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[agnedraroy]

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[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────────── 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. ──

summary: quidditch is a sport that demands strength and stamina, resulting in physical exertion. exertion equals releasing disproportionate amounts of warmth, which, as it turns out, feels better shared.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, spanking, choking, degrading, hair grabbing, cursing

wc: 3.1k

a/n: the first fic of the naughty side of the list, so buckle up for the filth!! hope you enjoy <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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The entirety of the Quidditch stadium roared as Harry Potter hovered proudly in the air, the Golden Snitch snug between his fingers. The ultimate rivalry between the houses never ceased to exist, be it on the school grounds or on the pitch, the students from other houses having chosen a side long ago and now discreetly passing galleons to each other in the stands. You craned your neck a bit, your loosely tied scarf sliding off as you watched the players descend onto the ground, the green and silver side clearly trying to get off the pitch as hastily as possible.

Mattheo was, for all intents and purposes, pissed. His nostrils were flared, his breath coming out short and ragged, the exertion from the long-winded game straining his aching muscles. His bat was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles almost translucent as he fought the urge to swing it at the annoyingly smug Gryffindors who seemed to be very purposeful with the loudness of their celebrations. A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth – the opportunity was too golden, no pun intended, to have a go at the guy, even though you knew that now, of all times, he wouldn’t dream of holding back. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you, a burning need to kick the other while they were down, and a loss of a very important game was a chance presenting itself on a silver platter.

"Hey, Riddle!"

The sound of your voice made Mattheo grit his teeth, the vibration echoing in his already ringing ears. His eyes briefly darted to you descending the stairs from the top of the stands, the look in them as close to murderous as it can possibly get.

"Don’t," he muttered, continuing to stride across the field, towards the tunnel, where the other players from the Slytherin team had already disappeared.

"Don’t what?"

Your voice was clearly taunting as you approached him, your arms crossing on your chest as you fixed him with a smirk. Unconsciously, your gaze slid down his body, taking in the sight of his Quidditch jersey clinging to him, damp with sweat and accentuating the ridges of his toned abs. You licked your lips, the action coming out of your subconsciousness that craved to feel those abs underneath your palms, although you had yet to admit it.

"Don’t fucking try me right now," Mattheo retorted without sparing you a glance. He was already more than a little aggravated, and the last thing he needed was your teasing and endless quips, combined with the effortless allure you always held despite being an insufferable little cunt. His uniform suddenly felt too tight, which prompted him to take off the green jersey, harshly tugging it over his head with one hand.

Your lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his torso opening up to you in all its firm, built glory. But the muscles weren’t the first thing that you noticed – as much as the view was enticing, it was also not completely new. No, the thing that made your breath hitch was the fact that he was literally steaming, as if he had just left a sauna. Translucent whirls were emanating from his heated body, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the chilly December air. Mattheo didn’t even shiver, throwing the piece of clothing over his shoulder and flicking the bat from one hand to the other. His pace was firm and purposeful, leaving no doubts about his intentions to leave the Quidditch pitch as quickly as possible.

You had entirely different plans for him, though.

Without thinking much, you followed him into the tunnel leading out of the stadium, barely able to match his long steps.

“Or what?” you called out defiantly, finally reaching him at the price of your breath getting shallow and your heart beating faster than normal. You weren’t one hundred percent sure it was just the effect of walking quickly.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, nearly making you stumble into his broad back. His eyes closed shut for a moment, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath, feeling his already nonexistent control slipping away with every single sound of yours he heard behind him.

“You will regret it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not making a move to turn around to look at you – he knew that if he did, he could say goodbye to any traces of restraint still left in him.

“Oh, really?”

You knew you were walking a dangerous line by taunting him like that, but at this point, you couldn’t stop. Was it a sudden surge of bravery, was it recklessness or something else, deeper and yet uncharted, you couldn’t tell. You just knew that if you stopped right now – that was what you’d regret for a long, long time, possibly for the rest of your life. You stepped closer, your chest almost pressing against his back, feeling his muscles tense as your proximity registered in his mind and sent signals through his whole body.

That step was all it took for him to finally snap. In a split second, his hand was wrapped around your throat, pressing you against the wall of the tunnel. A strangled gasp escaped your parted lips, your pulse fluttering wildly as his fingers pressed right on the point, curling around your neck as if he was ready to snap it in half. He probably could, if he wanted to.

“Say another word and find out,” Mattheo hissed, the warm air of his breath brushing against your flushed face. His already dark chocolate eyes darkened further – you swore you could see his pupils dilating in real time, the dimness inside the tunnel failing to hide the mixture of anger and lust swirling in their depths.

“I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with a strange type of determination. Whatever was happening was something completely new in your dynamic, yet it felt like it had been building up the whole time you spent bickering and trying to get to each other using the power of biting words.

Mattheo’s hold grew tighter around your throat, almost cutting off the stream of much needed air flowing into your lungs.

“You should be.”

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel as his bat hit the floor, thrown away and immediately forgotten about. His newly freed hand gripped your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, the coldness of the surface seeping through the fabric of your winter robes. Mattheo’s body was flush against your front, creating a sharp contrast between the chill of the air surrounding you and his fired up skin, dampening your shirt with small rivulets of sweat dripping off him.

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze off his face, his dangerously handsome features tense and barely moving. You had no idea what to do with your hands, so they ended up on his bare chest without any real input from your mind, which, you could tell, was slowly turning off anyway. A hiss coming from him once your skin touched his was a surprise, but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his reaction. For some reason, you found yourself bold enough to try exploring this newfound knowledge, sliding your hand down his chest, along the firm planes and ridges. Two things happened at the same time: Mattheo’s fingers dug deeper into the sides of your throat, causing a strangled sound to escape your lips, while his other hand left your waist to grab your traveling wrist.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing right now,” Mattheo muttered, and you swore you could hear his teeth grinding against each other. “I’ll show you, though. I’ll fucking show you.”

Next thing you knew, you were lifted off the ground, stuck in the iron bars of his embrace. The instinct in you that still tried to persuade you that this whole thing was wrong made your dangling feet try to hit Mattheo’s knee. This weak attempt at defiance was quickly stopped by his arm moving down and tightly locking around your thighs, stopping your legs from moving altogether.

“Asshole.” You did hear the treacherous breathlessness of your voice, but also didn’t have it in you to care. The heat between your legs was rapidly intensifying, the friction created by your pressed up thighs only making you more desperate for something real, something substantial to quench your undeniable thirst.

A dark smirk appeared on Mattheo’s face, the one that did nothing to soften his expression – it only made him look more like the devil he appeared to be. A second later, his foot was pushing a door you didn’t even know was there, doing the same from the other side once he walked into a dark room that smelled like wood and broom polish. You didn’t have time to think or formulate a snarky response to his actions before you were getting turned around and bent over, Mattheo’s hand pressing insistently on the back of your neck. You barely had time to stabilize yourself against the cold wooden bench that stood at the wall, your scarf sliding off completely and falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, although it was more of a formality, since you made no actual attempt to get up from the new position. Mattheo, of course, took notice of that, his smirk widening a bit.

“This the only thing you can think of?” His voice was cold and mocking at the same time, not failing to send a shiver down your spine – it was huskier than usual, an undertone of desire obvious even to untrained ears. Mattheo effortlessly lifted up the hem of your robes, the rumpled fabric of your skirt splayed across your ass in a way he found sinful. “Where’s the smartass attitude, hm?”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, stinging even through several layers of clothing. Your body jolted forward, a yelp breaking out of your throat both at the unexpectedness of it and a wave of pleasure the smack sent straight between your legs. Mattheo found himself enjoying your reaction, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, fingers curling and pressing into the flesh.

“Fuck y-,” you started to mutter, glancing at him over your shoulder, but another smack shut you up pretty quickly. You could feel the sting, only intensified when his strong hand grabbed a handful of your ass, roughly kneading and squeezing.

“Much better from this angle,” Mattheo murmured, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek as his eyes shamelessly roamed your body up and down. His free hand slid up your back, pushing you to lean further down against the bench until he reached your hair. His fingers threaded through your locks in an almost tender gesture, one so uncharacteristic of Mattheo Riddle, before he yanked your head back, making you hiss from the harshness of the pull.

The warmth of his body enveloped you whole as Mattheo bent over, his flaming chest covering the entirety of your back. A fleeting thought flickered in your mind, that even the warmest robes couldn’t hold a candle to the human heater that was Mattheo after a Quidditch game. As his mouth neared your ear, his hand never stilled on your ass, lifting your skirt up to bunch up at your waist and running over the fabric of your tights.

“Really?” he asked, mockingly, making you want to strangle him and kiss the hell out of him at the same time. Your lips parted when you felt his sneaky fingers pressing between your legs, causing your thighs to clench. “D’you know I can feel you getting wet?” he cooed, brushing his lips against your ear, you were sure, very deliberately. You closed your eyes, unwanted embarrassment making its way to your cheeks, and you just knew the bastard was smirking again. You couldn’t control your body’s reaction to him, though, and your wetness seeping through your tights fully gave you away.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought your smartass mouth could handle better than that.”

Mattheo gave your hair another tug before his hand slipped down, curling around your throat again. His grip was tight, not allowing even a single millimeter of movement, a strangled gasp escaping you once you felt his hips pressing to your ass from the back. His hard-on was firmly planted between your cheeks, straining against his Quidditch trousers, as if he was trying to break through the layers of your clothing.

“But when I’m next to you,” Mattheo continued murmuring into your ear, a malicious smirk giving his words a dangerous hint, “you’re just a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck. You.”

You somehow managed to find words, the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to say before. Mattheo chuckled darkly, feeling your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his thumb – you really weren’t the best in hiding your deepest emotions, though your face still tried to keep its defiant stance.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, as his fingers moved against your covered pussy, the sound of it, though muffled, still embarrassingly wet. Once his torturous movements stopped, you nearly whined, biting your bottom lip in order to save yourself from further humiliation. Your teeth sunken into your lip didn’t go unnoticed – Mattheo licked his own, his hand on your throat lifting you up just a bit, his body heat a fire burning your back.

“Didn’t know having you speechless would be so…” Another smack on your ass interrupted his words, a squeal caused by the mixture of pain and pleasure sounding through the dark room. “…so fucking hot.”

You gained the courage to push your hips back, a satisfied hum rolling out of your mouth as you felt his cock twitch at the friction.

“So damn impatient,” Mattheo whispered into your ear. His own hips bucked forward, forcefully, enough to make your body jerk again. “But you’re lucky, because…”

He suddenly straightened up, roughly pulling down your tights and baring your skin to the chilly air. It was already stinging from the previous slaps, the sensation now stronger as the frost of early winter bit at the sensitive flesh.

“…me too.”

You didn’t notice the moment Mattheo’s trousers pooled at his feet, but they definitely did, along with his boxers. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when his warm, slicked up cock slid through your folds, making you feel every inch of him, providing the friction you desperately craved. Your entrance clenched, as if trying to suck him in but failing. His tip prodded at your hole, your whole body backing against him in an attempt to finally let him inside.

You didn’t have to wait – a single deep thrust, and he was splitting you open in the best, most mind blowing way possible. Your high-pitched moan was so loud it could be easily heard outside, but you didn’t care – you couldn’t care. Mattheo’s groan matched up in volume, his hands gripping your hips with brushing strength.

“If I knew you’d be so fucking tight…”

He pulled out only to thrust right back in, making you moan so loudly you could feel the air shake around you.

“…I’d shut you up like that every. Single. Time.”

Each word was accompanied by another thrust, each one deeper than the last, even though it was physically impossible – at least you felt like he discovered new depths within you every time. The squelching sounds of your pussy roughly meeting his dick echoed through the narrow space you were squished into, the slapping of your bodies surely making its way into the tunnel behind the door. It was something you’d never felt before – the passion, the lust filling your very essence, consuming and turning your brain into mush.

Mattheo’s palm connected with your asscheek again, making it bounce and ripple. Immediately after, he squeezed the round mound, and you hissed, another sting shooting through your body. His pace was unforgiving, but you didn’t want to be forgiven – if that was punishment, you’d rather be guilty for life. The stretch of your walls around his cock felt like it was tearing you apart and gathering you back in one piece right after, and at that moment you were sure that no one else could fuck you like that.

His hand ended up in your hair again as he tugged you up, making your back press against his chest again. Somehow, it was still just as hot as before, causing you to break out in sweat from the exertion and his body heat seeping through your skin and bones. If the room had windows, they would certainly be fogged up. However, the only foggy thing was your mind, getting more and more dazed as your peak approached.

“You wanna cum, huh?” Mattheo growled, his laboured breath prickling at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Wanna cum on my cock, like the slut you are?”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting that, cumming around him was the only thing swirling in your head. You tried to nod, but his grip on your hair didn’t allow it.

“Words,” he muttered, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold his own orgasm back, determined to make you fall apart first. “The only time I want you to use your fucking words.”

“I wanna– Fuck! Wanna cum on your cock,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks heating up at the fact that you had just given in, had given him control over the pleasure you yearned for.

“Do it, then.”

With another rough slap on your ass, you came, wave after wave making your body tremble and shake. Mattheo was quick to finish right after, his growl bordering on animalistic as he spilled deep inside of you. The warmth of his cum felt like it was etched into your very soul, hot and sticky, your clenching hole squeezing some out to trickle down your thighs. Mattheo could get hard all over again just from the sight alone, but he resisted, pulling your skirt down to cover the delicious view.

For a few moments, you could only try catching your breath, leaning on the bench still somehow holding up in front of you.

“Next time you lose, you know where to find me.” Your voice was shaking, yet already filled with the cockiness of knowing that you, in some way, made Mattheo Riddle lose control.

