#I KNOW THAT THIS WAS TO START POSTING ROW WRITING SPECIFICALLY. I KNOW

[spellsparkler]

9!

9: Catastrophic weather

The world is breaking apart.

It isn’t, probably; this is probably normal, up here, where the streets don’t need lighting and half the space is just endless emptiness. This is probably normal, the cavern-roof-that-isn’t cracking into pieces, the sounds of it like rock sloughing off into the oil-black ocean, the wet. The smell, too, like nothing they’ve smelled before – green-soft as the grass under their feet, which doesn’t actually look as green as everyone said it would, but then everything’s much darker and shattering-to-pieces-er than anyone said, too – and the cold, and the dark that’s a different sort of dark, and the wet, plastering their hair to their forehead in a sticky-smooth way like they’ve just gone swimming. And there’s more water. And there’s more water. And Yrre stands, fresh out the Underdark, on some sort of slope that they can’t quite make out because it’s not nearly so light as everyone said it would be, what must be grass crinkling under their boots, smelling soft and airy and spring green. And they’re drenched to the skin, which doesn’t bode well for their pack.

And there – again – the world splits open with a vicious light like nothing they’ve seen before. Breath catches, air-bright and still-stiff, in their throat, and then they’re almost knocked down, and the whole world rumbles, and they’re a little bit afraid for their life. When they try to kick-start their breathing again they suck water up their nose and start coughing. Their clothes are dragging. Hair, pearl-grey and shorn short, spatters itself as best it can across their face. Again, they’re sent staggering back a few steps, nearly tripping over their feet in the pockmarked dirt. Their feet are almost dry in their rothé-leather boots.

Yrre is not silly, nor are they a child; they’ve prepared for this, for weeks, months, but it’s all so much – another white-bright crackle, another peal of sound, and every time their breath turns brittle and hollow. Maybe terror, maybe awe, maybe excitement, hot and quick in their veins. They keep gasping, which means they keep sucking in water – and they have prepared, they have, but damn it all, no-one told them it would be so wet.

But they have prepared. When next they’re sent stumbling, they know that it’s wind – a bluster, a gale, rather stronger than they ever imagined it because it always sounded so tame. Air is oft-stagnant, down below; Yrre had imagined a more vigorous version of the drafts that cast themselves coolly across the under-seas, and this is not that. This is a bit like being hit in the face with a hand that’s larger than your entire body. It’s like the air that wraps around the world is vibrant and alive and really, really wants Yrre to sit down. Their waterlogged clothes are flapping with the force of it. They still can’t catch their breath.

And as the water pelts down, they know that it’s rain; distinctly uncomfortable, and very cold, and a common phenomenon, they understand, crucial to the overland earth and kind of frozenly unpleasant. And the rain comes from the sky – which is such a strange word, so sibilant – which can’t be seen right now, in the dark, but which Yrre knows is supposed to be about as blue as blue can get, except sometimes, when it’s orange or purple or black with the white dots of stars. It sounds indecisive. They like it.

And when it all cracks in two, the soft, swollen patterns of the clouds illuminated, the grass of the strange sodden hillside they stand on momentarily lit in cold glow – they know that’s lightning, they’ve seen it before, except no they haven’t, clearly. Every spark-spell they’ve ever seen must have been utter shit because they thought it was striking and interesting and had fascinating potential for use that people didn’t seem to consider but none of it was anything like this, crawling out of a burrow-hole in the sodden earth to find the whole fabled new world crackling to pieces, drenching you in vicious rain, catching glimpses only when the sky splits with clear light. The hair on their neck stands on end. Their heart stumbles in time with the thunder’s rolling. Nothing has ever been like this – the abstract shapes, the frozen cold, the quivering of the wind-blown air like it’s caught up in anticipation. The wind whips hair out or their face. For a moment, Yrre feels swallowed up by the sensation; the world is gilded in frost and silver. They want to peel the dark-hidden sky away and get to the place where the lightning comes from.

It’s called a storm, Yrre remembers. They don’t have them, down below. They whisper the word, quiet on rain-drenched lips, swallowed up by the freezing noise of it all. They think they love it. All their stuff is definitely dripping wet by now.

Lightning cracks again, sharp and fierce and bitter-bright, and Yrre laughs, joyous and breathy. Something sparks in their gut. They know they’ll stay in the storm until it weathers them to ash.

[schadenfreudich]

Can't forget the piece of chaimmail when I leave in like 20 minutes Because I need to show it to my therapist.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k

summary: joel agrees to go out to tommy’s favorite bar, where he watches you ride a mechanical bull and wishes you would ride him.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, no defined reader age or physical appearance besides outfits, alcohol use, joel getting slapped, tommy is a little shit, first date anxiety, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, girl on top, couch sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, deep throating, more men whimpering and begging 2k23. let me know if any warnings are missing!

author’s note: look, i know i’m in the middle of my spooky specials but i saw two very specific tik toks that left me with the need to write this 😵‍💫 also this post layout is inspired by @bits-and-babs, whose works and aesthetic are chef’s kiss.

“Why did you pick this place?” Joel grumbles, hand wrapped around a sweating bottle of beer. People keep jostling him as they squeeze past, forcing him to keep his elbow tight to his side to avoid having his beer be collateral damage.

“You’ll see,” Tommy says with a cryptic wink. Joel rolls his eyes.

Tommy has dragged him out to a saloon style bar, complete with swinging wooden doors and longhorn skulls decorating the walls. Everything is shiny dark wood and western motif, down to the saddle style barstools. Most of the patrons have leaned into the theme, too — tassels, leather, cowboys hats, and ostentatious belt buckles.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” A man’s voice calls out over the speakers. “The show is about to begin!”

“Show?” Joel asks dubiously. Tommy only grins at him, dragging him by the arm towards the back of the bar.

He weaves through the crowd until they’re only behind a few rows of people that have gathered around a mechanical bull riding ring, of all things. The floor of the ring is inflatable and in the middle sits the brown bull figure. Joel catches his first glimpse of you, a gorgeous woman in denim cut offs standing beside the bull. Your black leather halter top plunges low to expose your cleavage and stops short of the waist of your shorts, a tantalizing strip of your stomach on display. The black leather of the top matches your black leather boots and the cuffs snapped around your wrists.

“One of Salty Saloon’s very own has stepped up to take the bull by the horns tonight!”

You lift a hand to wave, bright smile on your face as you take in the crowd. Your eyes land on Joel and for a brief moment he swears he stops breathing. He can’t hear anything the emcee is saying, all the noise around him just a dull buzz as he watches you swing yourself up onto the back of the bull.

“Alright, alright, alright! Our rider’s goal is to stay on for one minute using only one hand! If she falls before the buzzer, y’all get nothin’. But if she makes it, shots are half off for the rest of the night!”

A cacophony of cheers erupts around Joel and you straighten your spine, holding your hand out with a thumbs up. The music starts, some pop song he’s heard on the radio in the morning when he’s taking Sarah to school, and the mechanical bull turns in a slow circle. You have one hand twisted in a leather strap, the other raised above your head as the bull bucks and swings, your hips moving smoothly with the machine.

“Goddamn,” someone says from behind Joel. “I ain’t ever wanted to be a bull so bad in my life.”

Me, too, he thinks.

Your thighs press tight against the sides of the bull as it swings around, turning you to face the section of crowd Joel stands in. You release the hand grip, both hands in the air now as you rely solely on your legs and core to keep you up on the machine. When the machine turns again, you manage to lift your body and swing your legs around to reverse your position, now seated facing the back of the bull.

“Alright, ten more seconds!” The emcee calls out. The crowd starts to cheer your name and Joel can’t help but join in, eyes glued to you as you continue to swing and sway like all the movements are nothing but second nature to you.

“Three! Two! One!”

A cowbell goes off, signaling the end of your ride. The bull slows to a stop and you sit there for a moment to catch your breath, waving at the crowd. The bar owner, Johnny, comes out onto the crash pad with a huge grin on his face.

“Great job up there, kid. Now go sell some half priced shots,” he says with a good natured pat on your shoulder.

You return to the bar, where the other two bartenders scheduled tonight field the after-show rush, lining up shot glasses and filling them in quick succession with the requested liquor. When you get behind the bar, a familiar head of curly hair catches your eye.

“Tommy!” You call, excited to see one of you favorite regulars. He shouts your name as you stop in front of him.

“This is my brother, Joel!” He says, slapping the back of the man beside him. You’d seen him in the crowd, a handsome guy with broad shoulders stretching a dark blue t-shirt, warm tan skin, and messy curls that speak to the family resemblance between him and Tommy. You reach a hand across the bar, Joel’s calloused fingers dragging against your palm as you greet the man.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joel. Can I get y’all anything?” You ask. Tommy grins.

“Let me get this man a slap shot!” He yells.

You glance at Joel. “That okay with you?” You ask.

His eyes are comically wide as he nods. You step back to ring the bell behind the bar, your fellow bartenders whooping and cheering, a chant of “SLAP SHOT! SLAP SHOT!” echoing around you.

Haley sets a glass of water on the bar for you and you grab a pint glass, filling it with ice and two ounces of Jim Beam and amaretto. You smack the steel shaker on top, grabbing both glasses and shaking them vigorously over your shoulder.

You strain the contents of the shaker into a shot glass, amber liquid flowing to the brim. When you’ve got everything ready, you leave the back of the bar and squeeze your way through the crowd until you’re in front of the two brothers and can hoist yourself up onto the bar.

“Alright, Joel, are you ready?” You shout. He looks a little confused, brows pinched tight over kind brown eyes, but he nods anyway, holding his hand out for the shot glass. Tommy watches with a shit eating grin. “Three! Two! One!”

Joel takes the shot and you follow it with a glass of water to his face and a slap across his jaw in quick succession. Tommy is howling with laughter and Joel’s face is one of pure shock, red blooming across the skin of his cheek. He turns to his brother.

“Tommy, what the fuck!” Joel shouts. His hand wraps into the neck of Tommy’s shirt. “You little fuckin’ shit!”

You have the sinking realization that Joel wasn’t prepared for what a slap shot entails. You had just assumed this was something Tommy had told him about, having been to the bar so much the last few months.

Joel looks mad as hell, his shoulders tense and you worry he may actually throw a punch at Tommy. You hop from the bar and get between the two men, pressing a hand to their chests and pushing them apart.

"You, come with me," you say, pointing to Joel. "And you," -- you jab a finger into Tommy's chest -- "are on my shit list."

You take Joel by the hand and guide him to the back office, shutting the door and muffling the noises of the bar beyond it. His face is still dripping wet and the water dripping from his chin has gathered into a sizeable spot on the collar of his shirt.

"I am so, so sorry," you start, rifling through the storage cabinet for a bar towel. You hold it out to him, avoiding his gaze. "Tommy comes here so much that I just thought he'd told you about what a slap shot was. I should have told you, oh my god."

"Hey, it's okay. I ain't mad at you," Joel says, running the towel over his damp face. "Tommy, though. I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass later."

"Still," you mumble, twisting your hands together nervously. "I'm sorry. Is your cheek okay?"

He rubs the towel over his head to dry his hair a bit, the action leaving him adorable mussed, curly strands sticking up in every direction. You're staring at him, maybe a little too much, but who can blame you? The man is hot.

"Yeah, trust me. I've had worse," Joel replies with a laugh.

"You get slapped by women often?" You tease.

"The number of times ain't just one."

"Oh, a bad boy. Mama warned me about guys like you."

He laughs again, long and low, running a hand through his hair. "Well, thank you for the towel."

"Right. And your next drink is on me. As an apology," you tell him.

"I'd rather get your number," he says. "You know, as an apology."

You raise your eyebrows at him before turning to the manager's desk, grabbing a marker and tugging the cap off with your teeth. You slide a hand down his arm, lifting his forearm up so that you can write down your number across the smooth, tan skin.

"I'm off next weekend," you comment when you've recapped the marker.

"I'll keep that in mind," Joel replies with a grin.

Joel's nervous as he waits outside of your apartment building in his truck, fingers tapping a nameless tune against the steering wheel. It's Saturday night and he's here to pick you up for dinner at a restaurant in downtown Austin, one that required he dig out the old black button down he keeps shoved in the back of his closet for parent-teacher conferences and funerals.

The front door to your building opens and you emerge, dressed in a pretty red wrap dress and black heels. Joel gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for you and he's surprised when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek.

"Hey," you say in greeting, climbing into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, your purse on your lap. Joel can't help the dopey grin that's surely stretched across his face.

“Hey, yourself. You look nice,” he replies. He shuts the door and jogs around the the driver’s side.

“You don’t look so bad either,” you tell him as he starts the truck up. He can feel his cheeks get warm and he hopes that you can’t see him the proof of his nerves in the dark cab.

At the restaurant, the host leads you both to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, pristine white tablecloth topped with a small vase of flowers and a flickering votive candle. A waiter in a white button down comes by to take your drink orders before disappearing the the kitchen, leaving the two of you regarding each other in silence.

“Look, I gotta be honest about somethin’,” Joel says, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’ve got a kid. Sarah, she’s thirteen. Light of my life, you know?” He takes a deep breath before finishing with, “And I don’t think I’ve even been on a date since she’s been born, so this is just…a little new to me.”

“You have a kid?” You ask. For a moment Joel worries that he may have ended this before it could even get a chance to begin, but then your face lights up with a sweet smile and you ask, “Will you tell me about her?”

Joel does. In between ordering and eating your delicious meals, you and Joel discuss anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah and his contracting work, while you tell him about your full time job as a pharmacy technician, the gig at the bar a part time thing on some weekends. He nearly makes you snort your water out of your nose with a story about rescuing Tommy from the bathroom of the girl he’d been seeing when her long distance boyfriend, who Tommy didn’t know existed, showed up at her apartment.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim breathlessly. “And he just jumped out of the bathroom window?”

“To be fair, she had a first floor unit,” Joel confirms. “His royal pain in the ass still made me take him to urgent care because he thought he broke his ankle.”

“You’re a good brother,” you say with a smile. Joel feels the warmth of it in his veins.

After dinner, the ride back to your place is quiet, the comfortable silence filled with the low music from the radio. In a moment of bravery, Joel reaches over and lays a hand on your low thigh, just above your knee as he drives. He refuses to look over at you, but from the corner of his eye he sees you look down at his hand before looking back out the window.

He counts that as a win.

He pulls up the curb outside your apartment and kills the engine. You speak before he has a chance to agonize over what to say.

“Will you walk me to my door?” You ask.

He feels relief and anxiety in one fell swoop. He agonizes internally over whether to kiss you goodnight as he follows you up the stairs to your apartment, the buzzing in his brain momentarily silenced while he watches your hips sway as you climb the steps.

You stop on the second floor, guiding him down a long hallway to a door marked with a black metal number three. You turn to face him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“This is me,” you murmur. Joel swallows nervously.

“Right. I, uh…I had a really great time tonight,” he says.

“Would you…want to come inside?”

Joel’s brain short circuits. “Would I—? Yeah.”

You turn to unlock the door, pushing into your apartment and Joel follows you inside. The apartment is dark but you quickly turn on the lights as you move further inside, illuminating an open living room with a dining nook. There’s a door off to the right that he assumes is your bedroom and an open kitchen to the left. It’s small, but it’s cozy, bursting with colors and fabrics and mismatched furniture.

“Well, this is home,” you say with a shrug. You set your purse down on the small circular dining table. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got beer, some liquor on the bar cart over there if you want to have a look.”

“Beer is fine,” Joel says, taking a seat on the comfy looking couch. You return with a bottle of beer, passing it to him before settling in beside him, kicking off your heels and drawing your legs up beneath you.

He takes a sip, fortifying his nerves. He wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a long time since he’s been on a date, but even sex has been a distant thought for the last year or so. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

“So,” you start, your elbow pressed into the back couch cushion while you lean your face into the palm of your hand. “You wanna know what I think?”

“‘Bout what?” Joel asks.

“You.”

“You got a report card ready for me already?”

“I think” — you take the beer bottle from his hand, setting it on the coffee table — “you’ve spent a long time being a caretaker. Right? You’ve got Tommy, who was already a handful. Your daughter, who’s obviously priority number one. You’ve got a business to worry about, workers to care for.” You shuffle closer on your knees, swinging a leg over his and settling yourself onto his lap. “This okay?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he replies, probably a bit too enthusiastically. His fingers curl into the couch cushions and he wants to reach up to wrap his hands around your waist but he’s not sure if he should.

