#btw got my degree finally

[madrabit]

Coming back out of my art block with this after not really drawing for a good while now ✨️🩷 he's a little star boi ⭐️

Also, between posting this here and on insta I hit my head real bad and almost got a concussion!

[simminglytimeladies]

A Pin-Up Poster? At This Hour??? IN MM???

Remember that one particular tired milkman from some indie game? My tism decided that this would be a good interest to focus on. Thanks!

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Vegetta heard that some members of the server are scared of him and he was like "Why? I'm not even a tryhard, I was the last person to get slime armor" and I'm like... Vegetta people are already scared of you, WHY would you respond to that with "But this isn't even 1% of my true power''

[blue-banditt]

hey brain can you please be stable for ONE DAY I beg of you I can't handle the never knowing my actual true feelings and opinions about things and feeling so dissociated from the person I was 15 min ago that I start questioning my existence

[quaranmine]

(Spoilers for the Fourth "Letters from the Outlook") Wait, so if Grian's hands are damaged, then does that mean he cannot go back to his drafting job anymore? What does he do instead when he does eventually regain some movement and dexterity to his hands?

I basically answered this in the chapter notes, which is just that I did not intend for him to have long-term damage that permanently affected his function in a massive way. That's why he has physical therapy and a compression garmet and in the scene he says his doctor is fairly confident it won't be forever. Yes, it will probably affect how fast he can go back to the job (but also his mental health is going to affect that too) and perhaps he'll have to rest his hands more often. But basically it wasn't my intention to keep him from being able to hold a pencil forever, so I don't see why he can't go back to drafting in a while. He just couldn't hold it during that still-fairly-early scene because he hadn't regained a lot of grip strength.

Also his days of drafting are numbered anyway—by the 90s, architects started to use AutoCAD for their work instead of manual drafting :)

[unlosts]

hi !!

i'm pretty sure it was me w the perfume request! (my brain is so scattered i barely remember what i asked for but!! i'm so so excited to read it when you're done <33) (btw i'm loving the spencer fics and i'm psyched for more, your writing is so beautiful 🥹🫶🏼)

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! It was exactly the one I lost. Hope you like it, I had a lot of fun with it 🫶🏼.

Also no one asked but I'm a firm believer that Hotch is a Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford guy, or he should be!

At exactly 9:18 the sound of the elevator opening interrupts the quiet morning, Aaron Hochner walks out heading briskly towards his office, coat over his shoulders and briefcase in hand, nodding in greeting to the rest of the team who collectively turn to stare at him with various degrees of confusion plastered on their faces. 

“I was about to call a S.W.A.T team,” Says Emily, stopping him in his tracks “again.” 

At that Hotch finally turns to face them, his usually pristine white shirt wrinkled like he had picked it off the floor that morning. 

“Excuse he?” He asks, brow arched. 

Derek lets out a laugh at this, languidly spinning his chair from side to side but before he can say anything JJ, ever the mediator, interrupts “You’re just not usually this late, we were starting to worry.”

“Yeah, cuz y’know you have a bad track record” Says Penelope with a grimace, she’s perched by Morgan's desk toying with a feathery pink pen while she talks.  

“They were worried, I just knew you were maybe having some fun for once” Derek chimes in with a smile, letting out a huff when Pen pokes his side with her pen. 

“There’s no need to make a scene out of it, I’m sure I've been late plenty of times before” He tries to say in a stern enough tone that they’ll hopefully drop the subject. 

It would be easy to classify it as merely teasing but Hotch knew the entire team worried about him, namely about his lack of a social life outside of work. And usually he would entertain their banter for longer but he really is late today and he can already feel the beginning of a headache forming. 

“Actually," Spencer adds without looking up from his paper“this year, you were only late three times, the last one being about two and a half months ago on July when you had a flat tire and had to wait for triple A”.

“Thank you for that, Spencer” Hotch says, shooting him a look.

“No problem”   

“Nothing happened, I just got stuck in a bad pile up on my way there and I was already cutting it close beforehand, so if you all could focus back on your files that would be great, we have to present our consults before 5 today” He says trying, and failing to regain a modicum of authority. 

Just when he thought that they had tired themselves out, the elevator opens up again and you spill out of it, carrying with you the floral scent of your perfume and a dazzling smile that spells nothing but trouble for him. The kind that makes him stay up until 2am in the middle of the week and turns what was meant to be a quick shower into a half hour delay. 

“Hello hello, sorry for being so late, there was a bad bad pile up on my way here” You speak without pausing once for breath, your heels click clacking on your way to your desk where you unceremoniously dump your coat and purse on top of your desk. Heading for the kitchen to brew a new pot of coffee. 

On your way there you playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair and wink at Pen, who can’t help but comment on your good mood “Well aren’t you happy this morning missy” 

You make eye contact with him for a split second and Hotch can feel his throat dry up, he always felt like you breathed life into any room you walked in, the sun patterns following your steps whenever you went. So it makes sense that even now in the middle of fall he feels something warm settle over him even with such a brief look. 

He thinks he’s been staring at you for hours when it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, by the time he snaps out of it he finds Emily regarding him with a quizzical eye and a smile that does nothing for his brewing headache. 

“Well, I’ve just been having a very nice week” You reply pointedly “even went and got myself a new perfume” He did, actually, but it’s not like you can say that. 

Seeing an out in the conversation he starts once more to go towards his office before he’s interrupted, once again, by one Emily Prentiss. 

“Huh” She says, pinning him down with a perfectly arched eyebrow

“What?” He asks exasperated, quickly losing his patience. 

“Aren’t you testy today?” She teases “I was just thinking about the fact that you both got stuck in traffic, despite coming from opposite sides of the city, that’s all” And with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders that’s anything but, she turns to work on her files. 

You pop out of the kitchen carrying with you two expertly done mugs of coffee, and even better timing, hastily sitting by Emily’s desk and leaving one mug in front of her. 

“I was hoping you could look over one of my cases with me? I’ve been stuck for ages and I could use a fresh set of eyes?” 

“So this is bribery coffee?”

“No, the bribe is the very nice bottle of red I have back at my place that’s all yours next girls night, the coffee is just because I’m a delight to be around” You reply grinning at her. 

Emily huffs a laugh and with everyone distracted Hotch finally makes his escape, shutting his office door and basking in the blissful quiet of his office. 

He spends the next hour and a half failing to fill expense reports, his mind wandering to your hair splayed on the pillows this morning; you staring up at him in the shower, a droplet of water running from the bridge of your nose to rest on your lip being kissed away by him. The exact dazzling smile from this morning but all his to keep.

The lost twenty minutes after dressing he spend with you pressed against the entrance door, your hands running over his back.  

With an hour left to go before lunch and a creek in his neck from leaning his head on his palm all morning he gives up and goes to get himself his second coffee of the day.

In the kitchenette right by the vending machine is his headache personified, getting herself a bag of skittles. 

While he makes his coffee Emily pauses next to him and extends the bag of candy in a silent offer that he declines with a shake of his head, right before leaving she says “I do love the new cologne, very summery fresh, but just a heads up, I do think she wears it better than you” 

[xi-xi-chen]

do you think you would ever eventually draw a grown up version of jinx, lux and isha? seeing all the headcanons about them made me start thinking about how lightcannon would handle isha through her teenage/young adult years,,,,, like half of it comes from my desire of wanting to see lightcannon's dynamic as they become a bit more mature and their trauma/hurt is less raw? (if that makes sense? like being able to see them as adults who have grown to be a bit more grounded and secure 🥹) and also wanting to see what isha would look/act like as she grows up bc ... she was robbed of that in canon 🥲🥲🥲

btw i don't mean this as a request or me pressuring u to draw them !! i just wanted to yap about them bc im in my lightcannon + isha sappy feels 🫠

(sidenote: do we have a name for the lightcannon + isha found family relationship?? they literally mean everything to me ☹️💕)

Aw, no problem, I've been wanting to get around to this anyway. I went back and did a rough character study and tried to keep as much of the same features in. However, I tried not to worry too much since this is essentially a transformation from child to semi-adult.

The inspo mostly came from my own hairstyle, I've got curls similar to Isha's at the top, but it strengthens at the ends and back. So with enough length, I sometimes put tiny braids in, so that's where this particular design comes from, of course, with some help of reference from chosen Pinterest images, too. I also wanted to leave Isha's imitation, I think she'd still want to copy Jinx's hairstyles once in a while and implement the same cuts on a smaller scale.

As far as maturity goes, I think they'd communicate pretty efficiently, but of course, to a degree for some needed independence once in a while and all that jazz. However, I imagine they'd also be a tightly knit together family, close enough that they'd want to always carry something around that reminds them of the other. I think for Isha, that's in the form of images and colors, so hair dye and accessories.

I see Jinx growing out her hair eventually, like a wolf cut style, because even I miss my long ass hair from way back when, but Iove the tapers, so a shaved side of the head would follow along. Lux would probably get the cut just shy of the chin and finally use hair dye for the first time. But I can't decide if she'd go as far as to get an undercut as well. I think Jinx would want some kind of trinket for them, so she'd probably go onto wearing piercings, and they'd follow the idea. So, yeah, just little things that represent one another.

These are just a very few rough drafts, I really wanted to draw them, so I'm glad you've shared your thoughts with me, it helped me push through to get something up and running.

(I don't know any new names

for the lightcannon+Isha 😔)

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Abby Anderson head-cannons/ relationship HC’s

An: this is like my modern Hc! Only the cannon in game apocalypse version

Tw: nsfw towards the end

Humble about her title in the WLF

Goes to the gym twice a day, once in the morning once at night plus gas break days once or twice a week

High Proteine girly

Knows Damn well that the gay girls at the WLF thirst over her

COUGH lesbian COUGH

Will keep Alice after hours sometimes just because

It’s literally cannon her and manny have competitions for who do what in the apartment

Is a perfectionist

If your in a relationship she’ll take you to the gym and make you try to lift her weights

Actually really likes to cook

If she wasn’t a solider she would of became a medic like her father

Has a shitty green thumb, can not keep a plant alive if her life depended on it

Speaks Spanish to a small degree bc of manny

Once her and manny had hooked up with the same girl — NOT TOGETHER I meant like Abby hooked up with someone THAT FUCKING SCIENTIST first then manny ended up hooking up with the same woman later on down the line.

Makes the worst jokes ever but ppl laugh bc their to scared to offend her

Street smart not book smart

When fall comes around mannys dad still celebrates dia de los Muertos, being that manny and Abby are close manny invited Abby one year to celebrate with them and they made an ofrenda for Abby’s father

Relationship wise she’s actually really caring

You and Abby met most likely in the WLF, whether it’s from you helping her on an assignment, nursing her to health in the infirmary or her helping you with the animals you two just met at the WLF while helping one another

You of-course had heard of Abby multiple times but you.. this was Abby’s first time meeting or hearing abt you and shit she knew she was heads over heels in the first moment you met

Abby spent months deciding over if you were actually into her or not — one night after you two got drunk together Abby confessed and one thing let to another you two decided to plan a date

Abby freaked out like actually leg shaking anxious breath worried if she would fuck up.