“Next time I win, you won’t be able to walk for days,” he retorted, his tone bearing something akin to a threat. Or a promise.

[krazyyyyyy]

Forever Longing Solivan Brugmansia /Reader

Synopsis: A small glimpse into Sol's elementary life, where he abruptly meets the single most important person in his life...You

Warnings: Mentions of violence

Words: 2553

Notes: Don't know how many more of these I'll write, but I'm hoping to get around three more done if not a few more.

Hope you enjoy this short story <3

Children’s happy laughter echoed loudly throughout the playground, as they began to spill out of the school building; marking the beginning of their cherished recess time. Kids ran freely playing around with friends, swinging giddily on the swing sets, and continuously going up and down the slide.

Well, all the kids but one…

A young, small, and quiet Solivan stood far away from the other kids, staring at the ground at his feet, avoiding any eye contact with anybody within the area. He knew he didn’t fit in with the others, given his introverted nature, he was considered an outcast amongst his classmates. People tended to overlook him, barely acknowledging his presence even when they were standing right next to him.

He was used to it, though…. He had his drawing supplies and stuffed animals, the only things that really made him feel anything close to happiness. The stuffed animals would never judge him, and, they’d always be around to listen to him when he needed it, an idiosyncratic concept to him growing up in a loveless household.

A soft tap on his shoulder causes him to lift his amber gaze from the ground and into the familiar brown orbs of his teacher, Mrs. Baker. A woman with a skinny frame and curly auburn hair that just slightly exceeded her shoulders. It took everything within him not to scoff at her arrival. She was keen on pushing him towards being more sociable with the other kids, a goal that would always fail in his favor. So why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

 She crouched down to his height and spoke to him in her usual soft and steady voice, “Solivan, Why don’t you play with the others today? It seems they're playing a little game of freeze tag, doesn’t that sound like fun?” 

Solivan spared a short glance toward where the kids were running wildly at each other, while some others stayed frozen in place, showing signs of annoyance at being frozen; he retracted his gaze back to the ground shaking his head, mumbling a small “No”

Mrs. Baker smiled understandingly at the timid young boy before her, “I know it might seem scary, but give it a chance, you might like it more than you think.” She attempted one last time to try to convince the boy to open up, even if it was just a little.

The boy remained silent, having lost interest in the conversation completely and hoping that his teacher would simply give up and leave him alone for the rest of the recess period.

Thankfully, it seemed fate was on his side, as he heard his teacher sigh next to him before standing up and walking away to a different part of the playground to supervise a group of rather exuberant children. Leaving him alone at last.

The little raven-haired boy sat on the ground, back pressed against the steel fence that separated the playground from the busy streets that lay not far behind. Settling down, Sol pulled out a small sketchpad from his back pocket; a notebook that was filled page to page in his numerous doodles, which he usually did during class time to pass the time.

Pulling out a pencil, Sol began to doodle, head buried in the notebook; heavily embarked on the mini sketches that required his utmost attention. After a while, he finally cranes his head back to admire his work; his sketch was that of a small horse with a small sketched figure of him seated cheerfully on its back.

He beamed at the drawing, proud of his work. While marveling at the sketch, the notepad is quickly ripped from his grasp. Startled and confused, Sol snaps his head up to look at the culprits. Standing above him, were three kids, obviously much older than he was, possibly four grades above him.

Sol was quick to spring up to his feet to try to get the notebook back, but to no avail, as the blond boy who held the item towered over him. He held the sketchbook high above his head, so even if the little boy tried to jump for it, it would prove pointless in the end

“Give it back!” Sol shouted at the kids as he continued to try to reach for what he considered to be one of his only sources of comfort. All three of the boys laughed at him, “Aww, is the little weirdo gonna cry.” a boy with red hair teased, pointing at him.

“You drew yourself riding a horse? What are you, some kind of girl?” The blond boy jokingly flipped through the pages of the book, briefly observing its contents.

“Stop it!” When Sol tried to reach for his sketchbook once again, the blond boy laughed, before tossing the book over to another boy; then that boy proceeded to also flip through the book and laugh before also tossing it to the next boy. Sol found himself playing in this miserable game of monkey in the middle; a game where he could only watch as his book flew through the air above him, out of reach, with no hopes of ever reaching it.

Eventually, Sol got the courage to defend himself from these bullies, and with all the strength he could muster with his tiny form, he tried to shove the bully who had the sketchbook in his possession. But, the shove proved unhelpful, as the bully didn’t even move an inch.

Sol could barely catch his breath before he was harshly shoved to the ground. A sharp pain pulsed through his body as his back was met with the hard ground; Sol opened his eyes to notice that his sketchbook had fallen next to his body, the bully had more than likely dropped it in outrage at Sol’s sudden rebuke. Sol swiftly snatched the book off the ground and held it close to his chest, shielding it from the bullies.

Sol lay on the ground in a fetal position, with his back facing his bullies, arms still tightly wrapped around his sketchbook. There was a sudden sharp pain on his side as a bully directed a fierce kick toward the young boy; another boy directed a kick, of similar intensity, toward his other side, leaving the little boy only to whimper in pain.

The group of bullies continued to relentlessly kick the defenseless boy, not showing any hint of mercy toward him. Tears ran down Sol’s cheeks as he could only endure the endless kicks that the bullies threw at him. He closed his eyes and hoped the boys would soon grow bored with this and walk away, or maybe a teacher would notice this assault and interfere.

It felt like an eternity that the kicking would continue, he almost thought it would never end…

Until a loud voice rang out and suddenly the kick stopped.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Sol heard the unknown voice shout at the group of boys. He peeked from his position to glance at where the shouting came from; upon opening his eyes, he was met with his saviors back facing him as they spread their arms out wide to shield him away from the sight of the bullies.

“Get outta the way Pipsqueak! Or you're gonna be next!” He heard one of the bullies shout at the person before him. Sol noticed the stranger's visible shakiness as they stayed rooted in their spot in front of him; they were just as scared of these bullies as he was, yet they still chose to throw themselves in the middle just to protect him. He felt a surge of admiration for the stranger; this had been the first and only time someone stood up for him… his heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

“No! I-I won't l-let you!” The stranger's words came out shuddered and breathy as if they were holding back tears. Luckily, their voice had been loud enough to possibly draw the attention of others nearby.

The twisted grins on the bullies' faces faded at the realization, and they looked around the area to see if anyone had caught the drift of what was happening.

“Shit!”  Was the last thing Sol heard from them, followed by the frantic pattering of feet in the grass as the bullies quickly fled the scene. Leaving behind two frightened kids as a result. 

Sol, who was still lying on the ground, breathed heavily, the fear coursing through his veins still running wild. He flinched when a blurry object suddenly came into his vision. As his vision slowly cleared, he noticed that the object was the outstretched hand of his savior; they looked down at him with a concerned expression, tears still lingering in the corner of their eyes.

Hesitantly, Sol took the hand, which helped pull him to his feet. He stumbled a bit but managed to regain his balance with a bit of effort and help from the person next to him.

“Are you okay?” The stranger asked him, their voice a bit hoarse from all the yelling yet still holding a subtle gentleness to it. Sol looked at them for a second, before shyly shifting his gaze off somewhere else and slightly nodding his head.

They smiled, their gaze landing on the item that Sol continued to hold tightly to his chest. “What’s that?” They pointed out the sketchbook, which, unknowingly to them, had caused the whole ruckus that just happened moments ago.

“... It’s my sketchbook,” Sol murmured under his breath, keeping his gaze away from the person in front of him. He never did well talking to people, never mind kids his age, this person wouldn’t be any different.

Their eyes lit up as he spoke, “You draw?! I wanna see it! Can I see pretty, please?!”

 Sol was taken aback by their sudden interest in his sketchbook, his eyes were blown wide at them; he had never shown anyone his work before, nor had anyone ever asked to see it… this person was achieving a lot of firsts for him. He supposed he could show them, considering they had just saved him from a harsh beating.

“Umm… Okay.” Sol pulled the sketchbook from where it rested on his chest to hold it out between him and the stranger. He slowly navigated through the pages, properly allowing the person next to him to take in each piece of art. They were a bundle of excitement, commenting excitedly on almost every single little doodle in the book; it brought a small smile to Sol’s face, knowing that someone enjoyed his drawings just as much as he did.

“These are so good! You're so talented! Do you think maybe you can draw me something?” Sol felt his cheeks flush with an odd, unfamiliar warmth. They wanted him to draw something for them. Him? Out of all the people they could have asked? They wanted him to draw for them…

He fidgeted with the pages of the notebook in his hands, keeping his eyes glued to the ground, nervously. “Sure–”

“Wait! Before I forget, my name is Y/N!” They cheerfully cut him off, “What’s yours?” They talked a million words per second, which was a bit overwhelming, but Sol still found himself intrigued by them.

“My name is Solivan…” He spoke quietly, but loud enough for their newfound acquaintance to hear. “Solivan?” They tested his name out, “Well, Solivan from this day forward you are now my friend!” Sol stared at them dumbfounded. He never had a friend before, but didn’t think it would ever be this simple, yet here he was.

He didn’t get a chance to respond to their declaration when they continued to speak, “I’m thinking maybe a butterfly–No wait! A gecko… no…” They continued to list through a variety of animals, as Sol would stand and watch them in awe. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt some sort of connection to his new friend, it wasn’t unwelcome, but it was still strange.

“Oh, I got it! How about a dove? Mom says those are her favorite!” 

Sol raises an eyebrow at them.“Like the bird? Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” They cheer.

Sol only nods his head in response, but a smile remains on his face at their jubilation. He sees the opportunity to speak after your moment of triumph and takes it, “I-um… thank you… for helping me. Not many would’ve done the same.”

They shake their head at him with a smile,“ Don’t mention it. You needed help…so I helped!”, the sincerity in their tone set Sol at ease. He wondered if had truly been missing out. If other kids acted just like Y/N, then maybe talking to others wouldn’t be so bad.

A mature voice suddenly rang out through the playground, catching everyone's attention, “Kids, recess is over! Start lining up with your class!”

“Aww man!” The child next to Sol groans, “Just when we were having fun, too!”. If their definition of fun was getting nearly trampled by a couple of older students, then Sol supposes he had the time of his life… Not really, though, but meeting Y/N was a nice surprise.

Children from all around the playground started to depart, moving to their designated class lines. Y/N started to make their way toward their line before they stopped to turn around to look at Sol one more time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Solivan! Can’t wait to see the drawing!” And with that, the energetic second-grader gave him one last wave before running over to their class.

Sol gave them a little wave in return, watching as their figure got further and further away. It wasn’t long before he himself started making his way toward his own class, to continue the rest of his day. Of course, his attention wasn’t drawn toward that of his classwork, but rather that of the little dove drawing he spent the rest of the day drawing for that special someone he met.

~

Sol paid no mind as his art teacher rambled on and on about the importance of elements in art; his focus mainly on the small, worn-out sketch pad that lay open on his desk. He lazily drew his fingers along the delicate pencil marks of his old drawing from way back then.

Out of the drawings he had created during his entire childhood, that little dove that he drew for you in the second grade always held a special place in his heart. He remembers how bright your face lit up when he showed it to you the very next day; you insisted that he kept it in his sketchbook, under the circumstance that you get to view it anytime you want–which you would do on the daily.

He shifted his gaze from the paper to where you sat near the front of the classroom, trying your best not to fall asleep during the lecture. His heart ached for you to look at him the way you did when you were kids, now it was like he was a total stranger to you; another student who simply attended the same art class as you.

But with time, you’d eventually grow aware of his existence, you’d have too.

After all, you were his soulmate, just as he was yours.

[magicalbats]

We Turn Not Older: Neuvillette

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5402

Warnings: Afab!reader, some gendered language, blowjob, deep throating, breath play

A/N: Alright, so I'm technically late on this but I finished it and by god am I going to post it. I had this crazy idea that I was going to write a little something for most of the character birthdays going into 2024 (minus the obvious ones like Diona and Klee, duh) so the title will be used as the catchall for this "series". I'm going to elaborate further on this reader character in a different post but basically we're just replacing Lumine in the canon story and everything else stays the same haha

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day" - Emily Dickinson

⭐

Neuvillette turns from his perusal of the floor to ceiling bookcase at the sound of the door opening and then closing behind him. The contemplative look on his face morphs into one of friendly greeting when he sees it is you standing there rather than a Melusine or one of the many human secretaries constantly flitting about the Palais with files and documents to leave on his desk. He isn’t exactly the easiest person to get a good read on, but you think he looks almost relieved. 

“Ah, so you were able to make it after all. It is a pleasure to see you again, Traveler.”

The honorable Iudex smiles at you, his expression so soft around the edges and inviting that you feel the regular tensions in your body relaxing in response. You were under the impression that not many could count themselves lucky enough to be on the receiving end of such a warm welcome and for good reason. Neuvillette took his obligations to Fontaine as much as its people quite seriously, so there was always a certain decorum with which he carried himself when interacting with others. It was a direct contrast to the Hydro Archon who seemed to operate on the far opposite end of the spectrum. 

But you were not a citizen of this nation so no such expectations existed between you and him. He was free to speak and behave in whatever way he deemed fit when dealing with you, and he chose to be warm and welcoming because the two of you were friends now. You could call yourselves that, couldn’t you? 

Truth be told you were banking on it today. Offering him a smile of your own, you start to walk across the office, the plush, no doubt expensive rug under your feet almost completely silencing the heels of your boots to make for a near silent approach on your part. You were glad Sedine hadn’t insisted on personally seeing you in but that was yet another perk of being on such good terms with the Chief Justice. It allowed for private audiences with him like this.  

“It is your birthday, you know. I wouldn’t willingly miss the chance to celebrate it with you for the world.” 

