#and I’m trying to figure out some way to get some sort of income or idk

[rosicheeks]

To any of my lovely artist followers, mutuals and friends 🫶

Do any of you know how to make art prints? Or do you have a site that you like to use (that is ideally on the lower price range)?

Would really appreciate any and all tips that you guys might have!! And feel free to reblog to reach more people 🩷

[smileysuh]

ghost house

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You stand up, going to inspect the out-of-place panties lying next to your hamper. When you bend down, you see a translucent sort of outline, and it’s not your own spunk marring the fabric. It’s undoubtedly ghost cum, which is the oddest thing to realize- and you’re pretty sure it’s fresh. Your skin tingles at the notion. Somewhere in this house, Hyuck is coming down from a recent orgasm that he’d clearly achieved by using your panties. You’re a witch, but this is sinful, even for you.

tw/cw. Voyeurism, unprotected sex with a ghost, Hyuck is a repressed perv, he’s not a virgin but he’s not experienced either, pantie sniffer Hyuck, Hyuck watching y/n masturbate using ghost powers, Hyuck using y/n’s panties to cum in, weird ghost cum, Hyuck is a switch but leans more submissive at parts, self asphyxiation/choking, y/n punishes Hyuck for being a naughty ghostie, making Hyuck watch her masturbate without touching himself, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy drunk/addict hyuck, overstimulation, hair pulling, hyuck cums and y/n decides to keep riding him, hyuck likes to be choked, dirty talk, hyuck has a good boy kink, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, finger sucking, face riding, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) princess. (Haechan’s) ghostie, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 8.3k

🍭 aus. ghost!hyuck, witch!reader, supernatural au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I've never written Hyuck this subby/switchy, but I think it worked, he still has his dom moments, but this man is a near virgin, little, repressed for 20 years ghost shit head who wants to be told he's a good boy, and I'm not even mad about it

Prologue:

“It’s a little unusual for prospective tenants to bring a pet along,” the shy man showing you the house murmurs, watching the way your cat follows you through the halls of the old building.

“Well, it’s important that Pluto likes it here,” you muse, casting your gaze down to your little dark shadow as he darts here and there, chasing orbs and specks of dust that illuminate in the rays of sun streaming through the murky windows. “How long has it been since you had a renter?”

“Too long,” Mark Lee sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “In all honesty, I’m sure you know the reputation this place has.”

“It’s the Ghost House,” you respond, turning to stare at the relative of a man who’d lost his life in this location twenty or so years ago. 

“My family hasn’t even tried to rent it out in recent years, but then you found me on Facebook and asked for a showing, I figured, what could it hurt?”

“I guess you don’t believe that this place is haunted?” you inquire, studying the tired, mundane man while Pluto curls around your feet.

“I haven’t spent enough time here to decide what I think,” Mark admits. “My family needs income, and if you’re willing to rent this place out, for half of what you could find anywhere else, we’d love for you to take it. Ghosts, or no ghosts.”

“I’m betting on the ghost aspect,” you tease, looking down at Pluto and following his gaze to a shadowy form at the end of the hall. “I’ll take it.”

One

You’ve been in your new Ghost House for over a month, and in that time, Hyuck has realized you’re no ordinary tenant.

It had started with the way your cat reacted to him, following him around, not scared in the slightest. And then, Hyuck had noticed the way you’d tracked your black cat Pluto with your own eyes, using the animal to try to focus in on Hyuck himself.

At first, he’d thought you were some sort of clairvoyant or wanna-be ghost hunter, but then, you’d pulled out a Grimoire and a cauldron and Hyuck had realized you were more along the lines of a witch. 

When you’d first moved in, Hyuck had relished the idea of haunting you out of the house, but now he finds himself to be the one that’s haunted.

He can’t get a moment's peace without your cat following him all over the place, and where your cat goes, you quickly follow. Hyuck has taken to going to the attic, where the door can’t be pushed open by a determined kitty. He fucking hates the attic.

He’s sitting amidst some cobwebs, contemplating how badly he’d fucked up in life to get to this situation, when the attic door creaks on its hinges.

Your head pops through the hole. Your gaze shifts around, and Hyuck could swear your irises look exceptionally feline-esque when they land on him. “Why are you hiding?”

You can’t actually be talking to him. You can’t actually be seeing him- it shouldn’t be possible, and yet, here it is, happening.

“Come now, Donghyuck, are you skulking?”

“Fuck off,” he mutters.

“Is that any way to speak to a witch who’s here to help you?” you laugh.

You’d definitely heard him, and the realization makes a cold shiver run up his spine. Hyuck stands up, approaching you. He waits for you to flinch or pull away, but you don’t, you simply watch him until he’s a few feet away.

“How are you seeing me right now?” he asks.

“I’ve been testing out spells with personal objects of yours that I’ve stumbled upon in the house, nothing works quite like a photo, I’ve found,” you explain. “It’s good to finally see you. I’d hoped to meet you properly within the first week, but it’s been a whole month now of us living together, which feels awfully rude of me.”

“What’s rude is your stupid cat following me around everywhere.” When Hyuck takes a peek down the attic entry manhole, he finds your feline friend at the foot of the ladder, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes.

“Pluto is just doing his job, he was raised to see spirits. The Roman God of the Dead is his namesake after all.”

“The Roman God of the Dead?” Hyuck’s nose scrunches up in distaste. He flunked grade twelve, not that Roman deities were on the learning agenda.

“Forget about it, would you like to come down and talk with me for a while? Now that I can see you and communicate, I think we should have a chat.” You study him carefully. “Although, I will note that until I find a better spell, I’ll only be able to see you like this until your photo stops burning, which could be ten minutes or twenty.”

The pathological demand avoidance in Hyuck makes him want to refuse you, but at the same time, he hasn’t spoken to anyone in over twenty years, not since that night when everything had gone so wrong- 

It helps that you’re a cute girl.

With a sigh, Hyuck agrees, following you down to the living room where he finds a makeshift alter, his picture in the center of it, its edges charred. The space smells like some sort of incense, Hyuck can’t pin it, and for the first time in twenty years, Hyuck actually feels something akin to fear.

As the Ghost of the House, Hyuck has always been the one with the power. He’s been the one who scared off the first few tenants with knocks late at night, phone calls in the early hours, and even wearing a sheet to scare off the children young enough to be susceptible to seeing him.

But in this situation, sitting on the nicest chair in the room, your cat lounging on your lap, Hyuck realizes that the power of a ghost is no match to that of a witch. You look like a Goddess, or a queen- energy radiating off of you now that you’re near your alter, and it makes Hyuck’s skin tingle.

“So?” Hyuck asks after sitting in uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages.

“So?” you echo, quirking a brow.

“Why are you here?” he clarifies with a huff of frustration. “Why are you trying so hard to communicate with me?”

“I’m mostly here because the rent is less than half of what I could get anywhere else, and it’s a whole house, so that felt like a no-brainer in this economy,” you laugh. “Although, seeing as you’ve been dead for over twenty years, I’m not going to give you a lesson on rent increase and the cost of living in this day and age. As a witch, I thought this would be a very interesting house to live in, and I’ve been trying to communicate with you, because the way I see it, you’re practically my roommate. We share this house, and I’d like for things to go smoothly.”

“Smoothly,” Hyuck lets out a laugh.

“If you’d rather I exhume your remains and send you to Hell, that can be arranged too.” 

Hyuck feels his throat go dry. 

“That’s what I thought,” you grin. “So what do you say, roommates?”

“Fine. But I’m tired of the attic.”

“You put yourself there,” you point out.

“Look, you be nice to me, I be nice to you,” Hyuck suggests. “Fair?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Ghost boy.”

Two 

Living with you actually isn’t so bad. Hyuck’s gotten used to Pluto following him around, but you generally keep to yourself, and he appreciates that trait.

Sure, you get up to witch mojo, and the house smells like all sorts of herbs and shit half the time, but Hyuck has taken to living mostly in the room that used to be his own. He prefers the south-facing space to the dark attic, and although life is boring most of the time, it’s still better than whatever afterlife Hyuck could expect as a man who accidentally took his own life at the ripe age of twenty-three.

Sometimes he likes to come see what you’re up to. He’s taken to watching you cook breakfast and dinner for yourself. You play music he’s never heard before, and the way you shake your hips always has his heart racing.

Pluto notifies you of his presence, but without an alter burning, he’s pretty sure you can only see his outline at best. You clearly don’t mind an audience, and Hyuck spends hours every week simply enjoying you.

It’s interesting to have a roommate that acknowledges him, a roommate that keeps the peace. But at the same time, part of Hyuck misses his old poltergeist ways.

You’ve reformed him. He’s a reformed ghost now, and Hyuck isn’t quite sure what to make of this peaceful living arrangement. It’s much more peaceful than things had been when he’d been alive.

He’d never had a girlfriend. Never had someone to create a sense of belonging, and somehow, he finds that much-needed peace with you. He wonders what life could have been like if he hadn’t taken those drugs that fateful night, if he hadn’t been so lonely that it hurt everywhere, if he hadn’t tried to dull the ache with pills.

“Come on, Donghyuck,” your voice draws him out of his pining thoughts, and you turn from the soup you’re making to stare in his general direction. “I can see your outline, dance with me. You always just stand there and stare, be a good Ghostie Boy, and shake your ass a little.”

Your words make Hyuck’s skin heat. He’s a ghost for Christ's sake, you can't go around objectifying him like this-

“Just a lil swivel,” you grin, showing him with your own hips.

Fuck. You’re hot. You’re so fucking hot, and Hyuck is tired of pretending you’re not. 

He begins to shimmy, and he’s rewarded by a melodic giggle that escapes you and fills the kitchen. “That’s it,” you encourage him. “I know you’re not used to this kind of music, but it’s fun!”

Hyuck has to admit that he’s been enjoying the crash course in new media you’ve been giving him. From music to movies to books he haphazardly reads over your shoulders- this new age is something else, and it’s full of uncensored raunchy sex that makes him hornier than he’d ever been when he was alive.

The music you’re listening to is full of explicit lyrics, lyrics about eating pussy, and a pretty girl riding a man’s face- it’s been driving him wild, and in the late night hours, when you’re peacefully asleep one room over, Hyuck hasn’t been able to help himself.

He’s been stroking himself to the thought of you lately. He’s wondered what you’d taste like, what your body would feel like under his hands- He wonders what faces you’d make, the sounds-

This life is a little bit of Heaven, but a little bit of Hell too. 

He can’t touch you, can’t taste you, can’t fuck you the way he’s been wanting to-

Leave it to him to fall in love with a sexy witch and add to his own torment. 

Three 

Hyuck can hear your whimpers through the wall. The sound makes his entire body tingle, and before he can stop himself, he’s shrugging his jeans down and wrapping his hand around his aching cock.

Your sex drive hasn’t been as… intense as his, in fact, he’s not sure if you’ve ever touched yourself since you moved in. Or maybe, you’ve just been quiet, it’s hard to tell.

When you’re in your room, Hyuck gives you privacy. Pluto would probably alert you to his presence if he ever did try to get a look at you naked, and Hyuck doesn’t want to risk your witchy wrath.

But tonight? Fuck, hearing your sounds makes him want to risk everything.

Going to Hell would be worth it for a look at your form.

The ghost shuffles closer to the wall, taking deep breaths as he strokes his aching cock. 

One peak won’t hurt, will it?

Hyuck doesn’t often walk through walls or make use of his ghostly powers, but it’s simple enough for him to push his head through the wall. He just goes as far as his face, keeping himself half-suspended in the barrier between rooms.

Your space is dark aside from a few candles burning, and it takes Hyuck a moment for his eyes to adjust. His gaze lands on you, tangled amidst your bedsheets.

You’re naked, head dipped back against the pillows, one hand between your thighs while the other pinches at your nipples.

Fuck, Hyuck almost busts then and there. He has to stop the motions on his cock, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Pluto is nowhere to be seen, and with your eyes closed, the room mostly dark, Hyuck doubts you’d see his outline even if you did look directly at the one space along your wall that he’s watching from.

This is the perfect scenario for him, and he licks his lips as he watches the way you tease your clit, letting out soft whimpers.

You’re wet, Hyuck can see how wet you are, and it makes his mouth water with need. His cock throbs as he begins to slowly stroke it again, teasing his thumb along the tip.

The way you’re pinching at your nipples is making the ghost want to mark you up with his teeth. He wants to bury his face in your chest and lick you, sucking your perky-looking buds until you’re begging for him-

A movement of your other hand captures his attention, and Hyuck watches as you slide one finger into your core, releasing a moan that has his entire body shaking.

One digit quickly becomes two, and as you stroke your inner walls, the sound of your wet heat becomes audible to the fly on the wall, who pumps his shaft even harder. 

Your hips begin to wiggle against your own touch, and Hyuck wonders how good you’d look on top of him, writhing against his cock-

You release your breast in favor of playing with your clit, both hands now between your beautiful thighs. From the sounds escaping you, Hyuck thinks you’re close, and his entire body aches. He tries to slow himself down, he wants to match your speed, wants to reach that climax with you-

Something brushes by Hyuck’s leg and he jumps, tearing himself out of your room to look down at the cat who’s appeared by his foot. “Fuck, not now, Pluto,” he hisses.

Pluto purs in response, and with an exasperated sigh, Hyuck decides to ignore your cat. Fuck it, he needs to cum, and he needs to be watching you cum-

Pushing his face back into your room, Hyuck manages to catch you just in time to see your back arch. A soft gasp of contentment leaves your lips, your hands shaking as your orgasm rushes over you-

Hyuck can’t help himself, his own body simply reacts, his cock throbbing intensely as his own release hits him. He bites down on his lip, pumping his shaft with his eyes glued to your form.

You ride out your orgasms together, and yet, apart. 

You’re a scary witch, but you’re none the wiser about the ghost voyeur committing every one of your movements to memory. 

Finally, Hyuck can’t take the sensation anymore, and he stops, pulling his head out of your room. He’s no stranger to ghost cum, it’s this odd, translucent goo-

When he looks down after pulling up his pants, Hyuck realizes he’s sprayed the wall, and narrowly missed Pluto, but the cat is looking at his spunk as if he can see it-

Hyuck’s never had an animal in the house before. He knows that usually, his ghost jizz disappears after a while, but if the cat were to try to touch it-

“Pluto, no!” Hyuck whispers, trying to block the animal with his hands.

The cat has brushed by Hyuck before, so Hyuck’s pretty sure the cat won’t go through his hands-

Instead, Pluto tries to go around Hyuck’s hands, and the ghost’s heart lurches in his cold chest.

“Fuck, stop!” he says, voice getting louder. 

The cat meows obnoxiously, and Hyuck hears a sound in your room-

Hyuck doesn’t have time for this, he’s not about to get caught one room over after you’ve just orgasmed. The ghost does the only thing he can think of doing, he jumps down to the ground to hide behind the bed. 

Luckily, Pluto seems more interested in him than his ghost cum on the wall, and begins to follow. The bedroom door is pushed open, drawing Pluto’s attention from following Hyuck.

“Pluto?” you call. “What are you doing in here?”

Hyuck can feel his heart in his throat, and he cowers further under the bed, afraid that if you see any of his shadowy figure, you’ll exorcize him or something. 

There’s a few moments of tight tension, and then Pluto pads away from Hyuck to join you at the door.

“Silly kitty,” you coo, picking up your pet. “Let’s go make you some dinner.”

The door closes behind you and Hyuck lets out a deep breath.

That had been much too close for him.

Four 

It’s been about a week since Hyuck watched you finger fuck yourself to completion, and he’s doing his best to avoid you. He gets a half-chub every time he looks at you for Christ’s sake, and while part of him feels justified in his voyeurism - he is a ghost after all - another part of him feels dirty about it. 

Hyuck feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders every time you leave the house, and today, he watches you get into your car and drive off before he heads to your room. He’s been curious about a few things, but you hardly ever leave the property, so he hasn’t had the time and the balls to follow his wishes until now.

Your bedroom door is closed, and it’s as easy as stepping through it for Hyuck to invade your space.

He tries to calm himself, tries to take his time looking at items you’ve collected. There’s a stack of books that thrum with power, he stays away from them. Jewels and crystals litter a vanity table also covered in various perfume bottles, and Hyuck bends down to smell one, overcome by the scent of florals that always follows you through the house. Lastly, Hyuck goes over to the laundry hamper. 