She did, the day of the date she had bailed on you due to being put on an imporant assigment by Isaac

After wards she found you had a small argument with you before finally kissing you

That’s how you two ended up together

(I’m writing a fic abt this btw wait for that coming soon 😈🙏🙏🙏🙏)

She’s the type to find you souvenirs while she’s out patrolling

Will make deals with the gardeners to get you a bouquet of flowers

Every Saturday she kicks manny out and sets up the apartment so you two can have a date, doesn’t matter if your fighting and not on speaking terms you two always have the date Abby makes sure, once you Didn’t show up and Abby actually picked you up- threw you over her shoulder and carried you to the apartment

Most ppl when they write smut for Abby is alays like she’s fucking the ever living daylights out of you and calling you names but personally I don’t think Abby would do that (not that’s there’s anything wrong with those fanfics I eat that shit up everytime)

I think Abby is more of a soft lover. She takes her time and whispers sweet nothings, she’ll tell you how perfect you are and how you were blessed by the goddess of love herself

She can get a little rough though, she’s the type to while nuckles deep into you she’ll praise you for how well your doing

She’s a switch, she loves to make you feel good but also wants to be told how much you love her and her body esp her muscles

Abby’s not submissive though it’s just not her style

Went into an abandoned mall once and found a Spencer’s that’s where she managed to find a strap on

She doesn’t really like to use it since in her opinion it takes away from the experience, she doesn’t really like the fact that you want to get off on something that isn’t her

Would never let you use the strap on her tho lmao

Once Owen had drunkly said something to insult you and Abby decked him right then and there mel and manny made her apologize the next day

Insanely protective of you like I said previously she would deck Owen for just insulting you (I also don’t like Owen bc he sucks for cheating on my babe Mel)

If you two argue which is rare Abby’s stubborn but after a while she’ll force you to talk to her. She’s also gonna make you come to an agreement with her and actually communicate how you feel

GODDAMN ABBYS ASS IS FAT sorry I’m watching the remastered version of tlou2 while writing this 😭

Abby’s heavy on communication like she refuses to let one of you go to bed angry

She swears that your the most beautiful person she’s ever met

Abby will go on rants about her dad and tell you silly stories

Your the most important person to Abby and she makes that very clear— if you do patrols she refuses to let you do dangerous patrols only east already cleared areas or only if your with her so she can protect you

Deep down Abby’s scared to loose you like she lost her dad

Every night before she lets you go back to your apartment to sleep or if your sleeping over Abby will give you soft kisses and tell you how much she loves you before letting you go

That’s its 😝

[dr-spectre]

Splatoon 2 Callie Explained - (In my interpretation)

So in this blog post I wanna go over what is going on with Callie in Splatoon 2 because there's a lot of misinformation being spread around due to how unclear the events of Splatoon 2 were. I'm going to provide my own thoughts into how the Hypnoshades actually affect Callie and clear up what hypnosis actually does to a person, because a lot of people think that Callie was kidnapped and then mind controlled but its actually a lot more complicated than that. I've done a ton of painstaking research into this so if you would like some sources to what I'm saying then I'll be happy to provide it in the comments below when asked!

Okay so first off we need to establish one thing right off the bat, no, Callie was not kidnapped in the sense that she was snatched up by DJ Octavio and then brainwashed while she was kicking and screaming trying to stop him. The idea that Callie was snatched up randomly is simply not to true due to the fact that the OFFICAL Splatoon 2 relationship chart states that Callie was willing to hear out DJ Octavio and go with him. Why? Because if you look at Sunken Scroll 21 and 22 in Splatoon 2, it gives insight into Callie's declining mental health as she struggles to put on a happy face as she walks through a huge crowd of people, as well as the fact that she drew a squid with a sad face on it in Sunken Scroll 22 which is a very clear giveaway that she isn't doing well. Also keep in mind Marie was busy with her own solo thing too and Callie even states in the relationship chart that she's busy and lonely. It also explains why Callie doesn't experience any sort of trauma, turmoil or resentment after Splatoon 2 because well, she wasn't kidnapped and the shades were not forcibly put on her. (Also in Squid Sister Stories chapter 7 there's an artwork piece of Callie walking towards DJ Octavio's star mark so there's that too....)

Now I want to get into how hypnosis actually affects a person and what being hypnotized is actually like. Being hypnotized is described as having "heightened attention, increased focus and heightened suggestibility." You do not get put to sleep and become a puppet as popular media shows it to be, but instead you are hyper aware of what is going on around you. It's also said to be highly relaxing and can help with patients who struggle with anxiety and other mental issues, which might explain why Callie kept putting the shades back on, she enjoys wearing them to some degree as it helps her deal with the pain of being a celebrity, kind of like an addiction but unfortunately Splatoon 2 doesn't explore it at all and Marie (CALLIE'S OWN GOD DAMN COUSIN BTW!) jokes about it..... ugh...... at least she overcomes that addiction OFF SCREEN unfortunately....

Now that part about "suggestibility" is important to consider because contrary to popular belief, you don't lose awareness and memories while you are hypnotized and the person who is in charge of hypnotizing you, CANNOT force you to do anything that's against your wishes and you do NOT lose control of your behavior. Meaning that on some level Callie actually wanted to side with the Octarians because her life beforehand was shitty. The shades do not control Callie but instead put her in a hypnotic state that relaxes her and increases her attention and suggestibility.

For example, if DJ Octavio were to tell Callie to kill Marie instead of Agent 4, she would probably have a ton of hesitation about it and probably not follow his orders. Callie doesn't want to kill Marie, but she doesn't care or know about Agent 4 and that's why she had no problems with following DJ Octavio's suggestions. She also didn't try to attack Marie during the final boss when she was flying around and she just wants Marie to leave her alone because guess what, she's suffering from mental health issues!!!!!! And her relationship with Marie got worse and worse overtime as shown with the Squid Sister Stories.

If you were hypnotized and then the person responsible of your hypnotism handed you a weapon and told you to kill your best friend, you wouldn't do it because it's against your wishes (unless you secretly wanna kill your best friend for some reason....)

With all of this information laid out, it actually does make Splatoon 2's admittedly mid story a bit more interesting, it shows that Callie does have these dark traits and flaws about her, and the Hypnoshades bring out the worst in her. The angry, power hungry and harsh side to her, that was even built up from Splatoon 1. If you look at the dialogue from the Naughty vs. Nice, Early Bird vs. Night Owl and Callie vs. Marie Splatfests, you can see that Callie actually got upset at Marie multiple times due to her attitude.

It really does make Tidal Rush more emotional and powerful as a song if you really think about it. It's a clashing of two cousins whose relationship has been broken apart and Marie is desperately trying to reach out to Callie and fix what she has done. Maybe Marie blames herself for why Callie ran away and that's why she sounds like she's on the brink of tears in the song.... And it makes Spicey Calamari Inkantation more triumphant as a song too.

It does make me a bit angry that Nintendo doesn't wanna dive into these topics as well as Callie. She is flawed and has dark traits about her but, she doesn't try to change or grow from them in any significant or well written way, its like they forgot about it in Splatoon 3 which.... sucks man. I'm hoping we get a Side Order type deal with the Squid Sisters for Splatoon 4 and we dive deeper into the psyches of these girls, because what we have is really interesting but it lacks explanation and nuance and everyone keeps boiling it down to "welp Callie got kidnapped and mind controlled!" Which... its more complex than that... With Agent 3 and Marina it's for sure mind control and i would like to talk about them in a future blog but, with Callie? It's different and there's a lot of layers a lot of people tend to ignore because Splatoon 2's story is just... meh.

[cherrycranes]

Gringo Boyfriend: Feliz Navidad (Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Fem!Reader Summary: You bring your american boyfriend Neil to your family home in Mexico to spend christmas (and keep it quiet when you wanna get freaky) Word count: 5,329 Contents: (Minors DNI). Reader is mexican and has a loving family. A LOT of mexican traditions and yapping. Oral sex (male receiving), orgasm denial. A pause between both sex scenes. P in v, protected sex, fingering, quiet sex. You do all of this in your parents' house btw. Author's notes: This fanfic is written in collaboration with my dear @honeydew-angel and is a part 2 of the Gringo boyfriend fic! Merry christmas babies!

The big light-up speaker one of your uncles had settled on a corner blasted songs from La Sonora Dinamita that barely covered the sounds of chatter and laughter. Introducing your gringo boyfriend to your family in Mexico was a success, despite the language barrier. 

Neil, "el gringo" or "el güero", as your relatives called him, was the novelty of the Christmas function this year. Everybody wanted to talk to him in varying degrees of English proficiency. Your cousins held perfectly fine convos with him, your older relatives tried their best. You could add "live translator" to your resume from that point forward.

He was real sweet, everybody charmed by both his attitude and, of course, his beautiful baby blue eyes. Your grandmother made him stop blinking for about a minute so she could admire the color up close and reminisce about a long dead relative of hers who also had blue eyes. Then Neil's eyeballs were immediately hit with the cool December night breeze again as your little cousins got curious about blue eyes too. He let them, picking the littlest one up so he could see them better.

For being such an angel, Neil got treated to delicious snacks. Chilli powder covered peanuts, bites of crunchy buñuelos and a small cup of creamy apple salad to not starve while awaiting for the main dinner. The prospect of having this every Christmas of his life from that point forward only reinforced Neil’s determination to wife you up one day. 

Once everyone had their time getting to know, admire, and tease your boyfriend, you pulled him away from your aunts and cousins to introduce him to the most important and special people in your life. You were nervous about how they would treat and like Neil. You knew your grandparents well; they were like second parents to you. This made you anxious about knowing their opinion of him.

You approached them in a little corner, somewhat isolated from all the noise and chatter. Neil quickly sensed that you were nervous, so he said he would go to the car to grab something. He had the excellent idea to bring little gifts for each of your relatives, one more significant than the other, since he didn’t know them very well yet but immediately knew what to give your grandparents—some DVDs of the most beloved and famous Pedro Infante movies, which your grandparents adore.

He returned with a small Christmas gift bag, and you assumed it had the classic 50s golden-era films. This seemed to calm you down since it was a perfect way for him to approach your grandparents. Holding Neil’s hand, you led him to sit next to them in that quiet corner. You let go of his hand to greet them with a kiss and a hug—how much you had missed them. Neil watched the heartwarming scene, feeling a bit awkward, unsure of what to do.

After asking them how they had been, you grabbed Neil’s hand and introduced him in Spanish. 

“Abuelitos, él es Neil, mi novio”. (‘Grandparents, this is Neil, my boyfriend.’) You said with a little embarrassment in your tone. Bringing Neil close, he tried to introduce himself in spanish. 

“Hola, m-mucho gusto, soy Neil”. (‘Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Neil.’) Your grandparents laughed a little seeing how nervous Neil was. 

They introduced themselves in Spanish, saying it was a pleasure to finally meet the man that everyone is talking about, while Neil, making a big effort to comprehend, just nodded with a big blush on his cheeks. You found it endearing how nervous he looked, with his cheeks turning red and the way he was trying so hard to understand.

Neil, taking the initiative, moved closer to your grandparents. With great effort and good memory, he repeated the words you had taught him the night before while you were cuddled in bed. 

"Es un pequeño regalo... p-para ustedes," (‘This is a little gift… F-for you.’) he said, struggling to find the words and with the pronunciation, his face full of both a shy smile and embarrassment. Your grandparents laughed and took the gift. You added that the idea for the gift had been Neil’s.

Your grandparents opened the small bag and found five DVDs of their favorite Pedro Infante movies inside. They were surprised, and your grandfather stood up and hugged Neil. Neil responded, now feeling more relaxed after seeing their positive reaction. Ya lo amaban.

"Muchas gracias, mija, qué bonito detalle de parte de ustedes dos, pero no creas que con esto me va a gustar tu güero, eh!!" (‘Thank you so much, sweetie, what a nice gift from you two. But don’t think that with this I’ll finally like your white guy, eh!’) Your grandfather’s comment made you laugh, while your grandmother rolled her eyes and told you not to listen to him. She hugged both you and Neil.

Neil, confused about what was happening, asked you what they had said. Feeling a little guilty for forgetting that he didn’t understand, you explained, and he just smiled. The four of you spent more time sitting together, catching up with your grandparents, and sharing a bit about how you and Neil met and how obsessed he had become with the old Mexican 50s golden cinema movies. You felt proud of that.