You play with the collar of his shirt. “What do you think about having someone take care of you for a change?”

Joel’s stomach flips, cock jumping in interest as the blood in his brain rushes south and leaves him only capable of responding with a mumbled, “Oh?”

“I just think you deserve someone treating you real nice,” you say with a shrug. Deft fingers work at undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Especially when I was so mean when we met, slapping you across the face like I did.”

“Told you not to worry ‘bout that,” he replies, head dropping against the back cushions. “S’not like I didn’t like it.”

“You like to be roughed up a little, Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe.”

Your grin is wicked as you drag your nails down the now exposed skin of his chest. He hisses at the sting of it.

“Interesting,” you murmur. You lean close, chest pressed against his, hands coming up to frame his face. Your nails scratch through his beard now and he groans his appreciation.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. “Please?”

You respond by pressing your lips to his, chaste as first. Your mouths move together slowly, feeling each other out. It’s you that takes it deeper, tracing your tongue over his bottom lip and dipping it inside to tangle with his. He wraps his arms around your low back, holding you tightly in his lap as he consumes you, drunk on the feeling of your breath in his lungs.

You drags yours lips away from his with a slick sound, trailing them along his jaw and towards his ear. You nip at his earlobe, teeth gentle and breath hot before whispering, “Can I suck your cock, Joel?”

A whimper claws it’s way up Joel’s throat as he nods, already unable to form words. He’s no stranger to turning into a puddle for a pretty woman but he’s certain this must be a new record.

You slip from his lap and kneel on the floor, pushing his legs apart so that you can settle in between them. Your hands reach for his belt, tugging on the buckle and pulling it loose so that you can pop the button of his jeans and tug the zipper down, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.

Your fingers curl into the waist of his jeans and Joel lifts his hips a bit to aid you in tugging them halfway down his thighs. His cock tents his boxers in an obscene way, a wet spot already staining the fabric. You run your palms up his thighs before bracketing his member between your hands, lightly running your thumbs up his length.

“Christ,” Joel says, teeth digging into his lip.

“That feel good?” You ask.

“Uh huh.”

You smile beatifically before leaning forward, warm breath on his covered cock as you press gentle kisses through the fabric. Joel’s hips twitch and he lets out a deep groan.

You tug the elastic of his boxers over his length, tucking it beneath his balls. He’s practically vibrating with need but you continue to take your sweet time, pressing more kisses along his shaft, tracing the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein.

“You have a pretty cock, Joel,” you say, wrapping your hand around the base of him to hold him steady. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t want to miss the sight of your tongue lapping at the bead of precum gathered on his flushed tip, or the way your own eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of appreciation.

You wrap your lips around his cock, taking him inch by agonizing inch into your warm mouth and Joel feels any semblance of sanity disappear from his lust clouded brain. Your eyes stay fixed on him as take him in as far as you can, throat fluttering around the sensitive head when you swallow before pulling up, twirling your tongue around the tip, and plunging back down.

“Christ,” Joel groans, reaching out to cup your cheek. “You look so goddamn good like that.”

You lift off his cock and take it in your hand, moving it across your lips as you ask, “Like what?”

“Chokin’ on my cock, sweetheart,” he growls.

“That was nothing.”

Joel’s about to ask what you mean when you lower your mouth over his length once more. He can feel you flatten your tongue, your throat and jaw relaxing enough to take him to the very base, your nose tickling the wiry curls on his pelvis. He moans as you swallow around him, breathing through your nose and holding yourself there for a moment before coming up with a gasp, tears gathered in the corners of your eyes and spit making your chin shiny in the low light.

“So…I could keep doing this,” you tell him, “or…”

“Or?” He asks.

“Or…you could let me make us both feel good.”

You stand up, your hands untying the knot that holds your dress together so you can push it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. You push your panties down your legs and unhook your bra, leaving you gloriously naked in front him, every inch of you like a piece of art meant to be admired. Joel’s hands, greedy and unfulfilled up until now, reach up to grip your hips and pull you onto his lap, your pussy hot and wet against his cock. He lets his hands wander over every inch of exposed skin, relishing the way your ass fits in his palms and the way you hiss when his thumb caresses a tight nipple.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moans, his lips against your rapid pulse, teeth ghosting the thin skin of your neck. “Need you so bad, baby.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” you whisper, reaching between your bodies to hold his throbbing cock steady, notching it at your soaked entrance and beginning a slow slide down.

Joel is panting against your sweat slick chest, mumbling desperate words into your skin as you take him inside of you as slowly as you can, thighs burning with the effort. When you’ve finally seated yourself on his lap, his head drops back to the cushion, eyes squeezed shut tightly and fingers nearly bruising on your thighs.

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” he begs. “Oh, fuck, feels so good.”

Where he’s desperate for you to stay still, you’re already desperate to move. His cock is perfect, thick and long with a slight upward curve, pressing up against your g-spot with stunning accuracy. You’re certain this won’t last long for either of you.

You rock slowly, forward and back, little movements of your hips. Joel lifts his head, looking down at where your bodies are connected with dark eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, tangling your fingers in his hair and giving it a sharp tug that has him hissing your name.

You start to move more quickly, rolling your body in smooth waves over his. He’s panting as he looks up at you, sweat gathering at his temple, and his hands grip your ass and follow your movement reverently.

“So fuckin’ good,” he moans, “you’re gonna make me come, baby, goddamn.”

You speed up, bouncing on his lap now. Your couch creaks the slightest bit, protesting your movements, but you don’t care — all you care about is the man beneath you and the desperate little noises spilling from his lips as you make good on your promise to take care of him.

“Touch me,” you command. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He’s a good listener, your Joel, his thumb immediately finding your clit and circling it with messy movements that drive you wild, that tension in your muscles coiling tighter. Joel’s hips flex into yours with each drop down his length, the room echoing with the lewd sounds of skin against skin and the chorus of whimpers that spill from both of you.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. He wraps his arms around you, really thrusting into you now as your own movements falter and you collapse forward, head buried against his neck as you come, trembling with the strength of it.

It’s not long after that he goes still, cock pulsing inside of you as the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you. You stay slumped against each other, catching your breaths and waiting for your racing hearts to come back down to earth.

“That was…,” Joel says with a breathless laugh that shakes his chest. His fingers play up and down your back, soothing and gentle. “Goddamn, that was amazin’.”

“Yeah?” You ask, lifting your head. You smooth his messy hair back from his forehead. “You weren’t so bad either.”

He nips at your neck in retaliation, making you laugh and squirm away from him.

“Do you have to get going?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Tommy’s watchin’ Sarah for me tonight. He owes me one. Besides, I’m ain’t done with you yet.”

“No?”

“Not even close, darlin’.”

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[awrkive]

Idk I must have some problems I need to talk about with my therapist, but I NEED the #3 lmao

summary: jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.

w/c: 3.5k

note: aurkayyyy general consensus says write # 3 and that post got 40 likes idk so here it is ig.. unedited cos its 3am but also i tried my very best awrkive nation 😞💔 under the cut cos its long asf for a drabble crying

People always gravitate to you. You have this sort of unbreakable and contagious energy around you that just pulls people right into your orb – your classmates in middle school through college, your cousins, even the cashiers at the cafes you like visiting downtown every here and there. 

And it is why Jeon Jungkook from your Environmental Science class baffles you. Because while everybody in the lecture hall – even prof Nam – likes to give you a smile or even just a nod of acknowledgement when you walk in, he does the total opposite and will just do about anything to avoid you. 

It had been during the first week of the term when you realized this fact. When Jungkook seemed to have abhorred the idea of sitting next to you because somebody had “stolen” his seat. 

Of course he knew the fact that you technically could not “steal” a seat in college – there are no such things as assigned seats in college, after all – so you had kindly offered the empty chair beside you, then, but he just looked at you with his knitted brows, like he couldn’t believe you had asked him that in the first place. 

In the end, he chose the free seat at the back of the hall – even though as far as you know him, he’s the type to like sitting in the front rows to engage with the class better. 

However, that did not deter you from trying to befriend him. In fact, it just made you want to get closer to him more. 

You like Jeon Jungkook. Not romantically, of course! You just like the fact that he is extremely smart and listen, he seems nice. The girls always have something good to say about him, and he’s friends with one of your closest friends, Namjoon – whose judgment you trust most of all. He’s acquainted with most of the people you know and you’ve seen him interact with others – he’s charming and doesn’t exactly look broody and uninterested when he’s with them. 

So when Prof Nam partnered you both in a presentation for your final requirement for the term, you were over the moon to have been given the opportunity. 

“__,” Jungkook calls, but you’re way too busy admiring the strands of his hair that had now been dyed to gold – a contrast to his previously dark brown locks. It’s mostly hidden from the beanie he’s wearing. Something you’ve noticed he’s been wearing a lot these days even though it’s not that cold. 

You think it’s because he’s not too keen on getting attention for his newly dyed hair.

Jungkook calls your name one more time, and this time it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Hm?” You look up, blinking at him – only to be met with his knitted brows again. At that all too familiar look by now, you frown slightly, knowing the tell-tale signs of his annoyance. 

“I’ve been asking you about biofuels for the past two minutes.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen for a bit, quickly looking at your iPad. “Uhm… it’s here…” you slide your device over to his direction and he’s quick to read over your work. With him seated beside you, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and you don’t even think it’s cologne in the first place. It just seems like his natural smell – like fresh laundry. Downy or something. 

Ever since you started working on the project, you’ve been going to cafes and the library to work on it – for at least an hour – and you’re starting to get accustomed to everything Jeon Jungkook. He’s smart – and that’s a given – but he also smells really good; that’s what you noted specifically.

But most importantly, he’s dyed his mid-length hair blonde. And he looks different but somehow… really handsome. With his prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, you just can’t help but to look. 

“Where is your citation for this?” He says, pointing to a certain part of your work. 

At that, you grow anxious. Jungkook’s really serious about his academics. And even though he looks distracting with his blonde hair right now, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. 

You’re not dumb or something! You’ve survived three years of college just fine – you’re just not the likes of him, or Namjoon, for that matter. But you do well for yourself. 

But Jungkook, reading over your work with furrowed brows, you can’t help but second-guess yourself.

Especially when the next thing you can say is just, “Oh, uhm… I thought citations would only be after every four sentences?” 

“Did you not read the instructions?” Jungkook says. It’s not harsh but there’s a certain lilt to it. A bit pointed that you visibly recoil. As if noticing you do that, Jungkook clears his throat and looks right back to your iPad. With a tone that considerably sounds gentler to you this time, he says, “You should put a citation every three sentences.” 

“Okay…” You say. You look at Jungkook and you give him a tight-lipped smile when he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

His gaze lasts longer than necessary – he almost always doesn’t really look at you but this time he does, and just when you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he peels his eyes away from you and turns to his computer, not saying anything. 

You sulk in your seat, revising your paper while Jungkook acts like a stranger beside you again. 

“Kook…” you say after awhile. You watch as Jungkook visibly stills at the nickname. Nonetheless, he hums, but he doesn’t stray his eyes from his laptop. “I really like your hair.” 

Nothing. 

“Kookie…” This time, you poke at the material of his purple hoodie. “I said I like your hair.” 

He doesn’t budge. 

When you make a move to poke him again, he finally says, “I heard that.” 

You turn back to your google doc with a pout. 

You don’t know what you’re expecting from him. A thank you, maybe? But that would be unlikely for him to say to you. He’s just always so quiet around you. Annoyed, irritated—

“Thank you.” 

At first you don’t quite catch it, but you kind of got the gist. Unbelieving, you turn to him with a confused look. “What?” 

“Isaidthankyou.” 

But it was spoken so fast that you just grew more puzzled. 

“What…?” 

“Nevermind.” He says, hacking away on his laptop again. 

You pout the whole time writing your paper. 

———

You’re just about to approach Jungkook to talk about your recent development for your project when somebody beats you to it first. 

It’s Han Hyorin from the same class. You made friends with her from another minor you’ve had in the previous semester and she was a really nice woman – sort of similar to you. A big ball of sunshine, all smiles and cheerful and full of energy. It’s why you clicked instantly a few months ago. 

But that’s also why it surprises you when you see her talking animatedly with Jungkook and him listening to her attentively – smiling and laughing. 

Certainly not his vibe when you’re the one in conversation with him. 

Listen, you’ve been so accustomed to his behavior to you all this time that you just don’t mind it now. But for the record, you just thought that maybe – he just can’t quite level up to your energy. You’re too bubbly and he’s too… calm. And you get that! You certainly don’t hold it against him. 

But as he catches a glimpse of you his mood turns completely different, no longer smiling ear to ear. It makes Hyorin stop speaking, turning her body to look at your direction as well. 

“Oh, hi __!” She greets, grinning. “I was just talking to Jungkook here.” 

“Hi, Hyorin.” You wave at her, mirroring her smile. You walk towards them, hugging your iPad tight to your chest. “Hi, Jungkook.” 

He just sends you a timid smile. 

Weirdly enough, it makes your heart twinge. 

“Anyway, are you two gonna work on your project? Sorry for keeping him up, if that’s the case. I’ll be off then.” Hyorin says as she picks up her bag. She looks at Jungkook once again, saying, “I’ll send the link to you later, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook only nods before Hyorin walks out of the lecture hall.

You watch her disappearing back before you turn to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.” 

He shrugs. “We talk sometimes.” 

“Ah.” You nod. 

“Anyway, you got my text, right? Hoseok said it’s too crowded at 556 right now. And my laptop’s dead so I can’t use it either. Left my charger at my place,” he says, starting to put his stuff in his backpack. 

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, stepping out a bit to let him out of his row. You follow beside him when he begins to walk. “Well, where should we do the project?” 

You see Jungkook wince. “I have no choice but do you mind if I just suggest my place? I have a roommate but he’s not around this time. Or we can just call it off for today and resched.” 

You blink at him. “Your place?” 

He arches a brow. “Yeah. Is it okay? Do you have something else in mind?” 

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s just a three minute walk from the campus. Do you mind?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright, then.” 

——— 

Jungkook thinks you’re strange today. 

You’re usually so full of stories. Never ran out of things to say. His silence never deterred you from sharing something and even though Jungkook would deny it to you and to all his friends – he actually secretly enjoys your blabbering. Finds most of them funny.

But right now, you’re all quiet on your iPad and notes, focused on doing your work. The last thing he’s heard you say something was when you commented earlier, “This is a nice place,” when you stepped inside the threshold of his and Taehyung’s apartment.

No comment about his hair. Or his hoodie. Or the stupid occasional, “You look handsome today.” that makes his heart perform backflips against his ribcage and makes him all nervous that he can’t really look straight into your eyes for the rest of your interaction.

He finds it strange that he finds you strange today. He should be… happy about this right? He always tells his friends that you’re too… loud when they ask why he doesn’t seem to like you. For the record, he does not not like you. Jungkook just thinks you’re too much. 

Or that you make him feel too much it drives him insane.

“Are you alright?” He breaks the ice after a few minutes. He couldn’t help it. This isn’t like you at all. At this point, you should have already told him twenty different stories that includes your breakfast and the bird that keeps knocking on your window every 5am. By this time, you should have already asked him if he likes your outfit or some stupid shit like if he likes your nails. 

For the record, he likes all of them. Your blush pink nails and your pink skirt that stops above your thigh, exposing your smooth thighs that Jungkook always berates himself not to look at. You always wear skirts. He hates them. 

He hates that he doesn't really hate them. At all. 

“Huh?” You turn to look at him, blinking. Meek and pouty and puzzled. You look so cute it confuses the hell out of him. 

“I asked if you’re okay.” Jungkook says, leveling his voice. Lest he gives himself away. What would he give away, though? That he’s weirdly worried about your silence? That he’s starting to think maybe you’re getting fed up with his constant avoidance of you and you’re starting to realize he’s a shit person and he doesn’t deserve any of your time? 

That he’s putting way too much meaning into this? 

And what for? 

“Oh,” you utter. A bit taken aback. You nibble on your bottom lip and Jungkook tries hard not to focus too much on the way your gloss makes them look so plump. You had pretty lips. Jungkook’s not that prideful to admit that. Just to himself, though. “Yeah. I am fine. Why do you ask?” 

He clears his throat. “Nothing.” 

You look at him with furrowed brows but don’t really say anything further. “Okay.” 

When you go back to working in silence simultaneously again, Jungkook finds himself not being able to focus on the words of the journal article he’s reading. There’s a sentence to it he’s been going right over and over again. Everytime he reads it, it’s like the point just crosses right over his head and his efficacy in the language degrades every single time he repeats it internally.

