested in their offer. And, frankly there are people who will prey on that.

That was just a great scene. It had some flaws, but was still great.

Also--

PENTIOUS

I HATE

BROTHERMAN MADE ALL THE MISTAKES.

"Bc I'M HAVING SEX WITH EVERY--"

THATS NOT WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY YOU FUCK

Also, not gonna lie but Sera's got me like

Its been a while since I've been down bad for a femenine character.

She is beauty, she is grace~

#hazbin hotel #spoilers #commentary #sir pentious #alastor #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #seraphim #angel dust #sera #brownthoughts00

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distortedclouds · 1 month

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I love annie’s colour pallet, shes all milk skin, pale yellow hair and silver blue eyes

HONESTLY!!!

There's something very interesting happening with aruani's color pallets!! They're the exact same but with Armin's being more saturated, the colors are richer

Whether it's the hair, eyes, skin, or even clothes (it's not apparent in his shot, but Armin's shirts even when white are always more crisp compared to Annie's much warmer/less bright white hoodie) They're always put in the same colors, but Annie always feels like she's a little washed up, which adds up with how they've been raised:

Annie's personality and sense of self were squashed in favor of her being the optimal soldier, while. The "Icy" notion of her appearance is also about preservation/lack of growth. When you freeze something, it doesn't rot, but it also doesn't change and grow. So Annie has always been inside a crystal (her colors are even more washed up when she's actually in her crystal)

Compared to Armin, he was allowed to dream and grow, even when things were hard. His skin is more sun-kissed and his hair richer and fuller.

The contrast is still there, but it's a tiiiny bit less, post-canon. Armin is still in a dark suit and tie, while Annie's colors are lighter and softer. HOWEVER! Notice how they're not "washed" this time. They're only light, it doesn't feel like there's a filter over her

And now with the new edition:

I'm not sure how accurate the colors we have, but his suit is NOTICEABLY lighter in color and his hair is bright (some of it is due to the sun but my point still stands)

#ask #anon #annie #aruani #meta #kind of

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gurenismywaifu · 1 year

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Is Guren a narcissist?

Lately I dislike Kagami's portrayal of Guren as much as the next person and tbh there's absolutely no way you can make me think he's an innocent victim or a tragic hero we should root for (though I still do root for him cause he's just pathetic and gay I love him). However, the amount of times i've seen both the hispanic and english fandom call him a narcissist is kinda surprising 👀 Now the question is...

So since I'm petty and I like analysing useless stuff, let's take a look at Guren's behavior and at what makes a narcissist to try to give a more elaborate answer. I'll give as a disclaimer that I don't intend to attack anyone or force anyone to like Guren with this post, I'm just a psychology student currently investigating personality disorders and I thought this take would be fun to share.

Also, english is not my main language so do feel free to point out if you see I make any mistake so I can correct it, please ;u;

So for starts, if we're talking about the reasons for why people use to call him a narcissist I believe that pointing out his behavior towards Yuu is a very fair argument, especially his behavior towards Yuu at the beginning of the manga. Guren expresses himself with superiority, these airs and graces and apparent laziness and lack of thoughtfulness. However I believe that if you know how the story in the light novels go and even more if you've read them, you'll realize that all this "I'm your saviour, your god, you owe me your life, blah, blah, blah" crap that Guren tells to Yuu is a way of imposing authority and exerting some kind of control over him.

Guren needed to exert this control and authority as a way to protect himself, his subordinates and his investigations from the JIDA higher-ups, but also to keep Yuu at bay, not only because he was a part of Guren's experiments but also because Yuu used to be a very asocial and volatile kid when Guren took him under his wing. Having an angry kid acting impulsively at his leisure all around the JIDA was not convenient for Guren or for anyone, honestly.

And yes, I'm not gonna deny that Guren is kind of a jerk, but that has more to do with his personality and his sense of humor than with being a narcissist. He's sarcastic, super hard-headed, quite blunt and may come off as conceited, but he's actually extremely aware of all of his mistakes and shortcomings. He recognizes that he is not the smartest or the strongest out there, he knows how powerless he is in the grand scheme of things and most importantly, he recognizes his mistakes and is absolutely willing to take his share of the blame for it.