“You flatter me, of course, but I do hope you didn’t neglect anything important just to come see me?” He makes it a question, the curve of his mouth taking on a vaguely wry edge at the thought of what you may have decided to skip out on given your reputation in Teyvat. He was in a good mood then, if he could find humor in your many exploits. A promising sign if there ever was one. 

Stepping around the corner of his spacious desk, you walk right up to him and come to a stop with mere feet to spare. The height difference forces you to crane your neck back to peer up at him and he likewise tips his chin down to pin you with that amused yet still perfectly congenial look. That he allows you to get this close without questioning it or backing up a step to keep the distance polite and respectful speaks volumes. Your heartbeat subtly begins to speed up. You wonder if he can sense it in some way. 

“Luckily I didn’t have any pressing matters to take care of so I came as soon as I got your letter. How else was I supposed to give you your birthday present?” 

“A present?” Neuvillette echoes you, and his expression finally slips to belie his confusion on the matter. He’d clearly noticed that you’d entered his office empty handed with nothing except the clothes on your back, not even Paimon in tow. The fact he hadn’t expected anything at all and didn’t give it a second thought until now only further vindicates your choice to come here like this. He deserved what you planned to give him, if he would accept it. 

Oh, and how you hoped he would. 

“But of course, Monsieur Neuvillette. That is the custom everywhere in Teyvat, isn’t it? Even Fontaine must recognize the tradition of giving presents to someone on their birthday?” 

“Well, yes. That is true but …” 

He doesn’t finish his thought. Allowing the words to trail off into a curious silence, he watches you bring your hands up without protest as you carefully place them across his chest. There are many layers of clothes between you and his skin, and you register a distant note of surprise when you realize how narrow he feels under your touch. All the different coats and shirts, and the wide shouldered justice robe had given the impression of someone much bigger. More filled out. He actually seems to be rather svelte under everything he’s wearing, a thought that is surprisingly intriguing in that moment. You wanted to find out how he looked when he was bare and vulnerable in the way only lovers are with one another. Perhaps you could convince him to undress himself for you, one layer at a time. Slowly. 

That was for later though. For now, in this moment, you had an objective in mind, and you give him a coquettish bat of your eyelashes as you pointedly press in on him with your hands. “You’re free to decline the offer, Monsieur, but I wanted to gift you something that no one else can. You told me once before that you don’t allow yourself to foster close relationships with others, didn’t you? I wonder when was the last time you were able to really relax …”

You can see his thoughts working in the soft lilac of his horizontally slit eyes, so fascinating to look into even when you were well aware you’d presented him with a conundrum. A moral dilemma, if you would. As a dragon sovereign he had no right to involve himself with humans beyond surface level interactions, never anything intimate or more personal beyond a friendly greeting and the impartial judgments he passed on them in the court. But you weren’t a human — not a normal one, anyway. You were not of Teyvat and he knew that. That changed things, didn’t it? For you, only you, he could bend the rules. 

Understanding finally clicks into place and you can’t help the grin that comes over you at the way Neuvillette’s body stiffens with the knowledge of what you were offering him. But rather than looking affronted like you’d half expected him to initially react, unsure of how he would perceive such an offer, his otherworldly gaze actually takes on a low simmering heat that sparks warmth in your own skin. The way he looks at you now is very close to being unreadable but his eyes do not lie. They very rarely do in your experience. 

“My dearest Traveler,” He says it softly, quiet to conceal the hot undercurrent just below the surface. “Are you suggesting a gift of sexual favors in place of a more customary exchange?”

“Only if you want it, Monsieur. Like I said, you’re welcome to turn it down if you’re not interested.” 

Neuvillette regards you for a long stretch with what you think must be cautious inner reflection. You don’t doubt that he was taking this time to consider every angle of your proposal and the possible implications that might come with it. That’s just the kind of person he is and it’s what makes him such an effective judge. You don’t mind it. Had even anticipated it on some level, so you wait patiently for him to reach his verdict with your hands still braced against his chest, as suggestive as they were anticipatory. 

At length, he finally draws a single carefully tempered breath before speaking in the low, measured tones of someone who thinks they have been presented with an offer that is too good to be true and they don’t trust it. Not fully. Not yet. “I believe one would have to be a fool to decline such a generous offer coming from you, Traveler. It is an honor just to know you would be willing to have me in such a way and I give you my sincerest thanks for that.” 

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.” 

He visibly hesitates to do it but he still gives in to the urge. Lifting his hand, Neuvillette gently brushes the tips of long gloved fingers across your cheek before cupping it against the curve of his palm. Every movement, every gesture is so deliberate and heedful that you understand what he’s going to say long before he actually speaks it. 

“Yes. You are human. Perhaps not in the usual sense and while I certainly acknowledge that you are not of this world, that doesn’t change the composition of your body. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with human women, Mademoiselle.” 

“I can teach you.” Is your ready answer, complete with a teasing smile for his benefit, and Neuvillette graces you with a faint chuckle in response. 

“Then I suppose it would be rude of me not to accept. Do you bestow such generous gifts to many of the men you’ve met on your travels?” 

“Only the ones I like.” 

Grinning, you give his chest a more purposeful push. Picking up on your intentions, Neuvillette takes a slow step backward and then another. He lets you guide him towards his empty high backed chair, never taking the intensity of his gaze away from you for so much as a moment while you steer him where you want. It almost surprises you a little bit, how easily such a proudly composed man is willing to comply and let you take the lead like this but the warm glint in his eyes remains even when you trap him against the side of the desk. He’s clearly not only interested in what you plan to do and curious, but also amused by this turn of events. You may have had the control here, for the moment at least, but that was only because he was letting you have it. He could have flipped the tables on you all too quickly and both of you were well aware of it. 

“Sit?” You flick your eyes in the direction of the chair for emphasis. A strange, heady sense of power comes over you when he shifts to the side and lowers himself into the seat with neither question nor protest. Just obedience. No matter how cursory it may have been, it was still very intoxicating to taste. 

Giving him a chance to get settled, you watch as he starts to cross his long legs as if it was second nature for him to do so only to think better of it at the last moment. He situates himself with both feet planted squarely on the floor instead and you eagerly lower yourself to kneel before him, palming his knees so you can gently push them apart while you do it. 

Neuvillette’s mouth automatically pops open as if this was the first thing he found any real complaint in. You softly shush him though, quietly assuring him that you’ll take care of everything as you push the front of his long robe up and out of the way to reveal the top of his high waisted pants. There are a series of buttons keeping the placquet of the trousers closed. He doesn’t try to hide his fretting over what you’re doing while you work to get them undone, a series of “Are you certain”s and “Please, Traveler,”s spilling from his mouth while elegantly gloved hands hover over you in uncertainty. Making a mental note to correct that later, you keep tugging until you at last get the final button freed so you can pull at his pants enough to reveal what’s inside.

The underwear is plain and clean white, yet even you can tell at just a glance that this particular garment is no less exquisite than the rest of his richly crafted attire. The cotton is some of the softest you’ve ever felt and the stitching is perfectly neat and precise. Not so much as a single thread out of place or loose to draw attention to such an obvious imperfection. You can’t help smiling to yourself as you carefully untie the dainty cord at the waistband. 

“Are all of your clothes bought at the finest boutiques, Monsieur?” You tease, sending him a meaningful look from your spot on the floor. 

Neuvillette frowns slightly, like he doesn’t quite understand what that has to do with anything. In truth, he probably doesn’t. “I am not particularly concerned with fashion, if that is what you are implying. As the Iudex of Fontaine I’m merely held to certain standards - -“

“Yes, yes, Monsieur. I understand your position.”

He huffs an almost silent exhale at your giggling response. Consideringly, he observes the way you trace fingertips over the front of his crisp white braies and nudge the fabric down one teasing inch at a time, slowly exposing a strip of soft flesh across his lower belly. “Really, Mademoiselle, is going about it in this manner truly necessary? It is not a gift for me to see you debase yourself like a lowly commoner.” 

“Hmm. Are you quite familiar with the practices of commoners, Neuvillette?” 

“Hardly. It is just …” He once again trails off, a distant spark alighting behind his eyes when you get the underwear edged down enough to reveal the startings of a fine patch of hair. Its silvery-white, almost transparent had it not stood out in contrast against the smooth color of his skin. Just like how the hair on his head is so pale it makes his face look warmer complexioned than it really is, this had the same effect. Your mouth starts to water at the thought of what would come next, and he gives a faint grunt as you give his bottoms a more insistent tug. 

“But you are my esteemed guest, Traveler, and it seems inappropriate to make you kneel before me.” Neuvillette finally finishes his thought and not without effort. 

“You have not made me do anything though. I chose to kneel by my own free will.” You shoot him a quick, cheeky grin. “Besides, I thought you would like seeing a so-called human on their knees for you, oh mighty Hydro Dragon.” 

He sucks in a quick breath. You can tell he’s going to argue it, correct it, contest the allegation you’ve lobbied against him but you don’t give him the chance. With one final pull, his cock springs free. A soft hiss escapes Neuvillette’s suddenly tight mouth as it hits the air, still mostly flaccid but quickly stirring to life even as it smacks against the bare strip of flesh along his pelvis. You’re admittedly surprised and a bit relieved to see that it is a by all accounts normal looking organ of the human persuasion. You hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect from the reincarnation of a Soverign but he looks every bit as normal as you do. Funny thing, that. 

“Oh, Monsieur,” You rove your attention up, catching his eye and holding it as you lean over his lap. Your lips part and you swipe a slow lick of your tongue from the base up to the head. It twitches under the sensation, bobbing upward as if to follow you but you pull away too fast for it to find your mouth again. He looses a terse breath that sounds as appreciative of the gesture as it is bemused at the audacity to tease him like that. “Such a lovely cock for a lovely man. Are you sure you don’t enjoy seeing me on my knees?” 

His length eagerly swells as if in response. It grows in size and shape right before your eyes, stiffening and starting to stand at attention just for you. Evidently he was very much a grower. 

“I said it did not seem appropriate, mon petit voyageur,” Neuvilette murmurs, finally bringing one hand close to cup the side of your face again. Tenderly, his thumb brushes over the swell of your cheek while he looks into your eyes with a certain masculine weight that makes your loins curl into a knot. “I said nothing about not enjoying it.” 

“My mistake.” You whisper back as you reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock. 

Keeping your hold loose, you gently massage it up and then down, giving the base an encouraging squeeze before dragging your hand towards the glans again. The motion makes his foreskin bunch and gather over the head, and when you bring your hand down next you’re rewarded with a soft, sticky click. He was becoming excited rather quickly, wasn’t he? You assumed that meant your earlier assumption had been correct. He must rarely if ever allow himself to indulge in the urges of his human body like this. Not with another person, at least. 

You feel decidedly emboldened as you take a moment to nuzzle into his hand. It was reassuring to know that he did not fear touching you in reciprocation and you intended to enforce the behavior. Gently, at first, then more forcefully if need be. 

“Does this mean I have your permission to proceed, Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

The breath he draws is stilted. Short. “I would certainly be appreciative of that.” 

Bringing your attention back around with a smile, you regard his cock again. It’s a good, healthy size — sturdy in your hand and incredibly soft to the touch despite how firm it’s gotten just below the surface of all that delicate skin. You lean in on the next downward tug of your fingers, when the foreskin has been pulled back enough to expose the ruddy pink head. Flicking your tongue over the dainty slit, you issue a low moan at the shock of salty precum that floods your tastebuds. It’s not exactly bitter but it wasn’t sweet either. Just clean and faintly musky with a distant note of male pheromones to taste. It made sense that he would be as close to a neutral flavor as the human body was likely capable of though, given how much he enjoyed drinking water. It was delicious. 

You let out a quiet sigh into the still air. Giving in to the instinctive urge, you wrap your lips around the head. He tenses underneath you at the sensation of your mouth fully on him, suckling at the sensitive glans, and his hand gives a faint jolt against your cheek. Reaching further back, Neuvillette gingerly cradles the back of your head with a hushed groan but doesn’t do anything beyond that. 

A groan that you belatedly realize is your name. 

Not the customary ‘Traveler’ you got everywhere in Teyvat nor the altering variation of either ‘Mademoiselle’ or ‘mon petit’ that he occasionally used with you in private. Your real name. 

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for the friends you’d made throughout your travels to call you that but Neuvillette did it so rarely, so infrequently that it strikes something delicate and soft inside of you. He was perfectly polite and cordial, and that often meant keeping those around him at a socially acceptable distance. Close, but not so close as to imply intimacy. Far enough at arms length to avoid misunderstandings but not so far as to come off rude. It was a razor fine line he usually walked and aside from the Melusine’s, Furina seemed to be the only exception. 

And now you too, or so it appeared. At least for right now. 

Softly groaning, you lean further over his lap — lean further into your work and take him deeper into your mouth. The stretch is exquisite. It’s hard not to imagine the same cock stretching other parts of your body open in similar fashion, your cunt fluttering in unmistakable excitement as you swallow him down to the halfway point of his shaft. Neuvillette’s fingers lightly spasm against your hair, stiff with the desire to close his fist around the strands and perhaps tug or use them as leverage to push, but he fights it. You’re acutely aware of this fact even while you languidly lap at the underside of his length with your tongue. Still so polite even when you had him pulled in almost to your throat and there was another inch or two waiting just beyond the edge of your lips. You couldn’t abide by him holding himself in check like this when it was supposed to be his birthday present for him to enjoy. He should have been enjoying it to the fullest. 

