#open source point of sales

[revatobd]

Ultimate POS v6.3 NULLED – Best ERP & Stock Management

Ultimate POS v6.3 NULLED – Best ERP & Stock Management Key Features: Multiple Business/Shops:  Set up multiple businesses in the application. No restriction on numbers of businesses. Inventory & accounting information is kept separately for each business.   Add Location / Storefronts  / Ware House:  Create multiple locations for your business/shop Manage all of them at the same time. Stocks,…

[squarebracket-trickster]

Sorry guys, rant incoming. I considered deleting this but I put too much effort in.

"girlboss" "girl dinner" "girl math" "boy math" "gen z are making fun of us for wearing x" "here's how to dress like gen z:" "girlies" "girl's night" "boy's night" "me and the boys" "90s kid"

"I don't feel like an adult" "I'm 34 and I can tell you, I still don't feel like an adult either." "My parents seemed like real adults when they were my age." "I still feel like a teenager."

Maybe you'd feel more like an adult if you started calling yourself one. Maybe you'd feel more like an adult if you stopped trying to dress like a teenager. Maybe you should move your bed out from the wall and get a wallet. Maybe find a calendar app that works for you.

You are an adult. Even if you live with your parents. Even if you do part-time shift work at minimum wage. Even if you haven't graduated college. Even if you are single. These are adult things to do. Because you are doing them. And you are an adult. Start treating yourself like an adult. Fake it 'till you make it if you have to.

In other, writing-related, news:

That trend on TikTok of 20-40 something women authors (and writers yet to be published) promoting their books like,

"Omg! I can't believe I've sold X number of copies!! I never thought I would!" "Ahhhh imagine publishing your book and all your dreams come true and now you get to meet famous authors and work with big names in the industry!!" "Would you read a book where [proceeds to list a bunch of oversaturated tropes that tell me nothing about the actual plot]?"

It reeks of infantilization. If you didn't believe anyone would want to read your book, why should I? You made it on the NYT bestseller list! Stop acting like a mega-fan who got to meet a celebrity. You are their peer! "Would you read a book--" What if I wouldn't? Why does it matter to you what I think of your book? And for the love of god stop hiding behind tropes you know are already popular. "Here is my book: This is what it is about." Have some goddamn confidence.

It is fine to mention in passing "this idea was really far-fetched so I didn't know if it would appeal" or "I was struggling with self-esteem when I wrote this". It's fine to fan a little bit. It's fine to discuss the tropes in your book. But why are you building your brand as an author off of your inferiority complex? You are using your poor self-esteem as a marketing tactic to seem "humble" and "relatable" but it's coming across as unprofessional and desperate for reassurance. You are an adult. You are competent. The more you act like it the more you will believe it.

And of course, I haven't seen a man promote his book this way...

On another note, do any of the 20-40 something women writers who do "write with me" videos on TikTok actually enjoy writing or are they just doing it for the aesthetic?

They all have gorgeous minimalism writing spaces full of white and pink and a macbook beneath a window. Their makeup is done and they are conventionally pretty to start with. But their entire video is just them talking about how little progress they made, how many pages they deleted, how often they got distracted, how frustrated they are. And like, yeah. We all have those days. But what about the good lines you can't wait to share? The days when the words just flow? The cool stuff you learned while researching? Why don't you ever make videos about that?

Is this some other attempt to seem "relatable" by only talking about the "bad" side of writing? Because again, it's coming across as lacking confidence at best and, at worst, that you don't actually know how to write. And that is not the brand you want as an author.

Again, its always women. Why must women market their self-esteem issues in order to sell their art? Why must we be perpetually awestruck children (girlies, book girls) in over our heads?

[gothamphantomgoat]

[femdomlieeh]

Caramel (m)

Sub!Brat!Sunghoon (ENHYPEN) x Dom!GF!Reader

WC—4.5 ✧ k

WARNING—jealousy ✧ semi-public masturbation (car, m) ✧ spanking (m!r) ✧ face sitting (f) ✧ degrading ✧ praising ✧ piv ✧ riding ✧ nipple play (f!r) ✧ hair pulling (m!r) ✧ name-calling ✧ pet names (Love, Baby, Mommy) ✧ awkward encounter with Yeonjun from TXT

THEMES—smut ✧ established relationship ✧ fluffy ✧ jealousy ✧ good boy turned bad

NOW PLAYING —I Wanna Be Yours ✧ Arctic Monkeys

A/N. I got some sweet messages of encouragement from readers on both wattpad and tumblr after my last update: thank you! Your words and support motivated me to post this sooner<3

M.LISTS—enhypen ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

All rights reserved © femdomlieeh

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The mall was packed with people. After Valentines some stores had crazy sales on winter collections since the last major winter holiday was over and the desperation to empty the racks full of winter clothes before it was too late was at its highest point. So, you and your valentine Sunghoon decided to go to the mall. Although you knew the winter leftovers weren't always the prettiest and that you likely wouldn't end up purchasing anything, you thought it would be fun to try on some clothes and just walk and talk since you hadn't spent much time together since Valentine's Day. Also, who knows, you might actually find something nice!

"Baby, you're so sweet," you whispered into Sunghoon's ear, kissing his temple after he greeted you with two hot lattes, one matcha and one caramel — he always picked those two drinks partly for the taste, caffeine and warmth but also so when the two of you were halfway finished you could switch cups.

"Everything for you, Love," he gave you the matcha latte, blushing at your little affection since you were in a very public setting. The only type of physical touch he felt comfortable initiating in front of others was holding your hand or a quick hug, otherwise it was you giving him pecks on his cheek, sitting on his lap or petting his head, which he loved no matter how embarrassed he felt in the moment — your attention and affection is precious to him.

"Thank you," you took a sip of the matcha, content worth the content and also because the cup was warming up your cold hands, but you grabbed his hand anyway, preferring that source of warmth.

He knew his ears were probably red now. He loved it when your cold hand stole the warmth from his.

You swung your hands a little as you walked to your favorite boutique, hoping to find something nice on sale or just walk around and look at different clothes together. But before you entered you were surprised to hear your name. Immediately you recognised the voice but Sunghoon was caught off guard. A foreign voice. A happy voice. A man's voice. The two of you turned around and spotted a man who looked like he belonged in a Kdrama. Sunghoon wished he hadn't been distracted by your touch as you led him to the boutique and that he instead dragged you two to a hot pot restaurant on the opposite side of the mall so you wouldn't have run into this perfect man but it was too late.

The demon with a picture perfect smile walked up with open arms to you two. Or to you and not Sunghoon to be specific. The handsome man hugged you in front of Sunghoon. His ears didn't turn pink like Sunghoon's would when he gave you a two second hug in public. And omg you hugged this man back!

He pulled the rude, good-looking male stranger by his coat, gently separating the two of you.

"Who are you, again?" Sunghoon asked, very confused as to why a male he doesn't know would feel comfortable hugging his girlfriend right in front of his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I got a little carried away when I saw her," the guy said with a grin, which made Sunghoon clench the fist that was once in your hand.

"My name's Yeonjun. ____ and I have known each other for more than six years now, right?" He said, looking at you, not Sunghoon.

"Yeah, I think it's been five, six years already. Time goes by so fast!"

Sunghoon gulped. He hadn't even known you for half that time.

"And we haven't seen each other in so long!" the so-called Yeonjun went to your side, entering the boutique together. Sunghoon felt his mouth go dry at how Yeonjun referred to the two of you as "we" and walked side by side with you so naturally. This fucking doucheb—

"Yeonjun, this is my boyfriend, Sunghoon," you made sure to introduce them to each other since Yeonjun got too excited and talked too much too fast and forgot to ask for your boyfriend's name (which was very much his character).

"Nice to meet you, Sunghoon," Yeonjun held his hand in front of you to shake Sunghoon's hand.

But your otherwise sweet, polite boyfriend pretended like he didn't see the waiting hand, "Likewise," holding your hand instead.

This was supposed to be his day with you, not handsome Yeonjun's day with you. You were supposed to walk slowly, look around for nothing in particular, arms hooked together (your doing), sipping your lattes until they were half empty so you could switch cups!

The thing is, the two of you were right by the entrance to this boutique heading inside when Yeonjun came so its not like you could pretend you were going to another store to get out of this situation or you would seem rude for blowing him off for no reason, especially since he's been your friend of six years. Or have you two been a thing? Was Yeonjun your friend as in you were in the same class at uni or your friend as in ex who you ended on extremely good terms with or — even worse — was he a "right person, wrong time" type of "friend"? No. He's overthinking it. Surely, you would've told him about all your exes already and Yeonjun's name had never been mentioned. Besides you were a smart person, you wouldn't get into a relationship with Sunghoon if you had feelings for or unfinished business with Yeonjun or anyone else.

But the hug. The way Yeonjun showed you physical touch so easily, no sign of insecurity or blushing. Your comfortable body language, as if you've hugged Yeonjun hundreds of times before.

"Do you remember this?" Yeonjun said, holding up a small pink purse.

"Yes, I do remember," you laughed at the memory.

"What?" Sunghoon looked so lost. You two had inside jokes together!

"After you won a bet, I told you I'd buy you a pink purse one day."

"Yeah. We were stressed kids back," you smiled at the reminiscence. You had gotten a higher score on a test so Yeonjun had promised to buy you whatever you wanted and the first thing you could think of at that time was a pink purse. Since he lost the bet during high school, you didn't expect him to buy it since he didn't have a lot of money and also because it was better to save whatever money he had. But high school was long gone and you hadn't thought of the purse since but Yeonjun remembered.

"Now I have the money to do so..." he continued.

"I already got that same exact purse for her," Sunghoon interrupted before Yeonjun went too far, noticing that was the only pink purse in this section so Yeonjun wouldn't be so rude as to suggest buying another pink purse with another design. Of course, Sunghoon didn't want a handsome man to buy his girlfriend a purse that would remind her of him each time she looked at it — unless that handsome man was Sunghoon, of course.

You looked at Sunghoon after he told the lie, but didn't say anything because he'd also do the same for you if he knew you told a lie to or kept a secret from someone.

"Really? You got her a 30€ purse?"

Now that was rude.

"Well, I really wanted this purse, so the price doesn't really matter," you said, embarrassed your friend would say that to your boyfriend.

"Of course! Of course! If you wanted the purse," Yeonjun tried to save the situation, realizing what he sounded like. He sent a friendly smile at the two of you and started looking through a rail of T-shirts.

After a few minutes of trying to find something that was cute on the sale rack, you called your friend over. "This one would look really good on you, Junnie," you held up a white dress shirt in silk that you found on 30% sale.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I think you pull off this kind of aesthetic well."

Hm, how do I get her to only look at me? How do I get her to only look at me? How do I get her to only look at-

Sunghoon walked up to the two of you, "Do you wanna switch cups, Love? I know you love caramel latte and it will get cold soon," he held the cup in front of your lips so you could taste it. He was right, you do love caramel latte and it tastes so much better warm. You smiled at him. The way he showed affection without having to touch, but just remembering any little fact about you and being caring always made your heart melt. You lifted the matcha latte cup to his lips, making him taste too and he did, but not without blushing. For a moment he forgot you were in public and he just wanted to lay down, tangle your legs and arms together and with the hot drinks getting cold on the table as a rom-com played in the background forgotten as you just looked at each other and talked and kissed—

"Guys, do you have anything to try on?" Yeonjun interrupted your little moment.

Then you switched cups before you looked over at Yeonjun. "I can't find anything I like for now—"

"Then you can come and rate this shirt on me. See if you were right that I would look good in it?"

Oh no. Sunghoon did not like this. He had to do something fast.

"Look, Love! You would pull off this dress so well," he half-yelled to get your attention and held up the first thing he in arms reach, blushing at both the dress and at the double entendre.

Your gaze turned to your boyfriend but your eyes visibly went from curious to a bit mad. It was a tight, red dress with a deep cleavage — and it was inappropriate for Sunghoon to suggest trying on or buying this kind of clothes in front of someone else, especially a friend you hadn't seen in a long time. But the fact that it had a lace bra under it, making it look like lingerie, was humiliating. You turned red. Not from blushing, but from fuming. It was very odd of your boyfriend to do that; the guy who blushed when you kissed his cheek at a restaurant when you were sitting alone held up this sexy dress and suggested you try on or buy it in front of Yeonjun.