Neil felt at home. Knowing that the family of his beloved girlfriend already treated him like part of their own made him feel that he could get used to this.

When your grandparents’ attention was required towards different conversations, your little cousins, finding Neil just as likable as a new toy, came up to him to play. The sight of Neil picking them up, giving them piggy back rides and playing with them outside made your guts whine and beg. He was so patient, so fun, all the potential of being a good dad shining through and giving your insides a longing that did not care for time, money and your current life situation. 

“One baby, just one, please” they cried, volume intensifying at the sound of your boyfriend’s laughter and your little cousins’ overjoyment. You shushed your instincts as best as you could, nearly distracted from the general life conversation with an aunt, but ultimately, you failed. Your eyes always found their way to Neil playing with the kids and everything yours ached and yearned. And while you wouldn’t satisfy the nearly cavewoman-y need to have Neil’s babies right now as your own logical thinking got in the way, there were other things you could and would do.

You couldn't resist the urge of your own necessities as a woman, how could one have a straight face and suppose to feel nothing, watching a man both handsome and cute, treating children as his own? One could never! So you excused yourself with one of your aunts giving her a vague excuse of needing to show something to Neil. 

You made your way to the backyard, where Neil was playing with your little cousins. You just couldn't contain yourself anymore. Watching the way the kids adore him, it was driving you mad insane. So you told your little cousins Neil needed to do something really important, they nodded with a pout on their faces.

“¿Me prometes que vas a volver?” (Do you promise you’ll be back?) The littlest one asked him. Somehow Neil understood that and just nodded, saying “yes, I promise”. You grabbed him by the hand and gave him a mischievous look, guiding him to the upstairs bathroom, you were too clever to do all the depraved things in the downstairs guest bathroom.

Neil, oh, Neil, always a good boy, following you around without any doubt, doing whatever you want when you want it. Doing all the things he could possibly do to make and see you happy. Little does he know what was about to happen.

Once you made sure nobody followed and watched you enter the same bathroom with Neil. You furiously grabbed him by his ugly sweater and pushed him onto you with a passionate kiss. Neil couldn't contain the little whimper that escaped from his soft lips. The savageness with which you pulled him, already making him hard. He struggled to keep up with your needy pace, between kisses he managed to say something. 

“B-baby!,” another kiss. “Baby! W-we, we need to stop!” He opened his mouth, already full of desire, to catch a breath once you pulled apart from his now swollen lips to just look at him intensely into his eyes. This made him flinch. “Uhmm, I- your, I mean—y-your family will suspect where we are!” 

He was all red and flustered, struggling to find the words and maintain eye contact with you. Finding his stuttering a turn on, and the way his mouth heavy opened in search of air. You pulled his ugly sweater off the way and made your way to kiss his neck. You knew how your teasing little kisses excited him a little too much. 

You started by the crook of his neck. Alternating between going to his weak spot—the back of his neck, and going down. Provoking anytype of whimper and whine from him. Leaving a mark right beside his neck mole. How cruel of you. You were enjoying this a little too much. By the time passing, Neil was growing needy. He grabbed you by your hip and pushed you against the wall turning you around, he returned the teasing kisses to your neck. Trying to take off your matching ugly sweater, but you didn't let him. Instead you pushed him, again, into the sink counter. 

Taking his ugly sweater off, your hands making its way to caress and to leave a way of goosebumps throughout his chest. You focused a little too much on his sensitive nipples. You looked straight into his eyes and without hesitation you leaned and suckled one of his nipples. Neil felt like he was about to cum in his pants. You have never tried something like this before, but he sure liked it. He almost moaned by the sensation of your soft lips licking and teasing one of his nipples, he tried to hold back anytype of sound emitting from his lips. You pulled apart and whispered something into his ear. 

“Oh, amor, you have no idea what you did to me out there”. Neil felt like he would explode right there and then.

“Sweetie, I-I have no idea of what you're talking about”. You just giggled. 

One of your hands going down to touch his clothed crotch. This took Neil by surprise, he held back his whimper.

 “Oh!, sweetie, you better stop or someone will come for us”. You didn't respond, to focus on rubbing your hand against his hard clothed cock. Starting to unbuckle the belt, you fell onto your knees. Looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. 

“Hmmm, baby-y, come on, we can't, your famil-” you didn't let him finish his sentence, because you pulled out his cock and give the tip little love kisses. Tasting the sweet flavour of his precum. 

“Ohh, fuck, sweetie, that feels so good”. That gave you more motivation to continue and to lick and suck his thick and large cock like the most delicious mango with chamoy and miguelito ice cream. Neil made a fist with your hair and guided your head up and down at his own pace. 

“Hmm, baby. Come on sweet thing, don't stop.”

You were a mess, drooling down your own spit and sweating a little for the effort. You pulled out for breath, Neil whined and made you go back to aggressively suck his cock. You weren't planning on letting him cum. You  felt Neil twitch inside your warm mouth, that indicated you to pull apart. 

“Mmph! Oh! Sugar. I-I’m about to come. Please! Please don't stop!” He pouted, his mouth into an agape waiting for his silent release. And then you suddenly pulled apart. This seems to make Neil groan. Looking down at you with needy eyes.

“Baby! W-why did you stop?!”. With the same innocent doe eyed gaze and teasing look in your eyes. You stand up, cleaning all the drool you had left on your mouth. Neil was too confused and desperate. 

“What? I thought that was what you wanted after all, precioso.” You didn't even give him a chance to fight back, because you opened the door and walked away. Leaving him all needy, bothered and unsatisfied. You can't deny it though, you are dripping wet and your panties are soaked. You didn't focus on your pleasure, sure there will be more time for that…

You weren't aware of how long you had been over there just teasing and overstimulating your sweet needy boyfriend, when you came downstairs, you noticed how busy all your family was, putting everything into place, accommodating the expensive crockery and silverware on the table and getting everything ready to eat. You felt relieved for a moment, nobody noticed the large amount of time you two were gone.

Poor Neil and his hard cock had to stay extra time in the bathroom, little whimpers muffled by his lip bite as you nonchalantly helped your grandmother to set the table down for dinner. You smiled to yourself, bottles of apple cider and glass cups clinking against the table. Nearly a buffet of several dishes made by your mom, your grandma, your aunts and even your cousins presented in different styles of containers for everyone to choose from. 

“Neil! Amor!. Time for dinner!” You called out for him so innocently yet chuckling pure mischief out of your system. Reluctantly and tucked as best as he could under his pants and ugly matching sweater, Neil emerged from the bathroom. One of his hands rubbed the side of your arm with a clear cute complaint. You smiled and pretended to not understand, taking him to the table to now add “culinary expert guide” to your set of skills. 

One by one, you explained what the dishes were, some more familiar to him than others: turkey with stuffing, baked pork leg bathed in sauce, tamales, mixiotes, mashed potatoes, cabbage salad and creamy spaghetti, along with a variety of homemade salsas. 

Your guidance was meant to be a saving grace for his white guy palate. Whatever was too spicy for him was going to be a no, but Neil didn't want to look ungrateful. That was the story of the first time he experienced "enchilarse": getting overwhelmed by the spiciness and feeling like his tongue burnt.

“¿Qué le pasa al güero?” (‘What’s up with the white guy?’) An uncle asked with just the slightest bit of concern but mostly just amusement, swirling a styrofoam cup of hot fruit punch in his hand.

“Se enchiló.” (‘He got overwhelmed by the spiciness’), you explained just as calmly, with Neil trying his best to act brave and downing his second glass of ice cold coke. 

Your uncle laughed and went his way, leaving you two alone for less than a minute. Neil had not yet recovered from the fire on his tongue when one of your aunts called you both over, a colorful star piñata on her arms and a pack of cousins urging you on.

“So… When it’s your turn, what you’re gonna do is grab that broomstick and hit the piñata with all your pent up rage, baby. Easy!” You explained, guiding Neil by the hand. Your tallest uncle worked the pulley system out in the yard, crepe paper of all the color spectrum dangling and flicking over.

“Don’t you have to be blindfolded for this?” Neil asked, his source, as usual, being the movies.

“Ehh…. Some people do it but, honestly, knowing my cousins… It’s not a good idea…” You grimaced, visions of flying broomsticks and accidental hits filling your head before you shook them all off. 

“Anyways! We sing this song every time somebody comes to hit it. Just… Clap your hands for now…” You smiled, granting him some mercy. Your poor gringo barely knew a few words in Spanish, how would you ask him to sing a whole song? 

“Yeah, babe. Don’t worry. In no time I’ll even be singing rancheras.” Neil smirked, that sweet lovely smirk of his that made your knees weak. You chuckled, where did he learn that from? Probably from one of the many golden era Mexican movies he had watched ever since he first met you. You leaned closer, placing a loving peck on his rosy lips. He hummed in delight, adoration coursing through the veins of his hands that cupped your beautiful face. Suddenly, an auntie patted you on the back.

“¡Déjense ahí, que ya van a partir la piñata!” (‘Knock it off, they’re gonna break the piñata!’) Your aunt exclaimed, your youngest cousin holding a paper decorated broomstick with the help of his mom. Settling with Neil by the sidelines, the whole “dale, dale, dale, no pierdas el tino” chant started, with your boyfriend so graciously marking the beats. 

Organized by age, your younger relatives took turns hitting the piñata, some just grazing it, some knocking whole sections off its structure and making them hit the ground. During your turn, Neil cheered as if you were running an olympic marathon. Sweet on his behalf, although the damage done to the piñata was rather minimal for its dying state. It needed a mercy blow from a guy with strong arms… and pretty blue eyes.

Your family cheered for “el güero”, Neil took the broomstick with charming awkwardness and gave it a tentative blow before hitting the cardboard with a loud thud. 

“Yeah, baby!” You cheered in between chants, Neil’s softball experience shining through with his final blow. Candies of all kinds, pieces of paper and cardboard flew all over the yard in a longed-for rain. Everybody, even your family members who didn’t even take a turn to hit the piñata, rushed to pick something off the floor. Neil’s big hands cradled fistfuls of bubblegum, lollipops, and chocolates that would go straight to one of the cones from the piñata that you rescued from the ground to use as a makeshift goodie bag. 

When everybody’s hunt for candy ended and after a second piñata was brought over the pulley system, Neil found his new title as the piñata finisher of your family from that point forward. A new good amount of candy filled your colorful cone. Neil, being a gentleman, gave you everything he picked up. 

After everyone had fun with the piñata and your younger cousins were fighting over who got the most candy, it was time for the most special and intimate moment as a family: opening the gifts! You had a tradition—after dinner and breaking the piñata, it was usually around 1 or 2 in the morning. That meant it was no longer Christmas Eve but officially Christmas. Time for the presents.

Of course, the youngest ones in the family didn’t waste any time. They rushed to the Christmas tree, eagerly searching for gifts with their names on them. Once they found them, your uncles and aunts took pictures of the huge smiles on their faces when they saw they had received what they wanted.

Then it was time for the adults! The tradition was to start with the youngest and work up to the oldest. A few of your younger cousins went first, their faces lighting up with big smiles as they unwrapped the thoughtful gifts they’d been given. Then it was your turn—and Neil’s.

Neil had the idea to start by giving out the gifts you had brought from the U.S. Naturally, everyone was curious and excited to see what you had brought. Neil, frustrated by his inability to communicate in Spanish, left the talking to you. He stood firmly by your side, holding your hand tightly, as if he thought you might run away.

"Familia, Neil y yo pensamos en cada uno de ustedes y trajimos regalos para todos, espero que les gusten!" (Family, Neil and I thought about each one of you and brought you gifts for everybody, I hope you like them!) You said, a huge smile on your face. Neil was captivated watching how happy you were being with your family. It made him want to be part of it forever.