All the while, you’re still quiet. 

And Jungkook’s had enough. 

Why weren't you saying anything? 

“__.” 

“Hm?” When you tilt your head to look at him, Jungkook nearly falls over his bed. You’re across the room on his computer desk while he’s on the mattress. 

God, you are so unbelievably beautiful without trying it makes his head ache. 

“Are you –uh. What’s with you today?” He finally asks. He watches as your face contorts into an expression of confusion once again, which he can’t really blame you for feeling the way. 

“What’s with me today?” 

“You’re just…” he tries to find the right words. “Quiet.” 

You don’t say anything for a while that Jungkook was about to take his words back. 

“Oh… I’m just not feeling well today, I think.” 

His brows furrowed. You looked perfectly fine today. You were your usual sunshine shelf when you stepped in class – all big grins and pretty laugh Seo Jihyun as usual was trying too hard to get your attention beside you all day. 

“Really?” He asks. “Do you need something?” 

It takes you by surprise. But you recover fast. “No, it’s fine.” 

“We don’t have to do this today if you’re feeling under the weather.” 

You laugh. And Jungkook thinks that’s a win. He thought he wasn’t getting any of that for today. 

“It’s fine, thank you, Jeon.”

Jeon?! Jeon, like his surname? 

He chooses to ignore that. But then a few minutes passed and he spoke again. God, he couldn’t stand any of this.

“How’s the bird?” 

“The bird?” You parrot back. 

“The bird at your window.” 

“Oh!” A flash of recognition goes through your face. “That. Well – as usual it knocked on my window again.” you giggle and it’s the first time Jungkook feels a little light ever since you entered his place. 

Good. This is good. 

“I didn’t know you’d remember that.” You say, giving him a small smile. 

Jungkook feels his cheeks burning so he had to look away. “You tell me about it everyday.” 

There’s a pout he can feel you’re sporting when you say, “But I thought you don’t care.” 

Jungkook frowns at that. 

But he realizes… he gets it. He doesn’t exactly show the opposite.

When he looks at you, your eyes are solemn and your downturned lips look so sad that it makes him feel like shit. 

See. This is why he’s always confused when he’s with you. You make him feel so much all at once and he can’t quite put it. 

“You tell me a lot of stuff everyday.” Is what he settles with. 

“Fair.” You say after awhile. “But uhm…” 

“Yes?” Jungkook immediately says, intrigued. You’re about to speak when his phone rings. You both look at the small device lying on his bed. When Jungkook picks it up, the caller ID says Han Hyorin. “Sorry, I’ll just pick this up.” 

Pressing on the green icon, he hears Hyorin’s voice at the end of the line. 

“Hey, Kook,” 

“Hi, Hyorin. What is it?” 

“What was your student email again? I can’t really find it on the roster.”

Jungkook recites it and then that’s the end of the conversation. He finds it strange because she could’ve just texted him but anyway, he turns to you again after the call ends. 

“Who was that?” You ask curiously. 

“Hyorin.” 

You still in your seat. Then nod. 

You don’t say anything again. 

And that stretches into another few minutes that Jungkook is once again confused. When he looks right over to you, you’re all up in your device. 

He stands up from the bed, leaves his laptop on the mattress, and then walks right over to your direction to stand behind the chair you’re seated on. Ducking down a bit, he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. 

“You’re almost done?” 

When you turn back, your faces are so close to each other that his swivel chair creaks a little when you get taken aback. Jungkook steps back. 

“Yeah. I think so. You?” You say, looking up at him. 

Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair, inserting his hand on his pockets as he looks straight ahead on your screen. 

“I’ll finish up later.” 

You nod then turn back to your iPad. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows meet once again and he sighs. 

“__,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You turn to him so quickly. “What?” 

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks because he can’t take any of this anymore. You’re so… distant. And it makes him feel like he’s on edge. “You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I want to apologize if I did something wrong. But even if I didn’t, then I’m still sorry.”

Jungkook watches as your lips part, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook’s not the one to shy away from apologies – if he’s done something wrong, then he makes sure to take accountability. 

It’s different when it’s with you, though. He knows he isn’t exactly his nicest and his best to you… but it’s his complicated feelings that get in the way. He doesn’t know how to handle them. He doesn’t know how to handle you. 

“N-no!” You say. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He sends an arched brow your way. 

You shake your head vigorously. “It’s just… uhm… I thought…” 

“You thought…?” 

You look away, and it’s the first time Jungkook sees you seemingly shy. 

“I thought you’d like my company more if I didn’t talk much.” 

Now Jungkook’s just perplexed. 

You. ibble on your bottom lip before you say your next words. “I know you don’t exactly like me that much – that you’re just putting up with me because of this project and all that, but I really like you. Uhm. As a friend. I’d like to be your friend but I’m realizing now that I’m probably just annoying you with all of my blabbering and it’s unfair to you that I just keep on imposing myself on you even though you make it very clear that you’re not keen on befriend—” 

“__?” 

“— hm?” 

“Stop that.” Jungkook says because he can’t bear to hear you say things that aren’t the least bit true at all. “It’s not true.” 

“Which part?” you pout.

Jungkook would like to wipe that off your face with something. Like his lips. And that thought sends him into overdrive. He needs to get a grip of himself, seriously. 

“Everything.” 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to just frown. 

“You’re a liar.” 

“What?” 

You burst. “Well, for one– you always avoid me! You don’t even greet me in the hallways. And even in the same class you don’t smile at me or anything and the only time you ever acknowledge me is when we do this stupid project and okay I get it, you only like bubbly girls when they’re Han Hyorin, but why not me?”

Jungkook, puzzled, asks, “How’d Hyorin get into this?” 

Your shoulders deflate. “I don’t know.” 

“Can you—” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath. He closes his eyes before opening them back again. “Can you listen to me?” 

You plop back down on the chair with an indignant huff. Jungkook lets out a low chuckles but you only glare at him. 

So goddarn cute, he thinks to himself. 

“You’re just… you’re just too much okay?” He sees the way your face falls and he nearly punches himself for how he worded it. “Wait no– that’s not right. I meant, you’re just – you make me feel a lot of things, __.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah. You confuse me.” 

“Why?” You look so confused it melts Jungkook. 

“I don’t know how to explain it either. Just that… you need to know I don’t not like you. I like your little blabbering. I look forward to your breakfast stories. I like your nails. I like your skirt. And I like your new apple pencil case.” 

Jungkook watches as your face turns soft. And suddenly, you have that million dollar grin again on your face. 

“Really?” 

“Hm.” 

You squeal and the next thing he knows you’re onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, locking him into a hug. 

“We’re friends now?” 

Jungkook takes the opportunity to encircle your waist around his arms, noting the size difference. And how easy it was for him to snuggle his nose subtly into your hair to smell your sweet shampoo and perfume in that position. 

You always smell so good. 

“Friends.” 

Jungkook doesn’t really think he can take both of you as just being friends, though.

[sugar-plum-writer]

Box Me Hard Tonight Boxer <3

Tags: Crazy sex; Nanami losing his mind; NSFW and more NSFW; Boxing terms not used the way boxing terms ought to be used cough; Nanami in a rut being hard and rough; is it even Nanami anymore? what have you done to him?; Fem!reader x Boxer!Nanami Kento; established relationship; marriage; MDNI; (18+)

A/n: I had the most delusional Nanami imagination. Normally I don't write him as I cannot write him properly. But today he summoned me to write on him. And thank you for 200+ followers! I am so happy and am kicking my feet right now! I have opened my asks feel free to check out the pinned post in my blog for more info on asks~

Synopsis: What happens when the promised surprise is you riling him up and breaking the control over himself he had so carefully crafted?

Word count: 1.8k

[Pic not mine I randomly found it on the internet; I'll change it the owner requests ]

Kento Nanami was a boxer turned UFC Champion-infamous worldwide for his tactics and combos, calm demeanor, polite nature but brutal and efficient fighting tactics.

Nanami focuses only on you as you rush towards him screaming in happiness, throw yourself over him and he holds you tight burying his head in the crook of your neck and inhales your scent god you smelled delicious

He had hustled towards you immediately once he was free from the press; had the seats specifically saved for you. You only deserve the best: the front row seats, the closest to his corner as the love of his life.

"Baby" he smiled at you softly compared to his ruthlessness in the ring as the reporters crowd around you and him trying to capture your pictures. He is a star, the sole focus- the champion the only "Kento Nanami"

His muscles flexed as the sweat dripped making his body glisten under the lights.

"Kento! we won! yay!", you kissed him excited unbothered by the people around wrapping your arms around his neck

"Yes, we did" he hums and melts under your kiss with a slight groan as he kisses you back, "So sweet- I can never get enough"- his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt not wanting to let you go.

As the mob gets more violent trying to click pictures, the bodyguards around you struggle to keep them away. Seeing the crowd he immediately scooped you in his arms, "Let's go home, love", he smiled softly as he carried you effortlessly

"Yes Darling let's go home~", you chuckle as his bodyguards in a matter of seconds have you two inside the car through the back door.

"You were so amazing Kento!", you look at him your eyes beaming with happiness, "It's all because of your love and support darling", he kissed you softly as the car started moving

"Kento~ haha!" you laugh as he kisses you and you kiss him back, "Love let's go for a vacation, where do you want to go hm?", he looks at you lovingly. Every time Kento had his match; after the match, you guys would go to for vacation to relax and unwind.

The car ride continues peacefully as you and Kento keep chatting, "Kento you know~ I have something special prepared for you today", you look at him playfully as his eyebrows arch intrigued

"What is love?", he chuckles as he looks at you amused, his hand finds its way to your thighs, caressing small circles into it as he hums softly. Squeezing your thighs.

"It's a surprise~ be patient Kento", you giggle as you rest your head on his shoulder and pat his crotch area making him hard, "Be good for me won't you?"

Let grunted and looked into your eyes hotly as if wanting to stuff you full with him right this instant, "Fine- I'll behave for you love…", his hot breath making you shiver as he whispered, "If only I get a reward later"

Soon you guys arrive home; Nanami gives you his hand to take as he helps you get out of the car and kisses your knuckles lovingly but- the moment the door opens and shuts behind the two of you, he's on you immediately- pinning you against his large frame on the wall.

His hand finds you on your cheek, tilting your face up as he kisses you deeply; your tongues intertwined. Wanting to taste you like a man who finally found an oasis in the desert; he kisses you even harder.

"I cannot be patient"- he looks at you in the eyes hungrily, his hands touching and squeezing your body as he fondles your breasts; wrapping your thighs around his waist- picking you up into his arms as he walks to your shared bedroom

"Ah-Nanamin" you moan as he kisses you hard biting your lips and nibbling on them, "Nanamin hah-" you look at him breathlessly, "Box me hard in the bed won't you?" you whisper as you wrap your hands around his neck making him freeze

"What?", his eyes darken, "Is that a proposal love?", his breath gets heavy as his lips hover above yours

"Do you like it?", you cheekily kiss him and smile teasingly making him lose his composure, "Love it to the ring baby", he whispers making you blush;

He pulls you into another kiss making you moan this one being rougher, hungry, and, full of carnal desire; "Ah- hah Kento ah", you moan against his lips as his hands slide under your shirt taking it off you, his teeth graze your neck before leaving bites leaving a hickey as you squirm

"Kento", you moan as he kisses you deeply once again and pulls away leaving a string of saliva, "Yes darling?" he chuckles as he removes his shirt gazing at your body, his toned muscles flexing themselves under the dim light- a confident smirk is on his lips- a completely different look than how he normally looks at you, what happened to him?

"I wonder", You look at him up and down as you touch his v-line making him groan, "Baby this is a dangerous game you are playing", he whispers with his cock twitching in his pants- oh how badly he wanted to touch him their and milk his cock with your pretty hands

"Hah~", you smirk as you look into his eyes, "Really? well, I wonder how hard my boxer can knock me out tonight~", you smirk with your words instantly sending goosebumps up his spine

"You are just asking to be punished aren't you?" he groans as his fingers dig deeper into your waist your words stirring something carnal inside him- he always likes to be gentle with you- loves you and treats you like the treasure you are, but your words are slowly eating away his control bit by bit

"Punish?", you smirk determined to break his composure to see what animalistic desires hide behind his calm demeanor. You have seen him when he boxes- that hint of insanity in his eyes makes you squeeze your legs together so tight- making you desire him so much it's embarrassing

"Why? will you box my pussy till it's stuffed and knocked out all sloppy?", you smirk and say as you spread your legs open making his breath hitch and his cock harden even more as he gazes at you and that damp spot on your panties- the spot so reserved for him and his dick

"Baby.." he leans in close so fast making you jump back, "Do you know what you are saying huh?" he whispers as he lowers his head and with his teeth rips your panties off throwing them off god knows where animalistically officially losing it; making you shudder as goosebumps spread all over your skin.

Oh shit- Oh shit you fucked up big time, you have never seen Nanami like this

But you aren't done yet hell you planned all kinds of vulgar things just to rile him up with a sharp breath you look at him and he notices as a devilish grin spreads across his lips

"Hah" you lean in and hotly whisper near his ears as his grip hardens on your hips bruising them and making you wince in pain, "Ya know… How about… You give me a fast jab with your dick-", you moan, "Then flip me over and do an uppercut as you fill me up-", his nails dig even deeper and he bites your shoulder bruising you like an animal in heat, "You slut you will be the death of me" he whispers and groans

"Then a side punch into my pussy from your dick as you fuck me from the side…and" your voice cracks as tears fill your eyes because of the pain but it felt so good, "Make me sit on top of you and do fast combos of uppercuts huh?"

Without any warning he stuffs his dick into your pussy roughly making you clench hard- your cunt desperately cries sloppily not used to harshness as she's always been treated like a princess not like a whore; working hard to adjust to his dick as he ruthlessly bullies his length inside you "Fuck" he groaned, "You are driving me crazy"

"Ah-hah-" you moan desperately, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts deep inside of you- hard, fast, and deep wanting to feel every inch of you around him, "Shit Kento! ahhh-", tears spill out of your eyes as you moan; your body aches with every insane thrust

"Hah-", he pants "You're absolutely mine, split so prettily on my dick my darling wife" he hungrily kisses you as his dick keeps moving, his one hand pinning your wrists above your head

There was not a hint of rationality behind his eyes as he was in a rut and just kept fucking you, even after you orgasm he kept going, fucking you through so many orgasms you'd lost count god he was treating you like a prostitute

Your eyes roll back at the sheer intensity wondering how you are even alive right now, "Kento- ah…hah~" you moan as your voice cracks, "Fuck- so perfect, so dirty and wet all for me hah", his hand bruised your skin where ever they touched

Your brain is so cock drunk you drool as he keeps going. He flips you over burying your face in the pillow roughly, his grip hard on your head and neck choking you all out as your vision goes white, "Kento- ah…I love you so much…I love your dick so much ah", you blurt out and choke even more as his grip on your neck makes you faint as you clench around him desperately not wanting to let go

"Oh yeah? Do you love my dick? Then take it like a good bitch! Don't dare let a single drop go to waste", his pace increases even more, making you go numb from sheer pleasure as your hands mindlessly scramble to grip the sheets to hold on for dear life as moans spill out from your mouth like a porn actress

"So fucking good!" he grunts and tosses his head back pussy drunk, you felt so good around him he can fuck you for days and nights just like that.

"ah- hah Kento-" you moan crazily as he and you reach the peak of your animalistic rut and desire, "Naughty girl.." he moans as he shudders with his climax approaching and he cums inside you hard painting your insides white, filling you up to the brim inside your womb, "You'll break my dick" he groaned as he panted heavily

"Hah…Kento…'tis so full ah…" you feel your brain short circuit as you knock yourself out dumb oozing out cum

Looking at you so fucked up, so messy, aroused him even more, his eyes darkens again with insanity behind them, "Don't knock yourself out now…you asked for this..I'm not gonna stop until you're a quaking mess" he whispers hotly near your ears nibbling on it as he sees his cum drip out of you; making his dick still hard enough to keep you up all night.

A full hand-on session of 'Technical Knockout' live; all by Nanami Kento for the love of his life

Link to masterlist!