Yeonjun turned away, awkward, "I'm just gonna go...try this on."

"What was that?" You questioned sternly.

"What was what?" Sunghoon gulped, still holding the dress.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, "Are you trying to get punished?"

He remained quiet, tall but so small in your presence.

"Cat got your tongue? Hm? Talk, you didn't have a problem being loud just a minute ago," you whispered so others — especially Yeonjun — wouldn't hear you.

The sound of a door creaking was heard, which made you retreat your hand immediately and turn around.

"How does it look?" Yeonjun asked and scratched his neck as he showed off the white dress shirt you suggested.

"My eye was right. You should buy it," you gave him a thumbs up. Sunghoon did not like this.

"Thank y-"

"I wanna try it on too," Sunghoon interrupted him.

"Oh, sure, I can give it to you in a minute."

"Actually, I think I need a bigger size because of my shoulders so I'll just grab a fresh one." It was Sunghoon's turn to be rude.

He felt a minor adrenaline rush — if that even existed — as he power walked to the part of the clothing zoo where he remembered you had told Yeonjun to try on a shirt you found. At this point would do anything to keep your eyes on him instead of that guy. He hurried into the changing room, changing in just a minute and opened the door.

Your eyes were definitely on him. He had styled the shirt a bit differently than Yeonjun, choosing to keep the first four buttons undone, way sexier than the usual one or two undone buttons. The pure white silk complemented his skin, making him ironically look like an angel.

"You look really, really good, Baby."

It was a modest compliment, since you had company, but Sunghoon already knew what you were thinking as you eyed him up and down.

"It looked better on me though," Yeonjun said in a jokingly manner.

"No, I look better in it," Sunghoon said, "Right, Mommy?"

It slipped out. He didn't mean to say that. In fact, he's never called you that before.

Yeonjun gulped and stood up to go, "I'm gonna go pay for this real quick."

"You're gonna regret that," you said with a voice that was too calm.

"What you gonna do about it, Mommy?" Might as well go along with this brat thing.

"Guys, something came up so I gotta go. I just wanted to say bye!" Yeonjun appeared with a bag and an awkward smile.

"Bye," you said, hugging him farewell.

some minutes later.

After throwing the almost empty caramel latte in the trash, you slammed the door of the car (not hard, but a little louder than normal). Sunghoon had embarrassed you in front of an old friend, your angel acting like a brat. And he was just glad he had your attention.

"Love~"

You started the engine and took off, completely ignoring his cute calling.

"Mommy," he leaned over to your side, putting his face in your boobs.

"Brat," you pressed your hand harshly on his dick. He was hard. "You really got hard from acting like a desperate slut in public?"

"Mhm. More, Mommy," he whimpered in your ear.

"Slut," you pushed his face away with the hand that was giving him pleasure just now, placing his head gently onto the neck rest (still worried for him even when you were mad).

He smirked, ears red at the contrast of your words and pushing and then kindness. He needed more. So much more. Any little attention you had given to Yeonjun today, he needed that attention tripled. He would've acted like a brat much sooner today if he knew you would've taken him home to punish him.

With his eyes on you he undid his pants. He wanted to push the limit. You looked away from the road for a split second to catch a glimpse of what your boyfriend was up to, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Being a needy whore," he replied and slid his hand inside the pants.

"Touching yourself without my permission two minutes away from home? You're begging to be punished like the bitch you are," you chuckled and sped up.

"Yes, Mommy," he moaned both as an answer to your statement and because of the pleasure his hand was giving. Apparently he loved calling you that.

"Well, you're gonna get it soon, slut," you replied as you were parking.

At that, he went even faster with his hand to get on your nerves even more. And then you were parked. He went for the door in a second, excited for what was about to happen. You got out too and unlocked the door to your place. A slam was heard after you got in. Shoes were taken off and thrown to the side. Sunghoon took your jacket off for you. "Did I say you could touch me?"

Pink spread across his cheeks as he responded with a no, shy all of a sudden. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt just like at the mall and dragged him to your bedroom. He almost couldn't keep up with your steps. Inside the bedroom you pushed him to the wall, a moan slipping out. You tugged his hair and pulled his head back harshly. "Pants off. Now."

They were on the floor in seconds. "No underwear? You took them off when you were trying on your shirt? Slut," you smirked and sat down on the foot of the bed in front of him.

"You know your place." He got over her lap, flashing his ass for her to admire. He had been doing weighted Romanian split squats at the gym lately. This position on your lap was one he had been in before. But never for acting out in public or calling you something inappropriate in front of a friend.

Your warm hand started rubbing his skin smoothly to prepare for punishment and joy. "Do you remember your safeword?"

"Pear."

"Do you remember my safeword?"

"Pineapple."

"Good. Count, if you don't we'll start over again. Understood, slut?"

"Yes, Mommy," he said with anticipation clear in his tone. He finally had all your attention on him — and your hands on him as well. This is exactly how he wanted the day to go: spend quality time together.

"How many do you deserve?" You asked to test him.

"Uhm... Ten?" He asked, playing dumb.

"Fifteen it is. Twenty if you misbehave," you said and gave him a harsh spank.

"One," he whimpered out, surprised.

The next one was harder.

"Two," he said under his breath.

"Can't hear you, princess," you slapped his ass cheek rougher.

"Three," he yelled out.

He kept his ground, but you wanted to wreck him for how he acted today — if he wanted to be hurt or just go he should've told you and not been a slut — so you hit harder, if possible.

"F-Four," he stuttered in defeat.

You smirked and brought your left hand to his hair, pulling it.

Your right hand blew him with the same strength as before.

"F-Five," he moaned from the beautiful pain.

Spank!

"Fuck! Six!" He cursed.

"Watch your language," you warned and raised your hand up higher and when it came in contact with his skin it made the loudest hitsound.

"S-Seven. So-So-"

Spank!

"-Sorry! Eight," he exclaimed in a moan so high pitched he was embarrassed.

Spank!

"Ah, nine," he moaned loud enough for the neighbours to be awkward around you next time you see them.

Spank!

"Ten. Mommy, please," he cried out of desperation, not sure if he wanted a break or more.

You were only halfway there, yet his dick already had pre-cum leaking out on your jeans.

"Please what?" You asked and delivered a harder one, knowing exactly what he needed.

"E-Eleven. Mommy, touch me, please," he begged pathetically, knowing you would deny him.

The spank got harder at that.

"Twe-elve," he whined like the bitch he was.

You pulled his head back and looked him in the eyes, "Be a good slut and you might get rewarded"

"Thank you, Mommy."

You let his head go back to rest on the bed (gently just like you'd done in the car) and then spanked him harder to see how much he could take.

"Thirteen," he called out.

His ass cheeks were as pink as his cheeks when you greeted him with a kiss to his temple at the mall.

Spank!

"Fo-Fourteen. Mommy!"

His dick stung at this point. He needed you to touch him so damn much.

Spank!

"F-Fifteen," he moaned, crushed.

He closed his eyes harder, waiting for the next spank.

To his surprise, you just touched his ass softly, grabbing here and there, "You were a good slut for me."

"Thank you, Mommy," his ears got pink at how gentle you were being, petting his hair, combing your fingers through it.

"As a reward you get my cum and if you're good enough you'll get to cum too," you whispered as you nibbled on my ear.

"Thank you, Mommy."

You pulled him off your lap, standing up and giving a peck to his forehead before softly pushing him back on the bed. You let your jeans fall down to the floor to be long forgotten. Sunghoon licked his lips at the sight of you in black panties. They were see-through! He was so distracted and suddenly the panties were gone and you were sitting on his waist.

"Please, Mommy, sit on me," he pleaded with a made-up sweet voice, wanting to be on your good side so you wouldn't tease him.

"How much do you want it?" You moved some hair away from his eyes, resting your hand on his jaw.

"So much. Please, please, sit on my face. I want to be good for you now, please," he made sure to look you in the eye with a small pout.

"I know you got jealous and acted like a slut because you wanted my attention, but you know I like good boys more, right?" You mock pouted at him.

He nodded fast, "I know. I'm so sorry, Mommy. Let me prove I'm your good boy. Please?"

"Since you begged so cutely...prove it to me," you said before you moved up until your pussy was above his face.

He eagerly stuck out my tongue and put in the tip between you folds to tease you a little and to prepare for what was coming.

"You think you're gonna make me cum this way, bitch?"

His tongue slipped in further and faster to taste your delicious juices. You arched your back slightly at the stimulation, he smiled against you and started nudging his nose gently against your clit. Your hands found their place behind you, on his stomach. You weren't satisfied with the feeling of fabric, so grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up so you could touch the skin and small curves of his abs. Sunghoon definitely had more muscles than that guy. His hands went to your butt and, before you protested, they pushed you further down on his face and so his tongue went even deeper.

"Desperate for Mommy's cum?" You asked and grasped a handful amount of his wet hair.

He hummed against your pussy, sending vibrations; he was determined to make you cum so good you'd let him cum too. You yanked his hair slightly and he arched his back a little. To show his appreciation he kissed on your clit. Whimpers started spilling from your mouth and excitement and pride started filling him. Both his face and cock were glistening with pleasure and neediness.

"I'm gonna cum."

He nodded and dove in deeper and licked you like he had been thirsty for you his whole life. You pressed herself lower on him, moaning. He held your thighs as they were beginning to shake. His lips sucked on your clit as if it were your nipple and you finally blessed him with your tasty cum. He licked and slurped till there was nothing left to swallow.

"What do you say now?" You asked as you sat back on his chest, catching your breath.

"You're delicious- I mean, thank you, Mommy."

You chuckled and continued with a question, "Who deserves rewards?"

"Good boys," he replied happily.

"Are you a good boy?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Yes, you are. Take this off," you said and tugged his shirt, "That shirt from today looked better on you anyway."

He took it off as soon as you told him to. His dick was still standing proud, red from the pleasure and resistance.

"Please, Mommy, sit."

"You think I'm going to let your slutty dick inside me just like that? Go get a condom now."

He hurried to his bag, stark naked in the sunlight from the window. But he didn't care, he just wanted to be inside Mommy. When he got back you had already gotten nude — and that was enough for him to open the condom, put it on and throwing himself on the bed in seconds.

"Don't get too comfortable, sit up," you ordered him as you crawled onto the bed.

He obeyed and rested against the headboard, attention on you. You continued crawling until you sat on his lap.

"Your thighs are so thick and sexy."

"Thank you," he blushed because he'd been going to the gym consistently and your validation made him proud.

"Feels like a sin to make them tremble, but oh well."

You lowered yourself on him until long moans littered the air, both of you sensitive; you from a little overstimulation right after cumming and him from ignoring his pink dick for so long. Without preparation or warning, you bounced up and down on him. He wondered where you get the stamina to do bounce on his dick so well.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he cried out.

He saw your boobs bouncing too and just had to start sucking on one of them, hand palming the other one. You gasped. He was very good with his mouth. Your hips moved faster and Sunghoon couldn't keep his moans inside as he switched his mouth to the other boob. He felt like a pervert but he really really loved how your boobs moved up and down when they weren't in his mouth. You tightened your fingers into his hair and made it harder for him to concentrate and suck. He looked up into your eyes through his long eyelashes and started licking your nipple before putting it between my lips.

"My slut."

He let go of your nipple, "No. I'm your good boy, please," and went back to sucking on it.

"Really?"

"Yes, yes, I am. Please, Mommy." Kiss after kiss was placed on your boobs as an apology for being a shameless horndog back at the mall.

"Such a good boy."

"Mhm," he mumbled not letting go of your nipple, sucking harder, needing you to praise him more.

Your thighs were trembling, an orgasm coming soon. Sunghoon was close too, but he needed your permission first. "Mommy. Mommy. I-" A moan disrupted his sentence. "Ngh, Mommy. I-I'm gonna cum."

You yanked his head back at that and put your lips on his neck, "Cum for me, my good boy."

He filled the condom with his cum.

"Th-Th-Thank you, Mommy."

Your hips rode out his orgasm and he moaned like a slut the whole time. "Mommy, hurts."

"Good." You continued overstimulating him, chasing your second orgasm. He bit his lip, trying not to moan too loudly. Then you came too with a small bite to his neck.