Neil started handing out the gift bags and boxes to your family. Occasionally, he mixed up the names, but you were always there by his side to help him. When everyone began unwrapping their gifts one by one, the room was filled with laughter and exclamations: "Se la rifaron, prima," "Gracias, güero y prima!" "¿Cómo lo supieron?" "¡Está chidísimo, gracias, mija!" along with the sound of wrapping paper being torn open.

Watching your family so happy and united again made you wish you hadn’t been away for so long. Neil sat beside you, watching your relatives’ joyful reactions. As usual, he didn’t understand a word, but seeing you smile and your family so content was more than enough for him. Neil truly felt like part of your family.

After the excitement of the gifts brought from the U.S., it was the adults’ turn to open their presents. You couldn’t have been happier in those moments—your wonderful boyfriend was right there with you, and your family was having such a great time! And now, it seemed like your entire family adored him.

You felt overwhelmingly grateful and happy for this beautiful Christmas gift—true joy.

After everyone had shown off their gifts and shared their happiness at what they received for Christmas, it was time to dance. Of course, as good Mexicans, everyone hit the floor to dance to the rhythm of classic cumbias from Los Ángeles Azules or La Sonora Dinamita. Watching everyone dance made you want to pull Neil onto the dance floor.

He, reading your thoughts, stood up and reached for your hand. God, you truly loved the courage he showed at times like this.

"Baby, are you sure you know how to dance this?" you teased him.

"Of course, mi amor. At least I can try! Besides, I can’t be the only one not dancing with his beautiful girlfriend here!" The way he called you mi amor made butterflies flutter in your stomach like you were a 16-year-old girl again. You nodded and giggled.

You led the dance, and surprisingly, Neil matched your steps and the rhythm of the music effortlessly. It was almost as if he had been practicing—had he? You couldn’t help but wonder. Lately, he had improved so much, and it caught you off guard.

You were even more surprised when he danced to banda, salsa, merengue, and even the traditional songs at every Mexican party, like El Payaso del Rodeo. He didn’t stop there; he joined in on the most popular reggaeton hits, hyping up the party even more. You had no idea how Neil managed to keep up with so much dancing, singing, and chaos. It was clear he loved Mexican parties—and you loved him even more for it.

Later, the karaoke session began. When the most emotional songs started playing, your cousins and aunts grabbed the microphones to sing their hearts out. The songs ranged from salsa to Tex-Mex, banda, and even reggaeton.

By 5 a.m., the youngest kids were fast asleep on two chairs pushed together, wrapped in a blanket. Your cousins, however, were more alive than ever, while the adults were starting to give in to exhaustion.

Everyone finally agreed it was time to sleep. Exhausted, sweaty, and worn out from all the dancing and singing, they were eager to rest. The next day would be just as special—reheating Christmas dinner and spending more time with the family.

The bed distribution of the house was simple, you’d stay in your bedroom with Neil because, in all honesty, your parents were not naive and you two were adults. Neil sighed all the activities of the night away, throwing himself on your bed and bouncing over the cushions. You chuckled, throwing yourself by his side too.

“Did you have fun, love?” You asked with comforting enthusiasm, your arm coming to rest on his chest.

“It was nearly the best Christmas of my life, baby.” Neil whispered, his head turning to gaze into your eyes.

“Nearly??” You rose, an eyebrow curved and a play-pretend offence plastered all over your face.

“Yeah.” He just said, a chuckle hidden in the curve of his lips.

“But why, love?” You whined, leaning over him face to face.

“Because… my girl here decided to tease me and leave me all alone to jerk off in my in-laws’ bathroom like a horny highschooler…” He murmured, cupping your face lovingly but firmly.

“... Can I make it up to you?....” You tested every word out like they were brand new, the neglected dampness of your pussy coming back with fury. To make the statement clear, you took hold of your ugly sweater and tossed it aside, your lacy bra looking right at him. Neil’s expression softened, his mouth went dry. Once again, he was dumbfounded by you. 

“Oh, baby… But won’t they he-” Right away, you devoured the rest of the sentence off his mouth. Sweet traces of candy and cider mixing in both tongues, yours was needy, painfully slow. 

“We’ll be quiet…” You murmured against his plump rosy lips, not resisting the temptation of kissing them again. Tentatively, he rose, the kiss intact. He palmed the back of his jeans in search of something, you sat on your knees and took hold of what he presented to you: his opened wallet, a golden wrapper shining with the filtered moonlight from the curtains.

“As quiet as we can…” You corrected with a grin, the sound of the wrapper stupidly loud in the silent night. Neil hurried up, jeans and boxers down, his cock hard again and seeking you after everything you teased him with. 

Swiftly and well used to this, your hand took the condom and slid it down his aching dick. Neil´s lip stung with the sharp bite of his canine, his hands magnetically attracted to the clasp of your bra. He fumbled, you giggled, easing him with a kiss, anxiety at being heard, the possibility of your parents’ judgement and the pent up desire he felt for you manifesting in the nerve endings of his hands. Finally, he managed, pretty lace tossed into an unknown spot. Your pretty tits did not even have a second to feel the bedroom air when Neil’s hungry mouth stuck to one nipple.

“Neil…” A soft, breathy whisper that would not make it past the bricks, spackle and coats of paint that surrounded you. For Neil’s ears only. His crooked bottom tooth grazed the sensitive flesh, a soft suck to his defined shoulder silencing the louder reaction it got from you.

He sucked fervently, having to open his mouth to let your nipple go without a loud pop. Right away, he searched for the other one, sending shivers down your spine and into your soaked pussy. On instinct, you shifted, the denim around you burning your skin from just how aware you were of its uselessness. Neil resented your absence as you stood up to undress but quickly, the feeling of the rest of his clothes weighed heavy. Soon you were back on top, both fully naked and your dripping pussy looming over the tip of his dick.

“Baby…” He started, your lips shushing him off right away and capturing his low groan when you took hold of his hard latex clad cock.

After a few pumps, you pressed the tip to your wet entrance and sank ever so slowly. Neil fought everything in him to keep it quiet. Your tightness, your warmth, your sweet body… He was done for.

Slowly and quietly, you took him for a ride, his hands grabbed you hips tightly, holding onto you for support. In your thoughts, as you started to pick up the pace and you pussy took him in deeper, you thanked whoever manufactured both your bed and your mattress for unknowingly making them so quiet. You relaxed after a roll of your hips tested just how loud this bed could get, not much, as long as you didn’t fuck him like you wanted him to die on the spot.

Neil swallowed thickly, the veins of his cock pumping madly. He throbbed inside you, you clenched around him and then steadied the pace, gentle enough to not make the bed creak loudly, fast enough to make your tits bounce.

His hands cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples with the same speed you rolled your hips at. He tested a move, bucking his hips and sending his cock deeper in your tight cunt. It was now your turn to muffle out a moan.

It was pathetic to Neil, but after what you did in the bathroom, he was not in conditions to last long, pressure already building up in his balls the more you bounced on him and throbbed around his cock. 

Sneaking out, a moan from him made your quick hands cover his mouth before the rest could resonate within your room. Neil’s baby blue eyes squinted in an apology, you kept riding, accepting it.

Your hips kept rolling, your pussy kept squeezing him so stickily, Neil gripped your hips in need and over all, desperation. His hips kept bucking with some minimal wooden creaking from your bed. He felt everything around his thick cock sizzle and, before he could warn you with a sound muffled by the palm of your hand, a hot spurt of cum filled the condom.

He shut his eyes, his lips pressing against your palm and almost burning his print on it from just how hard he did it. His hips bucked, you bounced on him more, your greedy pussy forgetting for a moment about the condom and eagerly milking him dry. His nails left crescent moons on your hips.

Your cunt nested him for a while, his hot breath tickling the skin of your hand. It was then when, in the serenity of his post-orgasmic bliss and your still not satisfied but content state, Neil caught you by surprise. With a hidden supply of stamina, Neil flipped you over, the bed gently grunting beneath you.

“I should leave you like this…” He groaned into your neck, placing a kiss on the skin there before lifting himself off. A well deserved revenge from the bathroom incident. You whined, your pussy fluttering and begging for more, so close yet so far from an orgasm that he could easily deny you like you denied him. 

And he would, if he had an ounce of cockiness or mischief or the stupidity that would allow a man to have such a beautiful girl like you and just decide not fully please her. But he wasn’t like that. Your sweet, adoring, whipped Neil couldn’t even house the thought in his head for more than a few seconds.

So, he killed you with kindness, giving you a loving kiss and snaking his hand towards your long ignored clit. You moaned, Neil kissed you deeper. The perfect ebbing electricity of his touch made your body tremble. 

“Neil…” You whimpered into his mouth, his guitar scars adding a rougher edge to your sensitive flesh. Neil circled your clit faster, your own slick easing this. Your sweet pussy clenched around nothing right before a finger fixed that problem.

His touch was so certain, so good. Neil did not stop once, he didn't leave you hanging. His finger pumping your tight warm pussy, his thumb circling your clit until your toes curled over the duvet and your cunt fluttered on its own. A second finger came into the scene to stretch you open the curl inside you. You whimpered as quietly as you could, and before you knew it, you had to bite onto his shoulder to muffle out your cry of pleasure.

Neil helped you through your orgasm and guided you along so lovingly, so patiently, even with the sting on his flesh. At the end, he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean with a gentle groan, nuzzling against you in a loving embrace, confirming what you already knew: this was the best Christmas of your life.

Pinterest moodboard to help you visualize a mexican christmas!

[ghouldtime]

*slides into the DMS*

S O. What does social anxiety for König look like through your fantastic characterization then? 👀

(Love your Alone operator series btw. Got me on the edge of my seat with each chapter!!)

(Thank you!! 💚💚💚 I'm so glad you're enjoying :D you all have been so so sweet with it and Im over the MOON so many people have liked it)

To answer this question I'm going to have to be a biiig yapper and explain why I think of him the way I do

Going to say this to start, but I'm going with the true fact that König is indeed diagnosed with social anxiety - anything else I'm saying is based off of my personal interpretation of how he acts in game as a disclaimer

I'm also going to state that personally, the König I write is in his lower to mid 40's. Sorry not sorry, I don't see him as a young dude. Especially not when it's pretty much agreed upon that he's a colonel. So he's had a SIGNIFICANT amount of life experience, and a significant amount of time to work on himself and have introspection.

To me, it makes the most sense that he was diagnosed with social anxiety earlier on in his childhood since it was significantly more obvious when he was younger. Something that severe wasn't unnoticed by those around him because some of them did care about him. It's also stated he's suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life so that's how I took it.

I personally go with he grew up in a more rural town in his homeland of Austria, which meant there weren't exactly others around during the first few years. "Go play with the neighbors kids" didn't really work when there weren't neighbors around. It was mainly him and his parents and an occasional relative over.

What could be brushed off as initial shyness clearly couldn't be anymore when he finally was enrolled in school.

Even on the first day when it's "introduce yourself to everyone", he fucked that up so monumentally it'll be engraved forever in his hall of shameful memories that he thinks about late at night. School was an utter nightmare, quite frankly, from moment one. The whole situation was too much, too stressful, and too different from the life he had at home. He flat out refused to get up and present in front of the class and wouldn't talk in group projects just for the fear of embarrassing himself. At that time, he was hitting all the indicators for social anxiety like they're the targets he shoots at today.

He missed out on a lot of interaction with other kids initially because of how awkward he was - and having any form of anxiety never helps in social situations. Talking to others wasn't something that came naturally and his own panic amplified it tenfold. Most times, he'd either pretend he didn't hear them, avoid them, or stray as far to the edge of the group as possible to avoid it. Unfortunately this made him an easy target because kids are RUTHLESS and turned him into even more outcast as well which only worsened it.