The ghost is overjoyed by what greets him. Sitting on top of a pile of sweaters, is a lacy thong. Hyuck sinks to his knees, bending over the hamper and bringing his nose as close to the panties as possible. He takes a deep breath, eyes closing as the scent overwhelms him: this is so much better than florals.

Now he really feels dirty, but there’s something so freeing in it. He’s a dirty little ghostie, and Hyuck is beginning to revel in it. 

He’s been a spirit for so many years, and he’s gotten adept at poltergeist-type activity. Sure, he’s usually only ever used it to throw books around, or open cupboards, or… you know, wear bedsheets to scare the shit out of the kids who show up and trespass around Halloween, but… grabbing a pair of panties shouldn’t be that hard. 

With a shaky hand, Hyuck reaches into the hamper. He focuses his energy to his fingertips, and after a deep breath, when he touches your panties, he can feel the lace. Hyuck lifts the fabric out of the hamper, collapsing onto his knees next to it and shimmying his pants down.

Then, he wraps his panty-clad hand around his cock, throwing his head back to let out a sigh of relief. There’s something so sexy about jacking off using your underwear as friction- there’s a small, juicy spot along the fabric, and Hyuck’s majorly tempted to lick at it, but he feels like that’s a line he shouldn’t cross. 

Instead, he pumps his cock harder, letting out soft whimpers. Hyuck’s head lolls forward again, chin tucked down to his chest. His eyes open so he can stare at your cute panties as he strokes himself off with them, and the sight alone has his dick twitching. 

Hyuck grits his teeth, his abdominal muscles flexing with effort. He can’t help but rut toward his hand now, and each stroke of your lacey thong against his aching cock has him closer and closer-

There’s a sound downstairs, and it makes Hyuck’s heart leap in his chest. You’re home again already?

He tightens his grip on his length, determined to cum before he gets caught. He can’t stop now, not when he’s so close to a much-needed release- 

As the sound of you coming up the stairs limits his time more and more, the idea of getting caught actually adds to Hyuck’s pleasure. Before he knows what he’s doing, one of Hyuck’s hands is raising to his throat. He throws his head back, applying just a bit of pressure- it’s enough to have him grunting, the cord in his stomach snapping as his orgasm takes over.

Waves of pleasure wash through his entire body, his grip tightening on his throat and making it all the more intense. He can feel his spunk shooting onto your panties, which he holds over his tip as he pumps his aching cock, getting out every last drop-

He can hear you humming as you come down the hall, and in Hyuck’s post-orgasmic haze, he doesn’t have time to think. He simply drops your panties on the floor and stumbles to his feet, stepping through the wall just as your door opens.

He collapses again in the other room, pulling up his pants and trying to catch his breath.

Five 

It had been a quick run to get cat food for Pluto, and when you arrive back at your room, you hardly even notice that something is out of place. First, you open your blinds, peaking out at the evening setting sun. Then you go to sit on your bed to take off your socks, as you’re about to toss them to your hamper, you notice something on the floor.

It’s a pair of your lacy panties, and you’re a hundred percent sure they hadn’t been on the floor when you’d left.

With your bedroom door closed, Pluto couldn’t have gotten into your things, which leaves one culprit.

Hyuck.

You’ve suspected the ghost has had a growing crush on you for a while, after all, he is a man who’s been alone in this house for years, but this is your first real evidence of it.

You stand up, going to inspect the out-of-place panties lying next to your hamper. When you bend down, you see a translucent sort of outline, and it’s not your own spunk marring the fabric.

It’s undoubtedly ghost cum, which is the oddest thing to realize- and you’re pretty sure it’s fresh.

Your skin tingles at the notion. Somewhere in this house, Hyuck is coming down from a recent orgasm that he’d clearly achieved by using your panties.

You’re a witch, but this is sinful, even for you.

For a moment, you simply stare at your panties, and then, you decide to do something about it. Going to your Grimoire, you open to a page bookmarked by multiple photos. They’re pictures of Hyuck that you’d found in the attic. You’d saved them for a rainy day when you’d need to contact him with a full-body apparition again, and it looks like today is the day.

Grabbing the largest one, you take the photo and your Grimoire down to the alter in the living room. While you have an alter of sorts in your bedroom, the one powered by the direct sun on your table by the south-facing window is the most appropriate for something like this.

You make quick work of a spell to bind the ghost to the waking world, and with a last few sprinkles of spices and some dried herbs, you place the photo in the center, using a lighter along the bottom edge.

“Hyuck?” you call, turning toward the room. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You hear someone whisper, “Fuck,” and you turn to see Hyuck scampering toward the staircase. 

“Are you seriously going to make me chase you?”

“Don’t exorcize me!” he screams, taking the stairs two at a time.

His words make you laugh. “I have a different type of exercise planned,” you retort, but it doesn’t do anything to slow him down. “Seriously, Hyuck, calm down!”

You make it to the second level, and you know where he’s snuck into. He may have closed the door quietly, but you’ve lived with the ghost long enough to know which room he’s staked a claim over.

Taking an amused breath, you knock gently. “Hyuck,” you sing-song, “I’m not mad. Just let me in.”

“You’re gonna exorcize me.”

You sigh again. “Hyuck, open this door, right now.”

You hate to use your dommy-mommy voice on him, but he’s trying your patience, and you only have as long as it takes for his photo to burn, which, due to your magic, probably gives you about half an hour, give or take.

“If you do not open this door, I will open it for you, and your punishment will be worse,” you warn him.

A moment later, the door creaks open ajar, and you push it the rest of the way.

“I’m sorry,” Hyuck tells you, standing there with his shoulders hunched.

“For what?” you enquire, leaning on the frame and crossing your arms over your chest.

“For running.”

“And?” you prompt.

“For uh…” you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, bowing his head, “for uh… using your panties.” 

“Using them how?” You’re kind of enjoying watching him like this. He might have his own weird kinks, but this might just be one of your own.

“Well, you know…” his skin is turning pink.

“I don’t know. I want you to tell me what you did with them. Don’t leave out a single detail you bad ghost boy.”

Hyuck’s gaze lifts to meet yours, but he’s quick to look away again. “Well, I mean, I was just looking at them at first.”

“At first. And then what?”

“Well, I just wanted to touch them.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “I bet you wrapped them around your cock and jerked off with them, didn’t you?”

Hyuck’s ears have turned pink now, and when his hands go in front of his body, you realize he’s trying to hide a half-chub that’s growing in his pants.

The little freak is into this.

God, he’s endearing. 

“Admit it,” you instruct. “If you admit it, I’ll go easy on you.”

Hyuck takes a breath. “Yes, I used your panties to cum.”

You study the ghost.

“Good boy,” you say finally. His eyes lift to meet yours, his lips parting. “Come to my room.”

You don’t wait for him to respond, you simply turn and expect him to follow. When you get to your room, you collapse onto the bed. 

“Close the door,” you instruct next. “Be a good boy and light my candles for me too.” 

As he begins to follow through with your commands, you stretch, letting out a sigh from the feeling of your tight muscles. Then, you lift off your shirt, tossing it at Hyuck while his back is to you, his fingers fumbling with a lighter.

Hyuck freezes, then turns to look at you.

“Have you watched me before, dirty ghostie?” you ask, going to remove your pants next.

The way he swallows tells you everything you need to know.

“Well, you are a bad, naughty, dirty, little ghostie, aren’t you, Hyuck?” you grin, tossing your jeans at him.

Laying in your bra and panties, you watch him finish lighting your candles, then he comes to stand at the foot of the bed, clearly waiting on instruction. He’s trying to cover the front of his pants again, and it makes you laugh.

“Move your hands,” you tell him. “You know, honestly, I’m a little surprised at how easy it was for you to get hard again. You came, what? Ten minutes ago? Fifteen?”

He’s so bashful he can hardly answer, and it’s an adorable sight.

“Here are the rules,” you say, “I’m going to make myself cum. After that, I’ll let you make me cum. And if you can get through all of that teasing without touching yourself, if you can prove to me you’re a good ghostie who can follow instructions, I’ll fuck you. How does that sound?”

Hyuck’s gaze watches your hand slip between your thighs, your legs opening wider, and he unconsciously licks his lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay… mistress?”

You laugh at his attempt to please you. “I was looking for a thank you.”

“Right, yeah, thank you, I can follow instructions,” he fumbles to correct himself. 

“Then be a good boy and put your hands behind yourself. I don’t want you touching anything. Don’t want you covering anything either, got it?” Your words come out breathy as you begin to stroke your core through your panties. “I especially don’t want to see your hands all shaky, that’s just embarrassing, ghost boy.”

Why are you enjoying this so much? Why are you enjoying the degradation of a man who died over twenty years ago?

From Hyuck’s reactions it’s clear he’s never been spoken to like this. Sure, domination and submission were things back in the day, but there must be something about your specific 2020’s brand of degradation- 

Hyuck slots his hands behind his back, letting out a deep breath.

“Good boy,” you coo, pushing your panties to the side so you can touch your pussy directly. Teasing him like this has already made you extremely wet, and it’s easy for you to glide your digits up and down your soaked slit, drawing soft circles on your clit.

“Can you see from there, ghost boy?” you sigh, spreading your legs even wider.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I don’t like Mistress or Ma’am,” you admit.

“I’m sorry.”

If you got him to call you Goddess you’d risk hubris, so instead, you tell him, “Call me princess.”

You’d considered ‘Angel’ as a term of endearment, but with the deities you pay tribute to, even that had felt like a step too far. No, Princess works- You feel like a royal girlie who’s having fun with a servant boy, abusing the power you hold over him, for mutual benefit. 

“Okay, princess,” Hyuck breathes, and you can tell from his reaction that he enjoys the feeling of the word on his tongue. 

You like the sound of it coming from him too, and you throw your head back, getting more comfortable against the pillows. You tease one of your fingers into your wet hole, stroking your sensitive inner walls. 

Hyuck lets out a shaky gasp, and you grin to yourself, keeping your eyes closed so you can enjoy the sensation. Although that doesn’t stop you from saying in a sing-song voice, “You better not be touching yourself, ghost boy.”

“I’m not, princess, I promise.” 

“Good ghostie,” you coo slipping another finger into your pussy. You open your eyes to look at him. His gaze is fixed on your core, and he’s got his bottom lip pinned between his teeth. “Is it a nice view?”

“The best view in the whole world,” Hyuck breathes, almost panting.

“Should I make myself cum so you can finally touch me?” 

“Fuck, yes please, fuck, yes-” Hyuck’s eyes meet yours, and you see the desperation, it’s practically throbbing off of him in waves. “Please, princess, I wanna watch you cum.”

“You’re being such a good ghostie for me,” you muse, pulling your fingers from your core and holding them out for him, “Come here, have a taste.”

Hyuck falls onto his knees on the foot of your mattress, grabbing your hand with both of his and drawing your digits to his mouth. He sucks on them, his eyes fixed on yours as his tongue licks and strokes your skin, cleaning up every drop of your juices.

“Now back to your spot,” you prompt, pulling your hand away. “The moment I cum, you can join.”

You watch him swallow thickly, and while he doesn’t talk back, Hyuck is clearly reluctant to get back to his feet, standing at the edge of the bed and watching you.

His hands go behind his back, and when he’s in proper form, you slowly slip your panties down your legs. Then, you throw them directly at him. They land on his shoulder, and Hyuck turns to look at them, breathing deeply.

He’s rock hard in his pants now, and the sight turns you on as you bring both hands to your core. You begin to finger yourself while you rub tight circles on your clit, your toes curling at the sensation. 

“Hyuck,” you whimper, arching your back, building the pressure deep in the pit of your abdomen. 

“Princess-” he echoes, sounding even more desperate than you are.

You open your eyes, staring directly at Hyuck as you work yourself closer and closer-

“I’m gonna cum,” you tell him. “Fuck, I’m almost there, almost there, baby-”

Hyuck releases a moan at the new pet name, and you can see him twitching. He’s doing his best to follow your instruction about not moving until you’ve cum, but you can see it’s getting harder and harder-

You let out a gasp, your orgasm slamming into you, and that’s when Hyuck finally pounces.

He wastes no time jumping onto the bed, burying his face between your legs while his hands grab at the flesh of your thighs, fingers digging into your skin. His mouth devours your core as your orgasm surges through you, and each lick and suck has you crying out, muscles tensing as Hyuck intensifies your high.

Your fingers thread in his hair, and he groans when you tug on him, unrelenting in his task of eating you through your orgasm. The ghost is eating you like a man who’s been starved of pussy for twenty years, and you suppose that’s accurate, so can you really hold the whole pantie-sniffing thing against him?

You’re not sure how he does it, but one orgasm that you’d given yourself quickly becomes a second orgasm that Hyuck has coaxed out of you by sucking on your clit, and you gasp loudly as it slams into you, riding the tail end of the first high. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming-” you whimper, thighs tensing around Hyuck’s head-

He simply pushes them apart, tongue diving into your hole to stroke your walls as they spasm around him. Hyuck groans, and the feeling of the vibration on your clit has you whimpering even louder, your grip tightening in his hair. 

“Hyuck-” you moan, pushing at his head, “I’m done, that was two-”

“I want three,” he tells you, taking his mouth from your pussy so he can suck marks along your inner thighs. “Can I have three? I’ve been a good ghostie for you.”

“You can have three when you bury your cock inside of me,” you tell him with a laugh, your body still buzzing in the after-effects of two orgasms that had happened in quick succession.

“I want three now, and four when I’m fucking you stupid, princess.” 

Well, this is a switch-up. 

He’d been so subby before, but one taste of your pussy has him trying to be more dominant? Fuck it, you don’t even mind, the words that have just come out of his mouth are too hot to even handle, so you let out a small, whimpered, “Okay.” 

“Okay, what?” he prompts, teeth grazing your inner thigh.

“Make me cum one more time with your mouth before you fuck me.” 

Hyuck doesn’t waste any time swiping his tongue along your slit again. He flicks at your clit and your thighs shake around his head, your nails dragging softly against his scalp. 

Your hips begin to wiggle, and Hyuck looks up at you, holding out his tongue and staying still so you can grind against him. You toss your head back, closing your eyes as you ride his tongue, using him for your own pleasure.

Hyuck groans, tilting forward just enough for his nose to bump your clit, and your muscles clench at the stimulus. You’re sensitive after two orgasms, but fuck, Hyuck feels so good.

“I just want you to fuck me,” you confess, relaxing back against the bed again while Hyuck takes the cue to begin to lick your pussy. “Make me cum so you can fuck me.”

Hyuck practically growls in response, his lips suctioning around your clit. Your legs quiver around his head, thighs squishing in on him- this time, instead of pushing you away and spreading you open, Hyuck allows you to practically crush his skull, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, body beginning to shake as he focuses all his attention on your clit.

There’s no pushing the ghost away, no crushing his head with your thighs- he’s locked in on his target, and all you can do is take what he’s giving you. 

Your moans fill the space, your back arching as he sucks your clit closer and closer to another high-

Then, out of the blue, one of his hands snakes up to your throat. Hyuck adjusts so he can squeeze your neck, his tongue flicking at your clit, his breath hot against your skin-

The pressure on your throat makes your entire body freeze for a moment, mind short-circuiting- and when you’re able to think again, all you can think about is the pulsing between your thighs as your orgasm crashes into you like a bullet train.

You whimper, the sound obstructed in part by the hand still gripping your throat. Your own hands fly to Hyuck’s wrist, encouraging him to apply even more pressure as you begin to thrash under his touch. Your hips are bucking toward his face, your pussy throbbing like it’s never throbbed before- and there’s not even anything filling you.

Your clit feels amazing, but your poor inner walls have been neglected, you’re aching for something to throb around, aching for an intrusion in your sinfully wet hole-

“Hyuck, please,” you gasp, letting out a shuddery breath when he pulls his mouth from your core, looking up at you. “I need-”

He squeezes your throat tighter, cutting off your words. Then he begins to kiss up your body, finally making it to your lips. He stops just a millimeter away, looking down at you as he releases your neck. It’s as if - even after all of this - he’s asking for permission.