You laid on top of him, just hugging, breathing each other in and pecking at each other's faces and shoulders.

"Want me to run us a bath, Baby?"

His answer was a small pout — your weakness — and a soft nod.

You got up and held his hand, leading him to the bathroom where you threw away the condom in the trash and swayed slowly back and forth as you hugged, waiting for the bathtub to fill with warm water.

"Oh! Almost forgot something," you were confused when Sunghoon let go of the hug.

You smiled as soon as you saw him come back with a lighter and caramel scented candle. 

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"I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathing in your dust

I wanna be your Ford Cortina

I will never rust

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours"

—alex turner

[balkanradfem]

So I've found Alyssa Grenfell on youtube. She shares her experience of leaving mormonism, and the inner workings of the religion. I had very little ideas about what mormonism is, only that it's a high-control religion, very difficult to leave, and has people knocking on doors trying to get converts. I've been interested to find out more, and I ended up watching almost all of her content, and some of the information I've got from it opened my eyes on other feminist topics, and I believe is relevant to the current discourse!

So if you, like me, don't know how mormonism works, it started when a guy decided that he too could be a part of the bible; he wrote a bible part two: mormon, and proclaimed himself a prophet. Then he started a religion based on his writings, decided it was more important than the bible itself because he 'translated it from gold tablets god gave him', and started gaining followers by convincing people he's the prophet. Once he had managed to get a following, he soon started to sexually exploit the wives and daughters of these followers, to the point where he had 20-40 wives and had married 14yo children. Families allowed it to happen because he would promise them to be royalty in the afterlife. He eventually got into a lot of trouble for stealing and raping children so he was killed by an angry mob, but the religion continued.

The religion is same as christianity except more rules (no coffee, no alcohol, no smoking), eternal worship of the predator who wrote it, followers are pressured to follow the rules exactly, and, the vital part, the followers have to give 10% of their income to the church. They developed a culture where once every young mormon kid comes of age, they have to go on a 'mission', which means they're removed from their home, and have to spend 2 years (1,5 for women) living in a foreign area, knocking on doors, sharing the gospel, trying to convert people. The conversion rate is extremely low, but at that point kids have invested so much time, effort, energy and passion for the religion, they become devoted to it and start to feel alienated in the world that rejects their religion. And even with the low conversion rate, every new convert means another continuous source of income for the church. So it's very profitable to send out young adults to make these sales. The kids are told that if they don't complete their missions, they will not be able to marry, and marriage is presented as their only life purpose.

So how rich is the church at this point? 230 billion dollars. I've been shocked to hear this because I had no idea. Alyssa explained that the mormon church is as rich as Pepsi, they have more money than Disney and McDonalds. So you might be wondering, like I did, well what are they doing with all that money? I've been left to wonder this for a while, until I watched the video called 'Why are so many influencers mormon?', which explained it. I didn't even realize a lot of influencers were mormon. But, this video showed me something both disturbing, and eye opening.

Before I go into that, I have to point out how patriarchal and misogynistic this religion is. Women are not given any options except marriage, and it's presented as the only righteous way to live. They're groomed for marriage from a very young age, encouraged to start writing letters to their future husbands at the age of 9. They're taught cooking, sewing and childcare, and to coddle any males in the family. It's taken for granted that m*n won't respect women, to the point where male children are allowed to harass grown women and their families will not intervene or consider it a problem. Chastity and purity are promoted to the level where members of the religion are expected to wear special underwear at all times, which hides their entire torso, shoulders, and legs down to their knees, and their clothing is expected to cover this up completely. They're rejected by the religion if they dare to have sex before marriage, or drink alcohol or coffee, or in some cases, tea. The church has a history of allowing and promoting polygamy, in the sense that a male was allowed to have as many wives as he wanted; they've since stopped this, but refused to break up the existing marriages. They're also promoting anti gay and racist propaganda, which Alyssa observed in school where she'd been teaching; a gay kid almost ended his life due to extreme homophobia.

I know all of this is somewhat common in all areas of society, all religions, and all cultures, but in mormonism it seems to be written into the core of it.

So now, why are so many influencers mormon? I didn't even know they were. The influencers themselves are not promoting the fact that they're mormon, nor does it come up in viral discussions. Ballerina farm is mormon. Tradwives are mormon. Whataboutaub, Rachel Parcel, brooklynandbailey, tanner_mann, thebucketlistfamily, Taylor Frankie Paul, Sarah Beeston, Ruby Franke, these are all mormon. Most of the Utah-based influencers are mormon, and there's a bigger amount of successful and popular influencers from Utah, than from LA or NY.

For me it immediately explained why this viral content is like that. Why we're having such influx of highly patriarchal, anti-feminist, very dangerous and sexist content, put in front of the eyes of young women. Why it's being promoted as an ideal way of life. How are these women able to share this life as if they truly believed it was good and ideal. How could they think it's harmless? If they're using the internet to the extent that they're creating content, how would they not be exposed to any feminism at all? And they wouldn't because it's against their religion to engage with content like that, or with people talking about it. Because being raised in a high-control religion, they would truly believe their lives are the ideal. They would be presented with it as their only option, the only way of life possible for a woman.

It's heartbreaking because I can now understand why it was so easy to push Ballerina Farm to give up her entire life ambition to get married and carry children for a male she didn't even want to go out with, the pressure from the religion to do so would be immense, she would have been raised to see this as the only option, everything else in her life would be considered pointless. She wouldn't have an actual choice, she'd be groomed for this from the moment she was born. Mormons don't advertise 'looking for your soulmate', they only instruct women to marry a mormon male who completed his mission and make it work.

So how does the immensely rich mormon church play into this? I couldn't see it until Alyssa explained in a very detailed way how youtube content advertising works. I didn't know about this either, but here's the overview:

How much you get paid on youtube, instagram, tik-tok, or other online content platform, depends on what type of content it is, based on how much advertisers are willing to pay to put adverts on it. For instance, you get paid much more for finance content, because banks will pay premium prices to be advertised in a finance-related video. If you're making content on cooking, you get paid way less, because it's not such a lucrative field. If you're making content on christianity, you get similarly low price as for cooking, christian church is not that rich. But, if you're making content as a mormon, that's showcasing some aspect of a mormon life, even if you don't specifically say you're mormon, the price goes way up, to the point where it's as lucrative as finance. The mormon church is making sure that the mormon influencers are being paid premium prices for their content, because people who get massively interested in the influencers, eventually find out that it's the mormon life being advertised, and some of them consider taking on mormonism. Which gives church more converts, which means the church will earn more money. The content we're watching is one huge advert sponspored by mormon church, and we don't even know it.

Alyssa figured this out because her content falls under the keyword 'mormon', and her comments warned her that the church is advertising on her videos, even when she's making mormon-critical content. She then realized that she too was being paid a premium price for her views, just because they're mormon themed. She went on to discover that even just being an influencer in Utah will fetch a premium price, because most of mormons are based in Utah. For more detailed and comprehensive explanation on this, watch her video!

Advertising is not the only way the mormon church is spending their money, they've also built a shopping mall, and are basically spending their money by investing and gambling and everything any corporation does with their profits. It's making me mad, and also makes the members of the church mad when they discover where 10% of their income goes, because they're told it's being used for charity and community service, and not advertisments and building malls.

For me this solves a mystery of how is it possible, in this day and age to have such influx of tradwives and influencers of 'traditional life', they're being sponsored by an organization making a profit off of it, making sure that anyone making this content is so well paid, they're able to live off of it, and keep creating more of it, and in the process of doing that, groom young women into their lifestyle.

Learning more about religions, specifically high-control religions, makes me realize just how much of it is happening all around us, but invisible, not naming what it is. It's similar to MLM's, the people inside are constantly trying to lure more people in, to make profit for those on the top, while the organization keeps changing names and hides their business structure in order to save their reputation. People can get influenced by it, and sucked in, without even knowing about it. Somehow most MLM's are also in Utah.

Mormon church also asked to no longer be called that, in order to stop being associated with the words like 'cult', which people have identified it as. Now they're working under more secretive names, and hidden business practices, so we wouldn't even know what we're being influenced by, and why is the content in front of us what it is.    

[derinwrites]

How can I make money writing fiction?

I'm gonna be straight with you. There is no guarantee that you'll make enough as an independent writer to make it worth your time. You very well might -- I make a liveable wage as an independent writer -- but many don't. Most writers I know also have a job. And luck plays a big part in it.

If you're interested in going forward in spite of this, you have two main options for monetisation open to you, and you are going to have to pick one. I call them the sales model and the sponsorship model, and you are going to have to pick one.

The sales model involves writing stories and selling them to readers. You can put books up on Amazon or Smashwords, sell them direct from your own website, enlist the help of a traditional publisher to handle that for you and let them decide where to sell, whatever -- the point is that your money is made from the sale of books to readers. If you go with a traditional publisher, you're using this model (though they will give you some of the money ahead of time in the form of an advance). Most indie authors also use this model, publishing through draft2digital, Ingram Spark, direct through Amazon, whatever. I've never relied on the sales model and can't give you any advice on how to do this, but Tumblr is full of indie authors who probably can.

The sponsorship model involves soliciting small amounts of money from various readers over time. This is ideal for web serials, and it's what I use. I use Patreon, which is designed specifically for this purpose, but you can use other sites such as ko-fi. This model involves providing regular content for free, with bonuses for those who support you.

"Can't I do both? Sell books and have a Patreon?" You absolutely can! I know several indie authors with a Patreon. I sell my completed books as ebooks and will eventually sell them as paperbacks. But your time and attention is limited, and so is your audience's, and you're going to have to half-arse one of these in order to have enough arse to whole-arse the other. You're going to make a lo of decisions that benefit either the sponsorship model or the sales model, not both. So pick your primary income source early and commit.

I can only advise on writing web serials and using the sponsorship model, so I'll go ahead with that assumption. If you want to make a liveable wage doing this, not only will you need luck, you'll also need patience. This is not a fast way to build a career. at the end of my first year of doing this, I had one single patron, and they were a real-life friend of mine. When I reached an income of $100/month, I threw a little party for myself, I was so happy. It had taken such a long time and was so much work. I reached enough to cover rent/mortgage after I'd been doing this for more than four years. It's a long term sort of career.

Here are some general tips for succeeding in this industry, given by me, someone with no formal training in any of this who only vaguely knows what they're talking about:

Have a consistent update schedule and STICK TO IT

The #1 indicator for stable success in this industry (aside from luck, which we're discounting because you can't do much about that) is having a consistent update schedule. Your readers need to know when the next chapter is coming out, and it should be coming out regularly. Ideally, you should have no breaks or hiatuses -- if you're in a bus crash or something, that might be unavoidable, and your readers will understand if you tell them, but if you're stopping and starting a lot for trivial reasons, they WILL abandon you. You can't get away with that shit if you're not Andrew Hussie, and I'm pretty sure Andrew Hussie doesn't message me for career advice on Tumblr. If you find you need a lot of hiatuses to write fast enough then you're updating too often; change your schedule. A regular schedule is more important than a fast one (ideally it should be both, but if you have to pick between the two, pick regular).