[shubblelive]

— FRONT ROW

summary : for the first time, you see just how many fans wilbur has in person, and for the first time, you begin to feel like you might not be able to handle it.

genre : angst -> fluff, happy ending

warnings : one or two swearwords, reader gets overwhelmed, they almost break up (but not really i promise)

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

pronouns : she/her, reader is called wilbur's girlfriend

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!ranboo (mentioned), cc!philza (mentioned), kristen

requested : @gracietaylorsversions Hiii! Ilysm could you maybe write a fic inspired by the song “dark red” by steve lacey, more specifically the part: “only you my girl, only you babe” where the reader gets insecure and jealous but wilbur makes sure to reassure her <333

word count : 1.5K

note : hello angel! now, i personallly hate writing jealousy fics i feel like i can NOT do it well, so i opted to delve more into insecurity than jealousy with this one. i'm so glad you're liking my stuff thank you so much it means the worlds

the room was massive. it was like a warehouse, but with seperate rooms off the main one, and way more people. you were in one of the separate rooms, carpeted and less crowded, a yellow card around your neck with your name written on it suspended by a lanyard. 

you weren’t a creator. you didn’t stream or make youtube videos or anything, you hardly even posted on instagram. the only reason you were attending vidcon was because of the man whose arm was wrapped around your shoulder as he chatted avidly to ranboo. 

they had a panel later, the first one since the pandemic had started. it had been somewhat of a surprise to you, when wilbur started getting so big as quickly, but you’d always know it was bound to happen. now, three years into your relationship, you were about to see your boyfriend in front of his first live audience.

one of the vidcon crew members arrived in the room as signalled everyone’s attention, everyone in your group falling silent. they’d all be leaving to go on stage soon. you wouldn’t be alone though, phil’s wife would be there in the audience with you. 

while wilbur got instructions from the crew member, another producer lead you, kristen, and a few other guests of creators into your seats, and you waited anxiously for your boyfriend to come out. 

the two of you had together since 2019. you had helped him move into his streaming office (and subsequently out of his streaming office after getting evicted), and had been there every single step of the way through his streaming career. his fans knew of you. they knew your name and what you looked like, and that you and wilbur had been dating for years, but not much more than that. 

you were as supportive of a partner as you physically could be, helping him out as much as you were able to. for his first ever vidcon, you’d been lucky enough to be able to take time off work to go to LA with him, and he’d let you know over and over how grateful he was for it. you’d held his hand across the atlantic ocean and let him go just in time for him to meet his adoring public. 

and adoring they were. it had been your first time ever truly seeing your partner’s fans in person aside from the odd chance meeting. this was extremely overwhelming. he stepped out of the wings and made eye contact with you immediately, waving at you subtly as he greeted the rest of the crowd. the featured creator hour went for, predictably, about an hour, and as your boyfriend and his friends left the stage, the audience was left to disperse on their own. you guys had saved seats for this one in advance, so you’d had a producer escort you into them, but this time it was just you and kristen in a sea of hundreds of teenagers.

“excuse me,” a small voice piped up, and you whirled around to see a young girl, no older than fourteen standing nervously behind you. she introduced herself nervously, and told you that she thought you had always seemed lovely, and asked for a photo. kristen took it for her, and she left with a beaming smile on her face as you felt your heart thrash against your ribcage. 

there were so many people here, and you were already incredibly overwhelmed by the noise, but now the knowledge that people were perceiving you, even if it was only one fourteen year old girl was just too much to handle. “hey!” you called out to kristen as you both reached the door, having to nearly yell over the noise. “bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

“do you want me to come with you?” her husband would be back in the creator lounge by now, you knew, so you shook your head. 

“no, i’ll be alright, you get back to phil. will you tell wilbur where i am though, please?” she nodded at you, and you took off towards the nearest bathroom. it was absolutely packed, so you skipped it and went straight outside to the carpark. it was hot, and you took a swig of your water bottle as you sat down on the concrete, back against the wall of the building. there were still somehow dozens of fans out here, but you didn’t care.

you needed to get better with this stuff. this was wilbur’s job, and you were his partner. if you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, then you’d need to be able to go to things like this and support him. 

he had so many people’s eyes on him, and you knew that all he wanted was yours. you couldn’t be there for him in the way you needed to. he deserved better. 

the internet was a cruel place. of course you’d seen hate of yourself. you’d seen wilbur shipped with any female friend he came into contact with, and you had always been okay about it. but maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he dated someone from the industry. he was bound to find someone eventually, someone who loved him just as hard as you did and was able to be there to support him. 

you weren’t cut out for this. you needed wilbur.

he was beside you. “are you alright? what’s going on?” he was scanning the small scattering of fans around the carpark areas, hoping to find somewhere to get you away from prying eyes. “darling?”

“i’m okay,” your voice shook, and he helped you to your feet. “you should go back inside.”

“i am not going anywhere without you,” he said resolutely, hand securely wrapped around yours. 

“i’m such a shit girlfriend,” you tried to laugh, but their were anxious tears forming in your eyes. it was so bright that you had to squint to look at wilbur, who was shielding you from the LA sun. “i’m sorry.”

“what are you talking about?” he asked softly. “you’re not shit, darling. furthest from it, in fact. you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had.”

“i’d hope so considering we’re still dating,” you said quietly. “maybe we shouldn’t be, though.”

wilbur thought he couldn’t feel more anxious after the creator hour. existing in front of such a massive croud of people was something that had never felt real to him, but then he’d looked out into the audience and had seen you, and he knew that after he left he’d be able to pull you into his arms and kiss you, and that you would fix the pounding of his heart. and then he’d stepped back inside the lounge and been met with just kristen, he waited, ten, fifteen minutes, believing you when you’d said you’d gone to the bathroom, before he used the find my friends app on his phone to see where you were. but that sentence made earlier feel like the most calm he had ever felt. “you want to break up?”

his voice quivered, low and deep, and you shook your head frantically. “of course i don’t want to. i was just thinking that…”

“that we should.” he finished flatly. “why?”

his hands were still around yours, but this felt more for his sake than yours now. “i can’t do this, wilbur.” you breathed out. “i can’t do the crowds and the screaming and the hoards of people who know that i exist, i can’t do it.”

wilbur’s face crumpled with relief. “you don’t have to, darling. i promise. from now on, no more events or conventions or panels that you don’t want to go to. please, i love you so much, i’m not gonna lose you over this.”

“but you deserve to have someone there who can do these things!” you argued. “someone who gets it, who understands!”

“i don’t want someone who gets it.” wilbur shot back immediately, silencing you. “i want you. i love you so much, darling. i don’t care if you don’t like the crowds, or if you don’t feel comfortable with me talking about you on stream or posting photos on instagram. none of that means anything to me. the only important thing is you and only you.”

you were almost crying as you kissed him, having to close your eyes instinctively against the sun as his lips pushed against yours, his hands caressing your back comfortingly. “i’m sorry, wil.” you said softly, lips still on his. “i’m being silly.”

“just a little,” he admitted between kisses. “but so am i. i’m just glad you’re here. i love you, silly.”

“i’d say it back but i don’t feel like it anymore.”

he barked out a laugh. “fine! i’m sorry. i love you, darling. my serious girl.”

“that’s somehow worse.” he kissed you to make it up to you, though, so you allowed him to drag you back inside, this time he got a security guard to sneak you in through a back corridor where you were still met with a room full of people who knew your name. except this one had a reserved seat right next to wilbur as you got to watch him live out his dreams, right there in the front row. 

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

wjieiouwujjj that dragon creator ask was so cute, I love you for doing such a fantastic job writing that. Could I maybe ask for acolytes finding out that their creator with dragon features is absolutely living for any affection gestures like touching their tail, or the base of horns if they have ones, and is literally melting down into whoever who will do it. Maybe with Zhongli and any of Kamisato sibling? If the ask arent open, please just ignore it. Have a good day

Dragon!Reader Want Affection—Gib Now! >:(

Hello Anon! Don't worry—as I am currently writing this, my mailbox is open! I'm so glad you enjoyed the post with Dragon!Reader in it! I wish you too a good day/night :)

Alright, so how did it all begin? Well, Dragon!Reader, upon getting compliment thrown after compliment, started to feel a little...touched starve, to say the least. Sure, the compliments are cool and all—but it felt pretty empty, you know?

So! In solution to this, the Almighty Creator decided the next 3 acolytes to give them some affection would be the ones they would visit the most in the span of a few weeks (at most? A few months) in a straight row.

Of course, you didn't announce this to the world, wanting to see if your people would take initiative first to satisfy your needs and wants. That is, after all, what they had promised to do once you re-descended back down to Teyvat, yes?

Click Me For Part 1!

(Disclaimer: Might be OOC!)

Zhongli

Of course, out of everyone, he would be the first to notice this sudden change! He is a dragon himself, you know!

But, instead of deciding to give head pats out of the blue on the street, he decides to be a little more sly about it. So, naturally, he's going to invite you over to have some tea in the mountains. More specifically, his adeptal abode he still has.

"Please, wait a moment, Your Grace. I shall prepare the finest tea I have for you."

Once you get there, the first thing you get is a hug and a soft rustling of your hair. Zhongli is mindful to not hurt your dragon horns, of course. Man would never want to hurt you.

Sitting down at a table, enjoying some tea and talking about stuff, and the dude decides to pat you on the head for even the simplest of knowledge you share with him.

This guy understands what it's like to be a touched starved dragon, so he knows all the signs.

Man would be so ecstatic to realize the Almighty Creator is deciding to visit him as a "thank you" for the small amount of affection.

Prepare for a lot of hugs and head pats, this guy will make each of your visits worthy of your time.

Kamisato Ayato

This guy, this sly guy...He would honestly pull a gentleman move and give you a kiss on the back of hand when you decide to see him in the Kamisato Estate.

He probably figures out quickly that you want some physical affection, and, upon realizing that he figured it out, he decides to do it fast—something is telling him that the Almighty Creator is giving out some sort of trial.

Plus, he just wanted to make other people jealous that he gets your attention much longer than most others.

"Is something of the matter, Your Grace? Your face is red, if I dare to be blunt." Gives you that small smile of his that tells you he planned this all along. You sigh—this guy was as cheeky as ever.

Imagine how happy he was that he gets to give you more of these gentleman-like behavior since you're visiting for a few weeks straight in a row.

Would make sure no one gets close to you—Ayato wants to be selfish and greedy of your attention alone for a little longer.

Kamisato Ayaka

Tying this with the previous one, since Ayato and Ayaka basically live in the same estate and all that—Ayaka would be happy that the Almighty Creator is visiting them several weeks in a row.

She may or may not have just increased how many times you were going to spend in every Kamisato-owned place, for she had unintentionally hugged you once out of pure joy to seeing you at the front door.

"Your Grace, you're back! Please—allow me to see you in. Would you like some treats? I can have Thoma prepare you something." Genuinely acts like the best host you can ever ask for. She would make sure all of your needs are met.

You can just see the pure joy Ayaka is having of having you here in the estate. Ayato is also happy about it too, so it's a win-win situation for both of the Kamisato siblings. Besides, they don't like to actually fight each other (unless it's sparring), but they do tease one another often.

Enjoy your stay :) It's probably very worth it with Ayato's gentleman-ness and Ayaka's Good Hostess-ness.

And done! This is a whole lot shorter than I thought it would be, but I hope you all enjoyed it! See you around! :D

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I feel like I made Ayato too OOC SOBBING—It probably is :') I'm so sorry Ayato Lovers—I have failed you—

Ahem, anyways—this post was certainly more of a challenge for myself! I'll be honest, I thought I was going to fail very miserably when I realized I had to do Zhongli and Ayato—and I'm still kind of feeling that as of right now tbh. I hope you like how it's written, Anon!

Check Out The Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Mailbox is Open!

[idiotmf]

Ur world building is phenomenal ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+(⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)

Please tell me more abt xyon :3

Thank you so much! ( ◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

I am currently working on a story about Xyon (along with approximately fifty other things).

I usually write short scenarios with my characters for myself, sort of like different AUs, but they're in my native language, and I would like to make one that's Xyon x Reader specifically.

MDNI because my blog is 18+, the post itself shouldn't really be NSFW aside from biological aspects.

Uh, yeah... This is rather long for what I meant it to be (around 2.5k words excluding the notes at the beginning and end).

(Edit: Here is a link to the original lore dump for anyone wondering, since I reference it a lot.)

All that aside, here's a more in-depth look at my favorite biologist in the galaxy:

Appearance:

Since this is focused on just one Xenian, I can give a few more details about what he looks like. I really wish I was talented at drawing so I could give a visual representation of what I personally imagine, but I'll provide some images in case my words aren't clear enough (still working on that vocabulary, haha).

Let's start with his body!

As mentioned in the overall description, Xyon is around 2.5m (8'2), and if needed, he, like all other male Xenians, can stretch his torso up to 2.8m (roughly 9'2). If you're wondering which specific part gets stretched, it's the area just below the shoulders and above the stomach. (I'm using human anatomy here for convenience; if you're interested, I can definitely get into more in-depth Xenian anatomy, but I fear it might be boring.)

Whenever stretched, the skin gets damaged, sort of like horizontal stretch marks, but will shrink back to heal normally. Xenians don't do this often due to their high intelligence and lack of predators, causing it to be more of an evolutionary inconvenience these days.

While they still use it for mating displays, much like humans, they just prefer talking nowadays.

His overall body has a pretty slim, smooth look underneath the short fur. The muscles of Xenians are layered like thin sheets (muscle lasagna, anyone?) and don't bulge in the way human muscles would; instead, they just look broader and fuller.

Now, Xyon is considered skinny, even for his kind. I've mentioned it in the lore dump, but Xenians have moved past eating. They consume nutritional gel, which also explains why they are very lean, since they are literally only allowed to consume this gel, which covers their calculated daily needs.

If you know how nutrition works, though, you can probably see some holes forming in that logic. Xyon moves around a lot and therefore would technically require more, hence the skinny body.

His legs are long compared to his torso, especially below the knees (again, using human anatomy for convenience). His thighbones are rather short, the Xenian equivalent of Tibia and Fibula long (around 2/3rds of his legs; also, they don't have single bones but rather thousands of thin, long bones clustered together to form larger structures). It looks rather awkward when sitting or trying to crouch.

Fun fact: Xenians cannot kneel.

Well, technically, they can; once. And then not get back up without serious injuries. Their knees also cannot be fully bent back like a human's, but rather just enough to allow them to comfortably walk and sit. They actually also comfortably stand around in their strange crouching position whenever they are idle for long periods of time. Remember, they have a tail (sort of like this minus the scales) that they use for balance, resting in what I can only describe as a weird, tripod looking stance, sort of like they're leaning back and almost sitting on their tail.

I spent an hour trying to draw a representation of it, but it looked so goofy that I felt too embarrassed to share it. ( ´･ω･)

Anyway, his skull resembles that of an ocelot, complete with rows of sharp teeth, identifying his race as a once carnivorous one. (skull image) However, they don't have the typical cat whiskers, and their muzzle is less rounded.

Neat little tidbit, but technically, Xyon speaks with the Xenian equivalent of a lisp after sustaining an injury to his throat as a child (some of their sounds are formed in the throat, mainly the sheet metal-sounding one). However, since his words are translated into human speech for you to understand him, this doesn't carry over.

Xenian eyes also resemble those of cats; Xyon's are amber in color, but they can have various different ones. Of course he has a long, rough tongue due to their carnivorous roots.

Their entire body, except for their tails, genitalia, soles, and palms, is covered in a short, dark blue fur. (Imagine the fur of smooth, short coated dogs like a Doberman, Great Dane, Boxer, Beagle, etc. Just a bit softer.) If you want specifics on the color, I'd say the closest is #555C6C, ironically called Blue Planet. It looks sort of washed out due to their skin underneath being a dark gray.

His feet and hands are generally very similar in shape to those of a raccoon, except they have retractable claws and four fingers instead of five (a thumb and three fingers).

As mentioned in the species lore dump, they have retractable genitalia that are hidden underneath a layer of skin until they are exposed. It can actually harden while hidden, making their skin bulge. However, this can be quite painful since the space allowing for their phalluses isn't meant to support them in their full size.

If we're taking semen, it looks rather blueish in hue and the consistency is thicker and sort of slimy, designed to stick to a female's eggs.

Sources (cough cough) confirm it has a rather sweet-ish flavour, consuming too much of it does cause nausea in humans though.

Personality:

Xyon is an incredibly curious individual, especially later on (you'll see why in a second). He wants to know anything and everything about this planet and its inhabitants. He likes finding new plants, scanning them, and then observing for a while. He marvels at the strange animals that live on this planet (I should mention at this point that any story including Xyon is post-apocalyptic) and Earth's impressive landscapes.