So you reach back with your unoccupied hand, the one not currently holding him around the base, and blindly latch onto his stiff knuckles. Giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze, you press his palm firmly into the back of your head. He lets out a low, seething hiss in response, still valiantly fighting it for another moment longer despite the encouragement. The gentlemanly facade finally cracks though and a small portion of the Dragon Sovereign seems to peak out. When he finally pushes down on your head, it’s surprisingly forceful and demanding. The pressure makes you take another inch or so, and you moan a thick sound around the cock stuffed in your mouth. Now he was really tickling your tonsils and the sensation makes your salivary glands kick into overtime to produce a copious amount of drool that slowly starts to bubble out past your lips. You were going to make a mess at this rate. 

“Mon petit,” Neuvillette whispers the pet name like an oath. “I am afraid that — nnghn. I seem to be ill equipped for this particular activity. As shameful as it is to admit … I did not expect it to feel this good.” 

Noising an incomprehensible sound, a sentiment meant to put his concerns at ease, you nudge your face down a little closer to his lap and take another half inch. His narrow hips buck slightly at the sensation of slipping into your throat but now he’s struggling just to maintain his composure instead of thrusting up like he wants to. Neuvillette no longer has the luxury or the presence of mind to be concerned about his manners, and his fingers finally close around your hair at the root. The dull yank on your scalp makes your pussy clench tight in response. You couldn’t wait to have him. You hoped he would have you after this. If he was as pent up as you suspected, then it probably wasn’t a stretch to think he would. 

Gathering your own willpower, you slowly start to pull back off his cock. Choking yourself on it sounded like a great idea at the moment but you wanted to give him a short reprieve, a break to get a hold of himself. So you ignore the spit that dribbles down his length to coat your fingers where you’re squeezing it tight in an attempt to stave off his release. Neuvillette manages to surprise you slightly when he issues a low, barely audible growl at the loss of your mouth but you ignore that too. You finally make it to the glans a heartbeat later and you take the chance to swirl your tongue around the pink head. A quick glance through the fall of your lashes shows you his expression pinched in obvious pleasure and something darker. Something far more primal than simple arousal. You weren’t sure how far you could push him before the long dormant draconian instincts started to take over but you were curious and bullheaded enough to try it. 

You finally sit back, taking your mouth off his cock completely. The pretty face of the polite Iudex momentarily scrunches up in a tense, heady groan of frustration that leaves tiny little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he opens them to peer down at you. The intensity in those slit irises, the pupils blown wide and dark, inspires a nervous shudder down the length of your spine. You had no idea he could look at someone like that. Like so much meat. Prey that was his for the taking if only he would reach out with a sharp taloned claw and slice into laughably soft flesh to spill whatever was inside. 

Your pussy achingly throbs, though you aren’t entirely sure if it’s from sexual excitement or mortal fear. Perhaps it was both. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Monsieur Neuvillette?” You speak softly, as if to avoid setting off the predator before you, but the only response you get is a single, hissed word. 

“Yes.” 

Then he’s pushing on your head just as demandingly as the first time, maybe even more so. He forces your face to his lap. Gives you no choice but to open your mouth wide and accept his cock again. Down, inch by inch, you take him straight to the edge of your throat and then you take him inside. Your gag reflex puts up cursory resistance for all of a single second and then he’s wedged as far down your gullet as he can go. You noise a pitifully muffled sound when your nose presses into his pelvis hard enough to bring tears to your eyes, the soft, nearly translucent hair tickling your skin. The muscles in your throat work around the intrusion as if to expel the blockage but it does very little in the way of good when he was already this deep. All you can do is heave on his cock and writhe there on the floor, your shoulders shuddering with each dry gag that assaults your body in violent waves. 

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so painfully aroused. 

Groaning in deeply felt pleasure, Neuvillette gingerly leans back into his chair while keeping his hand pressed firm against the back of your head to hold you in place. You blink through the tears and peer up at him, committing every detail of his stricken face, his posture, his breathy voice as it tumbles out of him to memory even as you reach under your travel dress for what’s between your legs. Pressing your fingers into the crotch of your bloomers, you start to rub hasty circles into yourself while you watch him stiffly shake towards his own release. Never mind the fact you couldn’t breathe like this. It was just going to make for an even more powerful orgasm than what you were already anticipating. 

“Your throat is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before,” He grits out through tightly clenched teeth, his brows knitted so deeply that a small wrinkle had formed between them. “Du ciel à la terre, I can’t hold out any longer, mon petit, I am going to — nnghnnn!” 

Neuvillette cums with a sharp, rumbling grunt. The sound seems to vibrate through his shuddering frame and bleed into you, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head when his cock gives one, pulsing throb before shooting thick ropes down your gullet. You choke at the sensation even as your throat desperately tries to get it all down before you can asphyxiate. It doesn’t feel like such a far off possibility at this point as you start to grow faint and dizzy from a lack of oxygen. But you just keep rubbing your cunt and swallowing, spurt after spurt of thick, creamy discharge until he finally hisses one final noise of pleasure before going lax underneath you. 

Without his hand holding you in place any longer, you quickly rear back and come up off his cock with a highly undignified, ugly wretching sound. You suck in a hungry mouthful of air even as sheets of drool and bubbling spit leak from your numb lips. You’re not half as concerned about that as you are with your quickly fleeting orgasm though. Like low tide, it seems to tauntingly lap at the edges of the shore line even as it quietly recedes out into the void of endless ocean without a second thought. You could almost sob at the loss as you rub yourself faster, harder. Even reaching up with your free hand to paw at your own breast through the thin material of your dress doesn’t bring it back. And you’d been so close too. 

“And what is this, Traveler?” 

Abruptly realizing that Neuvillette has recovered from his own orgasm and has been watching you for the last moment or so, you tip your head back to look at him. That glimpse of the dragon is gone and in its place is the same respectable Iudex you were usually accustomed to dealing with. The sole exception in his demeanor was the weight with which his gaze has settled upon you. There was a hunger there. An innate sense of superior dominance that had not been present when last he’d looked at you before this. 

It occurs to you then that you have perhaps awoken the beast in him with all your poking and prodding in more ways than one. There’s something in the way he looks at you down the length of his nose that sets your blood to boiling. You wanted — no, needed him to subjugate you to his will. That was what was missing. That was why your orgasm had fled at the first sign of reprieve from his iron will. 

Whimpering softly at your own helplessness, you lean back to press one hand against the floor and reach up with the other to tug one side of your dress down. He attentively watches your breast spill out into the open, drawing a subtle breath at the sight of you like this. So desperate. So needy and vulnerable. He doesn’t act on it though and you bite your lip to stop yourself from begging for it as you gather the front of your dress. You wonder if your sticky cunt had bled through the soft cotton of your bloomers yet as you present them to him without an ounce of shame to show for it. 

A small yet no less pleased smile plays across Neuvilette’s mouth. Rather primly, properly, he tugs the fabric of his justice robe to cover his lap and hide his softening cock from your voracious sights. The fact he doesn’t put it away, only covers it, makes your blood pound somehow even harder. It feels like you’ve got a second heartbeat in your cunt as he carefully shifts in his seat and brings the toe of an expensive shoe close to your pussy. 

“Is this how one handles human women, Mademoiselle?” He sounds vaguely amused, as if he already knew the answer. Like that one single exchange had enlightened him to a whole litany of sexual knowledge that he hadn’t been fully aware of before. 

You weren’t sure if it was just a result of his undeniable intelligence and he’d merely pieced everything together in record time or if it could really be a shared understanding with his past life. Did the Dragon Sovereign’s mate the same way people do? You didn’t really care about any of that right now. 

There’s only one thing on your mind and, at your nod, Neuvillette brings his foot closer. Slips it between your legs. He thoughtfully hums, as if considering his next move, and then presses up to flatten the top of his shoe along the pudge of your cunt. Even with the thin layer of your bloomers in the way it damn near makes you see double and you gasp. Your reaction seems to please him a great deal. Chuckling to himself, the Chief Justice of Fontaine slowly works his limb back and forth, up and down, to tease your slit with pressure that is simultaneously too much and yet not near enough to make you cum. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“I must admit that this is quite interesting, Traveler.” He tells you softly, almost secretively. “You’ve certainly piqued my interest, at least. I had no idea touching you like this would make you look at me with such a … needy expression on your face. I wonder what will happen if I keep going. You’ll teach me this too won’t you, mon petit?” 

Of course you would. Anything for the birthday boy.

⭐

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

░a░p░e░x░ ░p░r░e░d░a░t░o░r░

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a 🆂🅽🅰🅲🅺

...

(a second batman x venom crossover. i mean, they just kinda keep having similiar themes all around, an' with two my fav halloween freaks. i cannot just pass this chance, haha.

either way, jon n' jack havin' a swell time as you can see. they're at the bottom of the food chain quite literally. poor twinky ghouls are about to become a dinner in more ways, than one. how unfortunate for them! but what a feast for a nosferatu n' alien parasite. one drinks 🩸, the other love eatin' human 🧠, so it's no biggie that both jon an' jack are scrawny an' undernourished. their predators aren't after their meat or limited fat. they are after more individual body parts an' components.

so yes, this is my halloween 'special' thingy! a conjoined mash-up about big bad predator an' their twangy, evil prey. the sort of dynamic, that both pairs had going on at one point or another. less so 'canically' for scarebat, since that series of comics *where batman was a savage vampire* is technically a separate 'what if' reality. but still, jon n' jack had a very real brush with smth, that is way stronger than them. an' only one made it out alive, but oh well, this is what AUs n' other stuff is for. bc how about no, an' how about some more homoerotic take on those scenes? like, it was 'hot' to me in some ways. esp with words like 'territorial dispute' an' implication of batman givin' scarecrow good ole vampire succ, post morten or not.

i honestly always amazed, when the comics does smth very servicing for my tastes / interests, without actually ever tryin' to pander to people like me. it's prob one of the most 'erotic' things to me as to an author. it's like a possible wink wink to someone, who wants to see it. but generally, just a part of the story. not even a big one, but that's just a tasty bit anyways! i always had a weakness to predator/prey thrope, esp when it's less of fluffy, twinlight kind of romance, but instead a gore-ish sort of deal, where one party can end up actually dying even if by pure accident. it provides some pretty big stakes. not to meantion, that there is always an unspoken paralell between sex n' death in horror genre. including consuming / stabbing / sucking blood an' such. it's important for me as horror movies fan. i like there to be some 'love' in my horror, even if it's not traditional or on the nose. it gives all those exederated gore-y / deadly scenes more meaning, if one wants to impliment it there. an' it just makes for a memorable scene as well.

also while i'm not super into the heroes 'turnin' bad' stuff, in this case, there is an appeal of flash / bruce going feral. it's hard to resist the playful thought about how bruce n' flash find their foe tempting, *iresistably attractive*, but in a different manner now. jack n' jon aren't no rosy maiden, who usually gets the spot of main dish / love interest, but this what makes it even better. jon an' jack are walking ginger bread, an' that's that, really. but tbf, they're kind of weirdos, who would always partly dig it. their handsome, brooding *arch*-enemy wants to eat them an' not some random hussie. that's very scary, an' also sexy lol.

still it's one of those moments in comics, where i wish that they kept the secenes going for a bit longer. just expanded on that suggestive possibility of them taking it step futher. but i also get why they didn't drag it out, cuz it wasn't the point of issue, anyways. just some lil fun moment. tho, i do love how batman *out of his mind or not* seemed to have enough mercy on crane to kill him off relativly quickly compared to the others. the riddler, pen-pen *yeah, i call oswald this* n' ivy had to suffer through the whole overdeal with full awarness, feeling their throats being ripped out, as they were still alive. jon was spared of such fate. the bat came, lectured him, broke his hand an' beheaded him. way quicker vs when you have to feel your meat and blood dripping all over ya. an' in venom's case, i loved how jack was so oddly forgiving of flash nearly decapitating him on the spot lol. flash *at that point* had already ate a fella or two. like bruce, he clearly wasn't proud of those times or enjoyd it, but out of all people, who managed to snap him out of the murder mode, it was jack. but hey, not on my watch! no one will die, but someone will be 'consumed', alright. that's just natural order of things or whatever. an' it's so bc i do make all the rules, haha.

as for more technical side of things, i did altered a few things. mainly with flash n' jack. i made flash's berserk venom form smalles an' all black, bc of well...uh, reasons. and also jack has an actual face here lol. also while at first, i wanted to draw him with his trade-mark messed up features, but kinda end up drawing him all 'dolled up' instead lol. so i suppose, along with all other au-ish elements, his face wasn't blown off in this universe either. an' on somewhat unrelated note, i like how both jack *even some of spiderman's ones* and jonathan are usually shown to be brunette or redhead. my pref will always be with those two being redheads, but still, it's a funny thing to ponder on. another technical bit is that, i wanted both jack n' jon being unable to use their hands / arms in one of the picture, since for me it's like snaring a 'prey' and then, they are kinda useless without it too. jon can land one hell of a kick for sure, but it won't help him to push away the vampire from his neck. also no fear gas to spray from his gloves, even if it would have acomplished nothing. in jack's case, it's similiar situation. he can throw / shoot lil flames from his gloves, the only thing that all symbiotes seem to detaste, besides specific levels of noise. but if he can't do it, and it's too risky to shoot flame from his helmet, welp, he's screwed lol. an' i also wanted to use venom's tongue as bondage tool lol. it was one of those things, that i always loved about venom symbiote / carnage looks an' anatomy, is how 'bendy' their bodies are. an' how creepy they can strech their body parts as well. both, bruce n' flash possess superhuman powers in this, so nor jon nor jack is actually a match for them. but taking away even the last of their defenses is a cherry on the top. jonathan is already always spooked animal, an' with someone as dumbly tunel-visioned as jack, it take a tad more to scare him shitless. esp bc he thinks, that he's such hot shit of a mercenary, haha.

so yups, this year batman n' flash got a treat. jack and' jonathan *in comparison* got tentacles and anemia respectively. can this count as trick? i mean, i guess lol. but on bright side, jonathan is kinda bruce's bf / blood bank in this one, an' jack is....well, he's a bitch. i mean, he touched the toxin, so now flash have to 'mark' him lol.

anyway, this is as pg-15 as i can go about it on here. i have two extra adult-ish artworks for these set ups. you can call it a follow up, if you want. here's the link, if someone is curious. but pls remember adults only. while there is no nudity in this one, there is still a clearly sexual cut in it. *also, i'm working on fics related to these set-ups as well. already workshoping vamp!bruce/crane one. sadly, had no free time to finish it all on halloween as well, but hey, it's always halloween on this blog!*)

[maddiesbookshelves]

📚🗓 Mid-Year Freakout Tag 2024 🗓📚

Thank you @cleopatras-library for the tag ☺️

How many books have you read so far?