2. Pay attention to your readership, listen to what they want from you

Your income is based on a pretty complicated support structure when you're using the sponsorship model. this model relies on people finding your story, liking your story, and continuing to find it valuable enough to keep paying you month after month. This means that your rewards for your sponsors should be things that they value and will continue to pay for ('knowing I'm supporting an artist whose work I enjoy' counts as a thing that they value, to my great surprise; there's a lot of people giving me money just for the sake of giving me money, so I can pay my mortgage and keep writing for them without needing a second job), but it also means supporting the entire network that attracts readers and keeps them having the best time they can with your story -- being part of a rewarding community. Because this is advice on making money, I'm going to roughly divide your readership into groups based on how they affect your bottom line:

sponsors. People giving you money directly. The importance of keeping this group happy should be obvious.

administration and community helpers -- discord moderators, IT people, guys who set up fan wikis, whoever's handling your mailing list if you have a mailing list. You can do this stuff yourself, or you can hire someone to do it, but if you're incredibly lucky and people enjoy being a part of your reader community, people will sometimes volunteer to do the work for free. If you are lucky enough to get such people, respect them. They are doing you a massive favour, and they're not doing it for you, but to maintain a place that they value, and you have to respect both of those things. My discord has just shy of 1,300 members and is moderated by volunteers. I'd peel my own face off if I had to moderate a community that large. If you've got people stepping up to do work for you, you need to respect them and you need to make sure that they continue to find that rewarding by doing what you can to make sure that the community they're maintaining is rewarding. Sometimes this means taking actions and sometimes this means staying the fuck out of the way. Depending on the circumstances.

fan artists. Once you have people drawing your characters, writing fanfic of your stories, whatever, treat these like fucking gold. Give them a space to do this, and more importantly, give them a space to do this without you in it. Fanworks are a symptom of engagement with your work, which is massively important. They are also a component of a healthy community, an avenue for readers to talk to each other and express themselves creatively to each other. Third, fanworks act as a bridge for new readers. When readers share their art on, say, Tumblr, it can intrigue new people and get them into the story. Your job in all of this is to give them the space to work, encourage them as required or invited (I reblog most TTOU fanart that I'm tagged in on Tumblr, for instance), and other than that, stay the fuck out of their way. These people are vital to the liveblood of your community, the continued engagement of your audience, and the interest of your sponsors. Some of the fan artists will be sponsors themselves; some won't be. Those who aren't sponsors are still massively valuable for their art.

speculators, conversers, theorists, livebloggers, and That Guy Who's Just Really Jazzed For The Next Chapter. Some people don't make art but just like to chat about your story. These people are a bedrock of the community that's supporting your sponsors and increasing your readership, and therefore are critical to your income stream. Give them a place to talk. Be nice to them when they talk to you. Sometimes, they'll ask you questions about the story, which you can choose to answer or not, however you feel is appropriate. They'll also want to chat about non-story-related stuff with each other, so make sure they have a place to do that, too.

that guy who never talks to you or comments on anything but linked your story to ten guys in his office who all read it now. Some of your supporters are completely invisible to you. You can't do anything for these people except continue to release the story and have a forum they can silently lurk on if they want to. But, y'know, they exist.

If you want to focus on income then these are, roughly, the groups of people that you will need to listen to and accommodate for. You can generally just make sure they have space to do their thing, and if they want anything else, they'll tell you (yes, guys, paperbacks will be coming eventually). Many people will fit into multiple groups -- I have some sponsors that are in every single one of these groups except the last. Some will only be in one group. A healthy income rests on a healthy community which rests on accommodating these needs.

3. If you can manage it, try to make your story good.

It's also helpful for your story to be good. Economically, this is far less important than you'd think -- there are some people out there writing utter garbage and making a living doing it. Garbage by what standards? By whatever your standards are. Just think of the absolute laziest, emptiest, hackiest waste-of-bandwidth story you can imagine -- some guy is half-arsing that exact story and making three times what you'll ever make on Patreon doing it. And honestly? Good for him. If he's making that much then his readers are enjoying it, and that's what matters. Still, one critical component of making money as a writer is writing something that people actually want to read. And you can't trick them with web serials, because they don't pay in advance -- if they're bored, they'll just stop. So you have to make it worth their time, money and attention, and the simplest way to do that is to write a good story.

This hardly seems mentioning, since you were presumably planning to do that anyway. It's basic respect for your audience to give them something worth their time. Besides, if we're not interested in improving our craft and striving for our best, what are we even writing for? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to try to write a good story. The reason I list this is in fact the opposite -- don't let "I'm not a good enough writer" paralyse you. The world is full of someday-writers who endlessly fuss over and revise a single story because it's not good enough, it's not perfect, they're not Terry Pratchett yet. Neither was Terry Pratchett when his first books were published. If you're waiting to be good enough, you won't start. I didn't think Curse Words was good enough when I started releasing it -- I still don't. I started putting it out because I knew it was the only way I'd get myself to actually finish something. I don't think it's all that great, but you know what? An awful lot of people read it and really enjoyed it. And if I hadn't released it, I'd have been doing those people a disservice.

Also, it taught me a lot, and based on what I learned, Time to Orbit: Unknown is much better. If I'd never released Curse Words, if I hadn't seen how people read it and reacted to it and seen what worked and what didn't, then Time to Orbit: Unknown wouldn't be very good. And it certainly wouldn't be making me a living wage, because it was the years writing Curse Words that started building the momentum I have today.

And Time to Orbit: Unknown as it is today has some serious problems. Problems that I'm learning from. And the next book will be a lot better.

So that's basically my advice for making money in this industry. Be patient, be lucky, be consistent. Value your community; it's your lifeline, even the parts of it that don't directly pay you. And try to make your story as good as you can, but make that an activity you do, not a barrier to prevent you from starting.

Good luck.

[spacequokka]

In My Bed

Pairing: bf!Jackson x Reader Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Suggestive Rating: M Summary: Jackson fell asleep when he planned to surprise you. Word Count: 0.7k, Request Warnings: dry-humping

After a grueling day at work, all you wanted to do once you got home was shower and get in bed. The never-ending stream of conference calls and meetings punctuated with answering emails left you drained mentally and physically. However, when you opened the front door and spotted a familiar pair of sneakers sitting on the shoe rack, you were immediately invigorated.

Jackson was home!

You all but dropped your stuff on the bench as you kicked off your shoes. It was quiet save for the hum of the ice maker in the freezer. Maybe he was asleep? You tiptoed down the hallway and sure enough, the light of your life was laid out across the bed on his stomach using his arms as a pillow. His expression was a picture of serenity as he snuggled your favorite hoodie. Your heart swelled with affection. How does he continue to surprise you with his cute little habits?

There was no telling how long he’d been home, but you needed your hugs and kisses. You crawled over to his side and laid beside him, gently prying his hands away from his head then forcing your way against his chest. In the midst of your shuffling, he woke up groggy and sluggish as he registered what was going on.

“You’re home?” He blinked slowly, then looked at the window. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Seeing as he was awake, there was no point in being gentle. You rolled him over onto his side and pulled his arms around you. His scent filled your nose, and you sagged with relief, savoring his warmth. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be home today? I would’ve met you at the airport.”

He chuckled at your whiny tone as he drew you close and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he drew back and kissed your lips, “I wanted to show up at your job and take you out for lunch. I guess I underestimated how tired I was and how much I missed our bed.”

You forced a pout, just barely keeping yourself from smiling. “The bed? What about me?”

“Oh, hush. You know I hate being away from you this long.” He hid his face in your neck. “Why do you insist on being all strong and independent? You could come with me! See the world and join the mile high club and stuff.”

You laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the sex is the motivating factor?”

“No, no. It’s a perk. A bonus, if you will.” He kissed your neck, letting his lips linger. “The motivation is having my beautiful girlfriend with me. It’d be so much better if I could wake up with you in my arms.”

You squirmed against him when his teeth skimmed over your sensitive skin. “I’d ruin your image and hurt your sales.” You bit your lip when his fingers pressed into your skin, holding you still as he put his thigh between yours. “Ah, shit. Wait, Jackie. I need a shower.”

His chuckle made it clear that wouldn’t be happening. “Performing isn’t my only source of income, baby. I can stand to lose a few, especially if it means I get access to you when I get off the stage.” He groaned and pressed his hips against you, drawing your attention to his growing excitement. “It’s been too long since I last had you.”

“But I wanna be squeaky clean for you.” Your squirming only served to increase the friction between your bodies, coaxing him to return the favor by rolling his hips and grinding his erection into your stomach. “Jack, please.”

“Ugh, I hear you.” He loosened his hold. “But if you need one, then so do I.”

With the haze of desire messing with your mind, it took you a minute to process his words. “If we slip and fall in the shower, it’s your fault.”

He smiled wide with glee as he hauled himself to his feet. He held his hand out to you, ignoring the tent that had formed. “I’ll make sure to take the worst of it. Now come on, I need you now before I bust in my pants.”

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Hunted - Y.JH

🩸Who: Yoon Jeonghan (Seventeen) x reader 🩸What: Vampire au. Vampire Jeonghan. Human Reader. 🩸Wordcount: 2.4k 🩸Warnings: Blood. Biting. Injury. Typical vampire stuff. 🩸Summary: "Jeonghan has always loved the Hunt, loves finding a tasty little human to prey on and sink his teeth into their neck. When he spots you one day and catches your irresistible scent, Jeonghan can’t help but make you the focus of his latest Hunt."

Masterlist

A/N- Thanks to @ddeonghwa-s for suggesting vampire Jeonghan on the hunt!

It’s an outdated tradition, sure. But Jeonghan loves it. Thrives on it. Something about it always sends a thrill up his spine.

Jeonghan has been alive for so long, he has seen so many things come and go; fads and crazes that light up his interest only to fizzle out. Yet after all these years this remains.

The Hunt.

Finding the perfect prey.

Stalking.

Luring.

Trapping. Sometimes he stays on this step longer just to watch the silly little humans panic. Sometimes he lets them go to give them a false sense of freedom, which always sweetens their scent, only to sweep in moments later and sink his teeth in. Drink down the joy fizzing in their blood before the fear can sour it again.

Though inevitably, the Hunt must end with his lips pressed against a racing pulse and warmth spilling over his tongue. Feeding.

Tonight is no different.

Jeonghan first spotted you days ago. He caught a whiff of your delectable scent as you passed him in the market, smelling more mouth watering than any of the sweet and savoury treats available for sale.

He knew right then that he had to have you.

For the past few days he’s been Hunting you; watching you to learn your routine and planning how to take advantage of that routine to lure you into a trap.

Which leads him to this point; standing in the shadows of the roof of your apartment building where you always step out in the middle of the night to look over the city. To admire the illuminated signs of life still in the city centre, a fair distance away from your residence where the light sources are fewer and further apart.

The perfect place to lay a trap.

Jeonghan feels smug satisfaction twist his lips into a smirk when you flinch at the sound of the roof door slamming shut. You spin around quickly, eyes darting to the door then around in search of who could’ve removed the brick propping the door open. Yet he knows humans can’t see him, not when his natural affinity for darkness as a vampire allows him to blend so seamlessly with the shadows.

“Who-who’s there?” You call out with a thick swallow.

He can just about catch the slight rise in your heartbeat from across the roof. It strikes him as a little odd that he can’t hear it jackrabbit with fear, as he is more accustomed to during his traps. But then he notices the way the wisps of your hair which are not tied back securely whip around in the wind and he realises that the wind is working against him.

There are few cons to not being sensitive to the weather and being able to withstand almost anything mother nature throws at him, and this is one of them. He hasn’t had to think once, let alone twice, about the weather, bar the sunshine, in centuries and tonight had been no different; he hadn’t added the wind to his plan.

Not that it really matters in the grand scheme of things. He doesn’t need to hear your heartbeat perfectly or easily catch your scent as if you’re right by his side, not now that you’re exactly where he wants you.

Of course, Jeonghan doesn’t respond to your question, he starts to prowl in the shadows without removing his gaze from your tense figure.

Slowly, you relax and let out a huff of laugh to yourself while softly reprimanding yourself for not putting the brick properly in place knowing how easy it would be for the strong wind to catch the door and blow it shut.

Instead of going to the door to try and open it, you turn to peer over the edge of the roof to your balcony a floor below and to your left a little. You’re too busy mumbling to yourself about the practicalities of getting from the roof onto your balcony, and wondering if you left the balcony door unlocked, that you don’t hear Jeonghan approaching.

Jeonghan watches as the fine hairs on your neck begin to prickle and stand on end the closer he gets; your instincts sensing something that your meagre human brain can’t comprehend. There is a predator behind you, and you are not safe.

He stands perfectly still and silent a few metres behind you, enjoying his own little game of hide and seek, even if the seeker is unaware there is someone to be on the look out for. It’s one of the parts of being a vampire that Jeonghan adores endlessly; the ability to stand so close, practically within arm’s length yet entirely out of a human’s senses. It makes his Hunts both easier and more entertaining for him.

As you lean a little further over the edge of the roof, your hands move along the brick ledge by your waist to balance better and something a little sharper than the rough surface of the bricks catches your finger. You flinch and lift your hand to eye it, yet the lighting is too low for you to notice the tiny pinprick of blood on your fingertip.

Jeonghan, however, can perfectly see the little bead of blood and although he can’t smell it with the wind carrying your scent away, his hunger burbles to the surface and his focus changes from playing the game to winning his prize.