You throw your arms around the back of his throat, tugging him the final distance to your mouth. His tongue clashes against your own, and you can taste your pussy there. Your core throbs, and Hyuck begins to grind down against you, rolling his hips expertly.

“Fuck,” you groan, breaking the kiss so you can shove your hands between your bodies, pushing at his pants. 

Hyuck, meanwhile, begins to mark up your neck in love bites, his fingers slipping under your back so he can unclasp your bra and tear it off.

You’re naked for him now, and you make quick work of his pants, briefs, and shirt. You’re caught in a whirlwind of need, kisses, and touches. Finally, he’s slotting himself between your thighs again. This time, when he grinds against you, his bare cock glides past your clit, and your legs shake, your fingers clawing at him.

“Do it,” you encourage him, gasping as he kisses your throat. One of your hands snakes into his hair, massaging his scalp. “Fuck me.” 

Hyuck reaches between your bodies, grabbing the base of his cock. He begins to tease his head along your pussy lips and you both groan at the feeling. “Princess-” he moans.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I’m ready, I can take it. You’ve been such a good ghostie being patient for me and making me cum- it’s your turn. Use me, baby, fill me up.” 

He’s panting against your neck, and he pulls back to look down at you. You can tell there’s hesitancy, but a need too, and when you grab the nape of his neck to draw his lips to yours, you feel his body immediately relax.

He presses the tip of his cock to your tight hole, and as he kisses you, he begins to push into your pussy.

You groan at the feeling of him. For an average-sized man, his cock is no laughing matter. He’s thick, stretching out your inner walls with each inch that sinks into you. 

Your thighs quake around his hips, and Hyuck licks at your tongue, moaning and kissing you until his front is flush with your own.

Only then does he break the kiss, rubbing his forehead against yours. “Princess-”

“I know, baby, it feels good for me too,” you assure him.

He grabs at the pillow next to your head, squeezing it roughly while letting out a shuddery breath.

Your pussy is still throbbing, trying to accommodate his large size, and when he buries his face against your throat, beginning to thrust, your entire body lights up with pleasurable energy.

“Fuck,” you groan, closing your eyes and stroking his shoulders, “Just like that.”

He picks up his pace, fucking you harder and harder until your bed begins to rock against the wall with each rough motion from his hips. 

Hyuck continues his barrage on your throat, licking your sweet spot while you mewl into his ear, holding him tight. One of his hands sneaks up between your bodies, grabbing at your breast. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, rolling it and panting against your skin.

“Hyuck-” you whimper, pussy throbbing around him, earning a deep groan.

“I don’t know if I can hold it,” he admits, pulling away to look down at you with beautiful chocolate eyes.

“Then don’t hold it,” you tell him. “Just don’t assume we’re done when you’re done.”

His gaze darkens, his plump lips parting in a silent question. Instead of saying anything else, you draw him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs tight around his hips. 

The hand that had been on your breast finds your free hand, fingers lacing as he presses you down into the mattress, fucking you even harder.

Each thrust has him hitting perfect spots, and the way he’s rolling your hips adds stimulus to your clit, which throbs with sensitivity.

The throaty moans escaping him are driving you mental, and the way his tongue strokes your own has you dizzy with lust.

Your other hand tangles in his pretty hair, tugging gently, dragging his mouth away from yours so you can begin to speckle his throat with kisses.

Hyuck lets out an absolutely sinful moan, and you realize he’s very sensitive in this area. It makes you want to make it even more, so you begin to suck small purple marks into his flesh while he shakes above you, bicep muscles flinching with effort.

“Keep fucking me,” you remind him. “Want you to cum.” 

Hyuck squeezes your hand, his pace picking up again.

“That’s it, ghost boy,” you coo, licking his throat. “Cum for your princess.”

He lets out a strangled gasp, thrusts faltering. A moment later you can feel his cum filling you up, and it makes you moan, your core throbbing with desperation. You need one more high, and you’re sure he’ll help you get it.

Hyuck rides out his orgasm, and then he collapses on top of you, his lips seeking out your own.

You allow him to kiss you for a while, cock still buried deep inside of you. Then, you begin to stroke his body again, making him shiver.

“Can you roll onto your back for me, ghost boy?” you prompt, looking up into his eyes.

Hyuck is quick to comply, and you can tell from the way his lips part, that he’s not expecting you to mount him as soon as he’s on his back. You put his cock back inside of you before any cum can drip out, and you sit there, staring down at him with your hands on his chest.

“Your recharge time is pretty good, isn’t it, ghost boy?” you tease, gently rolling your hips while he whines, grabbing your thighs from the sensitivity. “I bet I could just kiss you for a few minutes, and you’d be rock hard again in no time.”

“Princess-”

“You want to please me, don’t you, baby?” You trail a finger down his chest, teasing your nails across his abdomen and watching the muscles jump there under your touch.

“Yes,” he admits. 

“And I think we both deserve to cum one more time, don’t you?”

He nods again. 

You lean over him, pretending you’re about to kiss him, as his eyes flutter shut, lips parting in anticipation- you push his face to the side, attacking his neck instead.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, grabbing at your hips, squeezing you.

“Such a sensitive neck,” you muse, lips moving to his ear where you lick the shell, enjoying the way he shudders. “I wonder if I just…” you slip one hand up his chest, and Hyuck immediately arches his head, giving you full access to wrap your fingers around his throat. “That’s what I thought.”

Hyuck whimpers below you, hips pushing up, looking for friction-

“Did that make you hard, ghostie?” you laugh, sitting up and looking down at him. “Just a little choking and you’re already good to go again?”

This poor man has been repressed- you’re happy you’re the one who gets to free him. 

You begin to slowly move your hips, and Hyuck lets out a desperate moan, arching his head back even more. You tighten your grip on his throat and he responds by digging his fingers into your hips, urging you to ride him faster.

He looks so good like this.

Then, one of his hands moves, his thumb finding your clit. Your core throbs around him and you both moan loudly. Hyuck opens his eyes, looking up at you. 

“You’re being so good for me,” you tell him, rutting faster on his cock. “Make your princess cum.”

He rubs your clit harder, beginning to buck up to meet you while you ride him. 

Then, Hyuck pushes your hand from his neck, sitting up so he can latch his mouth onto your breast. He holds you close, wrapping his arms around your lower back and moving you on his cock. His teeth skim your nipple and you cry out, threading your hands in his hair and moaning in his ear.

He groans in response. This new angle has your clit rubbing against him, and you ride yourself to an intense completion, your head thrown back when your orgasm rushes over you.

As you cum, Hyuck flips you onto your back, taking over and thrusting into you with newfound energy. Your pussy throbs around him as he fucks you stupid, and when he buries his face against your throat, marking your skin, he cums too.

You can feel him shoot a second load deep inside of you, coating your walls to the point of nearly being too full, but part of you kind of loves it.

You hold him as he fucks you through your highs, listening to his panting and whining.

Finally, he stops, all but collapsing on top of you, lips feverish against your skin.

You pet his hair, trying to catch your breath. 

You’re cognizant of the fact that you don’t have all the time in the world for aftercare, and you’d rather talk with Hyuck now than address a shadow.

“Ghostie?” you whisper.

He releases a grunt. 

“We don’t have much time left,” you say sadly.

He pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. 

“Listen,” you cup his face, “being interested in a ghost the way I’m interested in you has never been something I saw for myself in this life,” you admit. “But, I am interested in you. I only have so many pictures of you that I can use to make you physical like this, but I’m going to find something to make this longer lasting, I promise. Until I do… I’m okay with you sniffing my panties, or watching me masturbate, or anything you want-”

Hyuck cracks a smile at your words, and you find yourself giggling as well.

“So you’re not going to exorcize me?” he jokes.

“Never ever,” you promise.

“You’re going to find a way for us to be together,” the ghost says softly.

“If anyone could find a way, it’s a witch like me,” you assure him, leaning up to press your lips against his.

He kisses you gently, and you get lost in it.

You’re not sure how long you stay lip-locked, but after a while, the feeling of his lips disappears. You open your eyes to find yourself alone, well- you can still see a shadow of him, but his warmth is gone, and the sensation of his kisses too.

You sigh. “I’ll find a way, ghostie,” you promise.

You’d like to think he responded, maybe with a word of encouragement, but there’s no way to know for sure.

Rolling onto your side, you imagine him behind you, close but unable to physically touch.

Leave to a witch to fall in love with a ghost.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! writing this style of Hyuck was way too satisfying

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🔮 preview.  Hyuck kisses you, grabbing your face as he does so. You can taste something unsaid on his tongue, but you do your best to ignore it as he pulls you from the sink, turning you around until your bum hits the island table. He lifts you up, setting you onto the old wood, then, he sinks to his knees. You’re wearing a dress, Hyuck loves dresses, they make it easy for him to have access to your pussy. He’s downright kitty obsessed these days, lifting up your skirt just enough to get under it. His lips make contact with your panty clad core and you let out a sigh of relief, leaning back on your palms and letting your head fall backward.

cw/ tw. Dominant leaning switchy Hyuck, unprotected ghost sex, kitchen sex, sex on a table, pussy eating, fingering, pussy obsessed Hyuck, slight ghost angst, hair pulling, choking, praise, dirty talk, kitchen quickie, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of dark magic/bones, panties as a gag, finger sucking, sex while wearing a dress,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess (his)  baby

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.2k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 staring. Hyuck x afab!reader

bonus

The answer to your ghost conjuration problem had been shockingly simple. If burning a picture could draw Hyuck to your existence for as long as it was alight, you realized that burning one of his bones would last substantially longer.

Most crematoriums burn bones at 1000 degrees Celsius for two or three hours. At a much lower temperature, using a Bunsen burner set to 300 degrees, you could burn one small fragment for a lot longer. 

The worst part was going to the graveyard across town, with no one but Pluto as company, under the light of the moon in the dead of night to exhume Hyuck’s body. It’s been so long since his death that you weren’t worried about finding anything other than bones in the casket, and with a spell, you didn’t even have to put in the effort to dig- but something about uncovering Hyuck’s supposed ‘final resting place’ just hadn’t sat right with you.

You’d been aware, as you had driven home with a bag full of bones, that you were teetering on the side of a darker shade of magic. But for love, you decided not to care.

The first night you’d lit up a small bone, Hyuck had appeared right behind you, and the two of you had fucked on the floor right next to the altar. 

It’s been three or four months since you began to burn Hyuck’s bones, and your lust for each other hasn’t diminished.

He’s insatiable, and you are too.

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[empress-simps]

Heart Chaser

Pairing: James Potter x Reader CW: Grumpy reader, James getting injured, and Language. Genre: Fluff Summary: James tries to woo you over many times before, with what he does best- being a showoff and with a promise of a hogsmeade date if they win the quidditch tournament

Note: James is a certified simp. This is a self-indulgent one shot, enjoy reading!

James was stupid- it goes without saying. Stupidly in love with you, who wants nothing to do with him. He always greets you with his charming smile, you greet him back with a scowl or a sneer just for him.

He was like a stubborn gum stuck in the bottom of your shoes that you have a hard time getting rid of.

“Is he hit in the head? Why is he doing fucking flips when he could make our house win?” You scowl, arms folding over your chest as he whizzes near you, sending a wink your way. The other girls around you squealed, thinking it was for them as giggles and whispers surrounded you. If anything, you were quite the contrary. If you could puke, you probably would’ve already done it by now.

“Hm, Black is quite a good player. Quite better than their stupid captain who just knows how to show off.” You commented on seeing Sirius Black swinging his bat to hit the incoming bludger that was aimed at James, effectively protecting the chaser. Her friends, Mary and Marlene looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Fancy dating a beater rather than a chaser, huh?”

Marlene teased while Mary chuckled, trying not to show her amusement to the annoyed you. “Right, so if I compliment a boy on his quidditch skills that means I’m madly in love with him? Great.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you redirected your attention to the game.

“Oh come on, we were just teasing you, Y/n!” Mary pokes your side playfully, “I should’ve just let the sorting hat put me in Slytherin, that way I wouldn’t have to deal with you both.”

“Oh sod off, Y/n. You were pissing your pants in fear in front of older Slytherin students in our first year.” Marlene snickers, dodging your attempts to get to her as Mary tries to block you from actually hitting her.

“Why you little- “

“…And the Gryffindor team wins!”

Cheers erupted from your side as you widened your eyes in surprise. There he was, James Potter got off his broom as Sirius started to carry him on his shoulders, their teammates surrounding them. James met your eyes and smiled (quite stupidly in your opinion) sending a wink your way which made a sour look appear on your face. What a showoff.

“C’mon, game’s over. I don’t want to see Pothead’s face more than what’s necessary.” You grabbed them both and left the quidditch pitch. Marlene protested at first, but then immediately tried to persuade you into joining the common room party that night.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You waved her off, wanting Marlene to shut up and forget what you said. Oh, how wrong you were.

Which placed you in your current position, Marlene and Mary basically dragged you to the common room where you saw people drunk, dancing, or snogging. “Stay here, Y/n!” We’ll be back!” Marlene giggled, as she and Mary went off to Merlin-knows-where. You felt stupid and out of place, so you just stuck to the side and watched the scenes in front of you unfold.

“Didn’t think you were the type to attend parties like this.” A chuckle was heard, looking in the direction of the voice, you saw Remus, leaning against the wall much like what you are doing. You let out a scoff, “Marlene and Mary left to go snog some random people,” He lets out a laugh, “I figured. Would you like some butterbeer?” He offers, you shake your head politely. “It’s alright, I do love some firewhisky.” You joked, his eyebrows shot up in amusement and surprise as Sirius neared you both, seemingly heard your conversation.

“You’re quite surprising, Y/n! No wonder you got Prongs wrapped around your finger.” Sirius had his famous grin plastered on his face, handing you a shot of Olgden’s Old firewhisky. Your eyebrows narrowed suspiciously at Sirius, who urged you to take it. Just where did he even get that and how did he manage to sneak it in?

 “What’s life without a little risk?”

“Don’t even think about giving that to her, Padfoot.”

Like a knight in shining armor, James seemed to pop out of nowhere, getting in between you and Sirius, giving his best friend a disapproving look. Sirius grins sheepishly, raising one arm up in mock surrender, “Alright, Prongsie. Sorry dove! Next time, alright?” Sirius looked at you, winking and running off to somewhere before James could whack him. Remus follows Sirius closely behind to ensure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.

“Thanks, Potter.” You practically forced yourself to utter those words to the boy who had a quite lovestruck look on his face.

“Anything for you, Y/n.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough. Goodbye, congratulations on your win.” You sneered, trying to ignore the blush creeping in your cheeks at the obviously lovestruck James, who seemed to snap out of his trance. “H-hold on!” He grabs your wrist gently, stopping you.

“If we win the next game, let’s go to Hogsmeade.”

Alright, you weren’t expecting that. You stilled, trying to fight the stupid butterflies that started to appear in your tummy. What is happening to you? Did you find James attractive suddenly? This needs to be stopped, at least you hope it will.

“No- “

“Y/n, please! I won’t even pass notes to you anymore in class just to get us both in detention!” He pleads, you must admit that he looks quite cute. Raising an eyebrow, you tried to fight off the amused smirk threatening to make its way on your lips. “So, you’re admitting that you did that so we can spend detention together?” You should’ve whacked him upside the head and be annoyed but strangely, you find it, dare you say- adorable.

James scratched the back of his neck, he was caught. “Erm… So, is that a yes?” You clicked your tongue, “Win the game first then we’ll talk.”

“It seems like the Gryffindor’s Captain is in high spirits today!”

You hear the commentator’s voice rang throughout the cheering crowd. Crossing your arms, you observed James, his demeanor is quite different from last time. He’s more serious than ever, barely even showing off or sending a quick your way when he flies close next to you. It was a huge difference, not that you were bummed out about it (which you secretly are.)

Marlene snickered, noticing your reaction. “Why the long face? Potter not paying attention to you?”

“Sod off, Marlene.” You grumbled, shoving her lightly making her laugh. “Hey! So it’s true! Mary, Potter managed to woo our Y/n- “ You glared at her, a hint of blush dusting your cheek. “I can only tolerate so much, Marls.”

The banter was cut short when you heard gasps and the commentator’s alarmed voice was heard. “It appears that James Potter was knocked off his broom by Ravenclaw’s beater, and he’s falling quite fast! Someone get Madame Pomfrey!”