Despite being very curious, he's still an extremely obedient follower of orders. For example, in one story I wrote, he was running out of his nutritional bio-gel and would simply refuse actual food, despite the scanner clearly telling him it was harmless for him to eat, choosing to starve rather than disobeying the directive to only consume the gel.

He does end up breaking one major rule, which ends up changing his entire life.

You see, while he is a biologist and was sent to earth to study and document flora and fauna for the intergalactic database, he is strictly forbidden from interacting with humans, whether positively or negatively, the only exception being for self-defense purposes. This is largely due to humans being known as primitive and extremely violent.

Xyon shares this narrative at first, since his research partner Xuan was murdered and subsequently eaten by humans after trying to peacefully interact with them.

That is, until he runs into, well, you. A lone human, injured, and on the brink of death. At first, he considers leaving you to die, then he considers observing you while you pass away, only to finally decide that even if you do attack him, he wants to help you.

Another bit of a flaw in his character is his naivety. Xenians don't have concepts like sarcasm; even lying isn't exactly something they do or consider, as it goes against their morals. This ends up with him believing everything you tell him, curiously inquiring about the most obvious of lies.

Not to mention, he speaks incredibly bluntly, which might come off as rude. This does actually improve after Xyon spends more time with you, since he learns to imitate the way you speak rather than sticking to the cold, scientific speech he uses at first.

I like to think this is a product of Xenian society, as scientists and research purpose tiers don't exactly experience individualism or even enough free will to build their own personalities to the point of even having distinguishing character traits.

I'm not sure how much I mentioned in the other lore dump (I tried to keep it short, so I kept cutting things out), but I do remember mentioning that Xenians practice culling unhatched eggs based on desirable base intelligence, health, etc. which is calculated based on your family tree, essentially. One's purpose is also determined by those stats.

Eggs far above the desired base intelligence usually become researchers and scientists, the highest "purpose" you can possibly have in their race. However, that also means that you not only get gaslit into thinking that's the only thing you're good at, you don't even get a chance to consider anything else.

Xyon is a biologist, and he cannot ever be anything but a biologist. He doesn't even have the mere choice of disliking his career, because it isn't just his job; it's his entire life.

Did I mention I love playing with such dystopian concepts?

Over the course of spending more time with you, he does eventually develop his own personality, or rather strengthen the few cracks that were present all along. But he can't help but look at you for guidance, despite being in the Xenian equivalent of his late twenties to early thirties. The concepts of being allowed to experience individualism and freely express himself are foreign to him.

I do want to mention that some Xenians do have their own personalities. This forced conformity is practiced in their general society, but only as bad as this on the higher purpose tiers, like the one he is in.

He does eventually turn into a gentle giant. I like to imagine him like a Disney princess, holding out one claw with a bird on it, like Snow White. Xyon does enjoy providing meat for you, which is a more primitive way to show that he is a suitable mate in his culture (though usually it goes both ways, or it used to, since they don't hunt anymore).

I like the concept of taking a step back from the highly intelligent life form and reverting to some more primitive practices as he develops individuality.

He never gets to the point of actively resenting his culture and planet, but rather accepts that this is one of its many differences from Earth and can be considered a flaw. In reality, he does find comfort in having a purpose, especially after you essentially tell him what life on earth was like. He finds the idea of having the freedom to try anything overwhelming, and not knowing what you're truly made for is terrifying in his eyes.

Beliefs and Values:

While a form of religion does still exist on his planet, due to the forced conformity and his purpose as a biologist, he was taught to disregard such matters for lack of logic.

Despite that, he does actually secretly believe in things like fate, especially in the context of finding one's mate.

Yet, mates are a pretty sore spot for him.

Due to their personalities, or rather lack thereof, and long absence from their planet in the name of science, higher-tier Xenians don't usually find a mate, often either living alone until death or dying during research.

Xyon does eventually express the belief that meeting you was fate and that you two were meant to end up as mates, despite being different in many ways.

He also believes that meeting you was meant to prove that humans weren't as destructive and savage as originally assumed.

(There is a whole other discussion of why earth became post-apocalyptic in the first place, and while the answer is a bit more convoluted than that, Xyon believes that the planetary representatives collectively decided that humans could not go on the way they were, and instead of risking a valuable planet that could host life being destroyed beyond repair, they would simply flatten major settlements and reset them to see whether they would grow from this experience or perish altogether.

Ironically, in reality, this was actually voted against in the end due to humans not having encountered extraterrestrial life yet and the promising scientific progression, but one race, fairly similar to humans themselves in nature (though not in looks), decided it would be for the better, carrying out the invasion on their own accord. While they weren't completely erased themselves, most of the higher-ranking beings from that planet were executed. This, however, is not common knowledge, as the representatives did cover it up in order to avoid other races being encouraged to disobey.)

While the race of Xenians does have values pertaining to open-mindedness and equality, they are fairly limited in nature. They do allow for sexual and romantic expression (on the lower tiers, mostly), but you can never, ever have the same standing as someone born with a higher tier purpose.

This means that even if you end up exceeding your calculated base intelligence by a lot, you will still be stuck in a purpose that isn't for you and have no chance of changing it.

Ironically, while a social hierarchy does exist, lower tiers are usually considered happier and have far more freedom than higher tiers. Because, again, they get stripped of all individuality to become mindless little researchers.

I purposely didn't specify Xyon's values in this case because, as you can imagine, being forced into a certain mindset does mean he has the same values as the collective, though it does change over time, with him expressing that while he does still support the tiers and purpose, he wishes it was less strict.

Family and Social Circle:

Xyon does actually have a family; he wasn't raised in a mating group. Unlike humans, Xenians don't have a close bond with their parents or siblings since they aren't fully raised by them but rather taken away early in life (around 4–7 in human years) to be trained for their purpose, which results in rather shallow bonds.

His father's purpose is to nurse and educate young Xenians that have either lost their parents or were abandoned, while his mother is the leader of their local tribe, which one can become regardless of tier, following an election process similar to that on earth.

Xyon does have irregular contact with them and even occasionally visits them while on Xen'jai, which is incredibly rare.

He had one older brother, who became a soldier and died very early on due to conflict between Xen'jai and their neighboring planet.

Xyon did have one friend, the female biologist Xuan, who was his assigned research partner.

Due to the nature of their work and purpose, social circles for their tier are small, if they exist at all.

This actually affects Xyon greatly. Now that his old partner is gone, he is alone on a foreign planet, and with Xenians being social creatures, it does make him feel lonely.

On several occasions, he has actually tried seeking out other research teams from his planet that were sent to Earth, and he briefly had contact with a male geologist named Xenon, who ended up being killed, or at least that's Xyon's assumption when his signal completely disappeared (hint hint nudge nudge, he is the other one I like writing about, and he is in fact not dead).

There is one more Xenian that Xyon is aware of on earth: a female meteorologist. He does not know her name; however, he has responded to several distress signals relating to her losing her bio-gel rations to humans.

Unfortunately, she was too far away for him to actually help (she is a character I want to write about in the future as well o(〃＾▽＾〃)o ).

Well, technically speaking, Xyon (and at some point Xuan), like any other research pair, does have a ship, but being the rule-following Xenian he is, he did not leave his assigned area (which is roughly central Europe in canon btw), though he briefly considered it until getting confirmation that the situation had sorted itself out.

It is likely due to this that he even considered helping you in the first place, because he was lonely and probably hoping deep down that a human could somehow keep him company.

Which... I mean... it worked out in his favor. Good for him.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Yeesh, this is quite a lot.

Can you believe I still left stuff out? I also ended up dumping more lore for the species itself. I promise one day I'll go back and rewrite both the Species info and probably this one as well. I kind of want to write another big info-dump for Xen'jai as a planet, because there's a lot I want to get into, like the hierarchy, religion, history and evolution of the planet, which felt too out of place here.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Feel free to always reach out for more info or suggestions, I am literally just waiting to write more lore no one really can do anything with. :3

[kpopsexstories]

Quick Fix Gay Season 1

Okay, I didn't actually announce it as such (I think? 🤔), but the Quick Fix Gay series is starting for real tomorrow and we can actually call the up-coming stories Season 1 of this series.

In fact, I now know what all but two of the stories are. Six of the eight stories that will make up this "season" have been written and daaaamn are you in for some hot stuff 🥵

The first story was actually already published two months ago: NCT Jeno x male reader. The next three have now been scheduled too. You can look forward to a new one every Saturday three weeks in a row, with the first one coming tomorrow (November 23, 2024).

So in this post, allow me to surprise you with the Quick Fix Gay Season 1 stories:

1. NCT Jeno – September 14, 2024

Muscle hunk Jeno fucks you missionary style. (Requested)

2. NCT Doyoung & Jisung – November 23, 2024

Big dick duo Doyoung and Jisung compare dick sizes and blow each other.

3. NCT Jaemin – November 30, 2024

You ride Jaemin’s cock while greatly appreciating his muscles. (Requested)

4. NCT Chenle – December 7, 2024

Exhausted after work the boys of NCT Dream relax in a van. Chenle gets horny and decides to secretly do something about it.

5. TXT Yeonjun & Soobin – December 14, 2024

Following a sexy performance Yeonjun and Soobin need a way to get the adrenaline rush out of their system.

6. NCT Jeno & Jaemin – TBD

Dominant tops Jeno and Jaemin fuck you hard from behind. (Requested)

7. Unknown

8. Unknown

Please look forward to these stories which should scratch your gay itch 😋 And while I have ideas for the remaining two stories, feel free to send in requests if you have anything specific you want me to write.

[neewtmas]

12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 10

Hello everyone! It's the second-to-last post for this advent calendar, and today, it's time for my personal favourite. I wanted to include an x reader fic for every member of the agency, and after Lucy (day 2) and Lockwood (day 6), it's finally time for George! Seeing as this is a certified George-Fanblog™️ of course his fic is gonna be the grand finale.

But the best thing about today's post is that it is actually a collaboration! I wrote this together with the wonderful and insanely talented Eden (@givemea-dam-break) who understood my vision for this so well and I am so proud of what we created together. Thank you so much for doing this with me Eden, it was so much fun!!! love you🫂🫶🏻

make sure you don't miss out and go check out Eden's other writing here: masterlist

Brother Knows Best

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 6.3k

short summary: George's brother shows up at 35 Portland Row and shakes things up between George and reader

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

my masterlist

day 1 day 2 day 3 day 4 day 5 day 6 day 7 day 8 day 9

It was a beautiful day in the middle of winter when (name) realised she was in love with George Karim.

The two of them were walking side by side, their breaths forming little puffs of white in the freezing air. It had snowed the night before, but all that was left were some dirty grey piles on patches of grass by the road. She’d had her hands buried in the warm pockets of her coat the whole walk, but still, her fingers felt stiff as she pushed open the gate in front of 35 Portland Row. George followed closely behind, carrying a bag full of books and newspapers they’d borrowed from the Archives. 

(name) bounced up the stairs like she always did, not considering what the puddle of melted snow on the steps that had wet her shoes this morning would turn into over the course of the cold day. The worn sole of her boot slid over the patch of ice, and she lost balance, trying to grip the railing to prevent a fall. 

But that wasn't necessary. George was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her and steadying her until she found her footing again. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded, finding herself unable to speak. 

He released her from his grasp, taking a slow step back. (name) could do nothing but stand still for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart. She had no idea if it came from the adrenaline of almost falling or the shock of having George be so close to her so suddenly. She watched as he picked up the bag he had dropped on the ground in his rush to catch her, and then searched his coat pockets for the house key. His fingers trembled slightly, probably from the cold, as he pulled it out and turned it in the lock, keychains jingling.  

Inside, the kitchen was deserted, but the kettle was still warm so (name) just had to choose two mugs and quickly reboil it while George laid out the books they had gotten. At this time of year, the warm, cosy kitchen of Portland Row was so much more inviting than the somewhat chilly archives. They could turn the heating up as much as they wanted here, which was why they had opted for just a short trip over to gather some books and then return to the warmth of their home. 

(name) brought the two steaming mugs over to the table and made herself comfortable on the chair beside George. He had already grabbed one of the books and was intently skimming the table of contents.

“You can get started on the newspapers," he said without looking up, flicking through the book to find a specific page. “We’ve got a few to work through.”

She knew that, of course, because she had been the one to go on an hour-long hunt for all the ones he claimed they needed. Silently, she pulled the heap of newspapers over and started with the one on top, dating back 15 years. 

George took a sip from his tea and grimaced. "You forgot the sugar." 

That wasn’t like her. She always remembered the sugar. What was up with her?

George leaned over and reached past her for the sugar, and (name)'s breath hitched in her throat at the proximity. She could faintly smell his shampoo and was near enough that she could see the little scar on his temple, barely visible, from a case they’d taken on a month or two ago. Wordlessly, and seemingly oblivious to the thundering of her heart, he poured some sugar into his cup and stirred, all the while focusing back on what he was reading.

(name) tried to do the same, she really did, but the fact that George was now so close that their legs were touching made the simple task everything but. How was she supposed to focus when all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears; hearing him muttering quiet words under his breath as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from her lungs?

It was when she looked at him then, a picture of serenity in the winter sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, that she felt it in her heart. Some urging sense of need, of want. A desire to do this for the rest of her life - to sit beside him, whether it be to research something or remember to put sugar in his tea or God knows what. To spend an eternity pressed up to his side, feeling this thrum of her heart. To feel the thrill of his fingers brushing hers as he reached over to peek at something in the newspaper she was reading.

There was no guarantee he would feel the same, she knew that. She didn’t expect him to, not when his life revolved around uncovering the root of the Problem. But she was grateful for what she got: the time he spared for her; the books he would gift her after visiting a bookshop on his way home from the Archives; the tea he’d make in the morning, served with some partially burnt toast he’d forgotten he’d put in the toaster until the moment it popped out.

And that was okay. Truly, it was.

—

35 Portland Row was in chaos.

George was in the middle of a cleaning spree, rushing around in a flowery apron and blue rubber gloves, scrubbing at every crack and crevice to be found - and, well, there were many of those. Lockwood was straightening the pillows in the living room, something he would seldom be found doing, and it was likely that he was stuffing things under said pillows to save having to find space for them in the cluttered house. Lucy, bless her soul, was making tea quicker than her hands could move and had spilt boiling water on her toes. Many curse words ensued.

This chaos, however, did not extend to (name). 

Standing by the living room window, staring out onto the street beyond, she felt an odd sense of calm mixed with a hint of excitement.

Why? What incredible company could they be having that had the ability to send the members of Lockwood and Co. into such a frenzy?

Issam Karim.

She had been set on guard duty, ordered by the younger Karim brother to shout out when she saw him approaching. In all honesty, she wasn’t entirely sure why George was making such a fuss about it. He had four older brothers, Issam, or Sam as he preferred, being the youngest of them and, according to Lockwood, the one most similar to George. So it wasn’t like he had anything to worry about.

Even still, when (name) saw a familiar mop of dark curls, she called out to the others and hurried over to the front door.

The knock came soon after; two slow taps followed by silence. George was there, staring at the door over her shoulder, tugging his rubber gloves off. And there was Lucy and Lockwood, peering from the end of the hallway like overly interested parents meeting their child’s friend for the first time.

(name) swung the door open.

Seeing Sam was like looking into George’s reflection, minus the glasses and with slightly neater hair. He was a little taller, broader, and, well, more adult-looking, she supposed. But he was most definitely a Karim.

And, god, did he smile like George, too.

It was the same kind of smile that George showed when he was proud of something - full of teeth and elation, with a sparkle of dark eyes to top it off. If it had been George smiling at her like that, her knees would’ve buckled and her heart would’ve threatened to beat out of her chest, but there was something different about Sam’s variation of the smile. Something extremely fraternal.

George ushered his brother in, scooting past (name) with barely any room thanks to the narrow hallway. Her heart lurched at the feeling of his arm brushing against hers as she hurried to move out of the way.

“Oh, Georgie,” Sam said, smiling at the decorations covering the walls, “you’ve been holding out on me. If I knew you stayed in a house like this…”

He plucked the nearest mask off the wall, scrutinizing it, and Lockwood looked as if he wanted to tell him off, but he refrained after the warning look George gave him.

(name) could understand that. He wanted to impress his brother, especially after years of feeling excluded from his family simply for pursuing a life revolving around ghosts rather than engineering.