He isn’t so quiet as he glides over to stand directly behind you. You hear the scrape of his shoes against the fine natural grit on the rooftop and tense a split second before his right hand lifts to clamp over your mouth.

Sometimes humans still try to scream but Jeonghan is glad that you don’t, he really hates it when they do that; it ruins the experience for him.

“That’s it, good little human, you keep that pretty mouth shut and I’ll be gentle on you,” he coos teasingly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “If you try to escape or call for help, I’ll rip your delicate little throat out and let you painfully bleed out right here. Understand?” You immediately nod shakily. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth, and remember; keep those lips together or I’ll really give you something to scream about, okay?” You only nod. “That’s a good little human.”

Although you’ve agreed and he can feel the scared tremble of your body against his front where he’s lightly pressed against your back, he doesn’t entirely trust a silly little human to stick to their word, so he moves his hand from your mouth ever so slowly, ready to move it back if need be. But you stay quiet as agreed, earning a hum of approval.

“I wish more humans are more like you,” he comments as his hand slides down your throat to gently grip and tilt your head aside so that he can eye your neck hungrily. You let out a short exhale of air, he assumes it’s some kind of strange human response and thinks nothing of it. He’s too focused on brushing his lips against your skin and inhaling that unique, mouthwatering scent clinging to you and begging to be let free from your veins.

There truly is something endlessly enticing about your scent, which only grows stronger the longer he’s so close to your skin. His gums ache as his fangs force him to let them free ready to feed.

Jeonghan lifts his left arm up to wrap around your waist knowing that humans always flail for the first few seconds.

He can’t blame them though, the pain is excruciating the very first time being bitten, but it flows away as the venom numbs the pain and makes the human compliant. Many humans even enjoy it and become willing blood bags for a vampire. Jeonghan doesn’t like that, he thinks it’s despicable for a vampire to tie themselves to a human; to swear loyalty and take their feed so easily.

It’s lazy. An insult to the very nature of a vampire.

Vampires are predators, hunters. There is nothing more gratifying than a successful Hunt.

Jeonghan can’t wait any longer, he drags his sharp fangs over your neck, only harsh enough to leave faint lines; his favourite trick to add a little tang of utter terror to the blood before he bites down.

Immediately, Jeonghan knows something isn’t right.

You don’t flail. You don’t make a noise past a soft grunt as his teeth pierce your skin and that’s not right. He is never particularly gentle when he feeds, he doesn’t care for the comfort of his food to even attempt to be careful except to allow the little human to live and block the memory for them to not bring attention to his hunting grounds.

Yet you’re quiet, far too quiet for the amount of pain you should be in.

Perhaps it’s not the first time you’ve been unknowingly hunted and fed on, it wouldn’t surprise him at all; vampires all over would love to get their teeth in you and your blood on their tongues.

Jeonghan ignores the niggling in his mind that something is wrong as he reasons with himself about why you’re so still and quiet, and he starts to drink.

As soon as your warm blood pools on his tongue and starts to slide down his tongue, Jeonghan realises that he should’ve listened to his instincts.

It burns. He pulls away from you as quickly as he can to try and spit out the mouthful of blood already blistering his tongue and throat.

With blood trickling from your neck, you turn to look at Jeonghan with a grin, but he doesn’t even notice, he’s too busy on his hands and knees in excruciating pain.

You know that his vampiric abilities will start to heal him soon, so you don’t have long to bask in the sight of the old, powerful vampire suffering on his knees at your feet. Though you do take another few seconds to admire the scene and take a mental picture before you step over and take the thin silver chain from your inner jacket pocket.

Jeonghan yelps and tries to move away as soon as you wind a section of it around his throat from behind and loop it a few times, but every movement makes the silver singe his skin painfully. He tries to pull it away with his hands, but it burns his fingers, and you simply take the chance of him being on his knees with his hands by his throat to wind the ends of the chains around his wrists and yank them behind his back while he wails in pain.

“Now, now, Sir Yoon, you really shouldn’t make such a fuss, it’s just a little silver and holy water rich blood. Surely such an old, powerful vampire as yourself can handle that, right?” You tease, connecting the ends of the chains together at his lower back with the padlock you pull from your pocket.

“Y-you’re a Hunter,” he realises, voice raw and rough from the burns of the holy water within his throat. It sounds like it’s painful to speak and you mentally applaud him for pushing through just to sneer at you with pure hatred.

“Makes two of us, huh?” You retort and circle around to stand in front of him. He’s glaring up at you yet makes no attempt to get up from his knees.

Either he’s smart enough to know that an experienced Hunter, like you clearly are, has more than just these two tricks up your sleeve, or he’s dumb enough to not realise that he could break the chains apart if he’s willing to grit his teeth through the pain of his flesh searing from the silver.

Regardless, it makes your job easier, and you take your phone out to send the confirmation text to your team to let them know that you have Yoon Jeonghan chained and ready for pick up as planned.

Jeonghan is still staring at you icily when you look back at him while slipping your phone back away. “How does it feel to be the one Hunted for a change, Sir Yoon?”

“Stop calling me that, I renounced that title long before your conception, human,” he hisses. You just scoff a laugh. “I should’ve ripped your throat out the second I felt mine burn.”

“Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.”

As expected, you’re not given much longer to gloat as your team rush onto the roof from the door one of them has the sense to prop open again, with all the necessary equipment to properly bind the vampire and incapacitate him. They dose him up with a powerful sedative and once he’s an unconscious lump, he’s carried off by most of the team while the rest get busy cleaning up the roof of your shared blood.

“Another successful Hunt, you’re going to get that promotion any day now,” your right hand man and favourite medic, comments as he approaches you with his medical bag on his shoulder and doesn’t wait for your permission before turning your head to look at the harsh bite mark on your neck.

“Head Hunter has a nice, punny ring to it, don’t you think?” You muse.

“That reminds me, the boss wants to see you about the present you left him last week.”

“He said he wanted Countess Cho’s head on a silver platter, I just gave him what he wanted.”

Soonyoung tries to give you a flat, unimpressed look, but it lasts for all of two seconds before you both start to giggle.

“I stole Yoon’s wallet, drinks on him?” He says a few moments later when he’s looking at your neck again as he cleans it up and covers it properly.

“Hell yeah, he drinks from me, I drink on him.”

“It’s only fair.”

The two of you share another look and giggle before heading off together ready to spend every penny present in the wallet of Sir Yoon Jeonghan, ancient vampire, and prolific human hunter, now nothing more than just another trophy for the Hunter’s Association.

It’s funny, really, that after all his years evading the even older association, all it takes to get Yoon Jeonghan on his knees and bound is turning his own game back on him, making the Hunter the Hunted.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

[transgenderer]

Katsuobushi, the traditional source of Bonito flakes

The fish is beheaded, gutted, and filleted, with the fatty belly, which does not lend well to being preserved, trimmed off. The fillets are then arranged in a basket and simmered just below boiling for an hour to an hour and a half, depending on their size.

The rib bones are then removed and the fillets smoked for up to a month using oak, pasania, or castanopsis wood. They are smoked for five to six hours in one session, left to rest one day for the condensation to rise to the surface, then fired and smoked again the next day. This smoking and resting cycle is repeated 12–15 times in total. At this point, the fish is dry and hard, and the built-up tar from the smoke and excess fat is cleaned from the surface using a grinder. At this stage the fillets are called arabushi (荒節) and most commonly found in stores shaved and packaged for sale under the name katsuo-kezuri-bushi (鰹削り節) or hanakatsuo. They are not true katsuobushi without the last fermentation stage, but still valued as a good substitute.

The last stage of creating katsuobushi is to allow the fish to sun-dry using the assistance of mold. The fillets are sprayed with Aspergillus glaucus culture and left for two weeks in a closed cultivation room. The mold ferments the fillets and also draws out any residual moisture.

The mold is continually scraped off, with further sun-drying increasing hardness and dryness until the fillet resembles a piece of wood, with less than 20% of its original weight. By definition, only fillets that have been treated in this manner may be referred to as katsuobushi. After repeating this process of mold growth and sun-drying at least twice, the katsuobushi can also be called karebushi (枯節, "dried fillet"), and fillets repeating this process more than three times can be called honkarebushi (本枯節, "true dried fillet"). When tapped together lightly, they sound almost metallic, and unlike their dull beige outer appearance, when broken open they are a translucent deep ruby color inside. Rarely, very high-end honkarebushi repeat this drying process for over two years.

Traditionally, chunks of katsuobushi were shaved as needed with an instrument similar to a wood plane called a katsuobushi kezuriki.

[novulen]

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: after buying a weird ouija board from an elderly man, your night takes an unexpected turn when you return from the bathroom to find a stranger in your house—wait…are those four arms?

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ & ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ (mdni), unprotected s3x, pinning, (u get fucked against a wall), usage of ‘doll & princess’ , tw just cs sukuna 🤗

ᴡᴄ~ 2.08k

Your palms trembled as your gaze swept over the text on the box before you. It exuded a frightening aura that penetrated into your bones and sent a sharp chill up your spine, yet, at the same time adrenaline surged throughout every vein in your body. You felt giddy.

Ever since you could remember, you've always wanted to own a ouija board. As a child obsessed with the occult, you were absolutely taken aback the first time you heard about it, and had attempted everything you could to get your hands on it.

It was sort of disappointing that it was only now you’d get to experience it.

Although, swaying your thoughts aside, you grinned. You should have been thrilled to at least encounter one at this point; it was either now or never, and you wanted to make the younger you nestled within you feel happy.

You sighed shakily, and smoothed your hands over the top, wiping away any dust that was settled on the box. Upon opening it, particles of all sorts ejected about everywhere, and the candles lit on the table raged a fiery orange as the fine powder fell into the flames.

You’d been curious about how long it remained in that pink-haired elderly man's home unopened, much alone touched. However, given that you had purchased it at a garage sale, the soot contained within the cardboard didn't come as a huge surprise.

On the bottom of the crate lay a cream-colored board with the alphabet letters painted in a messy black, and settled on it is a tan planchette. The most important part of this whole thing, you’d been told–if you did it right.

Excitedly, you pawed at the ouija board and clutched it, quickly placing it on the wood and doing the same to the planchette.

“Huh,” you hummed, examining the symbol in the center of it, which seemed to resemble a circle with two mirrored ‘antlers’ around it. “...Never saw one with this before,” Though you figured it was some sort of special kind. Deep in thought about what to ask of ‘it’, you sighed, guessing that any ghost or ghoul would be interested in your uneventful life anyway. Although, It was worth a try.

With an equally excited-nervous gulp, you placed your fingers on the piece and began your pseudo-seance.

You’d started with the usual questions, not really expecting much.

“Is anyone there?” Heart racing, you swore the indicator began to vibrate, only to discover later that it was just the result of your shaking. You were never known to be a patient person, consequently after a few seconds, your hope slowly began to fade.

However, as the moment you intend to pull your fingers off the planchette nears, it moves, sluggishly, to ‘NO’.

Very funny. You thought to yourself sarcastically, but couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you. It made you feel comfortable knowing that, at least, you were speaking to someone with a sense of humor (a small sense).

Your fingers scratched uncomfortably at the next question that popped to life in your head.

“Are you, uhm, evil?” the question flowed weirdly off your tongue–was that a weird thing to ask? Nevertheless what you had thought, it still replied.

‘YES’.

Coincidentally, the room’s temperature suddenly dropped, and a chilly whisper of wind whirred near your face. The instantaneous gush of air nearly blew out all the candles, your only source of light, and it’s only then you get a fix on what you’re working with.

A fucking ghost, ghoul–or whatever.

However, you don’t back down upon realization, you're only immersed deeper within wherever this was meant to go. Thus, you begin asking more…loose questions.

“What’s your name?”

Your fingers follow the piece as it slides from letter to letter.

“Suh-ku-na?” you try the word on your tongue, head nodding approvingly at the taste the name leaves in your mouth, although you can't deny how much you’re now aching to see this thing's face.

Thoughts swirl in your head as you attempt to get some possibilities of what he could possibly look like. You can’t help but begin to imagine a ridiculously attractive man in place of Sukuna, with bulging arms, a sharp jawline, plump lips…Your thighs bunch together at the thought.

But, with the instinctive urge to bunch your thighs comes the urge to pee. And lord knows you can’t ignore that thought.