10 novels, 2 graphic novels and uh, like 10 or more manga? I don't track all of them

What genres have you read?

Fantasy, historical, romance and mystery. Sometimes several of those in the same book

Best book you’ve read so far in 2024?

Probably The Briar Book Of The Dead, by A. G. Slatter if we're talking about novels only. But the graphic novel Rivages Lointains by Anaïs Flogny is just so good, I'm obsessed with it. If you can, please read it, it's French but it's been translated into English and Italian

Best sequel you’ve read so far in 2023?

The only ones I've read were either manga or the full Dr. Greta Helsing trilogy by Vivian Shaw, which I've read back to back. So either that (book 3, Grave Importance), or the manga Requiem Of The Rose King, by Aya Kanno, that I reread and finally finished after YEARS (yes the ending ended ME)

New release you haven’t read yet, but want to

There are way too many, and I keep seeing more at work, I'm gonna die of frustration. Evocation by S. T. Gibson is eyeing me very strongly because of the internet. As is The Spare Man by Mary Robinette Kowal, from where it's sitting on my coworker's display (it only came out in February in France)

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year

I don't know honestly. The one book I was really waiting for this year was A Crane Among Wolves because I loved June Hur's previous books, and since I've read it now (it's very good btw), I'm not waiting for anything else

Update I learned something as I was writing this post: HEAVENLY TIRANT MIGHT STILL BE COMING OUT THIS YEAR???? DECEMBER 24????? MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO US???? HELLO?????? After Xiran told us the release date had been pushed back I thought for sure it would come out next year but apparently not so YEAH THAT'S MY MOST ANTICIPATED RELEASE OF THE YEAR, PERIOD

Biggest disappointment

It's a toss between How To Kill Your Family by Bella Mackie, and A Far Wilder Magic by Allison Saft, for reasons that are very different. If it wasn't for that ending, How To Kill Your Family wouldn't even be there but unfortunately. And A Far Wilder Magic just wasn't for me. I didn't expect it to be YA romantasy so I was sorely disappointed

Biggest surprise

Probably A Sign Of Affection by Suu Morishita? Don't get me wrong, I love shoujo (I know, I don't like romance novels but I love shoujo, it makes no sense, don't look at me) and I thought I would like it but I didn't expect to like it this much

Book that made you cry

I cry so often when I read/watch/listen to things that it all gets mixed up in my memories. I think I cried for Rivages Lointains, I definitely cried for Requiem Of The Rose King HAHA. I might have cried for Run Away With Me, Girl by Battan, I'm not sure. All of those are manga by the way, I don't remember if I cried reading a novel this year

Book that made you happy

The Bandit Queens made me happy because the ending was great (unlike How To Kill Your Family) which healed me a little

Most beautiful book cover of a book you’ve read so far this year

Aaaaaaa I don't know. The cover (and sprayed edges) for the French edition of A Far Wilder Magic are a big part of why I even bought it in the first place, but also A Crane Among Wolves...... And of course Aya Kanno's art is just so beautiful, all the covers for the Requiem Of The Rose King series are 👌

How are you doing with your year’s goal?

I had set a goal of 40 on goodreads/storygraph but I might have underestimated how work would impact my reading habits. But also, I'm not dead set on reaching that goal, I just want to read

What books do you need to read by the end of the year?

I'd love to read more of the books I already own because it's becoming a problem. Other than that, there's no urgent need

That was fun so if anyone wants to join in, please feel free!

[bb-bare-bones]

How We Make Our Psychos: A Psycho Retrospective

By Rebecca Smith

Artwork by Dy Dawson @xgardensinspace

Psycho. For a great many people, that single word is enough to conjure up Bernard Herrmann’s iconic screech of violins and Janet Leigh’s screaming face as a knife arcs towards her in the shower. Whether or not a person has actually seen Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 psychological thriller won’t spare them – in the more than six decades since its release, Psycho has become a cultural touchstone for America and the horror genre. The pivotal spoilers Hitchcock went to much effort to conceal – if you didn’t know, the conventions of cinemas having start times and no late admissions policies are thanks to Psycho – are now so well entrenched in our collective cultural psyche that I wouldn’t be surprised if newborns’ shrieks these days are actually baby speak for “IT WAS NORMAN!!”

It's perhaps unsurprising that Hitchcock’s Psycho, which was named the greatest movie ever made by Variety in December 2022, is not exactly unexplored territory when it comes to analyses. Whilst the legendary shower scene is one of the most famous movie scenes in history, virtually every shot of this suspenseful masterpiece is familiar to us and, as such, has had interpretation after interpretation, and symbolism after metaphor after allegory, applied to and teased out of it. Fortunately, I’ve still been allowed to write something about Psycho anyway, so do indulge me and read on.

At its twisted roots, Psycho poses the question of how well we truly know other people, and this unsettling thought is where its lasting horror derives from. Lila Crane, Sam Loomis, and Mr Lowrey are all shocked to discover Marion Crane has run off with $40,000 because this isn’t the Marion they thought they knew; likewise, the entirety of Fairvale are shocked to discover Norman Bates has been murdering people while dressed as his mother – who he also murdered – and for years has been looking after her preserved corpse as if she was still alive. This isn’t the Norman they thought they knew, either. As the audience, we’re positioned to be shocked by this reveal about Norman too, as we’ve been encouraged to feel sorry for him as the dutiful, unworldly son of a cruel and possessive mother. Instead, we discover the brutal violence in Psycho is a part of Norman and we were just taken in by Anthony Perkins’ innocent smile – which, of course, was one of the many reasons he was chosen for the role.

In the real world, the people of Plainfield, Wisconsin, probably felt a similar shock in 1957 when it was uncovered that one of their locals had killed and mutilated two women and was living in a house full of stolen human body parts, many of which he’d morbidly fashioned into pieces of furniture. It is widely known that this unassuming local, Ed Gein, was a source of inspiration for Robert Bloch’s original 1959 Psycho novel, of which Hitchcock’s film is an adaptation. After the initial horror of Gein’s crimes, there remained the uncomfortable realisation that something like that could happen right under a community’s nose. A story not a million miles away from Psycho can, and did, happen somewhere it would be least expected to.

In a bold move for its era, then, Psycho explores why its killer kills. Psychoanalysis – the legacy of Sigmund Freud – was popular in America around the time of Psycho’s creation, and both Bloch and Hitchcock incorporated it into their respective works, most obviously through the character of Norman. As well as being one of the most recognisable poster boys for the Oedipus complex, which Bloch actually highlights Norman’s self-awareness of early in the novel, a significant portion of Norman’s dialogue in the Hitchcock film functions as Freudian slips about the horrible truth his unconscious is repressing. The inclusion of psychoanalytic elements in Psycho is an important component in making Norman a complex horror villain rather than one who kills for the sheer evilness of it. We could spend an entire essay debating exactly which mental illnesses Norman is supposed to be suffering from, and it is clear in retrospect that their depiction does not quite hold up to the reality in any case, but the fact that Norman is not well and has been spiralling for some time – while no excuse for murder – means we understand why he is where he is mentally and why he stays in his “private trap” rather than facing reality.

Of course, it is all very good understanding the psychology behind our so-called proto slasher, but Psycho hints towards the external as well as the internal factors that go into making a deranged killer. I am referring here to the place where Norman was allowed to fester: the fictional town of Fairvale, California. In its depiction of the small town, Psycho is critiquing the type of society and community attitude that unwittingly enables someone like Norman. American society in the 1950s was repressed – look what happened when Elvis wiggled onstage – and it is this repression that has disastrous consequences in Psycho.

It is Lila who summarises the issue with Fairvale in Bloch’s novel, in a disappointed observation about Sam: “He had that slow, cautious, conservative small-town outlook.” This outlook, exhibited by both Sam and Sheriff Chambers in their insistence on waiting and not bothering Norman, is perhaps best typified by Mrs Chambers in the Hitchcock film. When Lila and Sam learn Mrs Bates supposedly poisoned herself and her lover in a murder-suicide some ten years past, Mrs Chambers adds, “Norman found them dead together. In bed.” There is a disapproving emphasis on “in bed”, as if this is the most shameful aspect of the incident, which serves to highlight the still dominant conservative Christian outlook on sexuality and marriage prevalent at the time. This societal outlook on sexuality is shown throughout Psycho to be detrimental to its characters: at the beginning of the film, Marion is unhappy she and Sam are unmarried and must meet in hotel rooms for sex; and Norman, of course, has internalised disgust and guilt with his own sexuality to such an extent that, in a misogynistic twist, he projects that disgust and guilt on to any woman he finds attractive, allowing ‘Mother’ to surface and kill her.

In addition to this, Mrs Chambers has two other lines that provide insight into the community Norman grew up in. She mentions she helped Norman choose the dress his mother was buried in, remembering that it was “periwinkle blue”. Then, a few scenes later, she invites Lila and Sam for a meal to make reporting Marion’s disappearance and theft “nicer” for them. Both of these are kind acts, but are they inordinately helpful ones? Neither of these gestures would have illuminated what Norman had done; they were more like putting plasters over gaping wounds. This, it seems, is the Fairvale way: don’t ask, don’t know.

It is true that this effective silence around difficult or taboo subjects was a society-wide issue, but I think we can assume Fairvale, as a small town, was supposed to have its own distinct, concentrated flavour of it. If most people knew of the Bates family who lived like there was nobody else in the world, did no one ever think to query why that was? Did anyone know what Norma Bates was like? Didn’t anybody notice that Norman had lived in near isolation all his life, and wonder what effect that might have on a person? The answers are clearly no, because that was the Bates family’s business. The warning signs were therefore missed or ignored. At this time, and in this kind of place, the structural forces simply didn’t exist to avert crises of mental health, or abuse, or violence before they escalated. Psycho is pointing out the dark side of contemporary, as it then was, American society. The sort of situation that led to Gein. The story of Norman Bates is in part a warning about how pretending something isn’t happening and being unwilling to face reality – and that’s literal reality, in Norman’s case – only causes more harm in the long-term. And, once again, these external factors also do not excuse Norman’s murders. However, they do help explain how he was able to get away with them, unsuspected, for so long.

            This is not to say there is one single set of circumstances which would enable the story of Psycho to play out in some way. The whole point of Psycho is that it could happen next door, to anyone, because we might not know someone as completely as we think we do. The story could only critique the world it found itself in at that moment, but the passage of time prompts the question: could Norman Bates exist today? After all, not only have taboos around sexuality and mental health weakened considerably in a general sense over the last six decades, but there have also been huge advancements in the technology used to catch criminals. Giving your bloody crime scene a quick wipe down with some water and a mop might not cut it now. The internet too is encroaching further and further on our lives. It is fast becoming impossible to exist without at least a small online presence – and once you have an online presence, there is something about you there for people to pry into.

Then again, while the internet can be a tool to help people in bad situations, we all know what a double-edged sword it is. Never mind the overtly dark corners of the web, someone as well-established in presenting a false state of affairs to the world as Norman is would surely excel in doing the same thing in the supposedly safer online places. In fact, doing it online would be child’s play in comparison to real life. And, inescapably, security cameras would be a modern-day Norman’s scopophilic dream, there is no denying that. There are also still parts of society that cling harder to the values and social etiquette of the past. Who is to say Fairvale would have kept to the average rate of progress?

            Thus, the exact circumstances Psycho painted as aiding Norman’s murders in a small 1950s town might well have been altered in some way in the years since Hitchcock’s untouchable film first hit cinema screens, but the central fear in Psycho about how well we truly know other people remains. In Psycho, the two key characters of Norman and Marion, so often compared as two sides of the same coin, are being dishonest with those around them. Norman is even being dishonest with himself. Today, in our world of chronic oversharing, I’d wager there are still very few people who would – or even could – reveal every part of themselves to other people. Should that really be an aim for anyone? I would argue no, definitely not.

The inevitable consequence of personal privacy is that, in our imperfect world containing messed up people who sometimes do terrible things, there will be a few Normans. Likewise, not everyone can be the Lila who exposes and stops them. We can only exist inside our own heads; we can’t ever truly know the entirety of another person. In the end, the perversion of the familiar, of the people we tell ourselves we know – such as Norman – and the places we think are safe – such as our showers – is what continues to frighten and unnerve us in Psycho.

And Norman’s creepy smile at the end, of course; although that’s my favourite bit.

[seastarlily]

Random thought is random, but I always did like how many SpongeBob episodes dealt with certain themes and taught helpful lessons without being completely in your face.