You paled, mouth turning dry as your eyes searched frantically at the enormous quidditch pitch, feeling your stomach drop as you saw James freefall to the ground quickly.  “No…” Luckily, someone managed to make his fall to the ground a bit less dangerous by turning the ground into a putty-like texture. Biting your lip nervously, you wince as James landed with a loud thud.

He wheezed, lying on the ground, and holding his arm that was probably broken. “Merlin, that actually hurts.” He looks around, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. Out of all the places he could have fallen in, it just simply had to be in front of where you sat. James can already hear you rejecting him taking you out this Saturday.

Rushing to the Hospital Wing, you opened the doors with a loud thud, not caring if you disturbed other patients as you made a beeline to James who was talking with the rest of Marauders.

“You dumb oaf! How could you possibly lose balance in your own broom?!” You furrowed you eyebrows as you saw James visibly wince, feeling ashamed, he looked down at his arm cast. Mary places a hand on your shoulder as Marlene casts an apologetic look towards the boys.

“How will I say yes to your stupid little Hogsmeade date if you’re injured?” You ‘tsked’, crossing your arms in front of your chest, ignoring everyone’s surprised reaction. Sirius whistled, already slapping James on the back as Remus widened his eyes, Peter had his mouth open in shock and your friends stared at you in surprise, looking like you just grew another head.

James quickly looked up at you, eyes beaming with happiness as a dopey smile made its way on his face. “You… you agree?” He bit his lip, trying to contain his excitement. You raised your eyebrows, a small amused smile settling on your face. “I don’t know you’re that daft, but yes. I’ll go on a date with you Potter.”

Everyone around you cheered quietly as Madame Pomfrey sent a warning glare to your group. James grins, leaning in your direction as he looks at you. “Brilliant.” His voice is a soft murmur, only meant for you. Madame Pomfrey’s glare dissolves into a knowing smile as she turns away, giving you both a moment of privacy.

James had a way of capturing people’s hearts by just being himself, he even managed to capture yours- and he doesn’t even think about letting it go.

[goldessia]

RUINED REPUTATION — k. bkg x assistant reader

sum. katsuki bakugo is the #1 professional hero. because of this, he built an agency, and wound up hiring an assistant to help him with publicity and to do majority of his paperwork for him... something he didn’t expect was for that assistant to be so damn attractive.

warnings. smut, mdni! power imbalance (implied), slight degration, risky / quickie, scandal, sort of slowburn, reader had a small quirk (can manipulate small doses of water), intoxication, smut in later parts.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (wip)

a/n. ty to @cafekitsune for the borders / dividers!

“YOU do know the risks, right?” my room-mate, mina, says, “i mean, i went to school with bakugo. he’s not a very.. nice person, and publicly placing yourself as his assistant could make you a target.”

i nod. “i know that.” i say, stuffing some things into my purse, “but i need this job. i love you, mina, but right now we kind of need the extra income. we’re not getting much with your job.”

she groans in frustration, “i know! but, all the villains lately just aren’t compatible with my quirk, so i’ve been leaving it to the others..” she sighs, rubbing her face.

“yeah, i know.” i say, slinging my purse over my shoulder, “it’ll just be temporary until you get back on your roll.”

“more like temporary because dynamight’ll kill you before that.” she snorts.

picking up my keys, i scoff, “i’m sure he’s not that bad. maybe he’s just a stressed out person!”

“sure. just come home in one piece, alright?” she chuckles, taking a sip of her cold coffee.

i roll my eyes and step out the door, finding my car and opening my phone for the directions to the agency.

the agency was easy enough to find — right in the middle of town with a sign in bright, orange colours: “the dynamight agency”.

i guess when you’re the #1 hero you don’t have to be scared to be found. in fact, looking at the giant building, i suspect he wants to be found; to be challenged, and to show them why he has the title of number one hero.

..and i also suspect this guy needs a serious ego check.

but i couldn’t lie and say i didn’t feel nervous. anxiety rushed through me, daring to glue me to this spot and not enter the building.

despite this, i walk through the front doors accidentally pushing a pull door and make my way to the front-desk where a pretty woman sits with two body guards beside her.

“hi,” i whisper, “i’m uh, here for the interview.. for the assistant?”

“oh! yes, you’re right on time.” she smiles, clicking a few buttons on her keyboard, “you’ll have to take the elevator up to the fiftieth floor, and in room A3.

“you’ll find a few of dynamight’s personnel as well as himself. he insisted on being there.. considering if you’re accepted you’ll be seeing a lot of eachother for a long while.”

my heart skips a beat.

“dynamight’s.. gonna be there?” i say, my eyes widening.

the lady hums, nodding her head like it was something normal to sit and have a talk with the number one hero.

i gulp, but mutter a, “thank you,” walking toward the elevators while clutching my purse with clammy hands.

pressing the button to the fiftieth floor, i feel anxiety rush through me. who was i thinking, applying for this job? i can’t handle being the assistant to dynamight!

i groaned, slapping my forehead as the reality finally set in.

i should’ve just listened to mina, and applied for some desk job or something. i figured, why not go above and beyond?

i’m so stupid!

ding!

the elevator doors open, and about a gazillion people rush into the elevator muttering nonsense to eachother or into their phones. majority held a briefcase — some are just holding loose papers, clutching onto them like their life depends on it.

i’m suddenly pushed to the back, and i try to mutter a few “excuse me”s, but to no avail — none of them could hear me, too zoned out in their own realities to care.

i was trapped.

suddenly i hear an explosion. a minor one, but undeniable.

my heart skips out of my chest. was there a villian? i’m in an elevator with fifteen people! i’m so dead. what was i thinking?!

“WHERE IS THAT DAMN ASSISTANT?” a voice screams, becoming louder by the second. “she’s late!”

“i’m sorry, dynamight, but it’s only been two minut-“

“SHUT UP! i didn’t ask you.” dynamight’s voice is now clearly in-front of us.

and then, i see him.

he’s tall, menacing — still in his hero costume that i recognize seeing on television when i was a teenager, just a little changed up.

the look on his face was undeniable. red, hot anger spilled from his aura as his eyes scanned the group of frightened workers, all frozen in place and have halted their calls and conversations.

i feel myself freeze when his eyes glaze over me, before halting. his eyes narrow, before he lifts a hand and points.

“you.” he says. “‘cmere, will ya?”

everyone’s eyes flick to me. i gulp, before nodding and slowly trying to make my way through the crowd.

“well, move out her damn way then!” dynamight hisses, and suddenly i see a path in front of me where there used to be people.

i take a deep breath, and with newfound confidence i walk forward, never breaking my eyes from his as i find myself beside him.

he snorts.

turning on his heel, he begins walking. hesitantly, i start walking beside him. he gives me a quick glare, expecting me to dip behind him but i don’t.

like i said before: he needs an ego check, and this is it.

he scoffs. “so, you’re my new assistant, or whatever?” he says, looking ahead again.

“well, i haven’t done the interview yet. so, maybe?” i say, masking my nervousness by remaining cold still except for my legs that are struggling to keep up with the hero’s pace.

he tuts. “fuck that. you’re hired, from here on out.”

then, he stops. he stands in-front of me, and it suddenly hits me how much taller he is, as he towers over me quite easily.

“which means you’ll do as i say when i say it. you work seven days a week, doing all my boring work i don’t want to do. got it?”

“seven?” my brows furrowed, “the agency said five—“

“yeah, well i say seven.” he spits, before pushing open a door. “this is your office. i’m across the hall.

“you’ll come when i call you. you’ll be dealing with all of my publicity shit as well.”

i shift on my feet. “yes, uh… sir?” i test, cringing at my own words.

his brows furrow, and his chin tips up. “good.” he says, before turning on his heel, “my manager will send you a list of things to do. get working on it.”

with that, he walks away.

my first interaction with my new boss, dynamight, couldn’t have gone any worse.

after the first few weeks, i was spent. i’d never run around so much and dealt with such work since my first year in college.

after a long day in the office, dealing with one of dynamight’s scandals—he had hooked up with another pro hero—i finally was able to go home. it was 5:30, which meant i was already in overtime.

packing up my stuff, i push open the glass door that is my office. music played through my earphones, just a simple playlist that consisted of my favourite songs i grew up on.

“y/n.”

i hum along to the tune, scrolling on my phone as i walked toward the elevator.

“y/n?”

a notification popped up; mina had texted me asking to swing by a grocery store to pick up something for dinner.

as i begun typing a reply, i was quickly stopped when i felt a hand roughly grab my shoulder and turn me around.

my heart stops in my chest as dynamight glares over me, before ripping out my earphone and scoffing.

“i called you fifty times. next time, you’ll listen, alright?” he spits.

“you were— huh?” my brows furrow.

“fuck, are you deaf, or something?!” he stops himself, rubbing his eyes before inhaling a deep breath, “a word. in my office.”

he starts walking to his office, before i speak. “sir, i— i’m already in overtime as it is. respectfully, with your recent.. scandal, i haven’t gotten much time to rest. this is my one time to.”

his steps slowly halt. he turns, glaring with those ruby eyes straight into my soul.

“in my office, y/n. now.” he seethes, “the amount of rest you get isn’t my concern.”

maybe i would’ve gotten more rest if you learned to just keep it in your pants, i think but i do not say.

“you got a problem with my orders?” he stares, testing me, trying to provoke me.

i stare back. with a sharp inhale, i mutter a—“no, sir.” while beginning on my already aching feet.

i hear another notification on my phone.

mina

girl, where are you!! foods gonna get cold

taking a quick look to dynamight, i try to quickly type back.

me

i know, sorry, will be there shortly

mr. explosion murder is mad at me 😬

mina

oh damn

praying 4 u girl

“texting your boyfriend?” dynamight scoffs, to which i quickly put my phone away.

“oh uh— no, sir.” i clear my throat.

he looks ahead and murmurs a, “good.”

“what?”

he opens the door to his office with such force i jump, the door nearly grazing my nose. he stands in-front of it, gesturing for me to enter.

when he does, he closes the door behind him.

i try to mask my nervousness, but it’s nearly impossible��who wouldn’t be nervous to be alone in a room with dynamight?

“what’d you want to talk to me about, sir?” i ask, fixing the glasses on my nose— just a small prescription, mostly for looks since i thought they were cute.

he stalks toward the chair tucked neatly into the desk in the middle of the room. sitting on it, he gestures for me to sit as well.

hesitantly, i do, folding my hands neatly in my lap.

“the board wanted me to discuss something with you,” dynamight states, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his open thighs.

oh gods. what is so big that the board wanted dynamight himself to talk to me alone about? was i being fired? was my work not good enough? was —

“your clothing.” he states, “you need to dress more formally.” he looks me over, eyes gesturing to the jeans and tank-top i had on.

i blink. “you.. you pulled me in here just to talk about what i wear?”

he runs a hand over his chin, inhaling. he has a slight stubble along his jaw and neck; the result of overworking himself the past few days.

lately, i’ve noticed a spike in his working hours, working longer than he usually does and longer than he needs to.

the biggest question is: why do i feel like i need to care for dynamight?

“not necessarily.” he states, leaning forward, “i’m going across tokyo for a mission. i want you to come with me.”

“what?” my brows furrow, “why?”

he sighs, “because.. i haven’t been out outside of work since my scandal, let alone talked to the press. i need you there to handle that shit for me so i can do my job.”

i ponder with his words, “..okay. well, i’d have to check with—“

“it’s not a question. it’s your job,” dynamight’s voice suddenly turns harsh, “we’re leaving tomorrow morning. i’ll pick you up by seven.”

“but you don’t know where i—“

“i know where you live.” he says, standing, peering me over when he sees i’m confused, “it’s in your work file.” he adds.

“oh. right.” i sigh in relief, thankful he wasn’t some stalker who found out where i lived by following me home.

wait, why would he even do that in the first place? whatever..

the door opens, and i turn to see dynamight standing irritably beside it. catching up on context clues, i grab my things and rush out the room.

that is, before i’m stopped by a hand on my shoulder. he leans closer, glaring ahead of him. i can feel the heat emitting from his hand, his body, and i freeze beneath his aura.

“and y/n?” he says, “if you’re going to wear that shirt.. wear a fucking bra next time.” he seethes.

practically pushing me out the room, i feel the door slam behind me.

i feel my face flush as i peer down to my shirt — i thought i could get away without wearing one today but i guess i was wrong.

fuck. how embarrassing was that?!

mina:

u alive?

me:

FML!!!

after i had gotten home, i told mina everything. needless to say, she was shocked — “seriously? travelling across the country with bakugo?”

“yeah. and for a week!”

“oh, you’re so done for.” she snorts, “i could barely handle a few hours with that kid back in highschool, let alone be with him all day long.”

i sigh, taking a sip of my water, placing it on the counter as i jump up to sit on it.

“he’s not.. that bad.” i cringe at my own words, “just a little misunderstood.”

“oh, please.”

“serious!” i cry, taking a bite of my donut, “i mean, he is an asshole, but working alongside him isn’t so bad.

“plus, majority of time he’ll just be ripping up some villains. all i get is some sweet vacation.” i shrug.

mina spares me a look, “are you sure you don’t have some sort of crush on him, or something?”

i gasp. a harsh blush finds my cheeks, and i want to crumble in on myself. “what? no!” my voice cracks as i am quick to defend myself.

she snorts. “you’re only ever like this when you have a crush!”

“am not.” i say, hiding my face from her.

“you’re blushinggg..” she teases, “you so have a crush on him!

groaning, i jump off the counter and make my way to the couch instead of the kitchen.

“don’t try and hide it!” mina calls from the kitchen. i roll my eyes and ignore her, flicking on the television.

the news was on.

the lady on the screen speaks, “number one hero, dynamight, was seen only two days ago with a top-ten hero. rumours have speculated about the two — are they dating, or was it just a fling? here’s what we think…”

i groan. another mention of this stupid scandal was gonna make my head explode.

the press didn’t know who it was he had slept with, but i did — it was double trouble, a hero with a doubled voice quirk that could control others bodies.

i always thought she was cool. standing at fourth place, she was a well known pro-hero in the area.

and also known to be happily married with two kids.

so why, on earth, did dynamight have to sleep with her? he had to be stupid to, she was pretty, but he really needed to get better with his publicity skills.

being the cause of an affair wasn’t getting better at it.

and if any information got out of it being double trouble, he’d not only have ruined his reputation but ruined double troubles life.

so, i spent the last week making sure every last bit of this scandal was wrapped up and sealed away. everything on the internet, security cameras, was wiped out of the world.

turning on one of my favourite shows, i set down my phone and get comfortable on the couch.

finally, i could relax.

and slowly, but surely, i fall into a slumber.

..

nearly an hour later, i hear a knock at the door. i groan, annoyed my sleep was disrupted and even more annoyed someone decided to knock on my door at midnight.

“can’t i just get one night of peace?” i mumble to myself as i push myself off the couch, fixing the tank-top strap on my shoulder.

walking to the door, i run a hand through my hair to attempt to tame the wild mess caused by sleep.

i open it, the door creaking as i did, peeking my head out the door. and…

i see no other thank katsuki bakugo, better known as dynamight.

he’s clutching the side of his torso, clutching the doorframe as he attempts to keep himself up.

he looks up, cheeks flushed, wearing casual wear — well, casual until you see the giant blood stain ruining his white tee shirt.

“i.. i didn’t know where else to go.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Whatever Stevie Wants 7

Part 6

The week leading up to Corroded Coffin being back on the road was filled with family time. Steve wouldn’t be without his mates the entire time, there were a couple of dates on the schedule where it was decided he’d take a plane out to meet them. They’d be in California, recording the stuff they’d been working on in their downtime and then promoting said album on the usual circuit. That included a few performances on some talk shows.

Steve already had his calendar updated and was counting the days even though they hadn’t left yet. But then the day came and Steve couldn’t scent them enough. He had his arms wrapped around Gareth, rubbing their cheeks together.

Eddie was sitting on the floor, both of Violet’s hands in each of his, watching as she wobbled on her legs, clearly trying to figure them out. She hadn’t taken her first official step yet, but Steve felt that it was incoming.

Eddie looked her straight in the eye. “Vi, I love you but if you take your first step while I’m gone, you will be disowned.”