School always sucked for him due to that, despite the fact that he was a smart kid. No amount of smarts could save you from social persecution when you had nearly no social skills to boot. [ side note but I'm dying on the hill that he's incredibly intelligent and has a bachelors degree (at the very least)].

His parents kept him in therapy to help him manage because without it, he'd be back at square one refusing to go to school and faking a cold just to get out of it. And of course, therapy is a very important tool when it comes to healing, coping, and managing severe mental disorders. The whole reason why he doesn't show such bad anxiety anymore is because he kept the skills he learned and applies them so much that it becomes his second nature.

He's had at least 35 years of this, he's good enough to mask and to keep up his facade.

Another part of why he doesn't show it nearly as much is because he joined the military and was thrown through the wringer with it. Being bullied for so long was a major motivator for joining in the first place, as he needed something to get away from the peers who tormented him so and he needed a new life where he wasn't known as target #1. But he ALSO wanted to gain actual confidence and more certainty in himself.

Joining the military really means you're not left with such things as many choices when it comes to anxiety in social situations. You're forced into quarters with others, have to work side-by-side, do nearly everything together, so on and so forth. He knew that going in but at that point for him it was like extreme exposure therapy, the last step he needed to really put everything he learned in therapy to work.

That doesn't mean he didn't suffer or loved it. No, it was terrible, intense, and nerve-wracking. But he wouldn't have done it otherwise if he didn't want that. Being in the military didn't give him the leeway to avoid what made him anxious, it taught him to face it head on and fight.

Now that he's up there in age and has considerable more experience (and leeway with having a higher rank), the ways he expresses it [look at me finally answering the question] are more subtle.

On the field, you're likely not going to notice it. Because that's him turning the little auto pilot switch in his mind to on when he has a job. The job is his focus and everything has been so engrained in his mind that it's muscle memory. He's, quite frankly, focused on not dying and getting any job done over himself. The joking you often hear him do and taunting alike is part of how he's expressing the confidence he feels when he's in his element, when he KNOWS what he is doing.

If you look closely or approach him off the field, however, it's another story. He usually tenses or straightens himself out when people approach and will hold that until they leave (unless they're someone who he truly knows). Many assume that's a taught habit of the military, but that's only half-true. He did that before then.

Unlike when he's working, he doesn't have a guide or things he knows he has to do in a specific order to best ensure survival - no matter how much talking to other people feels like the heat of the battle, you can't (legally) solve it with a gun or throw a frag and book it out of there. There's no true guide to social interactions and that stresses him out. There's no manual, no field guide, no ten step card on how to successfully navigate them.

He knows things that are normal to say, he knows sometimes what he should say - it's just a matter of finding the phrasing and how to say them. Yet it seems like whenever someone doesn't follow his pre-programmed line of thought when it comes to their talking, his mind can shut down and go blank as he stares, trying to figure out where to go or what to say (spoiler: it usually doesn't end well).

He's usually awkward to talk to because he's running over everything in his head as he tries to think of what best to say to avoid further interactions or ones that could be more targeting to him. And, as mentioned, he lacks the average set of social skills that plenty learn in childhood because he didn't have that proper socialization. He's also still not the best at talking itself and can be blunt and to-the-point, which also doesn't usually go down well.

Not to mention, he's bad at small talk and has a terrible, sarcastic sense of humor that many can't read and it quickly turns things uncomfortable very fast because everyone takes him seriously. It never helps he usually doesn't explain himself all too well, usually leaving it as is as he secretly wishes he didn't talk at all when mortification sets in. Hurrying away with an excuse of some paperwork or something else to busy himself is his go-to after those.

When possible, he'll avoid small-talk and greatly prefers gestures instead. Someone who can appreciate his greater need for silence and a lack of talking is someone who he will greatly appreciate in turn. He's a firm believer that not all silences are uncomfortable and sometimes, it IS best not to say anything at all.

Due to his childhood too, he's not really fond of being around many people and will do his best to avoid it. Unless he has to grin and bare it, he won't. He finds his mind calmest when he can just be himself without having to worry about saying the right things to appease others or to be friendly. That way he can focus on what he wants, think how he wants, and feels how he wants without second guessing himself or having to worry about existing.

He's going to avoid most public settings when possible. Though he can now suitably manage his anxiety, they're something he passes up on. Grocery store trips are something he does maybe once a week or two, if that - stock piling so he has to go to the store less is his usual strategy. Anything he can do himself, he WILL do himself, if he doesn't have a trusted person who can do it better or can help.

Notably, he also doesn't have many friends. He's like talking to a brick wall and unless you're considerably persistent and understanding of his need for space, you won't get far. A lot of people don't have the time nor patience for it, but if you do get close to him, he does come out of his shell. He appreciates anyone who cares enough to actually get close to him and get to know him despite how awkward he can be, and will be loyal to the end because of that.

Another side effect is that he doesn't sleep well. Between the massive amounts of trauma from his job and the trauma from his childhood, he doesn't sleep well as is. But the social anxiety aspect comes into play because many nights, his mind is rerunning all the interactions he's had as he chronically overthinks them. He always wonders what he could've done, how he could've improved, and what they're thinking of him (even if they're someone he may never run into again). Its very hard for him to shut his mind off and doing such usually requires him drowning everything else and making himself not think about that, or anything, any more.

[Another side note: He's an avid reader. Reading gives him new things to think about and can help put him to sleep, especially before bed. It's a good way for him to stop thinking about whatever was nagging him and shifts his mind into thinking about other things he enjoys instead)

Basically, IN SHORT this isn't my full in-depth detailed characterization of exactly who I think he is - the reason he's not presenting it as an anxious ball of pure energy who is so uwu shy and soft is because he is incredibly well-managed with his severe social anxiety at his age and that's uh, just not him. Social anxiety doesn't mean he's a blubbering mess or will cry at the slightest inconvenience and reducing him to that or treating anyone with social anxiety like they're a child because of it does not help at alllll.

He's had extensive therapy for this, he's got his methods, he can mask very well. He's a WHOLE GROWN MAN who is responsible for not only his actions but how he manages his emotions and he knows it. But if you know him and know what to look for, you'll be able to pick it up.

(Also the sheer amount of scenarios I've seen where people think he just would... cry if you took his mask off??? Him???? HIM???? König, "I can make you talk, where are they?" the skilled PMC operator? That one? That guy? Yeah no, anyone dumb enough to do that better have signed their will prior or hopefully has an intensive love for scrubbing all the floors with a single old toothbrush. He won't tolerate people harassing or hustling him or pressing on his nerves. Sure, it reminds him of his childhood bullies, but quite frankly that behavior as grown adults trying that is RIDICULOUS, it pisses him off and immediately lowers his opinion on them.)

To whoever made it this far, I hope this made sense, I took melatonin before I got the ask so I'm in another realm right now LMAO. König is one of my favorites and was the first character I realllly really loved and I just hate seeing him done so dirty. Especially as someone with severe social anxiety myself, it irritates me when it's portrayed just so... wrong and quite frankly, in a lazy, offensive manner lacking any nuance especially in relation to the character who has it. Like just making him stutter and cry isn't all social anxiety is and there's SO much depth and things to work with despite the... actual substance as far as his bio goes

[cozymoko]

You wanted requests, right? So what if it was the other way around? Yandere Siyun Baek having to take care of his girlfriend that got sick?

(I hope this requests isn't too boring, love your blog btw ❤❤)

SIYUN BAEK WITH A SICK S/O

Manhwa: “Dreaming Freedom” ~~~~!

Note: Its perfect! Thank you for requesting! Also thank you for reading, you made my day. ♡

Pairing: Siyun Baek x female! reader

Format: Headcanons; 2nd person

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, obsession, mild spoilers

Word Count: ???

It's ALLERGY and/or FLU SEASON, and unfortunately, you've fallen very ill. Best case scenario you'll have a cold and nothing more; a high fever at the worst. But either way, Siyun isn't complaining.

You can't go anywhere? Great! You feel like absolute shit and can barely move from your bed? Oh my, even better! Besides working out, Siyun doesn't have much to pass his time with. He's lonely without you, often finding himself watching the clock, counting the minutes — seconds before you return to him.

But seeing you tucked tightly beneath the pastel duvet, wrapped in a small cocoon. Your cheeks lightly flushed a rather feverish hue, as ragged breaths slipped past your dry lips. Call him crazy but you're absolutely adorable. He could hardly keep his hands to himself!

“Y'know, you look really cute like this {Name}.”

You huffed, “You almost look happy that I'm in this situation.” With a light shove, you pushed his face away from your own for what felt like the thousandth time. Finally ditching the thick sheets, you turn away from him, welcoming the chilled puffs of air to your warm skin.

“Would you be mad if I said I was?” Siyun asked, snaking his arms around your waist, pressing his cheek into the tender skin of your own. “God, you're adorable...”

“Yes. Now, let go; I'm burning up.”

Siyun is CLINGY as it is. Therefore, you being bedridden to some degree is right up his alley. Personal space has never been a thing in your relationship, and he's not going to let a little flu stop him. Embracing you, suffocating you with his body; it's all too easy! Pressing sweet, chaste kisses along the warm skin of your neck. Sneakily, dragging his slender fingers beneath the flimsy silk of your pajamas.

In all honesty, he'd rather have you stay at his house until you feel well again. It works pretty well, convenience-wise. It stops him from wrenching your door open, occupying your home with the crying of loud unwavering hinges. Or perhaps even sneaking through your window.

You being so vulnerable excites him in more ways than he'd care to admit. He truly is a pervert. Chewing on his pink lips, even digging his nails into his milky skin, no longer seems to be enough. Though his desires are anything but malicious, Siyun can't help the wandering of his young mind to many, many impure places.

Your parents already adore him, let's be honest! Thus, convincing them to let you stay the night or week should be a piece of cake. It's almost scary, the way he speaks to your parents; so polite and dare I say perfect. It's truly no surprise that he was a former idol, a famous one at that. How could your adoring mother and father not allow such a kind man to nurture and care for your well-being?

Siyun brings your head to his chest, relishing in the heat you radiate. His hands had fallen past your waist, toying with the thin band of your thin shorts. You give his chest a weak push, as a pitiful attempt to distance yourself. But it was no use, he merely pulled you closer, much to your dismay.

“Siyun...” You breathed out, weakly clawing at his slender hands. “Stop this, you're going to get sick.”

He hummed, “Is that so?” Though his hands showed no sign of leaving your waist. Instead, they tugged you flush against his chest with a low chuckle. Warm breath tickled the back of your neck, making you tense in anticipation.

“Then I guess we're just gonna have to be sick together~!” ♡

Let's say you're a STUDENT; high school or college, it's your choice. And due to your abrupt sickness, you're bound to miss at least a handful of classes. But fret not my dear, your classmates are itching to help you out. I mean, you're dating the Siyun Baek after all, just a glance at him could send anything girl into a frenzy!

Thankfully, your teacher settled for your seatmate. A kind, extroverted guy who you got along with quite well. He had managed to get your number due to a recent project and was quick to alert you of his unexpected arrival.

[CHOI BYUNG-CHUL]

➤ Heya [Last Name], the teacher asked me to bring sum missin assignments to ur place. Is that okey with u?

SENT; 17:23

You snort at the scrambled characters, finding some charm amongst the male's easy mistakes. It wasn't something unusual as he was an infamous clutz in your class. So he was likely texting while typing, again. Your fingers hover over the luminous keyboard, before eventually sending him a simple response.

[YOU] ➤ Yeah, it's fine lol. But I'm not home so come to this address “XX XXXX Avenue/Drive/Street” SENT; 17:25

➤ Have a safe trip. :)

SENT; 17:25

While immersed in your phone, you had yet to notice a certain someone looming over you in displeasure. From lack of attention, perhaps. But you had never been one to allow technology to soak up your time, nonetheless when you're ill. So who could possibly be taking up your time? He pondered, glaring hard at the device resting on your hand.