Season 1

“Ripped Pants” - being yourself

“Home Sweet Pineapple” - homelessness

“Pickles” - anxiety

“Hall Monitor” - mishandling of responsibilities

“Jellyfish Jam” - the dangers of keeping a wild animal as a pet

“Sandy’s Rocket” - paranoia

“Nature Pants” - being happy as you are, where you are

“F.U.N.” - trying to see the good in others, even if they don’t seem like the best person

“MuscleBob BuffPants” - body image and self-esteem

"Employee of the Month" - the dangers of excessive competitiveness

"Karate Choppers" - obsessiveness

"Suds" - the dangers of self-medicating

"Rock Bottom" - being lost in an unfamiliar town

"Texas" - homesickness

"Fools in April" - learning when a joke is no longer a joke or goes too far

"Hooky" - temptation and playing in dangerous places

Season 2 

"Your Shoe's Untied" - confidence issues and learning new skills

"Squid's Day Off" - OCD

"Big Pink Loser" - being yourself and knowing your worth

"Dying for Pie" - living in the moment

"Wormy" - metamorphosis and how a misunderstanding can snowball into absolute chaos

"Patty Hype" - dealing with people doubting your passions and starting your own successful business

"Grandma's Kisses" - bullying

"Squidville" - monotony

"Prehibernation Week" - the dangers of living dangerously

"Dumped" - breakups

"Squirrel Jokes" - racism/xenophobia and harmful stereotyping

"Pressure" - superiority complexes

"The Smoking Peanut" - lying

"Welcome to the Chum Bucket" - separation from those you love and dealing with a bad boss 

"Band Geeks" - teaming up to triumph against all odds

"Krusty Love" - dating at an older age

"Procrastination" - exactly what it says in the title, LOL

"Jellyfish Hunter" - overhunting and animal cruelty

"The Fry Cook Games" - harmful competitiveness 

"Squid on Strike" - going on strike

Season 3

"The Algae's Always Greener" - envy and how having the life of someone else isn’t always as glamorous as it looks

"SpongeGuard on Duty" - lying about who you are 

"My Pretty Seahorse" - mishandling of a wild animal

"Just One Bite" - addiction

"The Bully" - bullying

“Nasty Patty” - murder

"Idiot Box" - the importance and sheer power of having an imagination

"Snowball Effect" - letting go of restrictions and having fun

"As Seen on TV" - the dangers of having a huge ego

"Can You Spare a Dime?" - unemployment and dealing with a moocher

"Rock-a-Bye Bivalve" - raising a child

"Party Pooper Pants" - learning that not everything has to be by the book

"Chocolate with Nuts" - lying and false advertisement

"The Great Snail Race" - overworking your pet

"Mid-Life Crustacean" - mid-life crises

"Born Again Krabs" - near-death experiences

"I Had an Accident" - PTSD

"Missing Identity" - identity theft/loss

Season 4

"Fear of a Krabby Patty" - overworking and sleep deprivation

"Shell of a Man" - lying to old friends and self-respect

"Have You Seen This Snail?" - animal neglect and runaway pets

"Skill Crane" - obsessiveness and gambling

"Selling Out" - getting old/retirement

"Patrick SmartPants" - personality changes and their effects on friendship

"New Leaf" - moving on with life

"Bummer Vacation" - workaholism

"The Pink Purloiner" - jumping to conclusions

"Best Day Ever" - dealing with inconveniences and learning to embrace the best parts of every day

Season Five

"Friend or Foe" - the foraging and breaking of a lifelong friendship

"The Original Fry Cook" - perfectionism and comparing yourself to others

"Fungus Among Us" - pandemics, disease, and quarantine

"Roller Cowards" - overcoming fear

"Money Talks" - being careful with what you wish for

"The Krusty Sponge" - commercialism

"Blackened Sponge" - lying and dignity

"Banned in Bikini Bottom" - speakeasies 

"Stanley S. SquarePants" - finding your talent

Season Six

"Penny Foolish" - obsessiveness

"Not Normal" - being yourself and embracing your quirks

"A Life in a Day” - living in the now while not living too dangerously

"The Krabby Kronicle" - misinformation and sensationalism

"Grooming Gary" - mistreatment of pets

"Porous Pockets" - the overlooked aspects of being part of the upper crust

"Ditchin'" - skipping school

"Grandpappy the Pirate" - lying to family 

"Overbooked" - commitments and learning to say no

"No Hat for Pat" - finding purpose and employee mistreatment

Season Seven

"Greasy Buffoons" - unhealthy food

"SpongeBob's Last Stand" - environmental destruction

"Sponge-Cano!" - having gratitude

"Karate Star" - obsessiveness and abuse of power

"The Abrasive Side" - assertiveness

Season Eight

"The Other Patty" - cooperation

"The Hot Shot" - bad influences

"Sentimental Sponge" - hoarding

"Are You Happy Now?" - depression

Season Nine

"Squid Defense" - self-defense and when not to use it

"Lost in Bikini Bottom" - getting lost and finding your way back

"What's Eating Patrick?" - finding motivation

"Goodbye, Krabby Patty?" - greed and commercialism

"Bulletin Board" - online harassment

"Snail Mail" - lying

"Salsa Imbecilicus" - the importance of having an education

"The Whole Tooth" - dental problems and not being afraid to see the dentist

Season Ten

"Mimic Madness" - being yourself

"House Worming" - infestations

"SpongeBob's Place" - pride and jealousy

"Life Insurance" - learning what life insurance is and that having it doesn’t necessarily protect you

"Trident Trouble" - misuse of great power

"Sportz?" - sadism

"Out of the Picture" - attempted murder and the value of art

"Feral Friends" - looking after others when they’re in no state to look after themselves

Season Eleven

"The Check-Up" - the importance of check-ups and the consequences of neglecting your health

"Larry the Floor Manager" - learning that not everyone is suited for the same job

"Stuck on the Roof" - acrophobia

"Don't Feed the Clowns" - finding a new job

"Fun-Sized Friends" - the importance of having alone time away from your friends

"Grandmum's the Word" - lying to family

"Moving Bubble Bass" - freeloading and not being paid your dues

"Whale Watching" - babysitting and teenage peer pressure

"ChefBob" - stage fright and personas "Plankton Paranoia" - paranoia, terror, and panic attacks

"Appointment TV" - returning favors and cheering up a sad friend

"Girls' Night Out" - female friendship

Season Twelve

"Gary's Got Legs" - learning that things are the way they are for a reason

"Stormy Weather" - not messing with nature

"The Krusty Bucket" - cooperation 

"Squid's on a Bus" - walking in another person’s shoes

"Broken Alarm" - oversleeping

"Karen's Baby" - raising a child

"SpongeBob's Bad Habit" - bad habits

"Breakin'" - the importance of taking a break every so often

"Boss for a Day" - the responsibilities that come with being a boss

"The Goofy Newbie" - starting a new job

"Pat Hearts Squid" - being yourself

"Hiccup Plague" - communicable diseases

"The Hankering" - addiction

"Escape from Beneath Glove World" - getting lost and helping a lost child

[criticalrolo]

who wants to read my Sigrun and Astridr short story. exactly, it's everyone, here u go:

godsborn | 1.1k words

Astridr looks her up and down, taking in her tightly crossed arms and wide planted stance. “What’s this, then?”

Sigrun pulls her arms in closer and resists the urge to stamp her foot. “I’m not going. I don’t want to be a part of your stupid swan clan.”

Astridr blinks, and then her infuriating sneer starts to tug at the corner of her lips. “Ah. I should have guessed you’d be obstinate.” 

She steps forward, close enough that Sigrun can make out the old dents scored across the metal of her armor and the stitched feather pattern in the leather. She has to crane her neck so she can glare at Astridr properly. 

“You can’t make me do any of your dumb training. I don’t have to stay here for this, you know.” She furrows her brow, trying to mimic the ferocity that Astridr summons with ease every time she looks at her. 

Astridr… laughs, which was not the reaction Sigrun was aiming for. She tries to glower even harder, but she isn’t exactly sure which direction to pull the muscles in her face.

“You don’t have to be here? All right then, you little biter. Where do you think you have to go?” 

“Dad taught me how to tell directions. There’s a city north from here. I’ll go there and find him again.”

Astridr’s smile is toothy and sharp. “Osvald is long gone. Running after him will just get you both killed, and then I’d be out one promised future defender for my clan. You have no one up north. You have no one anywhere.”

Sigrun doesn’t like the way Osvald’s name sounds in Astridr’s mouth or the way it makes her feel cold on the inside, like the wind is blowing through her bones. She looks over Astridr’s shoulder, in the direction she knows is north, where the edge of the Swan clan runs up against the thicket of birch and rowan trees.

“The woods, then. I can set traps and I know about bows and arrows.”  

“Snares… yes, maybe. And what about the wraiths? Or the lower vampires in the caves and the pits? What do you know about them?”

Sigrun doesn’t have much of a response. She clenches her fists compulsively. “I could –”

“You’re hardly a fighter with any real bite,” Astridr continues. “I’d give you one day out in those woods alone before I could send my hounds to find your corpse.”

It’s reflexive for Sigrun to drop into more of a crouch. She recognizes fighting words when she hears them. “I’d be fine. And I’d be away from you.”

“Ah, there it is.” Astridr nods to herself, and then faster than Sigrun can blink, she’s swept her legs out from under her. Sigrun hits the dirt hard, the wind knocked out of her chest right away. She wheezes for a second, one hand coming up to press against her ribs.

“A good effort, but your stance is poorly balanced. This is why –”

Sigrun lashes out to kick Astridr in the knee as hard as she can. Her leg buckles to the left and Astridr crashes to the ground next to her. She rolls over, propping herself up on her elbows to try to grab Astridr’s thick red and grey ponytail while she’s distracted, but she’s a moment too slow. Astridr grabs her shoulders and shoves them to the ground, planting her knee into her back and pinning her arms down.

“Get off me!” Sigrun tries to squirm free, but she can’t do much more than wriggle in the dirt underneath Astridr’s weight. 

“Listen to me, Sigrun Varior. Do you know why the people here call me Godsborn?”

“You and your stupid gods can go to the hells.” Sigrun tries to bite Astridr’s hand.

“Look!” Astridr yanks her hand away and gestures at the Swan clan warriors milling about without sparing the two of them squabbling in the dirt a second glance. “Look who you live among now. Do you know their names?”

“Why would I care what their names are?”

“Names,” Astridr says, her voice turned deadly serious, “are an important affair. Your name is who you are. Look. There goes Eydis Wordsmith. Hallad Trollbiter. Geirhild Toothless. Why do you think they are called these things?”

“...Hallad bit a troll?”

Astridr smiles. It looks like the fanged grin of a wolf. “Their names are who they are. How they are perceived. What they do. How they think.”

“Hallad wasn’t thinking if he tried to bite a troll.” Sigrun wriggles underneath Astridr’s hold, and to her surprise her mother eases up the pressure and lets her scramble up to a sitting position.

“Exactly. If Hallad was known for his intelligence, he would be Hallad Keenthought.” Astridr settles back into a crouch by Sigrun’s side, and Sigrun is a little pleased to see a scuff mark on her elbow. “So I ask you again, Sigrun Osvaldottir. Why do they call me Astridr Godsborn?”

Sigrun sighs. “I don’t know.”

“We,” Astridr gestures emphatically between herself and Sigrun, “are known as Godsborn because the wisdom and the strength of the old gods flows through both of us. You are my child. We are capable of deeds beyond that of regular mortals, so long as we choose to embody that spirit.”

Sigrun doesn’t feel particularly godly, kneeling in the dirt with bruises on her legs and scratches on her palms. There is a fierce light in Astridr’s eyes, though. For a moment, Sigrun can imagine her as larger than life, a coiled snake with golden eyes, waiting for the precise moment to strike. Sigrun certainly isn’t Godsborn herself, but she can see how Astridr might be. 

Astridr stands up, brushing the red dirt off her pants. “You, Sigrun, have a chance to become as great as the gods as long as you stick with me. Or you can run off and get yourself killed in a day because you miss your father and wanted to be stupid. It’s your choice; which will it be?” She extends her arm down to help Sigrun up.

Sigrun feels herself on the edge of a precipice. Whatever decision she is about to make will seal something permanently, although she’s not exactly sure what. Something hot is burning in her chest.

She looks up at Astridr’s expectant hand, and takes it. 

[agnedraroy]

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[extape]

Chance Encounters in Woodsboro, CA  — G.F.

summary: new era, new(?) ghostface, new final girl. if you thought being a murder victim would be bad, wait until you get a load of your new-and-improved role. Get ready to star in your own homemade horror film, your co-star is dying to meet you ♡ ♡ ♡

INCLUDES: multi-part series; non-canon au; college setting; allusions to stalking; a meet-cute but it’s actually toxic wish-fulfillment.

It started on a Tuesday at 1:15.

You didn’t consider yourself an overly ambitious student. Middling seemed an apt description. Your course-load for the term reflected that, and while you were kind of coasting by in good faith that C’s would definitely/probably earn a degree, you were always prepared in the classroom.

Pencil. Notebook. Even a highlighter. That’s why you had talked to him that Tuesday, tucked in the back of Dr. Olsen’s Independent Films class.

“Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

It was the middle of a lecture on sound-editing. The room’s lights were still dimmed from their recent presentation on European cinema, and you were beginning to nod off. Dr. Olsen had been a fixture at the podium for the past thirty-or-so minutes as he continued on, and on, and he fidgeted so rarely that it seemed like his mouth was the only part of his body that was capable of movement.

“— and that is how you are able to differentiate between the diegetic and non-diegetic sounds. And while sound in film and television is either diegetic, non-diegetic, or a mix of the two, it’s important to always consider —”

You ignored the first brush of something against the skin of your shoulder; you sat up in your seat the second time.

“Hey, can I borrow a pen?”

Billy — whom you shared one class and a handful of passing encounters with — was hushed as he leaned forward, repeating himself. There was the faint thump of his shoe against the linoleum, the creak of his chair. Dr. Olsen continued in his drawl as you craned your neck, nearly coming nose-to-nose as you offered the no. 2 pencil you had been scribbling with; you hadn’t been taking notes. You didn't think Billy had been, either.