Steve giggled against Gareth’s neck. “I don’t think you’ll have much control over that.”

“I can try!”, Eddie exclaimed. “Daughter of mine, don’t have any milestones. Stay exactly the way you are until I get back, okay?”

Jeff rolled his eyes as he bounced Vanessa in his arms. She was fighting a nap. They all finished saying their goodbyes, the band getting in a ride share and heading to the airport. Steve waved until they were out of sight. 

-----------------

“And they’ll be gone for a while”, Steve said before taking a sip of his drink. He was nursing a mocktail while his mother sipped on some wine.

“You’re going to take care of the girls on your own? Our offer to hire a nanny still stands”, Margaret reminded him.

“Thanks, but we don’t need a nanny. There’s still Eddie’s uncle and Jeff’s mom. We’ve still got the twins outnumbered”, he joked.

He had met her for an aperitif. It was the sort of thing he would have been expected to do before striking out on his own and living the struggle life. And now he could that again since he had four sugar daddies.

“Still, for the sires to be absent for so long-”

“Please. Please don’t act all high and mighty now. There were whole weeks when I didn’t see dad. Or you.”

“But you weren’t alone. You had a professional. She was probably better at child rearing than even I.”

Steve didn’t even engage. He knew she couldn’t name any of the nannies who had ever watched him. But she let that part of the conversation go, turning it instead to whatever networking his father was doing. Steve didn’t care. But he knew it was important to his parents and he was trying to keep that olive branch extended.

So when she invited him and the twins to visit, he accepted. His parents were currently staying at a villa belonging to a friend. The twins were old enough to handle some light travel. And it would give Beatrice and Wayne a week off from raising their grands.

-------------------

“How long will you be staying?”, Eddie asked, his voice coming from the speaker of Steve’s phone.

“About three days”, Steve said. “Give or take. It’s not like I have anywhere to be.” He was in the middle of packing his own suitcase. The girls’ things were already packed away in a separate suitcase.

“Um, did you forget that you’re supposed to be cheering on your favorite band when they blow the roof off the Shaney Harris Show?”

“Oh? Is Daft Punk performing?”

“Ha ha.”

“That’s not until the week after. I’ll be there. I promise”, Steve said, closing his case. And he still intended to call or text often and he had been doing since Eddie and the others left. Losing the physical part of their relationship tugged at his heart, but the trade off was seeing pictures of them in their element. 

Beatrice helped Steve buckle the girls into their carseats and Wayne packed up the trunk. He said his ‘see you laters’ and then he was off. Violet was the most talkative, babbling to herself while watching the scenery go by. Vanessa slept for most of the ride but once she woke up, she started vocalizing too. Sometimes it seemed like an exchange but mostly they were competing against each other.

The trip took a couple of hours and even though it wasn’t that arduous, he was glad when he arrived just to get the girls out of their seats for longer than a diaper change. The villa wasn’t as big as the Harrington estate that he’d grown up in. But it had similar qualities. It was lavish and extravagant but had no personality.

When he drove up, it wasn’t his parents that came out first but a middle aged woman in soft clothing. He was confused as he got out of the car until he saw his mother appear.

“That’s Eleanor, you can give the children to her. And Javier will take your bags.”

Steve was about to question who when a man suddenly appeared by the trunk. He let out a sigh as he hit the button to open it but kept the back doors closed.

“Mother, I thought this was a visit.”

“It is.”

“For me and the girls. I don’t need to leave them with Eleanor. No offense, I’m sure you’re a lovely woman.”

“Nonsense. She lives for it and it’ll give you and I time to catch up. I can show you around”, Margaret said.

Steve crossed his arms. “I’m not leaving my pups with a stranger.”

Margaret scoffed and rolled his eyes. “At least let her help you bring them inside.”

He could concede to that and he entered the villa, holding onto one carrier while Eleanor carried the other. The next few days went about as Steve expected. He couldn’t come down to meals in just anything. No, he tried that with just a shirt and jeans and his mother started to set out clothing for meal times. Button ups and slacks.

His mother also had several little outfits for Violet and Vanessa. They were cute, if cumbersome. Big, fluffy dresses as if they were dolls. Steve put them on once to humor her and take the pictures, which he sent to his pack. But they weren’t the best sort of fashion for infants who were learning to crawl and determined to learn to walk.

Steve was starkly reminded of the life he’d left behind when during the second night, he put his pups in the sink to give them a bath.

“Steven Philip Harrington!”, his mother gasped. “What are you doing!?”

“Trying to wash two very slippery otters”, he said, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to.

“In the sink!? Have some dignity. That’s what Eleanor is for.” Her hand was against her heart like the shock was that much for her and Steve suddenly had the image in his head of her literally clutching a pearl necklace around her neck.

“I’m capable of bathing my own children”, Steve said while Vanessa splashed around. He was rinsing Violet off and in his focus, he didn’t see the look his mother gave.

The rest of the visit was similar to that. Despite saying they wanted to get to know the girls, his parents kept trying to pawn them off to Eleanor. They said they wanted to learn more about him and his new life and pack but every conversation was like they were trying to squish him back into the box he’d been in before leaving home.

Steve sighed as he laid in bed, bringing a handkerchief that Eddie had scented to his nose to ground him. He was fine. He had a pack that loved him, pups too, and friends. Robin had literally compared the girls’ dress pictures to American Girl dolls. Even he had to admit they were adorable.

But tonight was his last night here. By this time tomorrow, he’d be back in his own nest. 

--------------------

The morning sun filtered through the window and Steve woke up with the birds singing. He yawned deeply and rolled over. Two seconds later, he realized how odd it was that he woke up to sunshine and bird song and not two pups crying. His mother insisted that there was a perfectly good nursery in the villa with fine cribs and Steve had relented.

He preferred having his pups close in a new environment, but he at least had a baby monitor to let him know when they needed him. But he didn’t hear anything. Steve rubbed his eyes and sat up. It wasn’t impossible for them to still be sleeping peacefully, but he’d feel better once he had eyes on him.

But as he got out of bed, he felt a wrongness. He rubbed his eyes again and his vision cleared and he wasn’t in the guest room at the villa. His breath got short as he was met instead with his childhood bedroom.

“No, this can’t be happening.” He opened the curtains and saw the same view he had for the first eighteen years of his life. His breathing got short. “My pups…my babies.”

He nearly tore the door open and rushed out, opening every door, trying to find them. “Vanessa! Violet!” He knew they couldn’t call back but he was also in panic mode.

“Steven, cease this racket”, his father said, already dressed in a suit for breakfast. “Now come on, your mother is waiting.”

“Why am I back here? Where are my pups!?”

“Don’t raise your voice indoors!”, his father roared, finger in Steve’s face.

Years ago it would have gotten him to submit. But not when his daughters were nowhere to be seen. He would tear this house apart if he had to.

“I’ll scream and shout until someone calls the cops! How did you get me here? Why did you bring me here and where. Are. My. Children?!”

“Honestly, can’t we have a quiet morning?”, Margaret complained, coming into the hallway. “You’ll see your children in time Steve. Now get dressed for breakfast and we’ll talk.”

“I’m not-!”

“You heard your mother.” Layton put an arm around her shoulders and they walked down the hall towards the stairs and Steve wanted to scream, to rip his hair out, to take an axe and destroy everything. But he couldn’t do any of that until he knew where his babies were. He went back to his bedroom and checked for any of his belongings. The clothes he’d brought weren’t here, nor was his cellphone. And the corded phone he used to have in his room was gone too. 

He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, allowing a few sobs before noticing the outfit hanging on the door of his closet. A pale blue button up, khaki pants. He took a deep breath and stood up. This was insane, even for his parents. But he would endure it for the sake of his real family.

Part 8

[topshelf2112-blog]

Fellow enjoyers of suggestive desserts, I decided to translate this part of the episode “Distant Voices.” The actors are at fault for this, bless them. Translations are in bold.

BASHIR: Can I interest you in some more Yigrish cream pie?

May I entice you into eating a suggestive dessert as a prelude to other suggestive things?


GARAK: No, thank you, Doctor. I'm quite full.

You’re a touch obvious, you know that? As well as obscene. We are in public.

BASHIR: But you've hardly touched your food.

I pay very close attention to you, but only in totally appropriate ways.

GARAK: The truth is, I'm trying to lose a little weight. Hemming women's dresses may provide me with a modest income, but it offers very little in the way of exercise.

Tell me I’m pretty. Also thin.

BASHIR: Well if you like, I can help you set up an exercise programme in one of the holosuites here.

I am using exercise as a euphemism, here, darling. Hint hint.

GARAK: I might just take you up on that. And speaking of holosuites 
(Garak takes out an isolinear rod with a ribbon around it and hands it to Bashir.) 
GARAK: Happy birthday. I know it's a few days off, but I wanted to give you your present early. It's a Cardassian holosuite programme. An adaptation of one of Shoggoth's enigma tales.

Still in public, silly creature. No, you never told me your birthdate, but you think the spy thing is hot so I figured it out. Also, I refuse to share you with this entire station, so I’m celebrating you today. Speaking of getting up to things in the holosuite…

BASHIR: Is it? I see.

I told you I wanted you to design yourself some lingerie. You’re such a prude.

GARAK: You sound disappointed. I thought you enjoyed mystery novels.

Praise me for my thoughtfulness.

BASHIR: I do. Human mystery novels. The problem with Cardassian enigma tales is that they all end the same way. All the suspects are always guilty.

Lingerie, Garak. You won’t wear it in the holosuite so quit trying to distract me.

GARAK: Yes, but the challenge is determining exactly who is guilty of what. Is Lieutenant Dax throwing one of her surprise parties for you this year?

Jealousy.

BASHIR: Oh, so I'm told.

Come to the party and make out with me, you twit.

GARAK: You don't sound enthusiastic about that either.

Not happening.

BASHIR: It's not that I don't appreciate all the trouble she goes to and everything. It's just that this year is a little different.

Fine. If we aren’t going to discuss lingerie, existential angst it is.

GARAK: How so?

I can win much more easily at this.

BASHIR: This will be my thirtieth birthday.

Isn’t it obvious?

GARAK: And?

I’m older than you. Do be careful, hmm?

BASHIR: Well, in many human cultures, the thirtieth birthday is considered a sort of landmark. It marks the end of youth and the beginning of the slow march into middle age.

Plays: “Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”

GARAK: And that's considered bad?

Augmented does not mean that you exist outside of time, Julian. Honestly.

BASHIR: No. It's just that when you hit thirty, it becomes harder and harder to ignore the passage of time.

Tell me I’m pretty.

GARAK: I wasn't aware that humans saw growing old as a negative experience. On Cardassia, advanced age is seen as a sign of power and dignity.

Hint, hint. I’m hardly advanced, but you’ve secured yourself quite the catch, my dear.

BASHIR: Well I am aware that aging is part of the natural process of life. It's just that I don't want to be reminded of it, that's all. Look, Garak, in two days I turn thirty. If I choose to be grumpy about it, that's my prerogative

(Oblivious) Yes, I am a doctor but I would like to overlook all that biology rubbish.

GARAK: By all means, Doctor, be as grumpy as you like.

I’m feeling a touch cross myself, given that you are missing what’s right in front of you. This is what one gets for dating another species…

BASHIR: Thank you for the support.

What are you cranky about? I’m the one who is fast becoming ancient and undesirable.

QUARK: I hope you'll forgive the interruption.

Fierce and dangerous boyfriend of the idiot, I apologize for butting in.

GARAK: Of course.

At least someone sees my amazing qualities.

QUARK: You know, we just introduced a new lunch menu at the bar.

Can I sell you something? Anything? You’re looking much too thin!

BASHIR: Goodbye, Quark.

GARAK: Don’t take it personally. He’s turning thirty.

Apologies for my young, stupid boyfriend. He gets by on his looks, you know.

[bao3bei4]

zine finance and fulfillment

hi everyone. now that i’ve completed the “spending money” part of “yaoi zine 2” (for the most part. i hope nothing gets lost in the mail, although i’ve resigned myself to it), i thought i would make a long boring post about zine finance and fulfillment. this is because people talk about it less than other parts of zine making online. so i hope this will be of interest or use to at least one person.

none of this should be new to anyone who’s ran a zine before, but my hope is to give people who are interested in it some food for thought so that we have more cool zines that i can buy. 

before we begin. a brief disclaimer: i am kind of half-assed about good zine finance hygiene. that is to say, i keep the money in my personal checking account, i don’t have a llc, etc. i do declare zine income on my taxes (i write it almost all of it off, since i only make not-for-profit zines). this is because i am twenty three years old and i have a small scale operation. i recognize and acknowledge that i do not follow best practices, and someone else should write a long boring post about what all best practices entails. 

this post is about how i price my zines, and my workflow for fulfillment. that’s all it is. i hope that it is useful for anyone else trying to cheaply and quickly make and sell maybe 150 zines or so to their friends and followers. 

so i do a sort of stupid model for my zines, which is that i charge a flat rate to send a zine anywhere in the world. this is a stupid model because, in the case of “yaoi zine 2,” the “real cost” of sending one zine to the united states is $11.58. the “real cost” to send a zine to, say, the united kingdom is $24.20. you may notice that this means it actually costs me five dollars and twenty cents every time someone in the united kingdom buys a zine, as i priced the zines at $19 each. this is generally a horrible business model. as i write this now, i am realizing that i really should have made the zines $24, steep as it is. just because yikes. -$5.20. 

but i like doing it this way because it feels fairer. and also because i’m the sole proprietor of “tshirt zines” and i can do whatever i want. i just am commenting that i cannot ethically tell you to adopt this model, since i’ve signed the hippocratic oath. this is because you need to be okay with using your personal funds to cover any losses that you take as a result of this model. this is true for all zines, but like. especially here. 

back to the matter at hand. how did i arrive at that $19 number, knowing that i would lose money on at least some sales? 

there are basically four components i keep in mind: shipping materials (think envelopes, labels, toner for my printer), printing cost (i just call up printers and ask for estimates), shipping cost (i’ll talk more about this in a sec), and stripe fees (.029 * price + 0.30 atm). use a spreadsheet to keep them straight. 

i went over budget on shipping materials because i last minute decided to make little freebie one page zines and burned through a bunch of toner in the process, so we won’t talk about that. this one is simple, anyway. you know how to figure out the price of mailing envelopes.

printing cost. i like working with local printers, if i can. if the zine is too big for me to print at home, but small enough it can be saddle stitched, i’ve worked with lightning press here in the bay area, and keith has never let me down. great guy. for perfect bound zines, like “yaoi zine 2,” i used mixam.com. i wasn’t the biggest fan, quite a few zines came a little bent or warped (this is why you order extra. that and in case they get lost in the mail). keith would NEVER do that to me. i’ve also heard good things about bookmobile, but i was keeping it simple for this printing. dm me if you’ve used them. 

anyway, all told, the price of an individual zine shipped to me, taxes and everything was $6.14. i estimated that it would cost $6.

shipping cost. so since i do aforementioned stupid model, i have to arrive at a number. PERSONALLY. the number i PERSONALLY have arrived at. based on my particular following. after doing five internationally shipped zines, is that i can usually expect 70% domestic orders, 30% international. i guesstimate the weight of the zine by stacking and weighing other zines i have until i get a decent facsimile (NB you should probably just weigh your proof but i wanted to expedite the timeline), and then i check these charts. peep the “large envelope” numbers. 

domestic: https://pe.usps.com/text/dmm300/Notice123.htm#_c037 

international: https://pe.usps.com/text/dmm300/Notice123.htm#_c341

i actually used media mail for my domestic orders, this time, because of the size. so it cost $3.92 to mail one zine domestically, and rounding between all the zones, i guessed that it would cost $16 for most international zines. 

i then did the following equation (0.7 * 3.92) + (0.3 *16) = $7.24

actually i’m lying. i did (0.7 * 3) + (0.3 *12) = $5.70 because i underestimated the weight of the zine so that’s on me. i rounded that number to $6. 