Pulling back the covers, Siyun moved to join you beneath the spotless sheets of the mattress. The dipping of the bed didn't bother you, let alone pull you from the flashing screen of your phone. The ex-idol sighed loudly, shifting to take the pesky item from your protective grip. Only to be brushed off by a bored, dismissive hand.

He. Was. Livid.

“Babe~!” Siyun cooed, though his tone lacked even an ounce of playfulness. “What on your phone could possibly be so damn interestin—” DING DONG!

Whew! Saved by the bell.

“I'll get it.” He murmured under his breath, tossing the thick duvet to the side. The man was quick to leave in long, haste strides, but not before his eyes flicked to your stunned form one last time.

Now, Siyun had expected a lot of things, but this surely wasn't one of them. A shorter male, about five feet seven inches, no older than nineteen was at his door. His mousy brown hair was a mess, and he had a lightly tinted folder tucked tightly beneath his arm.

“H-hi, I'm one of [Last Name]'s classmates and I brought some papers to her.” Byung-Chul commenced, frantically unzipping the top of his backpack. “She — uhm, texted me this address.”

Oh, now it all made sense. The persistent flashing of your phone, snatching your attention right from his grasp. The lighthearted giggles that'd leave your mouth ever so often. Friendly, that they were. Giggles that held no sense of love; merely admiration and glee. Even so, it wasn't good enough.

One could say the latter is quite bitter. And if If looks could kill, your friend would be six — no, ten feet under! And that's being generous. But Siyun knows better than to let his bad side show. Heh, who am I kidding?

A faux smile tugged at the corner of his lips, one he was all too familiar with using. “Ah, I see. Thanks for coming...?”

“Choi Byung-Chul!” He chirped, handing the papers to the former idols' outstretched hand.

“Heh, right,” Siyun scoffs, disinterested. He lazily takes the folder from the male, leaning in a bit too close for comfort. “Since you're already here, I have a little favor for you. If you're up for it.”

“I...um — yeah, sure,” Byung-Chul stammered, looking over the time blaring from the smartwatch adorning his wrist. “I can spare a few minutes. What's up—?”

A sharp pain shot through the poor man's abdomen in mere seconds, sending him crumbling to his knees. Siyun loosely shook his wrist in the air, allowing the gentle breeze to cool the slight stinting of his knuckles. A cold, lifeless expression grazed the face of the once-beloved idol as he watched the man wither beneath his gaze.

“Stay away from [Name]. I wouldn't want anyth ing bad to happen to you~!”

[flanaganfilm]

You have spoken about dealing with addiction in the past (congratulations on your sobriety, btw), and Hill House, Midnight Mass, Doctor Sleep, etc, all feature characters struggling with addiction. Do you find a sort of catharsis in writing those characters and their storylines, and do you find that having gone through that affects how you write those characters and their stories? p.s. if the question is too personal, I apologize. You are, of course, free to ignore it.

Happy to talk about it. I was writing about addiction long before I admitted having a problem. Looking all the way back to my student films, many years before Absentia, I can see myself starting to pick it apart. The fact is I was a really shitty drunk. I was absolutely a problem drinker. It was always that way, going back to school - I was never able to handle it, and there were times throughout my life starting very young when that thought would occur to me, and I'd get scared, and then I'd convince myself I was being dramatic and that I had no problem whatsoever.

The truth is that I didn't have an OFF switch, I was inclined to hide my drinking, and the older I got the more self-destructive I became when I was under the influence.

But I was also very committed to the belief that I could handle it, and that I didn't have an actual problem, so for years I'd coast by, telling myself whatever issues I may have had weren't so serious. "Nine times out of ten, I'm just fine - I'm the life of the party," I'd think. I wasn't, though, and soon enough it was 50/50 whether I'd have to make apologetic phone calls on a given hungover morning. And those stretches where'd I'd really let go and drink hard, the person who emerged was less and less like me. It got to the point I didn't recognize him at all - there was this stranger who lived inside, and if he got out, he was could destroy everything I held dear, and he didn't give two shits about it. Looking back at the last decade of my work with the perspective I have now, I can see an escalating subconscious urgency in the way I was talking about alcoholism and addiction. My 2003 student feature Ghosts of Hamilton Street features a wanna-be writer with a horribly self-destructive alcohol problem. The people in his life begin to physically disappear, and the world around him resets as though they never existed at all, so he's the only who notices. I was 25 years old when I made that movie, and looking at it now, the addiction issues are a huge blinking red light all over the movie. At the time, I thought it was just interesting context for the character.

I wrote the opening scene of Midnight Mass (which features Riley Flynn waking up from a blackout drunk driving session to find that he's killed someone) all the way back in 2010, eight years before I finally sobered up. That was always something I was absolutely terrified of - not that I'd die because of my drinking, but that I'd kill someone else and live with the consequences. That was probably my biggest fear for most of my life, if I'm honest. And there were mornings I'd wake up at home and wonder how the hell I'd driven myself there the night before. I remember those mornings with a stomach-turning degree of terror and shame.

It was always somewhat cathartic to write about characters with addiction issues. There's a long stretch between Absentia and Hill House where it appears that I'm not dealing with those themes in my work (though I'd argue there's a subtle addiction meditation at play in Before I Wake that I've only recently noticed), but I was also secretly working on Midnight Mass that entire time, and just pouring all of my thoughts and anxieties about alcoholism into that story. So while Oculus, Hush, Ouija: OOE, and Gerald's Game don't seem to dwell much on addiction, that's really because I was spending my nights pouring all of that into the pages of Midnight Mass, which existed alternately as a novel, a screenplay, and then a series during those years.

Working on Doctor Sleep is what brought it all to the surface for me. Stephen King's novel deals thoroughly with the theme of recovery (The Shining is about destruction of addiction, and Doctor Sleep is about the journey and reality of recovery), and a lot of people in my cast were sober. It was while we were shooting that film that I realized I needed to make a seismic change in my life.

My wife will say that reading the scene in Doctor Sleep where Dan sits at the Gold Room bar in the Overlook was when she knew I was reaching a critical moment. That scene isn't in King's book, and my first draft of that conversation between Dan and Jack was almost fifteen pages long. It's basically a prolonged argument between the addictive and sober voices in my mind, and writing that scene shook something loose in me. I stopped drinking just a few days before we filmed that scene for that movie, and I haven't had a drop since.

But for catharsis, Midnight Mass truly is the most personal piece of work I've ever made. Riley is a very thinly disguised avatar of myself. I look at that series and I see several distinct versions of myself in conversation with each other over more than a decade. I'm glad it took so long to get that show made, because if I'd made it in 2016 like I wanted to, I wouldn't have done a good job - there is no way I could have told that story until I was finally sober. If you listen closely to the AA meeting scenes between Riley and Father Paul throughout the series, you're basically looking directly into my conflicted brain over many, many years.

This year is my fifth year sober, and I spend my days happy, busy, and so grateful that I was able to make those changes before my drinking destroyed my career, my marriage, and my life. I was lucky. I am lucky. But since I finished Midnight Mass, I haven't felt that pull when I'm writing. I haven't felt those themes elbowing their way into my work. That part of me is still in here (it always will be), but I feel like I was somehow able, over many years, to coax it to sleep. I'm sure I'll return to those themes over the years, as I hope to learn more about myself and have more to say... but for now, those voices are peaceful and quiet. I have projects on the horizon that will touch on some of those things (if I'm able to make The Dark Tower, there's some wonderful elements with Eddie's addiction issues that I look forward to exploring) but it feels different.

One of the things I hold onto when I look back at that time is the hope that the work can be helpful to someone else who may struggle in a similar way. And talking to fans, I've heard here and there that it has, and that means the world to me. I think storytellers can't help but use their stories as a mirror, it's one of the ways we take ourselves apart, look at the pieces, and put them back. It's one of the only ways we can see ourselves clearly.

Sometimes we don't even realize we're doing it. It's only looking back that we can see ourselves, and our work, with any real clarity.

[alleyskywalker]

Some of Louis’ choices in the finale do make me raise my eyebrows a little bit at him. He's got all the right to be pissed at Armand, no question. But why does this automatically redeem Lestat in his eyes? OK, sure, Lestat saves him - that's new information to him, but...First, this doesn't change anything about Lestat's part in Claudia's death (which is what he primarily confronted him about in the tower) nor the fact that Lestat willingly participated in the trial. Nor does it change the fact that Armand saved him from being starved to death. Technically, they both saved Louis, but at different points and in different ways. (If Armand really wanted him dead, he could have just left him in the wall or could have warned the coven about Louis’ plan to destroy/attack them, etc. And even though he lied about the proportion of his role, Armand had already admitted to knowing that the coven was planning to kill Louis and Claudia. And…Louis makes the choice to warn Armand to not be at the theater before he gets the “full” story of how much Armand knew/participated. At that point, all Louis “knew” was that Armand had saved him, which…wasn’t even technically a lie in and of itself, just, again the degree of things.)

So, what really changes re: Armand and Lestat in the final reveal? For Armand: he participated in the trial more actively and in saving Louis less than originally supposed. For Lestat: he participated in saving Louis, whereas initially Louis thought he hadn’t. So ultimately…both Armand and Lestat actively participate in the trial and then both participate in saving Louis. (Granted, Armand lies more in the process. But on the other hand – Armand can’t really be expected to care about Claudia and Lestat can; Armand had attachments and commitments to the coven and Lestat didn’t…) If Louis had just walked away from Armand as well, that’s fair enough. But how does Lestat suddenly warrant a reconciliation (and apology??) when a similar level of participation in this whole debacle warrants Armand – Louis’ partner for decades, whom he had supposedly forgiven for the worst of what happened in Paris, who has stuck with him through various self-destructive behavior trying to fix what he'd broken – an immediate break up (with some physical violence to boot) with no questions asked? (And he has to be at least somewhat over it if he hasn’t bothered to hunt down Sam despite them knowing all about where he is and what he’s up to these days.)

Speaking of questions for Louis, here’s one. So, Armand claims that the coven “improvised” a death sentence from the word banishment. He says this in the context of claiming that he saved Louis by mind controlling the crowd into sentencing Louis to banishment instead of death. But what if…it’s not true that the coven “improvised”? Perhaps “banishment” has a double meaning or gets used as a euphemism for those sentenced to die of starvation in the wall or just who get buried in those crypts after committing crimes. I’m not saying, btw, that this is indeed so, but we don’t actually have evidence that it isn’t. Satiago getting flustered at first indicates that this isn’t a formal way to refer to this kind of punishment/sentencing at least, but when he tells the coven to “tuck him in nice and tight” everyone know exactly what he means, so there’s a basis to assume  the possibility of some common understanding of banishment = getting shoved into the wall, alive or not, whether slang, euphemism or similar. So, let’s for a second assume this is true.

Armand wouldn’t admit this context to Louis while he’s lying about saving him at the trial, because it takes away from Armand’s role as his savior, so if he’s going to lie about mind controlling the crowd, he has to lie/bend the truth about how much the coven needed to improvise to arrange for a death sentence regardless. It also makes sense then that Armand might not have taken this road to trying to save Louis, in fear/knowledge that it would/could just come out worse.

So, what of Lestat? Lestat knows the rules, conventions, and language customs around the coven because, well, he founded/was part of it. So if “banishment” could be easily interpreted as “banishment to starve in the wall,” then Lestat would know that or could be expected to. Yet, this is the punishment he chose when he could have mind controlled the crowd into saying anything. Hell, why didn’t he mind control them into saying “not guilty?” Would have solved a lot of issues, yk?  Would this make Lestat kinda extra vengeful/sadistic? Sure, but…he did just willingly participate as the star witness in a trial to burn Louis and their “daughter” to death. Is this really sooo out of character from what Louis knows or thinks he knows about Lestat at that point in time? Like, not even to question Daniel’s suggestion that Lestat saved him – even though, the script is not actually evidence of that, just that Armand might have had a more extensive role in the play? (And…he could have still been under duress to direct it as much as he would have been to just not tell Louis about it. But Louis doesn’t ask about/consider this either.)