He mumbled his appreciation, his breath tickling your neck, and the lecture went on. It wasn’t until the projector was switched off and students began trickling through the door that he caught your attention again, lingering at his desk.

“I’m keeping this,” he said, holding your pencil to his nose. “Hope you have a spare.”

The last time you had talked had been earlier in the term — a forgettable encounter at a house-party downtown, more of a respective nod of acknowledgment than anything. Now, your smile was awkward as you packed your papers into your bag.

“Take good care of it," you replied. "Sentimental value.”

"I'll sharpen it on the hour.”

And that’s all there had been to the interaction; he asked for a pen, you gave him a pencil. Short and simple. Almost sweet, if you took his eyes into consideration. You left it at that and went your separate ways until next Tuesday, but it was a start.

For Billy — who tracked the expanse of your back as you left Dr. Olsen’s class, and continued his stare until you had finally exited his line of sight — it was a start.

---

It turned out that prolonged exposure to fluorescent lighting caused headaches.

You came to this discovery upon your third hour in the library. It was evening, nearing dusk, and the third-floor lounge was quiet. Thank fuck, it was quiet. You didn’t think you could manage your headache evolving into a migraine. Your Tylenol supply was limited, and as you crushed another tablet between your teeth, you stacked another textbook onto the pile you’d collected.

Anatomy and Physiology 101 turned out to be a bitch to learn. Not for lack of trying. Ventricular systems, pulmonary arteries, neural tubes — it all tended to blur together after a few hours of staring at print on paper, and you doubted you had anything to show for your efforts beyond dry retinas and what would probably be a C- on tomorrow’s exam.

Gray’s Anatomy for Students was kind of fucking bullshit.

You pressed your palms into your eyes and heaved a sigh — fuck it. An old dog couldn’t be taught new tricks, and an academically challenged student couldn’t memorize the entirety of the human nervous system in one evening. You were overdue for a break; you wanted to go outside for a smoke, maybe eat something with empty carbs, or caffeine, or preferably both.

It was a short trip downstairs, and you ended up with a dented can of Coca-Cola and a semi-melted chocolate bar, courtesy of the first-floor vending machines. It’s only as you made your way back up the second-floor staircase that you realized how empty the other lounges were. The entire building, really. No one but you and a wayward janitor, if you were being optimistic, and it almost seemed theatrical. Flickering lights, lonely corridors, no one in sight.

That was probably Red Flag #1, reminiscing on it.

The metal door to the third-floor lounge gave a heavy bang as you kicked it open, your hands occupied. There was the louder crack! of your aluminum can being opened, fizz bubbling over the rim, and you licked at your wetted thumb as you sulked back to your study-table.

Your headache was getting worse; you didn’t remember leaving a textbook opened at your seat — a thick paperback with more creases than actual paper, thumbed through within an inch of its spine. The title was unfamiliar.

Fundamentals of Anatomy & Physiology, 2nd Edition. Page 174.

There was a passage highlighted.

Red blood cells, also referred to as red cells, red blood corpuscles, haematids, erythroid cells or erythrocytes, are the most common type of blood cell and the vertebrate's principal means of delivering oxygen to the body tissues—via blood flow through the circulatory system. A type of blood cell that is made in the bone marrow and found in the blood. Red blood cells contain a protein called hemoglobin, which carries oxygen from the lungs to all parts —

Jesus H. Christ — you couldn’t care less. Fuck hemoglobin. A quick glance at the checkout card showed that you indeed checked it out, your name stamped underneath a Danny Johnson - OUT: August 2nd - IN: September 24th. You blew out a heavy breath that conveyed more than intended and, popping another Tylenol, you told yourself that a C- really wouldn’t be too bad. You tapped out not too long after, ditching the library with your metaphorical tail between your legs, resigned to be a stupid, old fuckin' dog.

(For all of your efforts, you ended up with a highly impressive 79% — sans bonus points. The fluorescent-induced headache was somewhat worth it.)

---

Sundays tended to be a dull affair — this one was no exception. An impromptu night of drinking had led to nothing enviable, and you spent a fair share of the following morning/afternoon regretting those last few rounds of vodka cranberries.

Your manager seemed to regret them on your behalf, too.

Keith was simultaneously bitter, sour, and salty on any given day —  a Type-A, if you'd ever seen one. Typically his apathy would have been something to commend; it was kind of refreshing when it wasn't directed at you. If only the object of his ire wasn't 28 minutes late to their shift with a hangover and a shirt that could have been inside-out.

He was at the register when you eventually rolled through the doorway. Wobbling on one of the backroom's ladders, he was setting up the new rental merch — posters, flyers, stacks on stacks on stacks of BOGO movies, and an obnoxious banner that advertised for customers to Save! Save! Save! Big! Big! Big!

"Late again, wage-slave," Keith called from half-way up his perch, distracted with tying a knot.

You pushed down your sunglasses. "What are you? Some kinda cop?"

He pointed a finger at you, aimed like a gun. "That's strike two — you know what happens when you make it to three?" A rhetorical question you've heard before, and he answered for you, "Not on the dot, your pay gets docked."

He suddenly did a double-take as you tossed your bag over the register, looking down at you with the expression of a man on death-row. "Ugh, god, look at you. Did you get dressed in the dark? Did you shower? You're not even in uniform. What is that stain on your shirt?"

This Sunday was a dull affair, indeed.

Thankfully, his voice somewhat faded as you dragged your living corpse toward the backroom. You made quick work of yourself; you punched in, guzzled a water bottle from the mini-fridge, and slapped on a pair of headphones, blocking out the tin sound of The Cranberries playing over the loudspeaker.

You could still hear a muffled, "And it doesn't matter if we have customers, it's the principle of the matter. My great-grandmother is celebrating her 98th birthday today, and now I'm about to miss the cake and candles on account of your tardiness —"

He was a dedicated servant of Video Star Movie Rentals, you'd give him that much. Weird fucker. At the very least, you supposed that you appreciated the five-finger discount he often let slide whenever the store received a new shipment of CD's. You clipped on your name-tag as you made your way back to the register, and Keith had lowered himself from the ladder, but he was still talking. Loudly.

"Make sure that Debbie is on the right-hand side of the display shelves," he pointed to the counter where a cardboard-standee of Debbie Harry laid, flanked by BOGO boxes. "Right. Not left," he stressed. "If it's left, it messes up the entire setup I've cultivated, and I cannot afford to fix your shit just because you want to experiment with Feng Shui."

Fair point. It was hard to get a word in edgewise; you settled for nodding at the appropriate times. It was only after a semi-lengthy lecture on the importance of timeliness and making sure to lock both entrances before clocking out that Keith reluctantly tossed you the keys, the metal bell jingling against the door as he left, and the Cranberries weren't playing anymore. Sonic Youth had taken over the airwaves.

Lowering your shades, you took a survey of the store; other than a couple of high-schoolers trying to surreptitiously sneak a peek into the Adult Video section, the place was empty. Certifiably DOA. You figured the general public had better things to do than save big and rent B-movies, and it made for a quiet environment, at the least — very peaceful. Your hangover appreciated it.

Maneuvering Debbie was short work, and it took less than 30 minutes for you to organize the register. Soon enough, all you were left with were the BOGO boxes, each one packed with a heady (and dusty) variety: children's animation, chick flicks, wrestling tapes, some low-budget horror movies that were probably filmed in a sad, Midwestern basement. You spotted a Roman Bridger DVD in the mix and took it for yourself.

It wasn't too long before you distantly heard the rattle of the entryway bell; the high-schoolers had made their escape, it seemed, copping what you were fairly sure was a horny-satire of The Babysitter Murders, and it was their decent taste alone (and possibly your lingering hangover) that kept you from tackling the shoplifters out the door.

Your shift moved a bit slowly, after that.

Migrating to the clearance section at the back of the store, you began to unpack what looked to be a dozen copies of the first three seasons of The Beverly Hillbillies. You worked in relative silence, occasionally nodding along to whatever was on the radio. Sonic Youth was eventually exchanged for Nirvana, which had been swapped for Mudhoney, and after a few commercial breaks you were left with Frank Zappa as you unpacked and stacked $2.99 box-sets on the clearance shelves.

It was almost nice — the sun was casting shadows across the store's carpet. There were dust-motes visible in the light. Things felt calm. You went unbothered as the Hillbillies ended up in their very cheap, very rightful place, and the WWE tapes followed soon after, then the $4.99 B-movies, until you only had the low-budget shit left.

Debbie remained quiet and well-behaved as you went back and forth from the register to the backroom, then from the display shelves to the clearance section, and just as you were due for a break . . .

The bell rang, again. Keith's 'company policy' script came to you automatically.

"Welcome to Video Star Movie Rentals: remember to be kind and rewind. How can I help . . .” you trailed off as you turned toward the entrance, peering over your shades at the customer.

“You."

. . . Huh.

‘You’ was a familiar face, albeit a surprising one.

Billy stood at the entryway, seemingly caught off-guard by the sight of you behind the register, too. Then he made a deprecating noise, shaking his head.

”A film student working at the video store? Kind of on the nose, isn’t it?”

He looked different today — hair pushed beneath a backwards cap, usual flannel absent. When you replied, your tone was droll.

"Sorry to disappoint,” you set the BOGO movies aside. “Gotta pay the bills somehow. I don’t suppose I could help you find anything, uh, sir?"

He began to peruse the display shelves, touching the DVD cases.  “No, ma’am. I know what I’m here for.”

Wonderful. He would hear no complaints from you. You had no shame in admitting that you were reluctant to stick around for idle chat, not a particularly willing conversationalist when it came to wild encounters with peers. It didn't help that you've heard Billy get into it with other students in class. He was like a fucking dog with a bone when it came to anything cinema-related.

There was the faint shoop-shoop of the tagging gun as you retuned to your endless amount of discounted movies; you half-heartedly watched Billy browse through the aisles, picking up a few tapes and DVDs just to set them back down. This went on for a few minutes, and it was only when he chose his first rental that he spoke again.

“Your selection’s kind of weak,” he said critically. “ I mean, do you guys deal exclusively in PG-13 or something?”

Fuckin’ Keith.

“Uh, no. My manager’s kind of a fascist. Real big on censorship.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” you said to the back of Billy’s head, who was crouched by the Thriller section, now. “I’ve been trying to radicalize him, but he’s tough. If you’re looking for anything rated R, it’ll be in the back of the Adult Video section.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you could hear him mutter as he plucked two more DVDs out of the mix. “But I think I’m set, unless . . . you have any suggestions? Maybe one of those ‘adult videos’?”

Escalating from chit-chat to innuendos — hardy-har. The smile you shot back at him was a little mean.

“Aren’t you the campus cinephile? I doubt there’s anything I can recommend that you haven’t seen on a loop.”

“Ooh,” Billy sucked in a breath, hand-to-heart. “Are you allowed to talk to me like that? I mean, I’m a paying customer.” He slid his DVDs across the register toward you. There was the flash of skin — bare forearms braced against the counter, sleeves rolled up. Bizarrely, you thought of the clinical diagrams from your Anatomy textbooks; his veins were prominent. The word tendon came to mind.

Distracted, you typed in your employee discount-code.

“Excited for the big game on Friday?” he continued, not quite wry, and you knew he was poking fun — trying to keep the proverbial ball rolling. Your football team was a joke; cheering for them was comparable to spit-shining a turd.

“Are you?”

He didn’t strike you as a collegiate sports enthusiast. Too . . . alternative. For lack of a better term. You probably wouldn’t mind seeing him in the uniform, though.

“Fuck,” he huffed. “Nah, fondling the ol’ pigskin doesn’t really do it for me.”

“No weekend plans, then? Lame.”

There was a gleam in his eye; he seemed to like your nonchalance. “Never said that.”

“Big date?”

“. . . Real big. Huge.”

You scanned the first movie in his pile — a copy of a French film that you recognized from Dr. Olsen's lectures. "Poor girl."

"Hey," Billy's laugh was short but loud, like an animal's bark. "You're a little mean, huh? What if I have a lucky guy on the side?"

"Well," you held up the next case, a yellowed copy of The Power Drill Massacre, scanning it. "I hope he likes Tobe Hooper knock-offs."

"PDM is not a knock-off," Billy was haughty. Then, with a pleased smile, he said, "I didn't know you liked scary movies."

You paused, looking up at him through your darkened lenses and lashes.

There was a . . . vibe. For lack of a better term — your vocabulary was limited for the day, apparently. He was putting out a vibe, and you rolled your eyes as you scanned the next DVD. Another horror film.

"Just as much as anyone else, but, uh, clearly not as much as you." You tried not to make it sound like a compliment. He seemed it take it as one, anyway. Bagging his marathon of misery, you read off his total on the register. "That'll be $13.00."

He slid you a crisp $20. "Here, keep the change."

You tried not to look at him too directly as you printed off his receipt. It was quiet as you bagged it — the guy knew a thing about intense eye-contact, and you more-or-less ignored him as you casually took two boxes of candy from the display shelf beside you, slipping them in the plastic bag, too.

"A bonus," you explained as he peeked at the candy, brows raised. "For your big date."

For a second, Billy just . . . looked at you, tonguing at his cheek. There was something hard in his expression. Then, he smiled like he knew something that you would never know, and you scoffed at the gall.

He shook his bag in a rhythmic beat.

". . . See you on Tuesday," he finally said, flashing teeth. He gave a two-finger salute as he made for the exit, adding on a pleasant, "bye, Debbie," for good measure. The entryway bell rattled one last time before going mute; he ended up being the only paying customer for the rest of your shift.

Later in the night, when the air turned crisp with the early-autumn chill, the two of you would be thinking of each other for entirely different reasons.