“what about canada” shipping to canada is actually basically the same cost as that mean zine shipping cost. so they don’t actually affect my calculations at all. 

stripe fees. self explanatory. remember them, though. 

anyway. zine price = shipping materials + printing cost times two + averaged shipping cost + stripe fees. 

now, you may notice that i underestimated a lot of things. how did i break even? three reasons. 

first, LUCK! that’s right. my ratio this time was skewed more in the favor of us zines than international zines, about 80-20. who knows why. probably the strong us dollar atm made it cost prohibitive for many people. geopolitics strikes again.

and second, actually i made about $580 profit, that i had to disburse. i was never actually in danger of losing money, because of that “printing cost times two” i skipped over really fast. the purpose of that is to cover printing and shipping free copies for all contributors. i arrived at the number two because 1) according to oomf that’s apparently standard, 2) it’s a nice round number, and 3) if i sold 50 copies (my original lowball estimate of how many i would sell) that was my break even number to print contributor copies.

$580/$12.88 (my actual raw cost of a zine, without stripe fees) = about 45. i had 21 contributors, so after mailing them out zines, i had around $300 profit, or 24 zines worth of it, left. this is where the money for the giveaway zines came from!

third. i also had some profit from selling “yaoi zine 1” again which HADN’T gone over my estimate. because i’d shipped them before. this helped pay me back for all the extra expenses. 

let’s talk about more logistics. i use bigcartel for my storefront because it’s free. that’s literally the only reason why. i use stripe instead of paypal because to make it a business account (and not expose my legal name to everyone) i would have needed to update my account with an id and that would reveal to them that i created my paypal account when i was 13. stripe has no such problem for me. 

i fulfilled orders this time using “pirate ship” because, again, free. in the past i’ve used shipstation + stamps dot com combo, because that afaik is the only bigcartel integrated service that allows you to buy letter mail postage (i want to send them as letters, not packages, because it’s cheaper). but that you have to pay money for, or use the free trial. since i was using media mail this time, pirate ship was good enough for me. 

when all of the zines arrived at my house i began stuffing envelopes and printing labels with the help of a lovely friend. don’t do this alone you EITHER get really bored or you slip into that sports manga ass trance that anyone who’s ever done repetitive labor has experienced and the day blips by. instead i had fun with a friend.

now. there is no way. as far as i know. to buy international letter mail stamps online. this is because you are not supposed to use it for your online store because you can only send things with a value of $0. and they have to be documents. so using them for zines is really skirting legality here unforch. 

WHAT I DO INSTEAD. i go to the closest post office with that pitney bowes machine, and i monopolize it printing postage. yeah. go at an off time. BE PREPARED to annoy everyone else at the post office. let them take turns with you obviously, but there will be some mean old lady who will make a snarky comment about you so stay fucking safe. 

 i think that’s everything i have to explain about my process. go make a zine. and consider selling it. 

[staroaming]

Silent Running

Vash x Reader - Suffering from a chronic illness, you are found passed out in the dunes by Vash and Wolfwood. 

The desert heat beats down on your shoulders, heavy as iron weights, thick as a blanket. You huff and wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, wondering for the umpteenth time if you should have just stayed and waited everything out. But the thought of wasting time didn’t bode well and now...you’re here. You frown and glance up at the sky, squinting at just how bright it is.  Your knees are weak and wobbly, your stomach twisting with the need for some sort of sustenance, your head pounding and pounding- You curse and sit in the sand with a grunt, bringing your hand to your temple. You rub at it, urging it to stop; now simply isn’t the damn time. You reach blindly in the bag hanging from your shoulder, digging until you feel the small container that usually houses the pills you need to ward off an attack. Alas, you come up empty. You shut the case and toss it violently, wishing you didn’t need them at all. But with a fresh wave of nausea and sharp pain behind your eyes, you know that it’s impossible to live without them.  Wavering, you glance around, wishing someone would happen to be walking the same way.  With your luck, you’ll sooner be swallowed by a damn worm.  Gulping against your dry throat, you try to stand. But the moment you manage to get to your knees the pain erupts: it’s a wildfire, a surge of electricity, a dagger. Bile rises but you clamp your hands over your mouth until you can manage to curl in upon yourself, the motion practically habitual at this point. Like usual, when you don’t have your pills, you only have yourself. You fall to your side and wrap your arms around your abdomen, fingers digging into either side of your back. You press deeply, welcoming the slight distraction.  It doesn’t last, of course. The pain in your head overgrows, consumes, until your body does what it does best.  You pass out. 

                                               ______________

“-how am I supposed to know?”  “We can’t just...dangerous-” You groan at the sound of echoing voices, doing your best to open your eyes. All you see are two figures shrouded and shadowed by the setting sun, your lashes thick and damp when you blink.  “Oh!” Someone practically shouts, a brush of wind flowing when they squat in front of you. “Are you okay?” Someone tsks, “Do they look okay, you dipshit?” “I-” You can’t even choke out the words. Your head throbs and you force yourself to bring your hands up, pushing against each temple. You groan as the world undulates, the figures turning to something akin to murky water.  There is movement. Distant voices. When a hand wraps around your arm, intent on helping you stand, you jolt.  “Don’t!” You squeeze your eyes shut.  “I’m sorry.” The person lets go immediately, “How can we help you? What should we do? Are you sick? Do you need water?” “I just need...to let it pass.” The other person kicks at the sand and when you manage to peek, they are staring at the setting sun. Contemplating, it seems.  “I’ll start a fire.” They say. “I’m tired as hell, anyway. ‘Bout time we stopped.” You let out a slow breath, glad that the one still squatting in front you isn’t going to try to do anything rash. You’d feared that they’d drag you somewhere, which would only make you feel closer to combustion.  Instead, the incoming night chill is interrupted by the flames, a new, comfortable warmth gathering at your back. There is the clanging of metal, the sound of something pouring, the rising smell of food. Your stomach grumbles loudly. Embarrassingly loud. “Ah,” The stranger has drawn close again, “You’re hungry, huh?” You open your eyes, small tidbits of relief starting to ease your body out of the tense curl you’ve been stuck in. You glance up, surprised to see them squatting again, a metal hand raised as if they were going to reach out for you. They catch your gaze and drop the hand, instead bringing it up to rub at the back of their neck.  “Yeah.” You finally respond, clearing your throat and beginning to shift. Your body aches something furious, muscles cramped. “It’s soup.” The stranger says, “Would you like my help? Can you stand?” “I got it.” You blink away the fuzz of your vision, working yourself to get to your hands and knees. You dip your head, breathing shallowly, before trying.  The stranger surges forward and catches you before you can face-plant. You grab hold of him on instinct, the throb in your head spiking before fading away again. He holds you lightly, hands fluttering as if he wasn’t sure where to place them.  “Sorry.” You go to push away but he places his hands solidly on your upper arms, brows furrowed as his face finally comes into a clearer view. The first thing you think, which you’ll surely later blame on the delirium of your illness, is that he is beautiful. You flit your eyes over his face, over the small mole beneath his eye, on his eyes themselves. How are they so damn blue? “I’ll help you.” He is saying, “That’s all. Once you’re sitting by the fire, I’ll make sure not to touch you again if you don’t want me to.” You can’t help but nod. Unfortunately, you know you won’t be able to support your own weight. So, very slowly, he rises and brings you with him. He takes small steps, his metal hand pressed firmly but gently on your hip, his other holding yours near his chest. It’s a balance, a distribution of weight so that he carries the most.  Once the fire is close he lowers you but your head still swims. If you could, you think you’d like to slam it into a fucking rock. That would at least make you focus on a new kind of shitty pain. The world tilts dangerously when he lets you go. Your face is warm with humiliation, your heart thrumming when you realize he is settling behind you once more to keep you from falling. The other person stomps out their cigarette before filling a banged up old metal bowl with soup from the small pot hanging over the fire. He practically pushes it against your chest, muttering something about it being really hot before returning to his spot across from you.  “Here.” The man behind you takes the bowl and holds it in front of you, his chin dangerously close to resting on your shoulder.  You thank him quietly before picking up the spoon, glad that at least your hand isn’t shaking quite as bad as you expected it would. The soup is a bit drab but you don’t mind. All you care about is filling your empty stomach.  “So, what’s wrong with you?” Your eyes shoot up.  “Wolfwood!” The man behind you practically gasps.  “What? I’m not bein’ rude. Just wanna know if it’s contagious.” You breathe a small laugh, “It’s not.” You can’t tell where he’s looking with the sunglasses on his face, which is a bit strange considering the sun isn’t even out. Though, you have a feeling he’s watching you closely. Suspiciously.  “What is it, then?” He asks, flicking open his lighter to start on another cigarette.  “I just get these headaches.” You pat the man’s hand and he lowers the bowl to place beside you. You do your best not to lean into his chest too much, mindful of how awkward this most likely is. “They get rough and if I don’t have my medicine, they can debilitate me.” “So, why didn’t you take your meds?” You shrug a shoulder, “I’m out. That’s why I’m headin’ to the next town. I usually get ‘em from a trader but they never showed up. I got desperate.” Smoke trails from his cigarette but finally, he looks away. He seems content enough with your answer and even if he wasn’t, you aren’t sure that you’d really care. Your stomach is full and your head is starting to return to itself, the dull throb occurring less and less. In a few hours, you think you might even be able to endure the walk again.  Behind you, the man shifts and you jump upright, not having noticed how deeply you’d pressed back into him.  “Sorry, sorry.” You gulp and scoot forward a bit, “I think I’m good now. You don’t have to sit behind me.” “Are you sure?” “Nope.” You laugh nervously, “But it’s just sand. If I fall, it’ll be nice and soft.” Wolfwood smirks around his cigarette, “Vash doesn’t mind. Do ya’, buddy?” The man, Vash, picks up your spoon and tosses it at him. It smacks him square in the chest.   But to you, he says, “I don’t mind.” You hesitate, wondering if you’d look absolutely ridiculous if you were to crawl away miserably on your knees. Your cheeks flush at the thought and so you relent, carefully leaning back, glad when it eases the tension in your neck. Which, in turn, continues to ease the tension in your head.  The two of them talk long into the night but you hardly keep up with what they say. Your eyes flutter with the need to sleep, which many would think impossible considering you’d been passed out for so long. But it’s different when it’s willing, when you don’t have to hold yourself to ward off the pain. The last thing you remember before slipping away is the twinkling stars and, distantly, the vibration of Vash laughing against you.

                                          _________________

Waking to a new day, you loathe the return of the light. You moan and bring a hand to your face, running it down the length, steeling yourself for continued solitude and miles upon miles of rolling dunes. It gets lonely and it brings a deep ache, a soul-born thing that sometimes makes you wanna sob like a kid. However, when a voice starts, you practically jump out of your skin.  “You’re up!”  Your eyes flash open and you sit up quickly, glancing around to find that the two men haven’t left. Now that they aren’t shrouded in the dark and dancing golden flames, you see them more clearly and you gulp. They’re desert-worn, rough around the edges just like everyone else on this godforsaken planet. But unlike what the grand majority would do, they haven’t left.  Wolfwood is leaning against a huge crucifix, smoke still rising from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. His ankles are crossed to match his arms, his head turned to you.  “What-” You blink at the hand extended in front of your face. You grab hold of it, finally looking at Vash when you’re on your feet in front of him. “What are you two still doing here?” Vash blinks, and blinks, and laughs.  “What?” You frown, looking to Wolfwood for an answer. “What’d I say? What’s so funny?” He waves a hand, “He’s just like that. You’ll get used to it.” Vash wipes at his eye as the laughter slowly subsides, looking down at you with a surprisingly gentle expression.  “We couldn’t just leave you behind.” He leans down and picks up his large bag, surprising you by hoisting your own over his shoulder too. “C’mon, now! We gotta get moving.” You stare at his back as he turns and starts walking toward the rising sun. It’s all red and pink and purple, wrapping Vash up in such wondrous colors. Wolfwood sighs and motions for you to follow, tilting his head, cigarette burning low as he hoists his huge cross against his back. Vash glances over his shoulder, a grin starting on his lips.  And so, with a bemused huff and the kicking up of sand as you rush to catch up to them, you follow. 

                                       ___________________

// if you like this, let me know if you’d like for it to continue in more parts! (with eventual nsfw) //

[bunmellos]

Hi!! Huge fan of your artwork and I’ve been following you for a while now!

I was wondering if you had any advice for people wanting to become music majors/professional musicians? I’m currently a senior in high school and I want to play saxophone professionally, but the thought of entering the “music world” (which many people have said is unstable and hard to make money in) scares me a little. If there’s any advice you can give on college and life as a musician I’d love to hear it!

aah thank you!! music is definitely a difficult field to get started in. the culture around our instruments and repertoire are pretty different but here’s a couple tips that are universal:

1. whether they’re required or not, try to fit some pedagogy(teaching) classes into your curriculum. teaching is one of the best ways to ensure you have a steady income, which is really hard to come by as a freelance musician and/or someone fresh out of college. teaching privately allows you to set your own schedule, rates, and policies, and personally i think it’s very rewarding to watch your students grow and get to know all sorts of people :> middle schoolers are really fun to interact with LOL

2. try to build relationships with your peers, instructors, and community members. this one is really important in my opinion! iirc pretty much all the gigs ive booked came about because i was recommended/invited by a friend or mentor, and my good relationship with local orchestra teachers led them to recommend me to their students for private lessons. how you play is definitely important, but networking is one of the most vital skills for a musician to have

3. in a similar vein, try to jump on opportunities even if they’re daunting! usually they aren’t as bad as you think they’ll be (i get crazy anxious when i go into a new situation or even when preparing for first rehearsals of a concert cycle, so i’m still working on this one lol)

4. don’t limit yourself to /just/ performance. i’ve known lots of fantastic musicians who manage different aspects of a professional ensemble, do instrument maintenance, etc., while still playing on the side. one of the most rewarding jobs i’ve ever had was when i worked in a music store as a string specialist. i learned what makes a quality instrument, differences in materials, basic string repair, even a little bit about winds and brass (as a violinist i still can’t believe brass players bathe their instruments O_O)

as for school itself, i think the most important thing is that you get along with your private teacher, since they’ll be your closest collaborator. take lots of auditions and take advantage of the built in rehearsal+practice time! i rushed through school as fast as possible because despite its wonderful music program i Hated my university and where it was located and i’m still kicking myself for graduating asap instead of taking my time.

currently i definitely take a defensive approach to being a musician. as you’ve probably noticed, most of my advice leans on leaving yourself other options in case playing professionally full-time doesn’t work out. obviously i don’t know the full extent of your situation but most people don’t get the performance job they hope for straight out of school- music programs are notoriously bad for failing to set their graduates on a steady career path, which unfortunately is just how it goes with the arts. i’m still trying to figure out what i want to do and i constantly have to remind myself that my life isn’t over just because i’m not soloing with orchestras around the world or whatever at 23 years old; im still growing as a musician even after graduating with a degree and i have my whole life to improve !! which i think is one of the most important things to remember

i think that’s about it for now but let me know if you have any other questions :] good luck!!

[imolelalade]

Nifemi Lore and Stuff

Nifemi is a character who I tried to put layers into, while basing some aspects of her personality on myself. But while not only is it hard trying to breakdown yourself down into a character, my brain is also too messy to form proper lore before jumping straight into trauma parts, which I hyperfixtated on at some point. Seeing as this is my first time actually posting proper stuff about her and most of you might be like ‘Who the hell is even Nifemi?’, I’m gonna post a small background and info-dump on her lore a bit. (I also just need some type of  outlet for all of this, it’s one am I want to sleep, she takes up my every waking thought)

Backstory and Personality Study

Nifemi hails from Earth 1960, and she was born in South Africa, though being raised in her spiderman city, Laghattan, New Lagos City, Nigeria (A mashup of Lagos and New York), where she lived  and grew up. 

She and her sister, Bolatito, were both orphaned at about 4 and 2 years old respectively, when their parents died in a plane crash, and moved in with their Uncle Benedict ‘Ben’ Parker and Aunt Mayowa ‘May’ Parker. 

They owned a small family based resturant that brought in most of the family’s income and simultaneously ignited Nifemi’s love for cooking.

At 13 on a field trip to Oscorp Industries, she got lost from her class and got bitten by a radioactive spider and after her Uncle Ben’s death, took up the mantle of spiderwoman, or as she and her city call her, Anansi.

About a year of being Anasi later, Nifemi’s sister, Bolatito finds out about her identity and claims the role of ‘the gal in the chair, making gadgets, walkie talkies the whole thing.