I’m not saying that’s how it went, mind. The reunion scene with Lestat makes it pretty clear that Lestat had in fact wanted to save Louis. But Louis can’t/doesn’t know this, certainly not prior to the reunion scene. Did Lestat actually save him? Is there any other context he might be missing? This is just a theory Daniel has after all. Does Claudia’s death no longer matter then? Doesn’t this just mean that both Lestat and Armand belatedly tried to save him? He’s obviously shocked and not thinking straight – I’m not saying this to bash him or anything (and leaving Armand would have been a justified reaction regardless, just for the lying). But it’s kinda crazy to me that Louis is apparently so eager to believe the worst of Armand and find any reason possible to forgive Lestat at the drop of a hat.  

I don’t really have a point here. Just…need to throw thoughts into the void because the show melted my brain a bit. Forgive me, etc. I do love/enjoy all these characters.

[adiluv-moved]

✦ : ❝ 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚 !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which he cares for you, in his own ways; 2565 words.

꒰warnings꒱ akademiya roommate wanderer, pre-established relationship ꒰mutual pining꒱, reader is an amurta scholar, lightly edited.

꒰adi moment꒱ here's my little love letter to roommate wanderer, because i fr love it! might write more for this since i've got a ton of ideas that didn't make it in here! the reader is very briefly mentioned to wear glasses btw, though you can just ignore it if you don't use them—doesn't have any impact. hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

i.

“Boring.”

“Unsubstantial.”

“Confusing thesis.”

“Oh, and look.” He flits the paper over in your direction, tapping at the short paragraph you’d written on it. “This one’s missing a thesis entirely.”

Your eye twitches at the blatant snark within his final remark, gaze focused on the Wanderer as he lets out a sigh, dropping the stack of papers in his hands to rest on his lap before lazily leafing through them once more. He doesn’t seem to be any more pleased by this second inspection than he was the first, gorgeous features contorting into a frown as he glances up at you.

It’s almost impressive, how much effort it takes for you to maintain your amicable expression, biting the inside of your cheek to an almost painful degree and praying that the ever growing darkness in your eyes doesn’t expose the extent of your frustration. To say that your hands were aching would, at this point, be a heavy understatement.

Perhaps it was simply foolish of you, asking for his assistance and deluding yourself into believing that he might aid you without any traces of his usual sass and impudent attitude.

Perhaps you should’ve expected him to hold you to his unbelievably high standards, refusing to allow you to move onto the rest of your paper before you’d presented him with an absolutely perfect introduction—which, in your mind, still makes no sense considering that your papers aren’t expected to be nearly as perfect as his—field work of more importance for an Amurta scholar like yourself.

And, perhaps, your mental well-being would be in far better condition if you’d simply decided to try and complete everything yourself. ꒰… Though, it was hard to deny the sneaking suspicion that he still might’ve involved himself had you not gone to him first—meddlesome as he is.꒱

You half-expect him to return the parchment to your hands, demanding that you rewrite them for the nth time before seeking out his judgment once more—but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls one of your drafts from the stack, slapping the rest onto the empty space beside him in order to give the chosen sheet a once-over. He nods, holding it out to you, and allows you to take it from him before he speaks once more.

“This is the most tolerable.” The Wanderer begins, and you’ve lived with him long enough to understand that it’s a compliment, “Just cut out some of the filler, and it’ll be usable.”

There are practically tears in your eyes as you reread it—fingers having suffered numerous cramps in the efforts of producing a favorable outline—and the extent of your reaction certainly isn’t lost on your roommate, who’s taken to eyeing you as though you’ve gone mad. He scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you.

“You’re looking at that thing like you’ve completed the entire paper.”

“Honestly?” You laugh, though it comes out sounding slightly strained. “I’ve got half a mind to submit this introduction alone and just be done with it.”

He narrows his eyes at you, lips thinning, as if trying to figure out how serious you’re being. There’s a beat of silence before he finally responds.

“Don’t."

ii.

While beings can survive in a Withering Zone, the effects are extremely harmful to humans, who require a Vision to simply resist its power. Even brief exposure could cause serious effects…

Withering Zones are initially created as a… Nascent Zone which attracts a small amount of monsters and begins to corrupt the surrounding area…

Something, something, Fetid Boughs… branches… tumors, affect people…

..!

You don’t even realize that you’d fallen asleep until your face collides with the surface of your desk, eyes snapping open in a panic as you frantically peel yourself away from the wood. The entire world feels as though it’s spinning, senses dulled by exhaustion, hands sliding beneath the frames of your glasses ꒰and surely smudging the lenses, though you hardly had it in you to care anymore꒱ before sliding down the length of your face in an exaggeratedly annoyed motion.

The Akademiya was going to be the death of you. 

Annoyingly enough, the information within your stupidly thick textbook seemed just as foreign to you as it had when you’d first sat down for the evening, a simple fact that stranded you somewhere between a mental breakdown and full-blown insanity. The life of an academic truly was far more trouble than it was worth. 

The flame contained within your lantern flickered, almost tauntingly so ꒰though perhaps that was the lack of sleep getting to you꒱, besides you.

At this point, you longed for nothing more than to cast aside your studies for the night, lay down atop your tantalizingly soft mattress, and go to sleep—abandoning your problems and forcing your future self to deal with them in your stead.

As things often are, however, making such a decision would be incredibly troublesome, the scholar responsible for your agony having already declared his intentions of quizzing you the very next morning. An awfully strict man, well in on the years, and he didn’t seem nearly fond enough of you to extend any sympathy towards your plight—something that you ꒰regrettably꒱ couldn’t help but understand, seeing as you’d been given a full week to prepare and foolishly chose to wait until the very night before.

Throwing your head back, you blankly stare up at the ceiling, vision swimming in off-which as you attempt to reel in your concentration. It wasn’t working—though you hardly even expected it to—past instances of your procrastination having left you well aware of the outcome.

You’d stay up all night, reviewing and reviewing and reviewing—as though your life depended on it—pass out an hour or so before you’d have to get up for the day, regret every single one of your life’s choice while rushing out of your room, swear off ever procrastinating again… and then repeat the cycle in a month’s time when the lesson wore off.

The sound of your bedroom’s door creaking open is enough to pull you out of your thoughts, though you make no effort to face the intruder until you register a sharp flick on your exposed forehead. Your body jerks, and you turn towards the Wanderer with a sudden start, about to scold him for the ludicrous amount of strength that he always puts into the gesture before you notice the bowl that he’s placed directly in front of you.

You blink. He says nothing, instead choosing to remove the pen from your hand and slot a spoon into its space, and you reminisce to the time where he’d attempted to teach you to use chopsticks only for you to spill soy sauce all over yourself.

“... Hat Guy?” You murmur, slightly softened ꒰gorgeous꒱ features cringing as the nickname escapes your lips. 

“Call me that again and I’ll eat this myself.”

“Really, you’re no fun at all, Wanderer…” Your tone is lighthearted, mirth within your tone as he rolls his eyes.

He chooses not to respond to that statement, and you choose not to try and stretch out the conversation, instead leaning slightly towards the bowl in order to get a better look at its contents. Shimi Chazuke, his favorite food, as you’ve come to find out, pieces of eel piled atop the rice to an almost shocking degree—considering his habit of hoarding all of it whenever he went through the effort of making the dish.

Seemingly dissatisfied by your hesitance to dig in, he decides to offer some explanation for the gesture. “I made this in order to encourage you, yet it seems as though you won’t even be able to keep your eyes open long enough to properly enjoy it.”

“You did all of that for me?” You ask, brain having already turned to mush and doing absolutely nothing to stop tears from welling up in your eyes—donning a dopey smile as you stare up at him. A flash of red paints his features, and without his hat, he turns away from you to save face.

“... The eel is good for brain function, so you should at least eat that. Perhaps it’ll give you the intellect to curb this foolish habit of yours.” You giggle, and he huffs, the lack of bite within his statement clear to the both of you. “Throw out the rest if you don’t want it. I don’t care.” He does, but you choose not to mention it. 

“And here I was thinking you were going to be fully nice to me.” You tease, taking a bite and savoring the taste. The Wanderer lets out a scoff as the entirety of your body relaxes, though the increased intensity of his blush betrays his true sentiments of the matter. “... Thank you, though. It… It really means a lot.” You continue, trying to be as earnest as you possibly can when you’re a moment’s notice away from collapsing into the bowl.

“Don’t mention it.” He grumbles, lips pressed together, and it’s enough for you to decide that you won’t be following that command. “... And take a break. The human mind isn’t good at processing information while deprived of sleep.”

“Pfft—You say that as if you aren’t a human yourself.”

He pauses at that, and for a split second, his expression shifts into something somber. At least, that’s what you assume, because the very moment that you can comprehend the change within his mood he’s already turning his back towards you and walking out of your room. “... Take a break.”

The door closes before you can respond. And with steam wafting from the bowl, contents still too hot for you to indulge in, your torturous study session is made the slightest bit more tolerable.

iii.

As it turns out, leaving your umbrella within the confines of your home while the sky is violently gray outside was ꒰regardless of the fact that you only had one lecture that particular day꒱ an absolutely terrible idea. Deciding to run through the storm pouring over the Akademiya instead of simply waiting it out was an even more foolish course of action, clothing completely soaked through and body dripping wet by the time you stepped into the safety of your abode.

… In hindsight, you probably should’ve just gone back for the damned thing when you’d noticed Kaveh—notorious for forgetting them—walking around with one in hand. At least then, even if you might’ve been a few minutes late, you wouldn’t be missing a full day of academics in order to recover from the sickness you’d come down with. Nor would you have been placed beneath the Wanderer’s surveillance, your ‘beloved’ roommate having insisted ꒰for some strange reason꒱ on staying home to keep watch on your condition.

It was sweet, at first. Oddly domestic, considering just how emotionally constipated the man is, almost always attempting to convince you that he didn’t care for you in the slightest—even when his actions made it clear that he didn’t think as lowly of you as he insisted.

But by the Archons was he attentive. Too attentive, really, confining you to your bedroom and feeding you medicine so bitter that you’d had to pinch your nose closed in order to keep from gagging. Reminders that his actions were for the sake of your own health did little to reassure you, did nothing to lessen the sting of annoyance that pierced your chest whenever he pushed you back down onto your mattress or pulled your blanket from your shivering form, berating you for making your fever worse despite the chills you felt running through your veins. 

And you, being the stubborn thing that you were, would simply go through the effort in reuniting it with your body, lounging in bliss until he next returned to check in on your condition.

Like right now, for example.

“Would you stop covering yourself already?” There’s a rag in the Wanderer’s hand as he opens the door, a deep scowl tugging down at his lips as he walks over to you—long strides, like he’s in a hurry—before the duvet is unceremoniously stripped away. While he’d previously contented himself with placing it on the other end of the bed, he takes things further this time, mink bunching up between his fingers and pattern distorting as he pulls it away from the bed entirely. You don’t even have the chance to protest before he continues talking.

“Do you even know how hot you are right now?” And if you were in better condition, and if he didn’t already appear to be so irritated with you already, that would've been the perfect opportunity to mess with him. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to die, you know that?”

“Not my fault I feel like I’m freezing.” You retort, knowing full well that it… technically is, pouting as you watch him drop your salvation to the floor, now nothing more than a useless heap. Although there wasn’t anything that was physically retraining you from getting up in order to reclaim it once he was busy doing anything else, the lightheadedness you were experiencing certainly didn’t make the option seem all that appealing. He seemed to realize that, too, placing it in the furthest corner of the room.