Sure, he knows that he is a strong individual but that's because he's worked towards the objective of "being strong" his entire life, he's cultivated perseverance and done sacrifices in order to achieve that strength, and while he does like to show off sometimes, recognizing one's merits and being aware of your capacities is hardly the same as having delusions of grandeur. Plus, his motivations are very much oriented to help others, protect others; and although Guren used to have a very strong sense of self-preservation, after the catastrophe he decides to let go of it if it means that it will help him to achieve those goals of keeping his loved ones safe. He starts doing what he 'has' to do rather than whe he wants to do.

After Nagoya's Arc, the shameless and overbearing side of Guren's behavior gets toned down. He becomes more serious, he doesn't play and makes jokes as often and he also stops trying to impose himself to Yuu in the same way as before. There's no need of that superiority facade anymore after all the things that came to light and now that the JIDA poses less of a threat and that Yuu has become less of a subordinate and more of a collaborator, exerting the same authority as before is just not necessary.

And now that we're referring to Yuu, we also gotta point out that a narcissist lacks empathy and doesn't go out of his way to try to help or benefit other people, but Guren does feel affection towards Yuu. When Yuu came to him as a child full of rage, resentment, guilt and lust for revenge, Guren genuinely empathized with him, he took care of Yuu, tried to teach him what he knew and he pushed him to build a support network with his classmates when he didn't really had to do all that. He could've simply taken advantage of Yuu's grief and solitude to control everything about him and force him to collaborate, but he didn't. Even when doing that would've been the best and most practical option for Guren's purposes, he still decided against isolating Yuu. Plus a narcissist wouldn't be capable of the affection and compassion that Guren feels for Yuu. And it is also made clear that Guren does not enjoy using Yuu or hurting him, but Shinya and his squad are Guren's priority, putting his options in a balance, he knows that he has no choice but to keep using Yuu to make his plan work. And it IS selfish and cruel and abusive, we're not going to deny that, but arguing that he doesn't care about Yuu or anyone else but himself is a pretty reductionist (and tbh also incorrect) statement.

Now, let's take a look at Shinya's opinion about Guren, taking into account that Shinya is probably the person who knows Guren the best out of all of the Catastrophe at 16 cast and probably all of OnS.

First of all we have this scene during the Nagoya Arc in which Shinya shows concern about Guren cause he knows that Guren suffers when people die and that he's not good at handling that.

Guren cares about his subordinates, he is saddened by the death of his soldiers and during this arc, he even makes the rather emotional choice of going straight into a trap in order to save other soldiers that Crowley is holding as hostages, even when Mito and Shinya warn him that they shouldn't do it cause it is clearly a trap.

I know there's a lot of material that I'm not covering, but for the sake of not making this post longer than it already is, let's go ahead and just check some of the behavioural criteria that a person has to meet to be diagnosed/classified as a Narcissist; of course, taking into consideration that meeting one or two criteria isn't enough cause it is very likely that everyone will present some of these criteria some times throughout our lives. For a person to be considered a narcissist they must meet various criteria which manifest constantly in various different contexts of their life for most of the time. Some of the criteria include:

•A grandiose sense of self-importance, being it fantasies or behaviors and the expectation to be recognized as superior without real reasons.

In Guren's case, he's not really the type that brags about his deeds or that goes about life expecting people to praise him, specially when there's no reason. The only times one could say that he sort of acts this way is in his interactions with Yuu in the early chapters.

•A narcissist is very often preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.

Although Guren, does desire power and recognition, he is aware of all he's lacking and beats himself up because of all these things that he knows he isn't good enough to achieve. We can also notice that ultimately, his desire for power originates from his desire to keep his loved ones safe.

•A narcissist believes that they are “special” and unique and they only want to associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions).

In Guren's case, he knows that he kinda sucks. A lot of the people around him belong to a higher status, have a higher military position or are better than him in one way or the other. What Guren does is working towards his betterment. He doesn't believe he's special, in the novels, he even seems to be a bit ashamed about the subordinates in the Ichinose manor thinking that he is a prodigy. We also have that although it is obvious that Guren regards his squad as the most important people to him, and is willing to commit atrocities and become very self-sacrificial for them it is not because 'they are the best' or because they have a high status that Guren's ego can feed on, but just because he loves them.

•A narcissist has an excessive need for admiration

Guren is indeed an admired character, however he doesn't "need" to be admired. Even before the apocalypse, the motive behind his goal was not to be admired but bring respect and dignity to his beaten up clan. He's had plenty of chances to show off, but he just doesn't really needs to be admired for that.

•A narcissist exploits their interpersonal relationships for their own benefit.