When Nifemi was about 15, she met Miles 1960 (her Earth’s variant of Miles Morales) who she developed a strong friendship with as they bonded over their love for art and stuff. (Big sis, Little bro relationship)

Nifemi soon introduces Bolatito to Miles, the three of them becoming a trio with Miles and Bolatito becoming a couple at some point (Techflower)

Timeskip, blah, blah, blah, Nifemi meets Hobie at uni, develops a crush on him and him vice-versa and they both also end up together (I’ll explain the timeline more in depth later, I’m too lazy and tired to do that right now)

Anways,

Throughout her journey as Anansi, Nifemi’s canon events of losing her loved ones had a lasting impact on her personal self, both as Anansi and as her civilian self.

Nifemi and her Uncle Ben were extremely close, she growing to even see him as a sort of father figure as she barely had any memories of her real parents, which is why his death as her canon event, (though she didn’t know what canon events were at the time) had such a lasting impact on her, making her unknowingly more emotionally closed off than she would have been as a normal teenager. Her already naturally shy and introverted personality also didn’t help matters to an extent.

Due to this, even though she eventually opened up as she grew older and met HB 1960 (her earth’s variant of Hobie Brown), her second ‘loss of a loved one’ canon event of losing him (since he’s kind of her Gwen Stacy, love intrest thing), completely shattered her and set her down a dark slope of her being afraid getting close or forming any sort of relationship with people, as now 2 of her greatest love ones are dead because, in her mind, her.

As a person Nifemi is a laid back person to an extent, just moving with life but still trying to be successful. She tries to have an easy-going attitude with life but might appear to be closed off and moody to others at times. She honestly doesn’t try or mean to seem that way but has problems socializing or even opening up with people. Despite her attitude however, she does have a pretty steady friendgroup and realistic approach with life, keeping the few friends and loved ones she has close, which is why the loss of them usually has a bigger and lasting impact on her.

Nifemi sees her identity of being Anansi to be seperate yet at the same time the same with her civilain life, constantly mking connections yet still try to keep them from overlapping with each other. While, yes, she follows her Uncle Ben’s advice of “With great power comes great responsibility” and the added mindset of “If I don’t do it, who will?”, at the same time she still wonders if she should just stop trying. The fact that her city, still has their doubts about her, despite her constantly saving them, still seeing her as a demon, due to her powers and their superstitions, also doesn’t help matters and keeps the thoughts coming.

However despite all of this, Nifemi still keeps trying and persevering, using her friends and famiy as a sort of motivation to keep going, in a sense her motto kind of being, “Even if you don’t want to, do it for them”

[blueberry-lemon]

Image Overload

(I was gonna title this post “the tyranny of the image” because it sounds cool but I still don’t 100% get what that phrase means. If only there was a way to look up what things mean…)

I’m not sure if this post is coming from a place of just temporary sadness, or feeling overwhelmed, or if this is how I “really feel”, but I’ll try to put it into words.

I feel like I’ve been overloaded with images.

Art, characters, videos, comics…all the cool stuff that people post, stuff that I’ve been following online for years.

It’s just so much, and I don’t know what to do with it anymore.

I’ve kind of referred to these feelings before.

A year ago, I wrote about my fear that original illustrations, devoid of story or joke or IP recognition, would lose value, because of the fact that it has to compete with the thousands of other images we see on the internet. Basically, the idea that people might lose interest in artwork just for artwork’s sake.

I’ve talked about my own artistic burnout.

And most recently, I’ve talked about being in a time where I might be losing my interest in posting and scrolling online as a way to spend my time.

This time, I want to be careful with what I say. Because I want to be clear that this is only a personal feeling, only a thing going on in my life, and I don’t want to insinuate that it reflects any wider trends in the world or in the wider internet (even though maybe they do correlate, who knows.)

I just feel burnt out…not only on making art but also on looking at art.

I started using Twitter and Tumblr sometime around 2010. In the years since then, as platforms like that became a bigger part of my daily life, I started following more creators. Artists, animators, 3D modelers, cartoonists, streamers, and game developers.

With that, of course, comes the things they post. And the cool things people Share from other creators, who I’m not even following. Years after that came algorithmic timelines, and you know the rest.

In the past year or so, I started feeling this strange new thing: like I’ve reached my limit on being able to enjoy these works and give them the time they deserve.

One part of it is just sensory overload. It might just be me, but I’m losing my tolerance for being able to handle never-ending social media timelines filled with cool stuff. All of the images and videos blur together and make me want to log off and go for a walk.

I’ve been trying to get better about curating my feeds, sometimes using browser extensions to block out stuff. But god forbid I log onto something like Facebook on my phone to check in on people from my high school / college and then get bombarded with an even more ridiculous algorithm firehose.

The worst part is…FB has figured out JUST CLOSE ENOUGH what kind of stuff I’m into. So it hits me with all this fanart of stuff I know, or gag comics that are hashtag relatable, and I do find myself looking at them. But after a few seconds it all starts to feel like slop (and some of it, sadly, actually is AI-generated slop.)

Another part of the feeling is a weird sort of guilt. When I see work from a creator I love…I feel that pressure to Like, Share, and Comment. I know how hard it is to be seen on the internet and I know the courage (and the never-ending hard work) it takes to try to get stuff noticed that you worked really hard on.

When I don’t Like, Share, and Comment…I feel like I’m letting that creator down. I feel guilty, like my reflex to ignore and keep scrolling past their hard work is the exact “problem” with “people these days.” If they’re a freelancer who relies on the internet for their income, I feel even guiltier.

I don’t know what to do with these weird feelings, aside from type up a whine-y blog post about it like this.

Like I said, I feel bad about it. Because so many artists I’ve followed for years (or ones I’ve recently discovered) are consistently putting up fantastic illustrations, or sharing their fun OCs, or putting out awesome comics or personal stories and I don’t feel like I can give that work the time that it 100% deserves. I DO want to Like, Share, and Comment on every single thing. I want to give it attention, take my time with it, and show the artist that I enjoyed it and admire the work they put into it.

But it’s just all too much to keep up with.

At worst, now when I see doodles and characters that used to bring me joy…I feel almost nothing. Which probably says more about me than it says about the art.

As another wave of people migrate from Twitter over to Bluesky and other platforms, I think I might have to be even more mindful about curating my feeds. It’s not worth feeling this conflicted feeling every time I log on: things that remind me of my own burnout as an artist and remind me of how hard it is to make a living online. It’d be better for me to just trim down how much I come across, so that I can take the time to appreciate each piece of artwork at its own pace.

For what it’s worth, I don’t get this overloaded feeling about text. I’m not sure what that says about me. If I see a bunch of text I don’t feel like reading, I just skim it or skip it, and I don’t feel as much guilt that I didn’t give it the time it deserves. Maybe it’s because text kind of inherently culls out uninterested people and we all kind of accept this. You’re not going to “consume” all the text unless you’re genuinely interested, while with images you can kind of consume them in passing.

There’s something about the image itself as a package that just seems like it can’t find room in my head right now. Like I’m a Tetris screen that’s one block away from topping out.

Maybe I’m just getting older, lol. Or maybe I need to accept that scrolling the internet for art like this doesn’t give me the same amount of joy that it used to, especially if I have the bias of feeling personally burnt out.

[deiscension]

I think about SQX's physical traits and how they changed as she aged not only as indications of her growing into herself as a person, but how safe, stable, and happy she feels as well. This can be applied to all verses/AUs, just swap out canon event mentions for what I've written in place of them. The long and short of it is I believe in stick-thin short-stack Qingxuan --> tall and limber and curvaceous but not just in the hourglass way, in the 'gained weight and wears it with pride' way. #Pudgy tummy SQX advocate.

Chubby wubby tubby baby Qingxuan grows into chubby wubby tubby toddler Qingxuan. Any physical ailments that were caused by the initial fever of The Reverend’s curse are either hardly there at all or nonexistent. Adorable round cheeks. Laughs at anything and everything. What more is there for me to say really.

The baby fat does it’s best to cling to her past early childhood but once she starts approaching the double digits it’s all but disappeared. Her relatives depleting most of Shi siblings’ inheritance implies living well past their means up until each of their untimely demises at the behest of the curse, so it’s not from lack of good food so much as genetics.

Pre-teen and teenage years SQX is about as lanky as you can get. All elbows and knees. Bird legs and stick arms. Mostly genetics again, but now there’s the added anxiety of being hunted down by The Reverend. Food was available enough as implied by her trying to take a food box to SWD while he was up in the mountains, though I’m left to wonder what quality and kind— the necessary staples obviously, but inheritance being depleted + what they do have being painstakingly split between provisions and paying to cultivate under a master + little to no income (I HIGHLY doubt SWD would’ve even suffered the thought of SQX doing any sort of payable work, all things from her age (around 11 when they initially ran away iirc, and any work a no-name teenager could get likely wouldn't be safe work) to his pride considered) = getting by alright but in a rather pitiable way. Wouldn’t do amazing things for a teen’s appetite I imagine. Nonetheless she’s still healthy, even if reedy in build. Kind of kid who would try to hold herself with pristine grace, yet end up stomping and tromping about. Aging into full teenage years she would fill out some but not by too terribly much. Descriptors would likely have changed from “lanky” to “slender”, “awkward” to “willowy”.

Her Middle Court days are when she gets some meat on her bones in terms of musculature and fat. I base my headcanons off a mix of donghua visuals + novel descriptions and my own applied fancies. While she did indeed live a lavish life as soon as her brother brought her into the Middle Court, it wasn’t necessarily a wholly idle one. She was described as “the bellwether of the Middle Court.” Out and about, doing this and that. Softened arms and legs would shape up despite her not needing them to— she’s always been the type to do what wasn’t asked of her, to go gallivanting about and push her freedom to its limits. Eventually it would show in her physical build. But she’s not known as The Young Lord Pouring Wine for nothing. Her perfectly flat stomach softens, hips no longer all sharp edges, cheeks round once again.

As a goddess, she doesn’t change much about her build. Everything feels perfect. Hourglass figure accentuated with more curve rather than cinched at the ribs and waist, arms and legs sitting pretty on the line of elegantly toned and full. There’s a little thrill of joy for her every time she moves a certain way and a fold of fat nestles along her waistline, feels the weight of her well-endowed chest pressing snugly against her hanfu, notices the way her inner robes sometimes cling to the curve of hip or thigh or stomach. Her body is most like home regardless of form when it meets her standards and not what's expected of her— it’s a hallmark of safety and happiness, and though she doesn’t quite understand it, the perceived femininity she craves.

Bonus -- post BW arc, she's back to being a reed; gaunt and hollow from shock and the demands of being a no-name beggar and wanderer. There's no trace of that elegant, lavish Wind Master. But it is still her, and she has learned to love the body that was always meant for her. That's not to say she doesn't miss how safety and abundance settled on her frame in ways she would dream of as a longing, terror-stricken child. She's making peace with the fact it never belonged to her, and it was a blessing unearned that she was afforded the privilege as Lady Qingxuan rather than just Feng. Ask her if she's still pretty, she'll say yes with a wink.

[firewoodfigs]

It’s so surreal to think that, just a little less than four months ago, I was so desperate to live and work in London—even if that meant having to be away from my beloved. I worked in a London-based firm previously and was genuinely under the belief that that was the natural trajectory; that I needed to bite the bullet and take the opportunity to move to Dubai as proposed and build my stepping stones out of desert sand, that I needed to move in order to grow and be happy, and so on and so forth.

And then one day this earth-shattering epiphany descended on me like bricks: moving abroad isn’t going to bring me happiness if I’m still going to be slogging it out in a crummy office and working 14-hour days. Living that sort of life isn’t going to inspire me regardless. And, you know, I’d thought maybe it was a cultural thing, but if anything it’s more industry-specific. It really is the same everywhere, if not worse. These days it’s just all about trading time for money. Some days are genuinely so enervating you question your entire existence and feel like you’re physically dissociating from your body, and when you do get a day off you’re too tired to do anything else apart from catch up on sleep. Other days are slower, riddled with guilt—constantly feeling like you’re not doing enough to prove your worth in salt. And when I really take a step back to scrutinise it all objectively, what I want isn’t necessarily to work abroad. What I want is to live abroad; to relish in and be inspired by the novelty of it all. To meet new people and connect with them on a deeper level as friends, not “connections”. To run away from everything.

Then I paused in my tracks and realised I was going in circles, misled by the various voices around me like a dog on a leash. And I concluded—staying put is fine. I’ve still got a long way to go. I’ve still got time, I think, to figure it out. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

And yes, London was lovely, and I miss it dearly—at least when I was there as a tourist. I’m not so sure the sentiment would remain if I was working and living there and required to pay 40% of my income in taxes. Anywhere you go, capitalism just tries to crush your soul. That’s just how big cities work, I think. But these days I’ve been trying to collect smiles and words and kindness more than pennies—and truly, they’re worth its weight in gold.

[cinnatwo]

Start | Previous | Next (still to come) Blaine sat at his desk, scribbling furiously over a notebook. After months of silence Tenmai had picked up that darn signal again. The relief he had felt during that time was gone. He had to figure out a radio jammer, but it was hard to get supplies and remain undercover at the same time, and his attempts so far hadn’t worked. He was currently scribbling down some math, trying to figure out how strong the signal must be to be able to breach the defenses he currently had up. Tenmai hovered over his shoulder. “Apparently they stopped for so long because of some sort of incident where they lost their data. I just finished tracing the message. It’s from a completely different location.” “Mmmm.” Blaine narrowed his eyes and kept scribbling. Cinnamon would be devastated if they couldn’t watch tv anymore, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it and also block out bad things. There was still the VHS collection. Maybe they’d understand. “I still don’t see why you’re so worried. The broadcast is being sent out to every porygon, like a group email. They don’t know anything about you.” “But if they can contact you in any way, they could figure it out. Or somebody else could. I’m not going to risk it.” “Obnoxious child incoming.” “What?”

“dad dad DAD-” “Crud-” Blaine shoved his notebook into his desk drawer right before Cinnamon kicked open the door, holding up an egg above their head.

“DAD DAD DAD DAD!”

“KID KID KID KID!” Blaine stood up and clapped his hands over Cinnamon’s shoulders. “Calm down, you’re going to give your old man a heart attack!” Ash ran in, somehow panting and barking at the same time. “You too, Ketchup.” Cinnamon took a deep breath, then held out the egg, grinning with pride and excitement. “Look!” Blaine took the egg and looked it over. “Where did you find this?” “It was just sitting in the middle of the forest!” “Well, I hope you didn’t steal it from any poor momma.” 

“It looked super abandoned.” “Mmmm…” Blaine squinted at the egg. It seemed… off. He set it down on his desk. “Tenmai, can you scan this?” “Of course I can.” Tenmai rotated around the egg a few times. “Ok, maybe I can’t.” “Huh?” “It has the coloring of a sunflora egg, is the size of an abra egg, has the weight of a snover egg, and has energy readings off the charts. A little lower than the amount that is theorized for legendary pokemon eggs. I estimate somewhere around 5500 steps to hatch.” “Steps?” “Ah, yes! Pokemon eggs absorb kinetic energy to grow, hence the official measurement for incubation time is the number of steps it takes for an egg you are carrying with you to hatch.” “Ooooo…” Cinnamon picked up the egg and started walking in a circle. They were being surprisingly careful about it. “One, two, three, four, five-” “Hang on.” Blaine frowned. “I don’t like this. The egg is unnatural and could be dangerous.” Cinnamon hugged the egg close. “How could a baby be dangerous?” Blaine’s mind jumped to when Cinnamon was “born.” Giovanni hadn’t cared that it was a baby. He only cared if it was dangerous. And it could have very well been, if given the training. “Dad? You got that look on your face again.” Blaine shook the thoughts away. “Sorry. You’re right, as long as we raise the baby well, it won’t be dangerous. Do you think you can handle that responsibility?” Cinnamon puffed their chest out in determination. “Yes!” “Alright, it’s yours.” Cinnamon grinned and went back to walking. “Six, seven, eight, nine…” 

Start | Previous | Next (still to come)

[lazskum]

tee hee....wilson and charlie being s=mean to each other au

Wilson was bored.

This happened pretty often, as of recent. He sat on the nightmare throne and watched his friends go about their day, and sometimes he’d read. Whenever Charlie took over he’d immediately spend his free time focused on science.