So, to Sukuna’s surprise, who is watching from wherever, you get up and awkwardly waddle to the bathroom, and he’s left all by himself, with his thoughts. The same lewd ideas that’d swirled in his head the moment you picked up that damned board with your cute, mousy smile–in that short, tight skirt, all dolled up as if you knew.

Seeing that, stupidly enough, you hadn’t had half the mid to even move the planchette to ‘END GAME’ Sukuna took that opportunity to bring his fantasies to life.

Now, to your surprise, as soon as you stepped foot in your living room, a stranger stood there to greet you.

A beat of uncomfortable silence.

The longer you stared, the more…unusual Sukuna seemed as a whole. Though, he’s hot nonetheless.

Your head shifts to the side as you gawk. With four, brawny arms, body sculpted to the hilt, and a rippling abdomen, Sukuna didn’t fail to pique your interest. Thinking about it, you’d always been interested in abnormal looking men–your ex could prove that.

One of his upper hands ran through his hair; a blush pink. It oddly resembled that of the man you’d brought the board from.

“You just gonna stare?” A loud , booming voice erupts from his throat, which snaps you out of your state, only for you to become even more anxious. Sukuna feels his cock twitch at the effect his voice has on you, just from a simple sentence at that, it made him wonder what it’d do to you further down the road…

You simply stood there, edgy–which he was used to.

Lower hand on his hip, he began to slowly but surely advance towards you. Making sure he didn’t scare his prey away.

“Hey, I ain’t gonna hurt ya..’s okay,” he cooed, placing his arms up defensively. This was the first time he’d sweet-talked anyone in a millennium, and with it took his ego. Sukuna was hoping that you didn’t take this lightly.

Soon enough, with his proceeding and your backing away, you were pushed up against a nearby wall, caged within his huge body.

“I- What do you want? How did you even–” A finger to your lips.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” There was a pause, and the air filled with your erratic breathing. “All I wanna know is how tight that pussy is.”

Your body shivered with cold chills and it seemed that all you could do was look up at the huge pillar of a man. Eyes wide and mouth agape at his straightforwardness, you stuttered. “W-What?”

Sukuna’s lips tugged upwards in a smug grin. “Y’heard me.” Almost instantly, he dived into the crook of your neck, nose brushing against your supple skin as he tasted you. And yet, you didn’t push him away.

Something deep inside of you wanted this–you hadn’t had a good fuck in years.

But who knew you’d be fucking something so unnatural?

“Fuck,” he hissed, yet again halting your train of thought. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking down at what caused said sound, and audibly gasped when you did so.

You’ve had your fair share of partners and hook-ups in the past, and personally deemed yourself amateur. Though never once have you touched, let alone seen a cock as big as Sukuna’s.

He hadn’t taken his pants off, nor had you even analyzed it properly!

It baffled you, and in turn, the expression on your face fueled his ego.

“Up here, doll.”

Your gazes met as you complied with his unintentional order. Lust clouded in Sukuna’s eyes the more he gazed down at you, and as you lost yourself within the depths of his sinister, yet alluring iris’, he took his chance.

A calloused hand distractingly rubbed at the skin of your thighs, another creeping closer to your heat, though you’d noticed too late, and by the time you did, he had already pushed your panties aside.

As uncaring as Sukuna was, he gave you time to deny him. But , to his surprise and pleasure, you didn’t.

“Sukuna…” you whimpered as he slid a thick finger over the hood of your clit, collecting your essence in the process.

The way you said his name had him fighting his self restraint.

His breath caught in his throat, and his words came out in a shallow whisper.

“Hold on to me.”

“Wait, why–” Confused, you stuttered out.

Though, not even a second later, he slid inside, and it was then your question was answered.

Sukuna was so thick, huge, even thinking about the size had your head spinning. How was a size like this even possible?!

On the other hand, Sukuna was shocked–bewildered even–at how tight, how snug you felt around him. The feeling was foreign; most he’d fucked pushed his cock away, not used to his girth, though your pussy welcomed him in a blissful warmth.

“S-shit, doll. I won’t be able to last if you’re sucking me in like that,” he moaned–fucking moaned. His cheeks flushed a blush pink with embarrassment as he looked away, averting his gaze elsewhere.

Did Sukuna Ryomen really just moan?

He felt his ego diminish at the mere thought.

“‘Kuna, ‘s too much,” you whined, not even sparing the nickname that came out of your mouth a second thought. Your soft hands gripped onto his broad shoulders, as if seeking out the one thing that would save you. But, he’d inevitably be the one that destroyed you.

Overwhelming shocks of euphoria rocked incessantly into your body, and with the overpowering fullness his cock had you feeling, it proved to be too much.

And within minutes of his initial entrance, you came.

Feeling the sudden gush of liquid around him, Sukuna snickered. “Fuck–’d you just cum?”

You could tell the only purpose of him asking was to make fun of you, and a pout puckered on your lips in response.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” you murmured.

“That isn’t an excuse, princess.”

But you huffed, looking away annoyed.

Sukuna frowned. Were you really catching an attitude as he was buried deep inside you?

His lips tugged upwards in a vicious grin. This wouldn’t go unpunished.

He released an onslaught of thrusts into your cunt, driving his cock into the formerly untouchable depths inside you. He held onto your thighs, squeezing hard as he fucked up into you.

Your eyes watered and rolled back, and your legs instantly wrapped around his waist to aid his thrusts.

“F-fuck…so dee–ep,” you mewled, choking on your own saliva.

The room filled with the sporadic slap of Sukuna’s thighs to your ass, the lewd sound so loud you swore you could feel the vibrations resonate off your apartment's thin walls.

“Shut up and take it.” he hissed, head thrown back, and you audibly moaned at the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Sukuna was treating your poor cunt as if it were a pocket pussy—rutting into you without any consideration for your own pleasure, yet something about that seemed so incredibly hot.

The desire you had for this man you’d met just moments ago was unbearable.

He made you a babbling, crying mess, as your orgasm washed over you for the second time that night.

But Sukuna was never finished if he weren’t finished.

Thus, it didn’t take until his orgasm came that he finally pulled out, breathing heavily and perspiration rolling down his forehead. His calloused hands soothed over the meat of your thighs, admiring how red the skin had become.

He didn’t say anything for a while, though his eyes grazed every inch of your body–was he admiring you? This was the queue Sukuna needed to go, he couldn’t believe himself!

“Wait. you’re just gonna leave?”

Sukuna grins. “Y’ want me to stay?”

You couldn’t deny how your pussy was still craving him, hell, you’d almost instantly jerked him back in when he had pulled out earlier, so you nod. Though, a better way to make him stay pops up into your mind.

“Round two?

who was gonna tell me how hard it is to write sukuna..

[catboybiologist]

Hi! I'm Sierra. Time for a pinned post refresh.

Otherwise known as CatboyBiologist, or @hi-sierra (my SFW blog [this one is SFW too, but less so]). This page is remaining active, but if you want to find me somewhere else, I use the same username on reddit, Instagram, co-host, and tech.lgbt. This is me:

Trans woman, PhD student in molecular biology, boymoder, shitposter, freediver, hot girl on your phone, hiker, rambler (this post included), tgirl tummy tuesday supplier and enjoyer, former femboy, bane of bioessentialist fuckwads who try to use biology to validate biogotry, flaming bisexual, 196 nanocelebrity… whatever was the first thing that brought you to my blog, I hope it’s enough to get you to stay! I post selfies, hornyposts (minors and people who are averse to that be warned), stuff about the ocean, posts about my growing sense of wanderlust, my adorable lil tortoise, tutorials for transfemmes and GNC people, rambles about science, documentation of my own transition, rambles about transness, rambles about the eroticism of programming a machine to feel arousal, rambles about nature, and random shitposts. Please send me pictures of cute animals in your life!

If you wanna support my science career and my transition, consider dropping a tip here! PhD salaries are notorious for being negotiated to be exactly the cost of living…. And then forgotten about for years as inflation drops that below minimum wage. So I’m always a little strapped for cash. Anything helps!

Links to some of my tutorials and relevant resources under the cut:

I'm tracking my transition, and some people have said they found this helpful! This spreadsheet is generally updated monthly:

Usually, I write a little journal to go with it when it updates- you can find that under the #trans journal on my blog.

If you're interested in checking out some of the things I'm trying to write, here's a post with links to individual stories I'm making:

https://www.tumblr.com/catboybiologist/741010247774306304/writing-consolidation-post?source=share

My femboy guide, written well before I started HRT, but still has relevant info:

A "boyboob" tutorial, aka how to make it look like you have cleavage in an outfit that looks better with it:

A quick and dirty guide to taking better selfies, with a specific emphasis on people who may have stopped hating their body recently due to transition:

And here's a few of my personal favorite little rambles and posts about my transness, in no particular order:

CW for transphobia on this one:

A massive shoutout to @foldingfittedsheets for this amazing art of the lil borgir holding a trans flag:

I adore this so much <3 if you want to support their art, her commissions are open and really sweet!!!!

And of course, a massive shoutout to @whalesharkcat for this lovely pixel art of my tortoise:

I still love this so much, and will continue to into the future <3

For preHRT selfies, search the femboy tag. For post HRT selfies, use the "trans selfie" tag. I've been on HRT since August of 2023, so I'm still very early in the process! Day to day, I present male, but I plan to change that around the 1 year mark.

I guess that's about it! One final note is that I've been alluding to video/podcast style things for a while now. With my aderrall prescription, I've actually put in a lot of research work that might lead to 1-4 of those, so that might actually happen in the near future! No promises of course, life always catches up to you.

And if you liked my previous pinned post better, here it is:

Anyways, if you read this far, thanks for sticking around and bbyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[evilminji]

Okay, But, >.> Listen...

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, I am an incureable RoFan Isekai nerd. Shut up about it, maybe. What're you a cop? Mind your business. BUT! And hear me out...

W...What would actually? HAPPEN if Danny went into a Visual Novel? Some Otome game? You know, aside from being vague flustered by and then DEEPLY ALARMED by these walking Red Flag Fruitloops that girls are supposed to find "dreamy" or something?

Like we know how MMOs work for him. And probably OTHER open world games? But a visual novel? Would it be like the Christmas Episode? Would he hear narration? Be stuck in static "scenes"? Or would it be like a cut together "only the interesting parts" movie that he's somehow IN?

Like?? At SOME point his curiosity is gonna get the best of him. He's gonna want to know what different video games are LIKE on the inside? What's Pong like? Tetris? Mario? One of those Mama's cooking games? Etc etc.

He probably hits up a game sale. Buys a box or two. Figures he can always resell um or just give them away for free. Might even use them for parts. Who knows. And?

It's kinda cool!

It's even SCIENCE! See? Tucker's in charge of notes. Sam's in charge of hilarious commentary and pizza. Jazz is keeping them from drinking and doing ghost shit (terrible combination, we never speak of What Happened(tm) again). And the Dr's. Fenton got distracted by making fudge and debating what games should be counted towards which categories.

They've made an afternoon of it.

And NOW? They've reached the bottom of box one. It was "Survive The Villainess! My Rose for You!" Or... judging by Sam's climbing eyebrows and growing scowl? A DEEPLY unpleasant porn game about school girls.

You could not PAY him enough.

Yeah, he DOES realistically kinda want to know what happens.. if.. like? You know... sexy games... like would he? Or does he just WATCH or...? *awkward cough* But! That's NOT for Family Science Night! And DEFINITELY not THAT game, THANKS.

He'll find himself an ETHICALLY SOURCED smutty game full of consensual boning. For PRIVATE TIME. Those test results are gonna show up like MAGIC and we WILL NOT be talking about them! Got it? Good.

Now what the fuck is he look at here?

Jazz is surprisingly knowledgeable. They are not allowed to ask. They respect it. The main character "wakes up" inside the body of a "villainess" and must survive. Turn her terrible reputation around. Avoid "death flags". Preferably romance one of the hot guys?

Uuuuuuuh... you realize Danny's in a committed relationship, right?