[industriesjb]

Top Post Hole Digger, Crane Backhoe, and Pole Erection Machines by J. B. Industries

In the dynamic world of heavy machinery, J. B. Industries stands out as a prominent name, particularly in the manufacturing of essential construction and agricultural equipment. With a deep commitment to quality and innovation, J. B. Industries has earned a reputation for producing durable and efficient machinery that meets the needs of a wide range of industries. If you're looking for a Post Hole Digger Machine Manufacturer in Jaipur, a Crane Backhoe Machine Manufacturer in Jaipur, or a Pole Erection Machine Manufacturer in Jaipur, look no further than J. B. Industries.

Expertise in Manufacturing Heavy Machinery

J. B. Industries has a long-standing history of producing cutting-edge machinery that helps in streamlining construction, agricultural, and industrial processes. The company combines modern technology with years of experience to create machines that are not only efficient but also highly reliable.

Post Hole Digger Machines: Efficiency at Its Best

When it comes to digging holes for posts, foundations, or fencing, precision and speed are key. J. B. Industries excels in manufacturing Post Hole Digger Machines that are designed to meet the demanding needs of both the construction and agricultural sectors. These machines are built to ensure smooth and deep hole digging, whether you’re setting up fence posts or installing utility poles.

With robust build quality, high digging capacity, and user-friendly controls, J. B. Industries' Post Hole Digger Machines are ideal for both small-scale and large-scale projects. Their design ensures minimal wear and tear, reducing maintenance costs and downtime for users.

Crane Backhoe Machines: Versatility and Power Combined

As a leading Crane Backhoe Machine Manufacturer in Jaipur, J. B. Industries understands the importance of versatility and power in construction machinery. Crane Backhoe Machines are essential for tasks that require digging, lifting, and carrying heavy loads. Whether it’s for digging trenches, lifting materials, or moving debris, J. B. Industries offers equipment that provides exceptional performance in tough conditions.

Their Crane Backhoe Machines come equipped with advanced hydraulics, strong digging arms, and durable components, making them ideal for a wide range of construction projects. The innovative design ensures that the machine delivers high efficiency, faster cycle times, and reduced fuel consumption, all while maintaining maximum stability and control.

Pole Erection Machines: Strong and Reliable

In industries like telecommunications, electrical infrastructure, and even agriculture, pole erection plays a crucial role. J. B. Industries’ Pole Erection Machines are designed to handle the lifting and positioning of poles with ease, ensuring precision and safety during the process. Whether you’re erecting utility poles or installing light poles, these machines are built to offer the necessary power and stability for heavy lifting tasks.

The Pole Erection Machines from J. B. Industries are equipped with strong lifting mechanisms, adjustable heights, and precise positioning controls, making them ideal for both urban and rural infrastructure development. With these machines, workers can carry out pole erection safely, reducing manual labor and preventing accidents.

Why Choose J. B. Industries?

Superior Quality: J. B. Industries ensures that all machines meet high standards of quality control and are tested under real-world conditions to ensure reliability.

Customization: Understanding that different projects require different solutions, J. B. Industries offers customizable machinery to meet specific requirements.

Customer Support: The company prides itself on offering excellent after-sales support, including maintenance, servicing, and easy access to spare parts.

Innovation: With a focus on technology and innovation, J. B. Industries is constantly improving and upgrading its machinery to keep pace with industry advancements.

[lawatherm]

Cranes, especially EOT (Electric Overhead Traveling) cranes, are indispensable in industries such as construction, manufacturing, and steel production. Their reliability is crucial for ensuring uninterrupted operations, making high-quality EOT crane parts essential for maintaining their efficiency and safety. At Lawatherm, we understand the importance of precision and quality in EOT crane parts, helping industries thrive with dependable solutions.

[addie-harvey]

Prevent Crane Failures with This Essential Spares Checklist

Cranes are the backbone of construction, mining, and other heavy-duty industries, ensuring operations run smoothly. However, like any machinery, cranes can fail, leading to significant downtime and financial losses. Having worked in the industry for years, I've seen how a lack of preparedness can turn a routine task into a disaster. This is why I'm sharing this essential spares checklist to help you maintain your crane's functionality.

The Importance of Preparedness

I vividly remember a project where our crane stopped working halfway through lifting a heavy load. Panic ensued as we tried to diagnose the issue. It turned out to be a faulty hydraulic hose—a small part that halted the entire operation. We had to wait for a replacement, causing days of delay. The lesson: always keep the necessary spares readily available.

Essential Spares Checklist

Hydraulic Hoses and Fittings Hydraulic systems are vital for crane operation, and hoses are frequently prone to failure. Ensure you have high-quality hydraulic hoses and fittings, especially those tailored to your crane model. For Kobelco crane users, genuine Kobelco crane parts are a wise investment, as they are precisely matched to your equipment's specifications.

Filters and Strainers Clean hydraulic fluid is essential for smooth crane operation. Filters and strainers prevent debris from entering the system but need regular replacement. A clogged filter can cause hydraulic system failure, so always have spares on hand, including fuel and air filters.

Pump and Valve Components Hydraulic pumps and valves can fail due to wear or contamination. While replacements may not be frequent, having spare parts like pump seals, valve spools, and O-rings can prevent costly breakdowns. For P&H crane users, sourcing P&H crane parts ensures compatibility and performance.

Bearings and Bushings Cranes have numerous moving parts, and bearings are crucial for reducing friction. Over time, bearings can wear out, especially under heavy loads. Maintain a supply of replacement bearings and bushings, particularly for critical areas like the boom and hoist mechanisms.

Electrical Components Modern cranes rely heavily on electrical systems. Fuses, circuit breakers, and connectors are prone to failure, especially in harsh environments. Stock up on these components and ensure you have spare batteries for electronic controls or sensors.

Wire Rope and Sheaves Wire rope is fundamental to a crane's lifting capability. Have spares ready for wear or damage. Additionally, sheaves can wear out or develop defects, so having replacements is prudent. Match the wire rope and sheaves to your crane's specific requirements.

Fuel and Oil Filters Regular engine maintenance is as crucial as hydraulic system maintenance. Replace fuel and oil filters according to the manufacturer's recommendations. Having spares ensures you don't wait for replacements during urgent situations.

Seals and Gaskets Leaks can be problematic, often due to worn seals and gaskets. Whether hydraulic or engine compartment gaskets, having spares helps address leaks promptly and prevents further damage.

Practical Maintenance Tips

With your essential spares checklist in hand, consider these practical tips:

Regular Inspections: Inspect your crane regularly for wear signs. Early detection prevents minor issues from escalating.

Proper Storage: Store spare parts in a clean, dry, and organized location. Exposure to moisture, dust, or extreme temperatures can degrade spares.

Documentation: Maintain a detailed inventory of spare parts, including purchase dates and usage. This helps track usage and reorder parts before depletion.

Training: Train your team on basic maintenance and troubleshooting. They should identify potential issues and perform minor repairs or replacements.

Budgeting: Allocate a budget for spare parts. It's better to have spares and not need them than to need them and not have them.

Conclusion

Downtime is the enemy in crane operations. By maintaining a well-stocked supply of essential spares, you can prevent unexpected failures and ensure smooth operations. Remember, prevention is always better than cure. Prepare and ensure your crane performs when it matters most.

For Kobelco and P&H crane users, investing in genuine Kobelco crane parts and P&H crane parts is a smart choice. These parts are designed to meet your equipment's exact specifications, ensuring optimal performance and longevity.

[simsinter]

Choosing the Right Hydraulic Equipment Manufacturer: Key Considerations for Your Business

Hydraulic equipment plays a crucial role in industries like construction, agriculture, manufacturing, and transportation. This machinery relies on the transmission of power through fluids, which enables heavy lifting, precision, and high efficiency in various tasks. Given the significance of hydraulic systems in these fields, selecting the right hydraulic equipment manufacturer is a vital decision that can impact your operations' effectiveness, safety, and long-term costs.

The Importance of Hydraulic Equipment in Industry

Hydraulic systems use pressurized fluids to generate movement and force, making them invaluable for tasks that involve heavy-duty operations. Excavators, loaders, cranes, and presses are just a few examples of machinery that utilize hydraulic technology. The key advantages of hydraulic systems include:

High Power Density: Hydraulics can generate immense power, enabling machines to perform challenging tasks with precision.

Efficiency: Hydraulic systems can transmit power with minimal energy loss, making them energy-efficient compared to other mechanical systems.

Durability: Properly maintained hydraulic equipment is known for its long life span and ability to withstand harsh environments.

Given these benefits, choosing a reliable manufacturer is essential to ensure that you receive quality equipment that delivers consistent performance and safety.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Hydraulic Equipment Manufacturer

Selecting a hydraulic equipment manufacturer requires thorough evaluation. Here are the main factors to consider:

1. Product Quality and Innovation

Look for manufacturers who are committed to quality and innovation. Reputable manufacturers adhere to industry standards and use high-quality materials to produce durable, reliable equipment. Advanced technology is also crucial, as hydraulic systems have evolved over time with the integration of electronics, better seals, and improved controls. Manufacturers that invest in research and development (R&D) are more likely to provide cutting-edge solutions that enhance efficiency and performance.

2. Customization and Flexibility

Every industry has unique requirements, so flexibility in product offerings is essential. Top hydraulic equipment manufacturers often provide customized solutions tailored to specific applications. This can include adjustments in power, pressure range, speed, and more. A manufacturer willing to adapt their designs to meet your needs demonstrates a deeper understanding of the challenges in your sector.

3. Technical Support and Customer Service

The level of customer service offered by a hydraulic equipment manufacturer can greatly impact your experience. Reliable manufacturers provide strong technical support, offering maintenance guidance, troubleshooting, and repairs. Good customer service goes beyond sales; it includes after-sales support, easy access to spare parts, and prompt responses to inquiries. Check for warranties and service agreements to ensure you're covered in case of unexpected issues.

4. Industry Experience and Reputation

Experience matters when it comes to hydraulic equipment manufacturing. Companies with a proven track record in the industry are likely to understand the complexities and demands of hydraulic systems better. Reputation, testimonials, and case studies provide insight into a manufacturer’s reliability, quality, and ability to deliver on promises. Explore reviews, ask for references, and research the manufacturer’s history to make an informed decision.

5. Global Reach and Availability

Depending on your business’s location and scale, the manufacturer's global reach may be a crucial factor. Some manufacturers have a robust international presence, ensuring that you can get parts and services no matter where you operate. This reduces downtime and keeps your operations running smoothly. Manufacturers with a broad supply chain and logistics network can offer better availability of spare parts and quicker response times.

6. Compliance with Industry Standards and Safety Regulations

Hydraulic equipment must comply with safety regulations and industry standards. Choose a manufacturer that adheres to ISO certifications or other relevant quality standards. Compliance ensures that the equipment meets safety guidelines, minimizing the risk of accidents or system failures. Always check if the manufacturer follows industry best practices for testing and quality assurance.

Top Benefits of Working with a Reputable Hydraulic Equipment Manufacturer

Opting for a trusted hydraulic equipment manufacturer offers numerous benefits:

Increased Reliability: Quality manufacturers ensure durable and dependable products, reducing the likelihood of breakdowns and maintenance costs.

Optimized Performance: High-grade hydraulic systems from reputable manufacturers provide consistent performance, boosting productivity.

Long-Term Cost Savings: Investing in quality equipment may come with a higher upfront cost, but it reduces long-term expenses due to fewer repairs and longer equipment lifespan.

Access to Expertise: Leading manufacturers often have experienced engineers and technicians who can assist you in choosing the right equipment for your specific needs.

Better Safety: Equipment from trusted manufacturers is designed to meet stringent safety standards, ensuring the protection of your workforce.

Conclusion

Choosing the right hydraulic equipment manufacturer is a significant decision that affects the efficiency, safety, and cost-effectiveness of your operations. Consider factors like product quality, customization, customer service, industry experience, global reach, and compliance with safety standards when making your choice. By partnering with a reliable manufacturer, you can ensure that your hydraulic systems are durable, efficient, and well-suited to your specific industrial requirements. For more details visit our website: www.simsinter.com

[interstateheavyequipment-usa]

komatsu backhoe

Key Economic Player

The public and private sectors have become more or less involved in the construction sector. It includes manufacturers and suppliers of heavy equipment parts, which play an essential role in supporting the economic agenda of the “golden age of infrastructure” management. Moreover, the industry is helping to ensure that bulldozers, excavators, cranes, diggers, and other heavy construction machinery visible to motorists and commuters work well in metropolitan and rural areas. And it is important to know the importance of equipment parts industry and its contribution to construction.

Moreover, it is equally important to know what these parts of heavy technology are.

Some of the standard components of this heavy equipment that are frequently damaged are batteries, engine starters, belts, air filters, fuel injectors, hydraulic filters, hoses, spark plugs, grooving attachments, and oil filters. We need to replace these parts and inspect them regularly to maintain the best performance of the heavy equipment. Furthermore, they are especially crucial for large infrastructure projects, such as spare wheels and fan belts for car drivers.

Reduces Downtime

You are having parts of the heavy equipment that you can use shows the difference between costly construction delays and ensuring the timely completion of multimillion-dollar projects.

Quality Control

The heavy equipment parts industry is in full swing worldwide. Furthermore, the products from renowned domestic and foreign manufacturers regularly perform several performance tests and quality checks of each component before shipping the products. This ensures that the spare parts function at the highest level.

Cost-Efficient

Heavy equipment suppliers and manufacturers have become critical partners for Triple-A construction companies. They are aware of the impact of active maintenance on their machines. As a result, they always buy spare parts before their machines become unusable. Regular maintenance can prevent costly delays and additional surgical costs.