She just hoped that he knew he impressed her regardless.

The five of them sat down in the living room, the coffee table laden with mugs of steaming tea and plates stacked high with biscuits and doughnuts. Sam plucked a Hobnob from one of the plates and chewed on it carefully, glancing around the room like a child at a theme park. He had a look of wonder in his eyes that (name) so often saw and admired in George’s.

“You’ve met Lockwood before,” George said from beside his brother. “But this is Lucy, and that’s (name). They’ve both been here a year and a half now.”

“Oh. This is the infamous (name)?” Sam’s smile was dazzling despite the scathing look George gave him. “Wonderful to meet you.”

(name) and Lucy shared a look. Lucy looked like she was trying not to smile as she caught Lockwood’s eye. It seemed like the two of them knew something that (name) didn’t, and it had her feeling a little uneasy.

“Nice to finally meet you, Sam,” she said, offering up a smile. 

The conversation went well enough thanks to Lockwood, who started asking Sam about his university life and how classes were going. Most of what he said, however, was just confusing to them. As agents, they hadn’t gotten the chance to experience much of a school life, so all this talk of complicated maths and big, fancy words went straight over their heads. Sam didn’t seem to mind. It appeared that he just liked having people he could sound incredibly intelligent to.

Definitely related to George. Although George was much more willing to simplify what he was saying so that the others understood.

Not that (name) minded. She could listen to George speak in his overly-complicated way for the rest of their lives and she’d be grateful.

An elbow dug into her side. “You’re staring,” Lucy murmured, leaning close.

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring. At George. Hard.”

(name) blinked. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No! Look, over his shoulder, there’s a tear in the sofa cover. That’s what I was looking at.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, with lovey-dovey eyes, huh? You can’t even give a half-decent fib.”

(name)’s face felt awfully hot, and she couldn’t even get herself to look in George’s general direction. She hadn’t been staring at him, right? She had just looked for a moment, finding herself particularly fond of how his hair flopped over his forehead in soft curls; how his fingers fiddled with the loose threads from a rip in his jeans, and - 

With a silent curse, she realised that, yes, maybe she had been staring.

At least it was Lucy who had noticed and not George. Although, she likely would have to deal with incessant questions at night when she was trying to sleep.

The conversation carried on for a while longer before Sam sat his empty teacup on the table and rose from his seat on the sofa.

"Alright, that was lovely, but I’m going to head off for a bit. I have some friends in the city that I haven't seen in a while", he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Lockwood stood up as well, brushing some imaginary dust off his trousers as he so often did. "Will you be back for dinner?" 

"(name) is cooking", Lucy added. 

Sam turned to (name) and shot her a smile. "Well, in that case, I'll make sure I'll be back. Wouldn't want to miss that."

(name) lowered her head, embarrassed at the attention that was on her now. "I'm not even that good,” she mumbled. 

"I think you're great", George blurted out, though if the slight pink tinge to his cheeks was anything to go by, he hadn’t meant to say it.

(name) was sure she was blushing now. She knew George appreciated her cooking, but considering his cooking skills, she sometimes wasn't sure if he didn't just say so to make her feel better. 

Sam left the house a few minutes later, and any indescribable tension that had built up dissipated. Lockwood and George started up a conversation while Lucy and (name) grabbed the dirty mugs and took them through to the kitchen.

"So… What do you think of him?" Lucy asked as she dumped the dishes into the sink. 

"He's nice", (name) replied, adding the dishes she was holding to the pile in the sink, though much more carefully than Lucy. She frowned at a chip in the top of one of the mugs. "But I didn't expect anything else. After everything George has said about him, you know, I half expected the sun to shine out of his ass."

Lucy snorted, leaning back against the counter. "George seems a little on edge, though, don't you think?"

(name) wasn't sure where Lucy was going with this. "He's probably nervous if we'll like him. He's family after all."

Lucy looked at her for a moment with an unreadable expression. "That must be it,” she finally said, before leaving the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the dishes that were still waiting in the living room.

----

(name) was quietly humming to herself as she sliced some tomatoes, periodically checking if the water in the pot on the stove next to her was boiling already. The house was still and quiet, just how she liked it. Sam was out with his friends, Lucy and Lockwood were out doing whatever - they had been gone since lunch - and were, in all honesty, probably fawning over each other in that way they so often did, albeit obliviously. George had buried himself in the library since Sam had left, mumbling something about 'important research and experiments'. (name) had the sneaking suspicion that that meant he was doing something with the skull, but what exactly, she didn't really want to know. Based on the faces the skull always pulled after a day like this, his expression more horrid than ever, it couldn't be anything good. 

The evening sun was shining right through the kitchen window in front of her, and in her peripheral vision, she saw movement in the garden. She looked up and spotted a small red squirrel running through the high grass before racing up the tree. She smiled at the sight of the animal and its simple joy in the winter garden, but a sharp pain tore her from her stupor, and she couldn't help the yelp that slipped past her lips.

Immediately, her gaze fell to her hand, where a deep cut on her finger was bleeding heavily. Shit, there was blood all over the cutting board. Without thinking, she hurried over to the sink and held her finger under the water, cursing at how cold it was. The water faded to red after running over her finger, and she could already feel herself starting to get lightheaded. The shock of the cut was wearing off, and the pain was intensifying.

It was stupid, really, that she was in such a fuss over a small slice. Nevertheless, she yelled for George in what was probably a futile attempt. If he was deep in his experiments, there would be no tearing his attention away. Lockwood had tried many things in an attempt to get his attention, so she didn’t hold out much hope.

But just a few seconds later there he was, suddenly in the kitchen doorway. His eyebrows were raised, lips parted in a silent question as his eyes found her finger in the tapstream, leaking a seemingly endless amount of blood.

"Oh shit, (name), what happened?"

“Thought I’d add a bit of my finger to dinner." She spoke through gritted teeth, joking in an attempt to ease herself, or even George. It didn’t work that well.

She’d never had any problems with blood, and she’d cared for many injuries her teammates had sustained over the last year, but her blood - that was an entirely different story. George was next to her in an instant, rummaging around in the medical cupboard for a plaster of the right size. She almost laughed upon hearing him complain that they needed to reorganise the whole thing as he tore a long strip from a box and cut it with a pair of scissors.

"Can you turn off the water?" 

(name) did what he asked. Before she knew it, one of his hands was gently holding her wrist, bringing her hand closer to inspect the cut. It wasn’t as deep as it had appeared at first glance, just long and thin, but it was still oozing blood. Most of the issue had been the sheer shock of it and the throbbing pain that filled her whole finger.

It was easier, though, to forget about the pain when his skin was touching hers. He held her so softly, dabbing blood away with such care that her heart swelled as she watched him, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to avoid the cut itself. He pressed slightly too hard, and her breath caught.

"Sorry, I'll try and be gentle,” he promised.

He led her over to the kitchen table, where she could rest her arm atop the scribbled-on cloth as he worked away. He was quiet as he took the plaster off the paper, slathering on antiseptic cream before wrapping it carefully around her finger. Something in his cheek twitched.

She watched as the concentration moulded his face into some softer version of a frown, the kind of one he often donned when working away in the Archives on a more complex case. Delicately, he stuck the remaining side of the plaster down before relaxing a little. His hand rested on hers, enveloping it in comfortable warmth, and she had to question if the lightheadedness she felt was still from the blood or just from the way he smiled at her. 

For a wonderful moment, neither of them moved. His hand squeezed around hers ever so slightly, and his eyes found hers; his gaze encapsulating her very soul. She couldn’t look away, trapped in eyes that no artist could ever replicate, and found a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She could’ve stayed like that forever, would’ve given anything for this moment to last just a little longer, but it didn’t. 

George cleared his throat, pulling his hand back and tearing his gaze from hers as he stood. (name) looked down at her finger, wrapped snugly in its waterproof plaster, and hoped he couldn’t see the blush that was staining her cheeks.

"I'm going to take over dinner", George said, shuffling awkwardly. "There is no way I'll let you cook with your hand like this.”

“But -”

“Research can wait before you say anything.”

And that was that. 

(name) reluctantly did what he said and stayed in her seat, watching as he washed off the cutting board and then continued where she had left off. It was frustrating how much neater he sliced tomatoes than she did.

The pain that had momentarily subsided had come back worse, and her whole finger was pulsating with waves of dull pain. She tried her best to keep up a conversation with George, and not let on how she was feeling. No need to make him more worried than he already was. But it was clear that he was still concerned, what with his short glances back every two minutes. She had to fight back a little smile at that.

A bang sounded, signalling that somebody had just come in the front door, and she turned to look through the kitchen doorway to see who it was. 

Sam, upon seeing the kitchen door open, made his way down the steps after taking off his jacket, smiling as he entered. 

"Man, that was exhausting", he said, making himself comfortable on one of the seats - Lockwood’s. He wouldn’t be happy about that. “Forgot how big London is.”

"Do you want something to drink?" (name) asked.

"That would be great."

She squeezed past George, half-annoyed at the small walking space in the kitchen and half-grateful that she had another excuse to be closer to him, and reached up into one of the cupboards for a glass.

"What happened to your finger?" Sam asked, gaze fixed on the plaster as she filled the glass with water.

"Just a little cut", she said, plastering on some semblance of a smile. The pain was worse now after bashing it on one of the shelves. “Nothing much.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in a way that looked so much like George. "That doesn't seem like just a little cut", he said. "Can I check it?”

(name) didn't know what to do. She looked over to George, who was busy stirring the contents of the pot, seemingly not listening to their conversation. 

“Oh, no, George has already patched me up. I’ll be fine.”

“George is about as good at first aid as our dad, which is to say shit. I insist. It’ll be quick.”

With one more glance at George, she sat back down, setting the glass in front of Sam. No harm in letting him check, she supposed.

He shuffled his chair around, sitting so that her legs slotted in between his, then took her hand and inspected the plaster. A shadow of blood was already peeking through.

"I'm going to take this off and see how bad the cut is, alright?" 

(name) nodded in agreement, already dreading the pain this was surely going to cause.

George had turned down the heat of the stove and now leaned against the counter to watch them, his arms crossed. There was something in his expression, a sliver of unfamiliar emotion hidden in his eyes and the slight downturn of his lips.

"Is that really necessary, Sam?" he asked, his voice unusually sharp.

Sam moved closer to (name), slowly peeling the plaster off and revealing the cream-covered, blood-stained finger that had her feeling lightheaded again. 

"Oh, it’s necessary. After that one time you tried to patch me up when we were younger, I wouldn’t trust you with a paper cut.”

George huffed. “I was eight. It’s not like I was going to be an expert. Besides, you’re an engineer, not a doctor.”

Sam only hummed, glancing at his younger brother for less than a second. A shadow of a smile haunted his lips.

(name) shuffled uncomfortably, gaze flickering between the two. Tension was rising for some reason unknown to her, and she had a feeling that she was the root of it. But why? She’d only cut her finger. That shouldn’t have been a cause for anything.

“Just as well I’ve checked,” Sam murmured. “That’s definitely more than a little cut.”

“It barely hurts now,” (name) lied. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

And it was. It had been. She had liked it when George had held her hand so tenderly, making sure not to hurt her. Sam doing the same wasn’t necessarily bad, but it felt wrong. Especially with that look on George’s face. He looked ready to kill.

That look alone had a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. Did it mean he felt the same as she did, even just a little bit?

No, she told herself. This was George. George loved his books and scribbling insults on the thinking cloth for Lockwood to find later and reading away in the Archives. There wasn’t enough room for her to fit in his heart. Surely.

Sam was quick to put a new plaster on, this one more neatly cut than the one George had rushed to tear, though there had been an essence of care in it. In reality, she preferred his jagged edges over Sam’s cleaner ones.

She wasn’t entirely sure if she was thinking about plasters now.

“Thanks,” she said, taking her hand back out of Sam’s grip. “Uh, George, how’s dinner coming?”

For a moment, there was no reply. Then George seemed to remember that there was a world beyond the little bubble that had encased the three of them and hurriedly glanced back at the boiling pan of vegetables.

“Fine,” he said eventually. 

“Hope you’re better at cooking than you are at first aid, Georgie,” Sam jested.

It was clear he meant it to be a joke, but whatever had soured George’s mood had twisted it into something different. He all but scoffed as he turned back to the pan, stirring methodically.

“George is the best,” (name) said. “If we didn’t have him, we’d be living off of Lockwood’s toast and jam.”

George’s shoulders eased slightly at that. “Either that or spag-bol every night. There’s only so much of it I can eat.”

(name) laughed and so did George, albeit breathy and quiet. Even still, it had the pressure building in her chest ease off a little and had her heart aching to hear more.

Sam’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Dead silence. There it was again - that suffocating tension. (name)'s heart felt like it had stopped in her chest entirely, and George had ceased every movement. The wooden spoon in his hand hovered over the simmering water, dripping and dripping and dripping until the sound became unbearable and, somehow, too loud.

Did she mind someone assuming she was in a relationship with George? No, of course not. She couldn't imagine anything better for herself. But the hesitation in his movements, the way he looked back at Sam with what could only be described as acute disbelief, had her lunch making its way back up her throat. That tiny sliver of hope she’d felt earlier? Gone.

“No! We’re not - ” George stammered helplessly, eyes wide. 

“Oh, my mistake,” Sam said nonchalantly. There was a glint in those dark eyes of his. Mischief. “Just from what I’ve seen today, and how much George talks about you, (name), I kind of assumed…”

“Sam!”

Sam closed his mouth, apparently unwilling to be further berated by his brother, but there was a hint of satisfaction in his smile.

- - - -

Dinner, to begin with, went as smoothly as it could after the bomb Sam had dropped. Lockwood and Lucy returned from their escapades, rosy-cheeked and laughing, but their demeanours soon shifted upon feeling the tension filling the kitchen. With nothing more than a look, Lucy seemed to gauge the situation and began talking about some of the strange stuff she and Lockwood had encountered on the streets of London.

Well, to her and (name) it was strange. To the native Londoners, it was an everyday thing. But truth be told, (name) was much more concerned about George… it was strange seeing him behave like he did.

George was often quiet, unless he was talking about a topic he was particularly enthusiastic about or insulting Lockwood or the Fittes team they’d dubbed their rivals. Yet there had always been a sense of peace in those silences, a comfort that allowed (name) to know that he was okay, either just listening or pondering away in his own little world.

Now, though… This silence was new and different and she knew that it was caused by the implication that they were acting like a couple. (name) tried to think over everything they’d ever done to make it seem that way - the lingering touches and long-held gazes, the time spent together and the happiness they always seemed to feel around each other - and she could see why. And if Sam had been telling the truth, George had talked about her to him in what she had to assume was a positive way.

So why was he reacting like this? Why did he seem so distressed by the thought of her?

It was halfway through dinner when she decided she couldn’t bear it anymore. He wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t answer her questions on how his research was going. Wouldn’t listen to Lockwood droning on about heaven knows what.

She stood from her chair and moved away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”

That seemed to perk everyone up.

Lockwood frowned. “You all right?”

“I just need some fresh air,” she said. “It’s stuffy in here.”

Sam shifted in his chair, making to stand. “I’ll come along. I know some good places to clear your head -”

“No, it’s fine,” (name) insisted, and her voice came out rather firm. “I’ll not be long. Just a walk around the block.”

And then she was gone, fighting not to look back to see if George was concerned or unbothered. 

Why did she care so much if he was? He had practically ignored her throughout the whole of dinner, despite her effort to have a conversation, all because his brother had assumed they were a thing. Was she truly so inadequate? Was the mere prospect of being with her so terrible?

It didn’t matter. She’d be just fine on her own. She’d managed it all of these years, and she’d do just the same regardless. What did it matter whether or not he liked her?

But, as she strolled through the wintery streets, it became abundantly clear that no matter how hard she tried, it would always be important to her.

(name) loved George more than anything she had before. She would give him the world if she could. And part of her wanted to believe that, even if he didn’t feel the same, she would always hold on to those feelings.

But that sentiment was just for the romantic movies and sappy novels she spent her free time reading. In reality, she didn’t have it in her to give and give and give and get nothing in return.

The cold air bit at her cheeks, and she crossed her arms as she walked, trying to preserve any warmth that she could. Maybe she should’ve grabbed a thicker jacket on her way out, or changed from her trainers into the pair of boots she’d left out because, god, the frost was seeping through the canvas material. 

She almost jumped out of her skin when something wrapped around her neck.