Sam and Turker allow it. But they reserve the right to blast his taste in Fantasy Guy's. Chose carefully, for their roasting shall be BRUTAL. Luuuuuv yoooou~♡

He wants a divorce. They're not even MARRIED and he wants a divorce. You see how they mock him, Jazz? The cruelty he suffers? He's taking the Blobs and moving to Frightknight's. They always warned him about you living folks and your fast ways, but he didn't listen! *continued dramatics* *is smacked with a pillow*

But actually going IN? The weirdly, vaguely European over the top EVERYTHING? Giant jewels and ridiculous, fancy dresses? The walking red flag Romantic Archtype Leads? He wants to PUNCH half these guys! This is ABUSE! Are people OKAY!?

Like? I feel like he'd stay way, WAY longer then he needed too? Just out of morbid curiosity? W-where is this plot GOING? It's so dramatic. Why is my dress MORE dramatic now? Why is everything so... Sparkly.

It would be? AMAZING and baffling and I would pay real money to hear their live commentary. "Why not simply judo flip the crown prince off the balcony, then take over the country, sweetie?" "Solid plan, honey! He deserves it!" Beautiful. Flawless. Sage advice really. Too bad Danny can barely walk in his five million bows dress.

It's the BEST Au and I might be a genius. Or deeply sleep deprived. Meh. We'll 50/50 it, six of one, half a dozen of another.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[theoutcastrogue]

[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.

[amysnotdeadyet]

Good Steve

Another! And then I have to go cook dinner. Stupid reality.

My darling @newtypeshadow asked for a somewhat complicated Steddie from Stranger Things plot, so she gets 555 words.

If there was one thing Eddie Munson was known for — besides shredding on the guitar — it was being protective of his boyfriend. Corroded Coffin were big enough that when they got outed the subsequent dip in record sales didn't tank their careers.

The metal scene was all about people living their lives outside of social conventions, after all.

Eddie did a cover of Judas Priest's "Breaking the Law" to open every concert that tour. Steve came along the way he always did. Instead of hanging with the other WAGs, he wore a staff shirt and assisted everywhere backstage. He'd learned a ton of useful skills in his years touring with them, and was always happy to help.

It took new guys some time to figure that out, though.

"Why the fuck is he here?" asked the guy who would be known as Bad Steve for the duration of his employment. He was a lighting expert of some renown, but he'd been caught in traffic on the way to the gig, so Steve had started setup while they waited.

"You're late," said Nate through the headset.

Steve emerged from beneath the boards already talking. "They need to solder #17, it's just not connecting." He turned to Bad Steve with a charming, boyish grin. "Oh, hey! I'm Steve, happy to lend a hand."

"You're Munson's boytoy." Bad Steve, unfortunately, had not muted his headset.

A dark 'ooooh' went through the line from several sources.

Steve's expression shuttered. "Check it or don't, but don't blame me if it goes out. Chart's over there."

Eddie came crashing into the booth, looking like a hot mess. "Stevie, baby, I need your touch."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You need me to do your eyeliner again because you smudged it already."

"Yep," said Eddie. "Oh, and Bad Steve, do consider who might be listening, hm?"

Steve let Eddie put his hands in the back pocket of his admittedly small jeans shorts, not even bothering to glance back to where Bad Steve was fuming.

A few hours later, when #17 had been soldered and the show was underway, Bad Steve got to see why Eddie's Steve was the favorite.

A nazi punk managed to get onstage while security was breaking up a fight elsewhere, and Steve flew out of wings with fire in his eyes to tackle the guy before he got past the monitors. Long legs pinned the guy's back to the floor, and he palmed the guy's head like a basketball, leaning in to say something there was no mic to pick up.

The guy tried to get up and got his face slammed into the stage for his trouble, Steve clearly in control even when the punk tried to swipe with a switchblade. The knife clattered away as Steve brought his own arm down on the guy's hand, smashing it into the monitor with a crunching sound and the screech of feedback.

The rest of security finally arrived to confiscate the knife and the nazi. Steve let him up, holding his own hands out while they hauled him away.

At that point, no one could blame Eddie for the scorching kiss that followed.

"Well," said Eddie into the mic, once Steve was safely offstage. "That was fuckin' hot, right?"

The cheers that followed were almost as deafening as the music.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You’re A Cowboy Like Me

A/N: Imma be real honest, I just wanted an excuse to write Cassian being hot in a cowboy hat, and I don't think anyone should fault me for that. Also, I really wanted to write a fic that uses the unofficial Cowboy Hat rules. Anywho! Enjoy! And happy Day 4 of @nessianweek :)

Read on AO3

It’s like driving into a Hallmark movie. Or a western. Various small shops and cafes line either side of Main Street, each with quaint looking window displays and what appear to be hand painted signs declaring their store names. The tall branches of pine trees can be seen stretching above the roofs, and mountains reaching up to the sky almost perfectly align with the road, as though you can reach the peak if you simply keep going.

“Oh, this is so cute.”

Nesta snorts softly at the comment, but when she tears her attention away from the window and toward where Gwyn sits in the driver seat, the redhead has a wide smile on her face as she leans forward over the steering wheel to peer at the town around them.

“Eyes on the road, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn shakes her head fondly, but she leans back in her seat, readjusting her hands on the wheel. They continue down the road until Gwyn’s phone directs them to turn right, taking them off Main Street and along a neighborhood road filled with row houses of pretty, painted brick. 828 is on the end, right on the corner, and Gwyn pulls the car into one of the spots right out front. They both slip out of the car, but when they knock on the front door, there’s no answer.

“She must already be at the shop,” Gwyn offers with an easy shrug of her shoulders before grabbing Nesta’s hand in hers. “Come on.”

She all but drags Nesta back toward Main Street, continuing to gush about the charm of the town. They pass chalkboard displays along the sidewalk, looping colorful letters declaring sales and specials alike. They even pass an open door and a series of small tables that Nesta fully intends to revisit at some point during this trip to find out the source of the sugary sweet and chocolate scent wafting on the breeze.

But soon they’re arriving at their intended destination: Windhaven Farmhouse Market.

A striped red awning stretches over the door, wooden flower boxes beneath the large, display windows on either side. And when they step inside the shop, rustic looking wooden shelves line almost every wall and weave through the center of the shop to create a series of aisles.

“Hey, Em!” Gwyn calls out, stepping deeper into the shop. “We’re here.”

Even as Gwyn disappears from view amongst the shelves, Nesta takes a chance to really take everything in, slowly spinning in place. There’s jars of honey and baskets of apples to her left and what appears to be gardening gloves and tools to her right. It’s certainly an odd assortment of items to be sold together, and that sentiment only seems to grow as Nesta starts to wander between the shelves, spotting hats and scarves along with a small assortment of books.

She turns around another corner, just barely stopping short before she walks straight into a man standing in the center of the aisle. She has to tilt her head up to really take him in, the man standing a whole head taller than her, but it’s not just the height he has on her. His shoulders and chest are wide, stretching the flannel fabric he’s currently wearing, and the denim of his jeans clings to the thick lines of his thighs. Even with just seeing his profile, even with the curly strands of hair that hang down to his shoulders, Nesta can see the hard cut of his jawline, the stubble along the skin there.

For a moment, her mouth goes dry watching the man reach forward for a bag of some sort of farm feed. The large span of his hands somehow make the bag look small, and with the sleeves of his flannel pushed up to his elbows, Nesta has the perfect view of the muscles in forearm flexing as he hefts the bag off the shelf and over his shoulder. She’s sure the farm feed must be heavy, but he makes it look as though it weighs nothing.

He turns at that exact moment, practically starting when he notices Nesta standing there. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t see you there.”

He has exactly the sort of drawling accent that Nesta would expect from a town like this, his voice warm and deep. It pours from his lips like a glass of whiskey, practically curling around her limbs. Those same lips curve up into an easy, cocksure smirk, bright hazel eyes drinking her in.

“You’re certainly not from around here, are you?”

Nesta scoffs, crossing her arms. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

She settles him with her most unimpressed look, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a scowl. It’s a cool and cutting look that’s certainly sent plenty of men in the bars of Adriata turning and fleeing. But not this man. His smile only seems to grow, the greens and golds of his eyes sparking like sizzling embers.

“I think I know a city girl when I see one. What are you doing here in Windhaven?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“And what about your name? Can that be my business?”

“You wish.”

The man chuckles, the sound just as low and warm as his voice, and Nesta has to press her lips together tighter against the reaction that laugh threatens to draw out of her, straightening her spine against the shiver threatening to skitter up it. She won’t allow him to disarm her so easily, refuses to be affected by his drawl and his charm and those hazel eyes. Refuses to be affected by him.

“Nesta!” Nesta turns just in time to watch Emerie bound around the corner and into the aisle, Gwyn hot on her tail. “There you are.”

“Nesta,” the man repeats, as though he’s tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue.

Nesta wants to hate how good it sounds, how his lips and his drawl curl around each syllable.

“Did you need something, Cassian?” Emerie asks, raising an eyebrow as her eyes flit back and forth between the two standing in front of her.

The man–Cassian–continues to wear that wide, teasing smile as he focuses his attention on Emerie, giving the bag of farm feed on his shoulder an almost loving tap. “Just this.” He dares to glance back toward Nesta. “For now.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the blatant flirting, the clear implication, and pointedly ignores the way Gwyn stifles a laugh behind her hand. For some reason, the reaction has Cassian looking like he’s won, like getting Nesta to roll her eyes was exactly what he intended. What he wanted. She’s not sure what to make of that.

He follows Emerie toward the shop counter, chatting easily, and when the transaction is finished, he readjusts the bag of farm feed on his shoulder. He dips his head forward in the mock salute of a hat tip, those hazel eyes never leaving Nesta’s for a moment. “Ladies. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

Nesta snorts softly. Only if he’s lucky.

~ * * * ~

Emerie slams the glass down against the wood, letting out a soft sigh as she pushes her hair away from her face. “What if I sold the place?”

“Would anyone buy it?” Nesta asks, swirling her own glass and the deep red liquid within.

Emerie shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe?”

“But will you regret it?” Gwyn points out, reaching forward and squeezing Emerie’s hand. “This is your father’s shop after all. And you already put so much work into it.”

“Exactly. This place was his dream. Maybe I should burn it to the ground. That will definitely have him rolling in his grave.”

Nesta grabs the wine bottle, emptying what remains into Emerie’s glass. “You know if you ever need accomplices for arson, we’re down. You can claim the insurance money.”

“And if the police question us?” Gwyn adds, her teal eyes alight with mischief as she presses a solemn hand to her chest and puts on a faux innocent voice. “We don’t know anything, officer.”

Emerie laughs, the sound bright even with the still lingering sadness tinging it, and she throws an arm around each of her friends. “I don’t know what I’d do without you bitches.”

“Probably have more wine,” Nesta answers dryly, shaking the now empty wine bottle in emphasis.

“We definitely need more wine.”

“There’s a tavern down the road!” Emerie exclaims, already stumbling up to her feet. “They’ll have wine. And shots.”

Nesta and Gwyn push to their feet as well, and all three of them go stumbling out of Windhaven Farmhouse Market and into the crisp night air. The sky above is a blanket of inky blue, and with how far the town is from the city, more stars than Nesta thinks she’s ever seen twinkle amongst it. A cool breeze seems to float down from the mountains, kissing her cheeks and tickling across her skin, and Nesta crosses her arms to help fight off the chill.

It doesn’t last long, though, Gwyn pulling one of Nesta’s arms free so she can link their elbows, doing the same to Emerie with her other arm. “Lead the way, Em.”

By the time they’re pushing through the doors of the tavern on Main Street, all three of them are breathless from laughing. They’re hit with music as soon as they step inside, some sort of country song heavy on guitar and twang and lyrics of heartbreak. Fairy lights hang in lines against the wooden slats of the ceiling, various neon beer signs covering three of the walls while a row of televisions line the fourth wall behind the bar.

It’s exactly what Nesta expects from a bar in a town like this, complete even with a large mechanical bull.

And currently atop the mechanical bull is none other than the man from the shop, Cassian.

His hair hangs in soft curls beneath his cowboy hat, the strands swaying and tickling that sharp jawline of his with his movements. He has one hand raised up by his head, but the other is curled around the leather of reins, fingers and forearms flexing almost rhythmically. His hips rock in time with the bull, thighs working and tightening beneath the fabric of his jeans to help keep his balance. And with the buttons of his flannel undone, fabric left to flutter at his sides, Nesta has the perfect view of the black lines and swirls of ink that curl across his pectorals, of the lines of his abs tensing and rolling to match the bull.