This point is a bit tricky cause Guren is undeniably using Yuu and he had the same intentions with Kimizuki and Yoichi to achieve his goals. However, besides from knowing that Guren would not be doing this if there was another way, when we take a look at the rest of his interpersonal relationships, specially with his squad, being exploitative of their relationship for his own benefit is just not there.

Some other criteria include an excessive sense of entitlement, a lack of empathy, constant envy and the belief that others are envious of them, and haughty behaviors, all of which we already tackled before.

So, taking everything in consideration, we come to the conclusion that although Guren has displayed some narcissistic attitudes, overall he does not fit the profile, therefore, Guren is not a narcissist.

This of course doesn't mean that we have to condone all the bad things he's done, but rather may help us gain a bit more insight into Guren's character. Exploring his relationship's dynamics, and other mental health conditions which's profiles he may fit would be fun as well. He is indeed a very flawed character, and maybe that's what makes him interesting.

And that's it, if you read the whole thing, thank you for sticking till the end :) If you enjoyed this do let me know and in the future maybe we can tackle some other ons characters and their issues from a clinical perspective, I would also love to know your opinion on this if you have one or for you to point out any contradictions, mistakes or important things I may have missed to make this post better. Thanks for reading ♡. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

#owari no seraph #seraph of the end #guren ichinose #ons #gureshin #shinya hiiragi #catastrophe at 16 #yuichiro hyakuya #narcisstic personality disorder #character analysis #ichinose guren #catastrophe at sixteen #sote #guren's squad

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vickyvicarious · 11 months

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He has certain qualities very largely developed; selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not yet know.

While there's no such thing as an unbiased description of Renfield in Seward's words, these specific qualities being pinpointed as 'very largely developed' is really interesting when you're considering the way the Renfield+Seward dynamic parallels to Jonathan+Dracula.

Because on the one hand, Dracula very much has very largely developed qualities of selfishness, secrecy, and purpose. And Jonathan is in a similar position to Seward here of reacting to/trying to figure out his ultimate aim, as well as his latest scheme every time Dracula acts. (Also, Seward trying to figure out 'what kind of mad' Renfield is could align with Jonathan trying to figure out 'what kind of monster' Dracula is.) So in that way we're already seeing the Renfield-Dracula, Seward-Jonathan parallels. That ending line of this entry, where Seward agrees to Renfield's request and then thinks to himself that he must watch him, that could be taken straight from Jonathan dealing with Dracula.

But of course, the power dynamics here are completely flipped. Where Jonathan agrees to Dracula's requests, it's because he can't afford to do otherwise. Seward is the one who holds all the power in this entry, his only motive for agreeing is curiosity on what Renfield will do. That's more like Dracula giving Jonathan warnings/taunts and seeing if he will follow through - especially with the link to Seward questioning to the point of cruelty, trying to keep him "to the point of his madness" from his last entry. That's a very Dracula move, and while Seward at least recognizes and feels bad about it after the fact the impulse is still there. Renfield making the request for more time at all, thinking through Seward's 'expostulations' without getting angry, is more like Jonathan than Dracula any day. He, too, is playing to his audience - but instead of being a "good guest", he's using the role of "intriguing case study" to further his own ends. Renfield-Jonathan, Seward-Dracula parallels are definitely here as well. Both captives are trying to manipulate their captors or play a role for them, and both captors are aware but interested enough to keep interacting with them regardless. After all, Jonathan is certainly secretive and acting with purpose whenever possible, and from Dracula's perspective maybe his efforts to escape are even 'selfish'. (Also, saying Renfield is selfish in particular is quite interesting given Seward's musing on selfishness in his last entry. He called him "a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves." Basically, by calling him selfish here he is continuing to think that Renfield can be managed by his sense of self-preservation, which also seems a very Dracula-considering-Jonathan thought to me.) How they come across, and who we sympathize with, is somewhat down to perspective and of course to goals.

Renfield's goals are still unclear, and at least for now we're stuck in Seward's perspective, unable to hear his own thoughts except when he is speaking to the person in charge of keeping him locked up in the asylum (and thus, potentially all tinged by an act as are Jonathan's words to Dracula). So that tends towards the R-D, S-J parallels being more immediately apparent, and I certainly think it's probably more intended for us to care more about our heroes/narrators, but both sides are definitely there from the start.

#dracula daily #renfield #jack seward #jonathan harker #count dracula #the selfishness vs acting for a greater cause thing also can be relevant in multiple ways #but that's probably a different more spoilery post

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