In a burst of fear, she whirled around and stumbled backwards before realising that the thing was soft, and it was warm. And the person who had wrapped it around her was someone extremely familiar.

“George?” she asked, frowning. Her hand reached up to the thing he’d wrapped around her, nails catching on the knitted fabric. “You brought me… a scarf?”

George, who looked mildly shocked by his actions, nodded. “Uh, yeah - yes. You, um, you left without it. I didn’t want you - didn’t want you getting cold, you know?”

“Uh, thanks.”

And for a moment, she lingered, waiting for him to say something. George stood still before her, looking at her in a way she was sure he had never before - slightly wide-eyed, awe-like - but he tore his gaze from her and looked at the ground.

It was then that the feelings she’d been consumed by just moments ago began to creep back again. Why was she still standing here? So what if he'd brought her a scarf? He hadn’t even been able to stomach speaking to her after Sam assumed they were together.

The thought was enough to convince her. With a tight, thin-lipped and awkward smile in his general direction, she turned to continue on her walk. She’d come out to clear her head, and although she was grateful for the scarf, George was jumbling her thoughts again, just as he always did. And, well, if he wasn’t going to say anything, then she was just going to continue her stroll.

“(name), wait.”

She was half-tempted to keep walking, but the tone of George’s voice was enough to stop her feet from moving. He was nervous. Yes, sure, she had seen him nervous many, many times, but this was different. With the slight tremor in his voice, so very subtle, he had all the power at that moment to stop her.

Slowly, she turned to face him again, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Yeah?”

There was a look in his eyes, unlike anything she had ever seen before. They had softened considerably from when he had been talking to Sam, and there was a crease between his eyebrows that showed a hint of worry she would usually have to search for in his movements. Never did he show his anxiousness as clearly as he did now.

“I -” His voice caught, and he tore his eyes from her face, instead looking at his muddy trainers. “I’m sorry. About how I’ve been acting today.”

She shrugged. “I get it. Your brother’s here. You want us to like him, but he’s getting on your nerves. It’s what siblings do. None of us mind, George. Sam’s nice.”

“That’s not…” It wasn’t what he had meant, and it was clear that he knew she was trying to avoid the topic. “Sam is a lot of things, you know. He’s annoying and insanely smart and kind and -”

“I’ve met him,” (name) said, not unkindly. “I know.”

George ran a hand over his face. “I know, but what I mean to say is that he isn’t a liar.”

Usually, George Karim was not someone to beat around the bush. It was one of the things that (name) admired about him. If there was something he wanted to say, then he would say it, straight and upfront. But to see him now, fumbling over himself and avoiding the point…

“You’re making no sense,” she said.

“What he’s been saying about me… me talking about you a lot.” There was a brief pause. “He’s not wrong. I do talk about you a lot. I think my mum knows more about you than about me.”

A smile tried to fight its way onto her lips, but she held it back. If this was going where she so desperately hoped it would, it wouldn’t hurt to have him say it directly.

“I suppose that’s what friends are like,” she said. “Growing up, my dad knew every detail there was to know about my best friend.”

If one were to describe George Karim, bold would not be a word they would use. Smart, of course. Sarcastic, yes. Awkward, yes again. Bold? Absolutely not.

But there was no other way to describe his actions at that moment. The certainty he stepped forward with, the soft yet assured feel of his hands wrapping around hers. God, he was so close now that she could feel his warm breath ruffling her hair. And his eyes, lord, his eyes. Despite the slow-creeping darkness in the evening sky, his eyes only seemed to grow brighter. She could see the anxiety creeping beneath the surface, whether it be for the actions that may follow or her possible reaction. 

“I don’t want to just be your friend,” he said. His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she could hear the words as clearly as she would if he had shouted them.

She had known the words had been coming or had hoped, but hearing them was an entirely new thing. She could feel her heart swell with joy and relief, feel the smile that had so badly wanted to break free rise onto her lips. Her hands shifted carefully, cautiously, until her fingers could fit in between his.

“I’m sorry again about how I’ve been acting.” His words were beginning to rush out the way they did when he had too much to say. “I hadn’t felt ready to tell you, and Sam kept pushing and pushing. I thought if I ignored him I could sort my feelings out, but then I got too nervous and couldn’t even speak to you. God, you make me nervous. Did you know that?”

Her face scrunched with delight. “Georgie?”

He looked a little out of breath. “Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Judging from the look of pure shock on his face, he had not expected such a straightforward request. He didn’t speak, but he nodded.

(name) grinned, slowly pulling one of her hands from his grip to push his glasses up his nose before placing it on his shoulder and leaning forward.

As a child, she had not liked to watch the kissing scenes in movies. They had always felt awkward and, at the time, she had never been able to imagine sharing an intimate moment like that with anybody, nevertheless enjoy it.

But here she was, kissing her best friend, and loving it. 

It was a little stiff to begin with but after a moment, they relaxed into it - into the feeling of fireworks and butterflies and warm lips. George’s hand squeezed hers, and his free hand slipped around to her back, pulling her a little closer.

The kiss didn’t last long, no more than a few seconds, but (name) found herself unable to compare the breathtaking moment to anything she had ever experienced. And, well, the look on George’s face told her that he felt much the same.

“I don’t want to just be friends either,” she said, finding herself feeling somewhat shy after such an uncharacteristic moment of confidence. “If that’s okay with you.”

George nodded with such vigour it was a wonder his head was still attached to his neck. “Okay with me.”

thank you for reading!

[cant-think-of-a-good-one]

Trick or treat

hi hello you can read my previous post to learn why i responded late.

you know i was gonna treat you with a link to rust but its every language

but then i remembered that i crocheted this:

this is um i forgot how many rows of rule 110, the cellular automaton thing, crocheted. i think iwas gonna crochet more rows but i ran out of yarn.

if you dont know, what makes rule 110 so special is that it doesnt just make pretty triangle patterns. if you make the right starting row, you can make it compute anything !! its turing complete. you can find out more about that elsewhere since i dont know the specifics. but that is why i crocheted this particular cellular automaton. i hope you had a nice halloween :]

oh and here's unirust if you still wanted it anyways:

i dont use rust often but i think its funny

[thornsofthefuture]

an interview with razorz of EPILEPTICS — a talk about music, molly and life

today, we had the honor to interview razorz, the frontperson of EPILEPTICS, once a witch-house & electronic band, now a reggaeton, post-hardcore & rave one-person project. EPILEPTICS has been in the industry since 2013. the band quickly gained popularity because of the self-titled LP released through the YOUTH 1984 label. the LP has been adored by fans of the witch-house & electronic genre. songs like Esoteric, Heroin Chic and Carpathian hit the charts, making EPILEPTICS a legend and a huge influence in the international Witch House scene, along with their chaotic live shows and then-elusive personas, setting the blueprint of aesthetic and sound for many bands and artists to come.

[this interview includes explicit content & mentions of self harm. some viewers might find this content triggering. proceed with caution.]

thorns of the future: first question: how did you find out that you wanted to be a music producer?

razorz: Out of necessity, I was 15-16 playing in black metal, crust and grindcore bands, I always realized that I was the only one writing songs and throwing ideas. When me and Amanda Failure started EPILEPTICS, we had no idea how to do electronic music, I read somewhere about this software "Reason 4". I cracked a copy and started messing with it, I was amazed that you could do music, an entire song on a laptop, a 2008 HP mini to be precise, we came from the world of guitars, amps, pedals and drums, we couldn't believe it. Now I do records and remixes for other people and I can tell you 100% that I'm not sure of what I am doing, I can't let other people do my songs cause I am very specific with everything, only a couple of occassions this has happened, MYKKA from Argentina, a superstar prod. she produced for Bad Bunny, Duki, Bhavi, Ysy A, and a bunch of other important people and she made some of the heaviest, nastiest dubstep ever before that, she has legit Gold Records and is one of the top producers from Latin America, so she made the beat for Suicide Season because I bugged her for a year and she thought that EPLPTCS was kinda cool and weird and SVGAWA (Ukrainian Witch House rockstar) a brother to me is the only person on earth that reads my mind and knows what I want, they are the 2 only people who have made beats for me, I became a producer but that was never the goal, when we started I did not even know what a producer was.

thorns of the future: tell us about the craziest person you've ever seen in the crowd during your live show.

razorz: On a festival in Moscow 2018 there was this girl and a dude that tried god-knows whatever designer drug and they were on the floor, could not move their legs or talk but they were moving their torsos to the music, they were in the back and I was impressed how unphased everybody was, like "hey, I think these guys are dying" and nobody gave a shit, here in Mexico in like 2017 some girls and dudes showed up with mutilated arms to the front row and I used to cut myself on some shows if I had a vibe going on, at Station Hall in Moscow I stagedived at the end with wounds open in the arms and some girl I believe licked them at the stagedive, that was crazy, after me, King Plague was gonna DJ and she refused to until the stage was cleaned up, I left it full of blood, that's the dumb stuff I was doing at the time, when I saw that followers of the band were destroying themselves from us openly encouraging the use of drugs and self mutilation, I stopped with that, a couple of people I really cared about actually died from that, there was this infectious "bug" on tours that was not healthy for anybody, we were dangerous to ourselves and the people around us, but that's the past.

thorns of the future: what were your thoughts during your first ever live show?

razorz: As EPILEPTICS? I was very nervous because Failure got in trouble and couldn't make it to the show but I didn't know, I played at like 3am at this indie little festival in a hall in here, a girl complained it was too noisy and it was hurting her ears, there is video of that show, gonna upload it to YouTube and about Failure, days later she answered the phone and turns out she was caught  drunk driving that evening so her parents were getting her out of detention that night, I barely remember it, I was coked out of my mind and drinking anisette on that one, but I had played a bunch of metal/punk shows before EPLPTCS which are the worst, after coming from those scenes you are 120% bulletproof to anything, nothing is worse than those shows, you work and play your ass off for nothing in the tiniest places in the worst conditions with the worst crowds.

thorns of the future: what made you switch from electronic music to your current genre?

razorz: We never intended to be a Witch House band, we just wanted to blend what Salem and Glass Teeth were doing with UK rave music and jungle, we were "adopted" and thrown in the bunch by the people and we are grateful for that, I see the impact now that us and the Russian bands and prods had on the current musical landscape, we were a bunch of angsty teenagers that just wanted to unleash. Anyway I lived the Witch House thing to the fullest, I played all the fests, met everybody, got signed twice and made money, I was in Russia when Witch House was mainstream music there, you would walk into a Bershka store and they were playing Crossparty, it was not underground at all, in Spain it was a big deal as well, before Sidewalks toured the circuit, before Crim3s, I did, I saw it and we all knew it was gonna end eventually, everybody was living the lifestyle, everybody was running out of ideas and americans put the final nail in the coffin of Witch House with their stupid songs about ghosts, terror and daft shit like that, around 2019 the scene was dead worldwide and you can ask anybody who was there, Dann K left the band and it was only me now, I always hated rap music but we were played on Mexican radio a legendary station in here called Reactor 105, they believed in us and played our songs, one day I was listening and Bring the Noize by M.I.A. came up, I was floored, I could not believe the sound of that, so I started listening more, started to consume UK grime, weird ethnic stuff like kuduro (it's a music genre) and soundsystems, reggaeton was huge in here always and at that time there were this really dense/heavy loud af tracks coming from South America along with the trap scene from Argentina and I was into that as well, I needed a rebranding of everything and now I was gonna front so I did "lost u" which is a monster witch pop song as a goodbye for the "Version 1" of the band, plus me being razorz and EPILEPTICS being pretty much my life for 5 years at that point, I was not 18 anymore and you have to think like "I guess this is what I am gonna do, so I need to be more commercial" and at that time I was partying a lot and liking commercial af music and seemed reachable so I went for the full selling out if you will and I don't regret it at all, underground is not fun.

thorns of the future: how old were you when you first started making music?

razorz: I always played music, my mum is a huge music fan, she was an 80's goth and she also liked metal so I got my 1st drumkit when I was 3, then a guitar at 6, she was very supportive, my dad didn't really care, I never learned theory, so I would play CDs and learn from there, my first song I'd say I was 12 (?) it was some sort of a Carcass death metal song. So it went from there, there is this ultra depressive neoclassical autumn vibes piano/acoustic guitar project called 'Bläire' (which was my pseudonym in black metal bands I played in) I recorded it alone in my bedroom when I was like 15, it was supposed to come out on cassette on a Finnish black metal label but it closed 2 weeks before the release and that broke me so I put a couple of those tracks as hidden tracks on the 1st and 2nd EPILEPTICS records (Autumnal Black Metal Tape and Santander respectively) I will eventually put that whole EP myself on Spotify.

thorns of the future: who's your biggest inspiration?

razorz: Way too many people to mention, but Liam Howlett (The Prodigy), Skrillex (who I was a fan of since From First to Last) and Ethan Kath (him exclusively, fuck that other person in that band) made it seem realistic cause they were punky guys like me. Nowadays I get inspired by anything, many people wouldn't believe all the shit I listen to, all over the place.

thorns of the future: what's your favourite song that you produced?

razorz: I am very proud of Nadia Comaneci, that song took me 2 years to write when I was homeless (by choice) and on meth, it encapsulates the hate, actually becoming insane and paranoia like no other song, it has this totally incoherent lyrics that range from violence and death to school shootings, me being Hannah Montana, killing police officers, killing rock music, La Santa Muerte, asexuality as a way of living, suicide, life in the 3rd world, anti materialism, etc. 2 minutes, all of that in 2 fucking minutes, the music video is just a masterpiece too, that the director (Conejo Roto) envisioned, very disturbing and grotesque but not in the obvious way, I love it and its like 4 different music genres squeezed in 2 minutes, again: awesome, it's like a manifesto.

thorns of the future: tell us how you start the process of making music.

razorz: Listening to music, and just observing life, I can be listening to Britney and Kylie Minogue and steal a vocal melody from them, then maybe a drum pattern from Diplo and then a guitar lead part from old Bloc Party, The Kills or The Libertines and a synth from 100gecs and then a flow and snare from a Favela Funk song, or a figure from a riff from Darkthrone, my way of writing music is straight up stealing parts of songs from totally opposite genres and mashing them together, it is rare that a song comes to my head but sometimes that happens.

thorns of the future: how did you come up with the name for your band?

razorz: I have a cousin that was diagnosed with epilepsy that I didnt see often back when we started the band, he had a seizure and I was alone with him at our grandma's house, he had this fucked up convulsion and I was alone with him, his eyes went blank and his mouth was tweaking bad, I told Failure about it and she had a crush on Ian from Joy Division (lame) who was an epileptic too, so she named the band, I thought it was a stupid name and I still hate it, we released 'Esoteric' like weeks later and we kicked the Witch House/rave scene along with the russians and it became this minor hit in a matter of days so we couldn't change it, I still hate the name and think it is silly as fuck, almost 10 years still bothers me.

thorns of the future: what would you like to say to your fans?

razorz: I hate the word fans, I like calling them friends, I'd like to tell them to not have kids, that's the best advice I can give and to never listen to anybody, live your fucking lives however you want.

thorns of the future: what's your favourite drug and why?

razorz: I'm gonna go with molly, I had some of the best times of my life on that one and I did lots of music discovery with my then best friend Axl, we would do tons of molly, not eat for a week and just listen to music nonstop, Dann K. (vocalist/synths on The Sun Hurts My Eyes) got me into shooting coke right in the fucking neck for a bit but it was too awesome so I stopped and went to regular snorting I guess, I have a permanent damage on my palate from doing so much coke for years.

thorns of the future: is there a religion you hate most?

razorz: Oh man... haha anything that involves bombing, cowardly unaliving kids in other countries and treating women like garbage, not gonna name it but I think everybody with a braincell will know what I'm talking about.

thorns of the future: your most unliked subculture is…

razorz: Punks, fucking losers, lame mediocre, miserable people who like to pretend they live in 1985, metalheads too, are pretty stupid and childish and anybody who is playing glam music or trying to be Guns N' Roses in 2024 is amusing to me, oh djent is pretty fucking lame too.

thorns of the future: tell us your least liked artist - is it because of their music or their personality?