Smart, yes, but dreadfully annoying.

“Oh,” his tone is practically dripping with sarcasm as the sound escapes his mouth, “so I should believe the person who looks halfway to the grave?”

“... Maybe?”

He slaps the rag onto your head with a loud smack, wet and cold, a shiver running through your spine as your hands instinctively shoot up to remove the offending object. He catches both of your wrists without so much as a word, barely having to battle your weakened self in order to lower them back down to your sides, grip lingering for a few seconds until he’s entirely certain that you won’t make another attempt to take it off. And perhaps you’ve simply become delusional in your feverish state, but you find yourself missing his touch once he finally moves his hands away.

You’re saved the embarrassment of admitting this, however, when he speaks—pools of indigo scrutinizing your movements as he straightens up.

“The lavender melon soup I’m making is almost done.” He informs you, and your weary mind stews in confusion for a few seconds before remembering that they originate from Inazuma, practically all the way on the other side of Teyvat.

While the abolishment of the Vision Hunt Decree made it possible for merchants to import the fruit, it was still considered a novelty within Sumeru, prices too stupidly high for you to justify the purchase. You frowned, unsure of just how much mora he had to shell out in order to buy them. “... If I come back and see you with that blanket again, it’s not going to be the illness that ends you.”

You laugh at the threat, and he sighs, mumbling an 'I mean it' before retreating into the kitchen. You decide not to test him any further.

… And, apparently decide to find another source of warmth, because you wake up the next morning atop the couch with your fever broken and your face buried in the Wanderer’s chest. There's nobody around to tease the both of you for the compromising position—this time—though you still end up turning up to your classes totally red-faced, mute against the concerned inquiries of your fellow scholars.

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[coldlovehotblood]

K queen could you please provide me with some izzy fic lmao 😭😭😭😭 so um i'm literally at the end of my uni semester and it's eating me out CAUSE I FEEL SO DUMB LIKE WHY TF AM I GETTING A DEGREE IF I CANT DO BASIC SHIT 💀💀💀💀💀💀 but i needed a super cute angst to fluff izzy fic where yn is going through this and she feels dumb and just bad about it all, and izzy helps her feeling better 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 literally handed 2 big projects today (i'm a programmer btw but that's irrelevant) and i got 3 tests next week AND I CANT BARELY THINK ANYMORE

Ok i'll shut up bye thank youuuuu

˗ˏˋ✩ˎˊ˗

SMARTY PANTS

The pressure of university is worse than you thought it’d be, swallowing you up before you realise what’s happening. Luckily, your boyfriend is willing to help you forget for a while.

w/c: 2,128

warnings: smut

a/n: haiii sorry for the wait! nah programming sounds like a headache to me you must have one of the biggest brains in all the land. wish i was that smart fr😔 anyway i hope this scratches the Izzy fluff itch and gives you a little boost. YOU’VE GOT THIS I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

GWORGGGG divider by @strangergraphics

You were burnt out. Badly.

Exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word for it. You were so genuinely close to padlocking your apartment door and going into hibernation in an attempt to catch up on missed shuteye.

Every assignment felt colossal, and put another wall between you and the freedom university was supposed to give you once you moved away from home. You had wanted more space to breathe, more opportunities to explore the world and yourself, more time to spend with your boyfriend…

God, your boyfriend was so good about all of it. He knew when to give you space and when to fill that space. He knew it was eating you alive and kicking your ass. He never gave you grief for periods of silence. You honestly didn’t know how you deserved him.

This occasion was yet another display of his patience.

You were sitting on your bed, staring blankly at the wall, trying to will yourself to get up and do something productive. With assignments being at the forefront of your mind for the past week or two, everything else was left behind. Your room was in disarray, there were clothes to be washed, dishes to be done, the list went on and on. As the minutes ticked by, you got more frustrated with yourself and your inability to keep up with life. You couldn't tell if University was brutal or if you really were eternally a few steps behind.

It was frustrating.

That lump that had been sitting in the base of your throat for the whole day finally loosened up as a sob heaved its way out of you. Vision blurred with tears, you turned to lie on top of your bed covers, but you heard a knock down the hall.

It took an unbelievable amount of effort to haul yourself up from where you lay. You padded over and didn't bother to wipe your cheeks before opening the door. There stood Izzy in leather and dark wash denim, holding a bottle of Jack. The crappy, sparse, yellow light from the hall was dampened greatly by the grin he was sporting, but that quickly faded once he saw your face.

“Baby, are you ok?”

You really started to cry then. He came through the threshold at once and took you into his arms. That gorgeous woody scent you knew as his engulfed you. Wordlessly, he guided you back into your apartment and to the sofa, setting the bottle down in favour of pulling you on top and close.

You tucked your head into his shoulder, seeking more of his cologne as he soothed a hand down your spine, tracing light patterns with his fingertips as he went. You realised then that you could relax a bit and that you were able to shrug off the tight restraints of deadlines that had been digging into you like rough ropes tied too tight.

Your voice was croaky when you eventually thanked him after a few minutes of silence. He shook his head in response.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” you replied with a sniff.

One of his hands now pushed away some of the hair that had fallen over your face.

“I came ‘cause a while ago you told me today was the deadline for some pretty important things. I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

You moved to look up at him from where you lay, and he dipped his head to look back at you, that same grin from before returning.

“I even brought a friend,” he spoke with a giggle, looking over to where he’d set the liquor bottle down. It was brand new, the amber contents sitting just below the unbroken seal as it ought to be.

You sighed before dropping your head again.

“How did you remember? I know that you and Axl are busy right now.”

“I wrote it down on some paper and kept it in my jacket. Every time I went to grab my lighter, I felt it and remembered. Figured it was the only way I could’ve.”

You were so fond of him it was sickening.

“You’re really dumb.”

“In comparison to you, yeah, honestly. All that computer stuff they have you doing is unbelievable.”

You let yourself feel the vibrations of his voice rumble against your cheek as you took in his words. Following this path had been your dream. Tech had always been an area of interest and pursuing it in university looked like the best path for you. For months, you had scoured high and low, looking for a place that would best accommodate you and the life you dreamed of creating. If you were going to do it, you were making damn sure you’d do it right. With the tech industry in the beginnings of a boom, it really was the best time to start.

However, you severely underestimated the pressure of the workload. You understood what you were getting yourself into when you signed up. You had read the course details a million times over, but actually having those deadlines hanging over your head, actually having those tests back to back with no wiggle room or time for a breather— it was harsh. Much worse than you thought it would be.

On top of that, the content was difficult. You had to take your passion seriously now. That doesn't sound like a big deal until you experience it yourself. It’s so strange, and new information was thrown at you with every lecture. The knowledge being given was amazing, but memorising all of it, being tested on it, brought everything into a different ballpark entirely.

In short, you were finding the rigour of it all extremely hard to keep up with, and the idea of dropping out was starting to paw at you like a dog looking for treats.

“I question why I’m doing it.”

Izzy scoffed and shook his head once more. This time his chin grazed your crown as he did.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re doing it because it’s what you love.”

“It is, but is it worth my sanity? I mean, there is constantly so much going on I feel like I’m losing even the basics.”

He said your name softly as his hand came to your cheek, encouraging your head up to meet his eyes.

“They wouldn’t have let you in if they thought you weren’t capable of keeping up. You are good at what you do, great even. And with this kind of an education? You’ll become fucking insane.”

His words brought you back to earth a bit. What he was saying made sense, but it wasn’t enough to fully satisfy that itching feeling of being behind, the feeling of non-existent eyes drilling into your back everytime you thought about work.

He tapped your cheek with his index and ring finger.

“Hey, let that pretty head rest. Let those projects and stray homework’s be the past and be here with me in the now.”

In the low light of your living room, his silver nose ring glinted as he tilted his head. You wished you could follow his instruction, but doubt is a stubborn thing. Tears filled your lash line again and he made a face so concerned and full of care it brought them on faster.

“Don’t cry, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Frustration grew once again and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you.

Suddenly, Izzy’s face changed as he looked into your salt-soaked eyes.

“I know how I can help.”

It was your turn to tilt your head.

“Will you let me take care of you?”

“What—“

“Just trust me,” he whispered, smiling handsomely as he came closer. You could feel his breath tickle your face a little bit with the proximity.

You were sinking deeper into a pool of uncertainty by the second, and he offered a hand to pull you to the surface. How could you refuse?

“Please,” you breathed back before he pressed his lips to yours.

Kissing him was like blinking, it came naturally and you didn’t have to think about it. Your mouths moved in sync so well it was easy to get lost in it. He was soft against you, each brush of lips like waves melting into each other upon impact. Seamless.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and flipped the two of you gently so that he was hovering above you. Carefully, Izzy brought one hand down your body as he kept the other propped beside your head on the armrest, slowly dragging it lower and lower as he continued to kiss you.

He then pulled away from your mouth as he sat up straighter, giving himself two hands to meet at the waistband of your bottoms.

“What you need, sweetheart, is a distraction. That is something I can most certainly give,” he spoke, wiggling his eyebrows and making you laugh. Fingers under the fabric, he hesitated.

“Is this ok? We don’t have to do anything, it’s just an idea.”

He was too good to you. So sweet it’d be no time at all before every one of your teeth would have to be capped with silver.

“I trust you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needed before pulling them all the way down, taking your panties along with the movement. He was careful but quick.

“You’re so gorgeous here,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of your exposed lower half.

You blushed bright as you wiped at your eyes, loathing the tight feeling that came to your cheeks once tear tracks dried. Izzy ever so gently encouraged you to open your legs wider with his hands, parting them to place himself in between.

He lowered himself then to your hip, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, whispering praises as he crept closer and closer to where you needed him most. You shivered as arousal bloomed in your stomach. Your being sung under his touch.

He stole one more glance of you, eyes glittering with excitement. He looked ready to buzz out of his skin and squeal. Every time he did this, you were left in disbelief at how eager he could be. You couldn’t decide if it was you or him that got off more to things like this.

Finally, he closed the gap between him and you, and you sighed with contentment. Izzy licked a stripe over your core and pleasure coursed throughout your body. Hypnotised, you let him have his way.

He was too good at it, knowing just how and where to brush his tongue in order to drive you mad. You didn’t realise it, but his lapping really was making you blank.

You were relaxing.

He built you up steadily and at the brink of orgasm he left you hanging, stunning you out of the bubble he’d lulled you into. This continued a couple of times as he made sure your brain was left mush and static.

Once satisfied with your state, he let you reach that dizzying peak of pleasure and tipped you over the edge, ecstasy bursting you open and leaving a supernova in it’s wake for your boyfriend to appreciate; the fruit of his labour: a lax-bodied, simple-minded version of you.

You panted with him as he brought you to his chest once again. You couldn’t really say anything but his name at that point so you opted for silence and squeezing him tight.

“Told you I knew,” he said huskily into your ear, nipping your lobe playfully.

It took a second for the words to come out, but you did eventually reply, “okay smarty pants, we get it.”

He laughed, the sound ringing loud and bright through the room before moving an arm under your knees and standing up, princess carrying you through your apartment to the bedroom. As he went, he continued his teasing, insisting you call him ‘ the smartest motherfucker to ever walk the earth’ before he tucked you in and took his place behind you, curled up tight to your back.

Worn out and kept cozy by Izzy’s warmth, it wasn’t long before sleep took you. You’d decided university was a problem for future you, as you at the time was more occupied thinking of all the ways they could prove they are the smarter motherfucker.

You were terribly in love, and, in that moment, that was what trumped everything else.

Also, you had a bottle of Jack Daniel’s waiting for you. That’s an immediate plus.