Ah, Charlie.

She wasn’t someone…Wilson really liked, if he was honest. She was rude to him, and she chewed too loudly, and smelled like old perfume. But she was the only other person around anymore. “Higgusbury?” He hated when people used his last name, it reminded him of his parents. “What, Charlie?” She sighed. “Did you get the hounds in order?” Oh. He hated doing the hounds too, because he didn’t want to hurt his friends. Friends. The word was poison in his mind. But being on the throne for as long as he was meant that he had started to disconnect from them a little. “Hello? Earth to Higgusbury?” Charlie poked him gently in the forehead. He spluttered a little and flapped his hands at her. “Yeah- Yeah- I forgot. Sorry.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m getting fed up of all this daydreaming. You need to keep track of your tasks! We’re never going to be able to endure the survivors if you don’t pay attention to the stuff I tell you to.”

Wilson muttered some sort of insult and then walked off to organise the hounds. Charlie glared at him as he left, and then groaned quietly to herself. She was growing tired of the budding scientists…Insults. And failure to actually so what she asked. That was really what was annoyed her the most. She did somewhat enjoy his company. He reminded her of Maxwell a little, which wasn’t the best, but he was more like the younger Maxwell, which was better. Charlie sighed and started to move her hands, conjuring shadows. She wasn’t sure when she had picked up this little habit, but she had started to summon shadows that would comfort her. They would be in strange shapes and forms, with large mouths. They somewhat resembled the figures her mother would show her at bedtime, when she told her stories of demons and ogres. She smiled a little and watched as the shadows began to dance and perform at her leisure. Their bodies twisted and turned in ways that weren’t possible, and that was what made it so much better.

Quietly, Wilson watched Charlie from the other side of the room. He knew she thought he never noticed her habits, but he really did. Though it wasn’t his place to comment, he’d always found them beautiful. He shook his head and resumed his work. There was no time for that. As he continued he made a particularly foul pact of hounds, most of them ice or fire, with two Vargs instead of the usual one. A smirk came across him as he worked. This was delicious. He could imagine them now, running and trying to escape the hounds mouths, although it would be impossible to as they’d slowly lose every meat effigy and touchstone, and then-

Then what?

The thought stopped him in his tracks. He’d never…Thought about what happened then. He knew that they could turn into ghosts, and then that would make them able to repossess their corpses, but what if…None of them could be resurrected? What would be done then? His hands slowed their gestures. It was a curious thought. Would the game finally be over? Would he be able to rule over the constant with a new set of people? Maybe he could ask Charlie after she was finished with her shadow work. As for him, he grumbled a little and finished the hounds, setting them lose. It amused him to watch the survivors run about and try to get ready for the incoming waves. They’d never manage to escape every one. He puffed out his cheeks a little and looked over at Charlie. She was still making shadows. He made sure she was distracted and then started looking at a specific survivor he was interested in. He smiled a little and his eyes became half-lidded as he watched them run around.

Charlie groaned. She already knew what Wilson was doing before he could tell her that wasn’t what he was doing at all! He was just tracking the survivors! Whatever. She knew better. The shadow creatures danced and sung to her and she clapped her hands a little. It was nice to let out stress this way, watching them perform for her. None of the other survivors ever sung, or danced. She’d have to fix that somehow. Her mind wandered and she pinched her brows, waving for the shadows to disperse. Silently, they sulked off into the darkness to reform into inanimate shadows. It was nice to have company, but…She didn’t love that she had to share power over the constant with someone like Wilson.

It’s not like he was awful, far from it. But the nightmare fuel had definetly taken its toll on his moral compass and his general mind. Every new scientific creation was just used to torture the survivors and make their lives harder, and all his previous vices were made much more apparent and harder to ignore. For her of course, it was an indulgence in the fine arts and in theatre. For Wilson it was being an alcoholic and studying scientific expirements that tortured and hurt the participants. Then, as if it were a tumor, a question popped into her head.

Why do I have to put up with Wilson at all?

She perked up physically at the thought. That was true. Why did she have to deal with someone else holding a similar stake of power in the constant? She had always just assumed this was the way it had to be, with dual ownership over this place, but Maxwell did it alone. So what was to stop her? Moreover, she had been in darkness longer than little Wilson had. Slowly she started to pace, mulling over her options. She couldn’t simply kick him out because he still held half the power over the constant and they would wage war against each other, which would disrupt the flow of the Constants environment. Encouraging him out of it wouldn’t work either; she had seen the unorthodox lust for sadisim he held in his eyes while he watched his friends be mauled or eaten or burnt. It was honestly the only real emotion she ever saw of him these days. And then, like a lightning strike, she knew that was it. If she could somehow force him out by taking his power from him, and then weakening his will by making the other survivors despise him-! Oh she had done it. This was perfect. Now how to go about it, she wasn’t sure. But she knew where to start.

Who better to ask than the man with the original book on the topic?

Rain poured down from the constants sky, wetting the remaining surviors outside. Maxwell groaned and covered his eyes from the small slit of sunlight peeking into his tent. "Damn light…" He grumbled and sat up, wiping his eyes. "Maxwell? We need to talk." He watched as the small slit slowly became covered by darkness, and Charlie formed infront of him. "Hello, Charlie. Come for the book again, I suppose?" She rolled her eyes. "Why would you think that I would come for any other reason? I'd take that dammned book from you and use it for myself, if it didn't refuse to let me." He reluctantly handed her the book. It opened and let her turn each page while she skimmed across the chapters, though the pages were oddly heavy to turn. “So, what have you been up to, Maxwell? Going over the same nonsense and hoping it produces an answer?” He frowned and picked off some lint that adorned his jacket. “It would be wrong if I told you that I haven’t been doing that, but it wouldn’t be entirely correct.” She smiled a little at his response. “Nothing I wouldn’t expect from my favourite survivor.” He snorted. “I know you’re not telling the truth, Charlie. Wilson’s your favourite little pet now, isn’t he?” Her eye twitched a little and she stared at a page for a little longer than was nessecary. “…Mm. I suppose you could call him that.” Maxwell chuckled. She continued to read without a response. "Oh, hit a nerve, I suppose? You always did used to pick favourites." She looked up at him briefly and scowled. Maxwell held up his hands and she went back to reading. After a few moments her expression softened as she has found what she wanted. "Perfect." He peeked over the edge of the book and she shut it in his face, causing him to stumble a little. "Ah ah ah! No looking. I want what I do to be a surprise." He raised an eyebrow. "Your flair for the dramatic once again overshadows how much of an advantage you have." She scoffed and threw him the book which he caught and held it to his chest. "And your pathetic little hope that you may win is worse. Goodbye, Maxwell." And with that, she once again left, the darkness that covered his tent vanishing with her. He sighed, and left his tent. Surprisngly, on the other side was Wes. Maxwell had never understood the little mans insistence on his role as a mime, or how he wanted to wear makeup constantly. He mimed something. Charlie? Maxwell nodded and Wes looked a little sad, but comforted him by patting him on his back. "It's okay, Wes. It's no big deal." Wes shook his head. It is a big deal. You deserve better than her. Maxwell smiled. "Thank you. I think I should probably get something to eat." Wes nodded and walked away to find something to do. He watched and then made his way over to the crockpot, cooking some meatballs. Thoughts whirled through his mind as it rattled. What did Charlie mean? What was she trying to do with that page? He knew that Higgusbury hadn't been seen for months, either, and though the other survivors were bitter and refused to worry for him, Maxwell did. Because he knew what the Nightmare Throne did to a person. He looked around hastily. Wes had left the camp to go and get wood, and everyone else was working or collecting things. Inside the Codex Umbra, he flipped through to the page that was his diary. He read through the list.

Ingredients to talk with a survivor; 10 Batches of Nightmare Fuel 12 Beard Hairs 3 Moon Rocks 20 Monster Meat 4 Gears 3 Planks 1 Deerclops Eyeball

So far, he had completed almost all of the list. The last thing he needed was three more beard hairs, which he had been slowly collecting from rabbits with low sanity. It had been hard to consistently keep it low, but he was so close. The meatballs popped up and he took them, munching away at them while he continued to think about how to get to talk to Wilson. The only reason he really wanted to talk to Wilson because…Because he was worried about what would happen to Wilson. Something in the back of his mind was constantly thinking over how manipulative Charlie could be. She would certainly be able to make him do whatever she wanted, even if he didn't realise it. And with how often she was using his book these days- He dropped some sauce on the floor and realised he should finish eating before plotting to talk to Wilson. He grumbled and quickly finished, looking over his book again. He shut it and walked to the small army of rabbit traps, checking each of them and killing the random rabbits he found. Finally, he collected what he needed. A smile covered his face and he rushed back to camp. " Maxwell! Eh, what you up to in such a rush?" He slowly turned and saw Woodie. He was sweating and panting, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned. Maxwell rolled his eyes. Ugh, how ungentlemanly of him. "Just collecting beard hair, Woodie. Nothing special." He turned away again. "What for?" Maxwell groaned. "Stop asking me so many questions, Woodie. I have things to be doing." Retreating into his tent, he hid the items he would need for tonight. Lucky for him, it was going to be a new moon.

In Wilson’s hand was a glass of whiskey, ice squares swishing around while he sipped at it. He ran his hands through his hair and huffed out an annoyed sigh. The latest blueprints he’d been pouring over were just as confusing as the last ones. And the last ones. And the ones before that. And the other ones before that. They were all terrible. He watched the translucent cubes stand in the golden liquid, the small spot of light that was in the void reflecting into them as if it were a prisim. It seemed perfect, unlike himself. Maybe the shadows could tell him what to do. He didn’t want to deal with Charlie’s mocking tone, berating him for being so young, but he also didn’t entirely trust the darkness. It made him feel a way he only felt when he was completely blackout drunk, and he didn’t trust it. But…He needed this. Just one little tip. Wilson shut his eyes and stood up, beginning to concentrate. He heard a loud humming permeate the air. A loud gasp left his mouth and he fell backwards into the warm, soft darkness. He felt pleasure shoot through him, indescribably powerful and unstoppable. But this isn’t what he needed. He further concentrated and delved into the shadows, breathing heavy. Wilson opened his eyes and saw a glimmer of silver. He swam deeper, grabbing and reaching until he finally took what was his. What was rightfully his. When he opened his eyes again, he knew the little answer he was missing. The blueprints made sense now. He added in the component he wanted, Nitrate. It was so simple, since it was always overlooked, barely being used but for endothermic fires and salt licks. It was a little sad but not enough for him to csre once he finally assembled it. There. The first of six machines he had been working on. A smug grin covered his face and he took a sip of his whiskey, letting the flavours overwhelm his tongue. Charlie re entered and scowled at him. "And what are you doing, Higgusbury?" He snapped his head around and looked at her. "…Just something for the surviors to use." She walked over and looked at it. It was a small machine that he had made. Once she touched it, it slowly opened its metal exterior and unfurled wings that it used to fly. She turned and looked at Wilson, utterly confused. "What is this?" He sighs. "It's just a chest that flies. You can put stuff in it and it'll move above other survivors and enemies, which means your stuff will be okay." She stared at him. "That's ridiculous." He looked at her and glared. "Yeah, sure, Charlie." Wilson then turned it off and walked away to take a shower.

Maxwell grinned and held above his head the creation he made. It was horrible, but also fantastic. He had made sure to move far away to a forest that was nowhere near the camp, just to make sure nobody found him. From his pocket he took the Codex Umbra, and began to recite things in Latin. "Cum hoc loquar ad quemcumque uolo, magia et oculo magni cervi, utar eo ad videndum et loquar cui placeo, nunc interrogo antiquum; Umbra textoris, domine tenebrarum, rogo ut permittas me loqui homini quem vis videre, permitte mihi loqui Wilsono." While he spoke, Deerclops eye glowed and began to look around frantically, the moonrocks floating. It eventually dulled and showed an image of a bathroom. Maxwell was confused. Was this Wilsons old house? He decided to speak. "Hello, Wilson?" There was a small yelp and the shower went off. Wilson grabbed a towel from onto of the shower, wrapping it around himself before getting out. He peered and picked something up. Unfourtunately, Maxwell was much better versed than Wilson at using the weird communication device, and he had it pointed at the underneath of his chin and looked down. "Maxwell? Is that you?" He winced at the way Wilson was holding the camera. "Wilson, you should- Uh- Move the-" "Move what?" "…Nevermind, this is actually much funnier. Look, I need to know what's going on with you and Charlie." He rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Max, I'm not planning on dating her." "What? Why would I care about that? No, I think she's manipulating you." Wilson shrugged. "Nah, why would she? We work well together." "Do you ever wonder why she doesn't just keep the throne to herself? Why she keeps you around? Me and you both agree that she's strong enough to do whatever she wanted. She's been in shadows much longer than you, Wilson. All I ask is that you want to think about what she's been doing, and what she does. Be skeptical." He grunted. "I don't think I need to do anything like that. Charlies a little mean, sure, but she's nice enough. Better than I'm sure you were." Maxwell frowns "Wilson, I don't think you know what you're saying-" "No, of course I don't. Because I'm soooo much younger and inexpirenced compared to you. Just stop, because I know what you're planning, I know you want something, Max. You always do. I know how you used Charlie, and I'm not about to try go through that with you." "…" "…" "…" "…Now, how do I turn this thing off? And why is it an eyeball?" "Just poke it in the eye." Wilson did so, and Maxwell's own eye closed too. He stood there for a little longer next to the makeshift campfire. Then, he made a torch and started to walk back to camp.

[bittertarot]

Hi! I swear I’m not trying to spam requests but I accidentally forgot to add my sun sign to the first one. But my nickname is Swan, and I’m a Libra. I wanted an Idol new years wishes for me with Hyunjin, Lee Know, and Bangchan from Stray Kids. I spent my Christmas dragging others into Karaoke. Again, I’m so so sorry and I hope you’re well 🫶🏽

Hello, it's fine, don't worry about it! Karaoke sounds great! Now, let's figure this out; Stray Kids Members New Years Wishes for you? Hyunjin : *Ace of Wands Reversed, 4 of Pentacles Reversed, 9 of Wands Reversed* - Judging by Wands showing up twice, it seems Hyunjin wishes for you to focus on what you're passionate about and place all your willpower into making it come into fruition. - Pentacles showing up tells me Hyunjin wishes for you to focus on your financial status, your material aspects as well as embracing yourself, sensuality, earthly nature, developing yourself as a person. Ace = He wants you to focus on beginnings and the potential you have 4 = Focus on stability and applying that stability to your day-day life 9 = Focus on fulfilling yourself, getting inspiration from those around you or those that you admire, being less idealistic and more realistic. General Wishes; * Develop more hobbies to fill up the boredom/slump you're in * Become more passionate about your ideas, don't give up! * You're reaching burnout and are exhausted, try to find ways to balance your responsibilities without feeling too burdened * Be less stiny/possessive of your money, frugality is good, but excess of it can lead to disaster. Lee Know : *10 of Pentacles, Knight of Pentacles Reversed, Queen of Cups Reversed* - Due to Pentacles showing up twice, he's telling you to work more on your financial income, your money, etc. He wants you to focus on it, pay attention to it! It will be beneficial. - Cups is him seeming to wish for you to re-evaluate your relationships, how you feel about them. Whether it's friends, family, a partner, etc. Prioritise those closer to you and try to back away from those whom seem to negatively affect you. 10 = He wants you to complete a cycle of sorts? I keep hearing "final", something badly affecting you will come to an end this year. Knight = A messenger, maybe your FS/a romantic partner who will teach you valuable life lessons is on their way to you, masculine energy is here. Queen = Focus on embracing your feminine energy, let the divine feminine speak. Even if you're not a woman, it's okay to embrace that feminine nature hidden. General Wishes; * Focus on overcoming any insecurities, try to warm up to those who truly care about you and become less dependant on those who are not good for you! * Some sort of culmination of hard work or inheritance is on its way to you, use that to help build a legacy of something important to you. * Enjoy the sense of fulfilment you'll get from all your hard work soon * Don't be obsessive when it comes to work, look for rewards, don't work without rewards. Bang Chan : No cards came out. He just doesn't seem like he wants to talk, I'm sorry! That's all for this reading, thank you for joining me, I hope you have a wonderful year.