razorz: Gonna name a few in no particular order: XXXTentacion, Lil Peep, Arca bothers the shit out of me, mediocre techno, this Sarah Landry bitch who plays "hard techno" which is just a kick loop going on for 3 hrs what's that shit about? Nobody likes it but fucking dunces pretend to like it cause it's "cool", Nina Kraviz, dumb fuck thinking she is modeling while DJing, this stupid pop punk revival bands talking about pizza and smelling their mothers ass they are even doing that here in Mexico, it is insulting, bunch of fucking sons of rich privileged idiots, My Chemical Romance, Tool, 98% of American Witch House talking about ghosts and Halloween and shit lmao, post-2013 Grimes (hung out with her in 2016 and she was annoying as fuck) K pop boybands and girlbands, lame electronic like Porter Robinson, that BLAND stupid disco shit that Daft Punk did, white people acting black, Machine Gun Kelly, DJs who have girls twerking at their sets piss me off beyond belief, Drake is one of the softest and most pathetic individuals to ever put music out, etc man, my hate is unlimited and I have chilled out a lot. Honorable mention to this dumb fuck Anyma, he was Grimes' boyfriend or something, that instead of playing MUSIC he just puts this dumbass lame visuals on his shows, J Balvin and Maluma along with all that soft reggaeton pop bullshit is pretty embarrasing as well, they think us mexicans LOVE that garbage and we don't.

thorns of the future: what's the riskiest thing you've ever done?

razorz: For my own security I can't talk much about it but I am amazed that I was not killed, that I never had a fatal overdose and that I am not in prison talking to you today, whatever you think I've done multiply that by 10 and you will be kind of close, I lived the street life to the max when I was a meth addict and I don't like all this people around the world rapping or singing about it like it's cool cause it's not, the fear of police, paranoia, the nothing, hearing voices and seeing things that are not there, the cold, the "I don't know if I'm gonna come back alive from this one" or going to a free clinic to check if you have AIDS are things I do not miss at all.

we would like to thank razorz of EPILEPTICS for answering all of our questions. we really appreciate you. that's all for now.

images & videos: razorz

spotify:

EPILEPTICS: https://open.spotify.com/artist/20KlxRilj2aFPUDjglUebT

razorz: https://open.spotify.com/artist/3AvvaBzMypsd6UYoE3aNBF

instagram:

EPILEPTICS: https://www.instagram.com/epileptix/

razorz: https://www.instagram.com/r4z0rz/

hyperfollow: https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/epileptics

[outermaybanks]

do you have like a post where you talk more about the play? like an overview or something? i would have looooved to go see it but i’m not from the US so alas. would love to know more details if you wanna share

No I dont but I don’t mind talking about it I just didnt want to come off as bragging or something:

I was front row and thats the only reason yall didnt get a slime tutorial from me i swear, rudy and the other actors were like a foot away from me. it started with the speech y’know “two star crossed lovers in fair verona where we lay our scene” by the friar/priest guy, and then rudy and the actress for juliet stepped out in the background and my heart stopped just bc its so weird when you only see someone on your tv or phone and suddenly they’re actually on front of you yknow? and rudy played romeo veryyyyy well, very lovesick, very i-write-poetry-but-never-show-anyone.

It was also obvious that he and the actor for Mercutio took inspiration from the leondardo dicaprio romeo & juliet, they had some very homo erotic moments. juliet was very talented as well, when tybolt died she let out a very guttural sob, then quickly did some girl math to not be mad at romeo about it very real of a teenage girl.

both rudy and the actress for juliet were soooo good at playing absolutely lovesick, ready to die for one another lovers. It was in the small details for me, like i mentioned in a post last night, even when they were in the background they stayed in character believably, how they looked at each other, the way romeo looked at juliet, it was mesmorizing to watch. even my bf who was just there to be supportive was taken aback and in awe of rudy and the actress for juliet’s taken.

the glow orb was much more involved than originally thought, I thought maybe it was only for the masquerade scene, nope.

during the marriage scene they kept doing this cute thing where everytime the priest wasnt looking they’d get closer, hold hands, whisper loving things to each other. i promise yall on everything in me: RUDY CAN ACT HIS ASS OFF AND PLAY IN-LOVE VERY CONVINCINGLY AND THATS HOW I KNOW THERE WERE EVIL FORCES AT PLAY ON THE SET OF OBX !!!!

anyway….

what else did i really like… they were really fighting. like obviously choreographed but no stunt doubles they pushed that little blonde man up against the ‘wall’ (the set for the majority of the play was very plain with like nine cubes/boxes some were hollow, that could be moved or separated, it served as walls, as the balcony, a gate etc) and held him there, threw each other around and romeo was like a pacifist trying not to kill the woman he love’s cousin and was taking those punches like a champ, until tybolt killed mercutio

also i audibly whimpered during the big fight scene bc rudy was fucking devastated about losing mercutio and held him close and mercutio got his blood all over him.

i talked a but about a scene where mercutio was giving romeo shit. that mercutio was also so incredibly talented, and definitely took alllll his inspo from the leo dicaprio version. so mercutio is giving romeo shit like “ohhh he’s depressed bc he can’t get laid” and romeo is like “bro does it look like i dont get pussy?” and then he liked grabbed his crotch and basically started acting like teenage boys talking about sex (this was after the marriage and interpretive consummation background scene) and i dont want to say ‘humping’ each other but…. very close to it.

the end part of the play this big platform was lowered and suddenly there was a bunch of dirt on the stage, and yall know how it goes, juliet pretends to kill herself, romeo does kill himself, juliet wakes up and kills herself for realsies, the only real difference in this director’s version of romeo and juliet is that the two families very clearly forgive each other, we see romeo and juliet in heaven with mercutio and tybolt

thats all the big things that stuck with me and if anyone wants to ask about a more specific scene lmk

im gonna be completely honest romeo and juliet is one of my lesser liked shakespeare plays so there were some moments I was appreciating getting to stare at rudy’s face without a screen between us, had he been in macbeth i probably would’ve gotten a passport and flew anywhere to see him in it

[thetinyzaiofbuffoonery]

sorry to tinyzai and tinyya but my question isnt for them ORZ i actually was wondering if you have any advice related to making a tinyzai or tinyya? im very new to crochet but i think my life would actually be perfect if i could take a tiny chuuya with me in my purse lol <333

The Tinys are going to be so jealous when I tell them I got an ask just for me :P

You're not the first person to ask about how to make their own Tiny, so I will attempt to put together a separate post with more specific advice. I haven't ever written a pattern before so Idk how well it will turn out, but I will try to be as clear I can.

Whilst you're waiting for that post, I will say, the head and torso were not my own pattern, I used this pattern for them and adjusted where I needed to. I used grey wool for the body and white for the face, so following this pattern you would start with grey wool and then switch to white wool at the start of Row 11. For Tinyya I made one less row in his body to make him shorter than Tinyzai, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, but it would mean the head would start one row earlier.

The rest will take me some time to write up as I have to look over what I did, in order to attempt to recreate it.

In general for making Tinyya (or Tinyzai), you'll need to know how to do a slip stitch, single crochet, half double crochet, double crochet, increases and decreases (US terminology). I used a 3.5mm hook.

[merakiui]

⭐ 

Go off Queen ❤️

>:D why, thank you, my liege. Go off, I shall!!!

(ask game)

I think I'll take this opportunity to discuss Death Row Undertow's chapter seven: Kismet Kiss! Specifically the latter half involving Cater. I've put my thoughts under the cut!

I loved writing this scene (the tonal shift from Riddle's anxious meticulousness to Cater's friendly and feigned positivity is very yummy to me)! The karaoke bar that the pop music club frequents actually has a name: Siren's Heartache. Reader and Cater visit it often! That aside, this chapter shows a much more meaner side to Cater. >_< not only that, but it also illustrates his inner thoughts and feelings. For example, this section here:

Cater makes it a mission to familiarize himself with his favorite karaoke bar’s menu, but despite every food and drink combination he’s come across (some photographed and strung up on his social media and others admired from afar) he cannot stomach the sweetness. So for tonight—like most nights—he chooses something that is, as his sisters would often say, “so not cute.” Beer is his go-to, even if his carefully curated Magicam feed is adorned with photos of pastries and sugary drinks galore. Peel back the pretty wallpaper and you'll find the dollhouse is not what it seems. But festering in rot is so not cute, and so for this reason he plasters the bitter with beauty.

Cater likes to curate a certain image for himself, especially when that image is being posted to his Magicam. He does something similar in Cicada City when he takes Riddle out for boba and orders a very sugary drink (which he only photographs and doesn't drink once). In canon, it's noted that Cater is more partial to spicy flavors than sweet flavors and that his aversion to the latter is due to always having to force himself to eat the sweets his sisters would make to avoid disheartening them. Also, his sisters have a tendency to judge things based on how cute they are. I imagine this habit is engrained quite deeply in Cater, hence why in this chapter (and other chapters) you will see him referring to things as "cute" or "not cute."

Though he seems rather cruel and detached from the main issue (Reader's disappearance), there are little things to suggest otherwise. The most glaring one would be his song and its lyrics. When I wrote it, I wanted every line to hold an underlying meaning for plenty of analytical dissection. Lilia's able to read between the lines, which leads to this exchange:

Cater curls his fingers into a tight, self-assuring fist, nails pricking his palms. “Sure did. Penned by yours truly and everything! It’s still not finished, though. I’m always going back to edit, but so far that’s the most coherent draft I have. So whatcha think? It’s totally cute, yeah?” “It’s very telling,” Lilia praises with a cryptic grin. Cater doesn’t like the wisdom discreetly woven into his next words. “You can learn a lot from the speaker in the song. Some truths are best expressed in writing, after all. When we put pen to paper, left alone with but our wrist and brain, we’re usually very honest with the page.” As always, you’re a mystery, Cater thinks with a thin smile. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared it so confidently.

These lyrics are very vulnerable and personal to Cater, but he shares them anyway because he's seeking validation for the song itself (not the story told within), which Kalim gives him without touching upon the message. But Lilia's the one who sees beyond the song's cute façade, which is exactly what Cater didn't want. Of course he separates Cater and the speaker in the song when he refers to them, but both he and Cater know they are one and the same.

Cater mentions in Cicada City that, "I’m thinking it could be an energetic love song with dark undertones. Lots of people like creepy romances, and who said Halloween couldn’t start early?" but in this chapter he says it "sounds kinda pop idol." The contrast in these descriptions are unique to Cater because it suggests that previously he was content to recognize the darker aspects of the song and its story, but now he simply wants it to be "pop idol" instead. This erasure of the dark tones in the song is a parallel to how he feels currently: a stressful situation has arisen and he doesn't want to confront it head-on because it's much smoother when things are cute and sweet (or pop idol).

In other words, Cater's role in this chapter is frustrating because he's meant to be Reader's friend and yet here he is: not being a friend. But the truth is that Cater is so used to her pattern of coming and going that he doesn't see any need to worry, so he becomes a little tense when Kalim and Lilia are voicing his concerns (which he's tamped down) back to him rather than agreeing easily.

He's also quite defensive and protective of Reader, even more so when Lilia and Kalim press him on certain issues related to their relationship, often answering with, "I just know" or "I know her." Cater doesn't want to lose one of the few close friends he's ever had, so the idea that she isn't just taking leave for a few days and that it could be something far more serious is deeply unsettling to Cater. And if that's the case, it will confirm two things for him: (1) Cater doesn't know Reader as well as he thinks he does and (2) this isn't another case of crying wolf; it's something more.

It may seem like he's dismissive when he tries to get Kalim and Lilia to drop the subject entirely so they can focus on band discussions instead (and he is), but the reality is that Reader has been on Cater's mind the entire time. At the end of the chapter, he thinks, This is so not sweet. I completely forgot to take pictures for Magicam. Cater never forgets to take pictures. He actively searches for ways to snap photos at every opportunity; it's one of the things that's almost always at the forefront of his mind. He was so distracted with his own buried worries related to Reader that taking pictures genuinely slipped his mind.

So he is genuinely worried. He just doesn't want to show that side of himself because it's, in his own words, "so not cute."

[fallenangelblade]

WIP Wednesday

been really stuck on this idea of post-canon dean starting to feel like he's being psychologically tortured in his afterlife and becoming convinced he has to escape. so I started writing it! here's a little snippet of what I have so far:

Dean spends a lot of time driving.

It takes some getting used to, at first. There’s no road maps in Baby’s glove compartment, no cell phone with GPS by which to navigate. He’s always had a keen sense of direction, though. So his first time out, he takes a right out of the long driveway that leads back to his little cabin and just drives aimlessly for a bit, trying to get his bearings.

It doesn’t take long to realize that regardless of where he turns, the road takes him wherever he wants to go. Or, if he doesn’t have anything specific in mind, it just goes. There are no mile markers or recognizable landmarks, just endless, empty, two-lane highway, and his beloved car, eating up the pavement beneath her tires, odometer never changing, tank never anything other than full. When he feels ready to head home, whichever turn he takes next spits him right back out on his own street.

The time passes strangely on the road. The first time he drives to visit Charlie, he pops in a cassette tape. He’s bobbing his head along to a Stones song, and he arrives at Charlie’s little hobbit-y looking cottage just as the final guitar riff fades out. When Bobby suggests they go down to the Roadhouse to see Ellen and Jo and Ash, the drive takes exactly as long as Boston’s “Peace of Mind.” After a lifetime of cross-country trips in the driver’s seat, it’s a bit strange to suddenly arrive anywhere he wants within the perfectly timed duration of a single classic rock song.

But it’s Heaven, and it operates in cosmic dimensions that Dean is too small and human to perceive, so, whatever. Jack works in mysterious ways, Dean reminds himself.

He doesn’t know why it feels off.

It’s not that he’s suspicious, not really. The time spent behind Baby’s wheel is mostly pretty peaceful, as it was in life, and he’d rather cruise these weird, procedurally-generated roads for the rest of time than not be able to drive at all. No, he’s just a little curious about the mechanics of it all. So he starts paying attention.

He looks for seams, gaps, things overlapping where they shouldn’t, patterns that repeat. He keeps track of the turns he takes when he’s driving aimlessly, sometimes pulling a U-turn in the open road and trying to retrace his steps, but the turns are never the same going back. He makes four left turns in a row, figuring that if there’s any logic to the spatial plane here, he should end up back on the same stretch of highway he started on, or at least cross it at some point. When he still doesn’t recognize his surroundings, he keeps taking lefts, a never-ending spiral that disorients him so badly that by the time he winds back up at his cabin door, he almost feels dizzy.

Once, frustrated, he pulls over and climbs out of the car, shrugging out of his flannel as he walks towards the treeline. He ties its sleeves around the trunk of a small pine, giving it a bright red marker that he can clearly see from the road. When he drives off, he watches it in the side mirror until it disappears around the bend.

Every time he goes driving, he keeps an eye out for the tree with the red flannel. He never sees it again.

The scenery varies. Often, it’s wide open, flat plains that remind him of Kansas. Other times, dense forest, or winding coastal ridges, or steep mountain passes. Even when he’s headed to a destination he’s been to before, the path there is never quite the same. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.

He’s in Heaven. It shouldn’t bother him.

Every once in a while, though, he’s overcome with this horrible feeling. A cold hand wrapped around the base of his spine, the kind of deep, creeping dread that gets every hair on his body standing straight up. It’s a frightening moment of unreality, the sudden feeling that if he turned around, there would be nothing there — just void.

It takes him back to being a kid again, whenever Bobby would send him down to his creepy basement to retrieve a new box of ammo or fresh bag of salt. The distance from the central overhead light to the door at the top of the stairs felt like it stretched for miles. He would always pull the chain and sprint up the stairs two at a time, never daring to look over his shoulder, lest the yawning, empty dark swallow him whole.

The first few times the feeling comes, he finds himself pressing down harder on the gas, his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. He can sense it there, a hungry thing, opening its inky maw, nipping at the Impala’s tailpipe, and he takes the curves of the road hard and fast until, as quickly as the feeling arrives, it fades. Releases its grip on his lungs and leaves him breathless but ultimately unharmed.

Eventually, though, it starts to scare him less and less. He doesn’t speed up anymore, trying to outrun it. He begins to wonder what would happen if he let it catch him. If whatever darkness awaited him there would feel more like home than this supposed "paradise." He keeps pace, waiting for the shadow to overtake him. It never does.

He starts to wish it would.

Sometimes, he thinks he catches it in his periphery, a hint of that nothingness. A strange, blank, swath of grey, formless and dimensionless, like a video game running on an old computer without enough processing power for the environment to render properly. He imagines that if he turned his head fast enough, he might be able to glimpse it for just a moment before the divine machine caught its mistake and filled in the scenery.

But then he finds himself looking in the rearview, and all he sees is the road.