The sight is unholy.

“Nesta!”

Nesta clears her throat awkwardly, blinking rapidly and clearing her mind of the dangerous places her thoughts had begun to stray. She turns toward her friends, Gwyn’s eyebrow raised in exasperation making clear she had been saying Nesta’s name a few times. But it’s Emerie’s face twisted with that knowing smirk of hers that has Nesta rolling her eyes with a huff.

“Are we doing shots or not?”

She drags her friends toward the bartop, Emerie raising her arm in hopes of flagging down the bartender. Shouts echo up from the crowd, and Nesta turns around just in time to watch Cassian go sailing off the mechanical bull, landing against the inflatable cushions positioned in a ring around the space. He jumps back to his feet, the warm boom of his laughter reaching Nesta’s ears even over the music and distance. He flips off the operator of the mechanical bull, another dark haired man who looks more than pleased with himself based on the smirk, but that doesn’t seem to deter Cassian’s grin.

He tugs his hat from his head, dragging his fingers through his hair and pushing the curly strands off his face. The movement has his stomach stretching, drawing further emphasis to the cutting v-lines that disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. As though he can feel Nesta’s attention on him, his gaze dances over to her, but Nesta is quick to snap her head back around, focusing on the shot glass now being placed in front of her.

She doesn’t even wait for Emerie and Gwyn, quickly knocking back the clear liquid. She’s quite confident that she’s going to need it tonight.

She keeps her focus resolutely on her friends as they claim one of the high-top tables, but she can still feel Cassian’s attention on her. It scrapes across her shoulder blades, prickling the back of her neck. It’s like a caress, warm fingertips skating up her spine. And with each passing moment, it gets harder to ignore. So when it’s time, Nesta offers to get the next round of drinks, peeling away from her friends and stepping back up to the bartop.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Nesta takes a moment, allowing that slow, warm drawl to wash over her before she finally turns. Cassian has re-buttoned his flannel, but the sleeves are still rolled up to his elbows, his forearm resting casually against the bartop as he leans against it. As soon as Nesta’s gaze meets his, golden sparks flare through his hazel eyes, his lips twisting into a wide, cocksure grin. She refuses to acknowledge the answering flames simmering low in her gut.

“I enjoyed watching you fall on your face,” Nesta tells him cooly, making a big show of tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Wasn’t much of a show otherwise.”

Cassian laughs easily, not even being subtle about his attention dropping to her lips. “I’d be more than happy to give you a repeat show, then. Maybe a private show?”

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Is that a promise?”

Nesta rolls her eyes. This man is clearly too confident and cocky for his own good. Just because she can, she reaches forward, plucking the cowboy hat right off of his head and placing it on her own. Cassian’s expression slackens, and pride swells between Nesta’s ribs at drawing out such a reaction, at finally knocking him off his axis. She doesn’t bother biting back her own smirk as she turns back to the bar, gathering up the drinks there and sauntering back toward her friends, leaving him to watch her walk away.

“Where’d you get the hat?” Emerie asks when Nesta returns to their table.

“I stole it from Cassian,” Nesta explains, setting down their drinks and sliding back into her seat. When she looks back up again, Emerie’s brown eyes are wide, and Nesta blinks a few times in confusion. “What?”

“You took Cassian’s cowboy hat? To wear yourself?”

“He could do with being knocked down a peg or two, don’t you think?”

Emerie presses her lips together, clearly trying to hold back laughter, but not in the way Nesta is expecting. She’s all too familiar with the amusement dancing in her friend’s brown eyes, knows exactly what it means. And it’s never good for her. It has Nesta shifting in her seat, has her hackles raising as she settles Emerie with an unimpressed look of her own.

“What.”

“You can’t just go around taking cowboy hats off men like that,” Emerie offers with a laugh, leaning across the table and giving a pointed look. “Don’t you know what that means?”

Nesta huffs, crossing her arms. “Well, excuse me for not knowing Windhaven has some weird rule, apparently.”

“It’s not a Windhaven rule.”

“It’s a cowboy rule,” Gwyn jumps in to add, nodding solemnly around the straw of her drink. “Wearing his hat means you're his.”

“And taking it off him means you want to take some other attire off him,” Emerie adds with a shit eating smirk.

There’s no stopping Nesta’s incredulous laugh. “That is not a real thing.”

“Sure it is!” Gwyn continues. “Wrangled My Heart, that cowboy romance I was telling you about? It was a whole plot point.”

“That is not helping your case that this is an actual rule.”

“Trust me, Nesta. The ranch hands of Windhaven take the etiquette and rules of cowboy hats very seriously.”

Nesta scoffs at Emerie’s words, but the sound is half hearted at best. She dares to look around the tavern, too easy to spot Cassian where he’s leaning against the wall. His eyes are pinned fully on her, and even with the space between them, there’s no denying the heat in them. She quickly turns away again, but she can already feel heat creeping up her neck and threatening to spill across her cheeks.

No point putting it off.

Nesta quickly downs the rest of her drink, pushing out of her seat and away from the table. She strides over to Cassian, already removing his hat from her head as she gets closer.

“I didn’t know the rule,” Nesta explains, holding Cassian’s hat out to him.

Cassian looks down toward his hat, but he makes no move to take it. “It looked better on you anyway.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Trust me, Nes. There’s no one as beautiful as you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s clearly the wrong thing to say with the way Cassian’s grin only seems to grow. He finally takes the hat from Nesta’s hands, the tips of his fingers brushing across her skin as he does so. He steps closer to her, close enough that she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off his person, that every breath in has her chest pressing against his own. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her chin up to hold his gaze. That she can count every green vine and golden fleck of his hazel eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat as Cassian raises his hand up above them, slow and purposeful. He settles his hat back on Nesta’s head, adjusting it until it sits how he likes.

“Much better, Nes,” Cassian tells her, tracing the backs of his fingers down her temple, her cheek, the side of her throat. “It’s important to always wear your hat straight. That’s another of the rules.”

Nesta swallows hard, trying to focus around her heart skipping in her chest. “How many rules are there?”

“More than you think.”

Cassian turns his hand, his palm pressing against her skin. The large span of it is enough to cradle her jaw and throat, and Nesta is sure that he must be able to feel the way her pulse flutters beneath his touch. His thumb drags across her bottom lip, Nesta’s lips parting with the movement. She lets her eyes fall closed, already leaning forward in anticipation, but nothing ever comes. When she snaps her eyes back open, Cassian is smirking again, and she rolls her eyes with a scowl.

“Don’t give me that look,” Cassian teases, even as he leans down enough for his nose to nearly bump against her. “You were the one who tried to give me my hat back, remember?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Nesta buries a hand in Cassian’s hair, tugging him down and finally closing that distance between them until his mouth crashes over hers. He kisses with the same sort of slow sensuality of that drawling accent of his, lips sliding against her own. He spins them around with ease, pressing Nesta back against the tavern wall. When he steps fully into her space, their bodies flush together, there’s no stifling the way Nesta moans into his mouth. She can feel every hard line of his body slotted perfectly against her own.

He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, curling and flicking at her own. When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn’t go far, dragging his lips across her jaw and throat. He finds that spot just behind her ear, and Nesta is puddy in his arms. His teeth scrape against the skin there, and she tosses her head back with a whine.

“If you keep making sounds like that,” Cassian breathes against her ear. “I’m going to have to take you right here in front of everyone.”

“On the mechanical bull?”

Cassian chuckles, pulling back fully, his eyes heavy lidded and pupils blown wide. “Another time.”

He kisses her again, holding her jaw just the way he wants her. Nesta feels dazed in the best way, only half registering the way he grabs her hand, leading her out of the tavern and back into the night. His truck is exactly what Nesta expects, beat up and red beneath the lights pouring out from the tavern.

It’s a short drive to Cassian’s farm, and despite the way she squints out the passenger window, Nesta can’t make out much in the darkness beyond a fence line and a looming building that she’s quite confident is a barn. The truck pulls to a stop in front of a gorgeous ranch style house with a wrap around porch. She’s so busy gaping at the house, that she doesn’t even register the passenger door being pulled open, not until Cassian’s arms wrap around her body, tugging her out of his truck and over his shoulder.

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaims, banging her fist against his shoulder blades. “Put me down. What are you doing?”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, instead continuing up the front steps and inside the house. When Nesta starts to squirm too much, Cassian’s hand comes down against her ass in reprimand, Nesta letting out a quiet yelp in surprise.

“Are you kidding me? I said put me–”

Nesta doesn’t even get a chance to finish her demand before her back is hitting a soft mattress and blankets. She sits up enough to take in the room around her, clearly the master bedroom. The furnishings are simple and rustic, all dark wood and a deep red bedspread.

“Beautiful.”

Nesta snaps her attention back toward Cassian, where he stands at the bottom of the bed, kicking his boots to the side. She can feel everywhere his eyes travel over her frame, goosebumps cascading across her skin at that caress. A shiver skates up her spine in response to the flames flickering amongst the hazel, and she stretches out more comfortably against the bed, really putting on a display. Cassian groans softly.

“You haven’t even gotten me out of my clothes yet,” Nesta comments, kicking off her shoes.

“I meant the sight of you in my bed,” Cassian explains, kneeling up onto the bed. “I might keep it.”

He settles between her spread thighs, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. Nesta moans into his mouth as his body presses against her, his hips rocking down against her own. She cards her fingers through the dark, curly strands of his hair, using her grip to tug him closer still and deepen the kiss. Cassian’s own hands slide up beneath the hem of her dress, along her thighs, the warmth of his grip seeping into her skin.

It’s a bit awkward with the hat still poised on Nesta’s head, so she shifts enough that she can pull it free and set it aside. Cassian merely uses the opportunity to latch his lips back to her neck, each hot press of his mouth leaving an echoing heat simmering through Nesta’s veins. His teeth sink into the skin over her pulse point, and Nesta gasps, the sound quickly morphing into a moan when his tongue laves over the hurt.

She reaches for the buttons of Cassian’s flannel, but she only succeeds in undoing the first few before his fingers curl around her wrists, tugging her hands away and pinning them against the mattress by her head.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines, bucking her hips against him desperately.

“Patience is a virtue, Nes.”

He switches his grip to just one hand, using the free one to tuck his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face back toward him and kissing her again, slow and deep. Nesta melts back against the bed as his tongue slides against her own, moaning softly when his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging it as he pulls back. He sits back on his haunches, gaze trailing over her again.

“Flushed so pretty.” Cassian’s hands push the hem of her dress up higher until it’s bunched around her waist. “But let’s see where else I can make that pretty pink spread.”

He continues to push her dress up and up, and Nesta sits up enough that he can tug it fully off, tossing it aside. He drags two fingers over her still clothed center and Nesta whimpers at the pressure, her hips jumping in response.

“And already so wet for me? Sweetheart, we’ve barely started.”

He traces a teasing circle across her clit, leaning down and swallowing Nesta’s moan with another searing kiss. He doesn’t break the contact as his hands slip behind her back, her bra quickly joining her dress on his bedroom floor. His hands slide to her breasts, fingers kneading the flesh and thumbs toying with her nipples.

He breaks the kiss, lips tracing a path down her throat, her collarbones. Nesta tosses her head back when his mouth’s attention turns to her breast. Her skin is already so sensitive there, and the drag of the stubble along Cassian’s jawline only adds to the sensation, sends electricity ricocheting down her spine.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans when his tongue swirls around her nipple, gripping his hair and holding him there.

“Keep moaning my name like that,” Cassian murmurs softly, switching to her other breast.

Nesta is a panting, squirming mess by the time Cassian finally pulls back again, by the time he’s pressing kisses down her sternum, down her stomach. He slides further down the bed until his shoulders are cradled between her thighs, his fingers hooking in the waistband of her panties.

“You know, it’s a bit unfair that you’re still fully dressed.”

Cassian chuckles, but he still pushes back up to his knees, fisting the back of his shirt and tugging it off. Nesta licks her lips at all that golden brown skin being on display again. The dim lighting of the bedroom cuts shadows across the lines of muscles, only seeming to add emphasis to the dark swirls of tattoos that Nesta now realizes curl all the way down to his elbows.

“Better?”

“Closer,” Nesta concedes, sitting up and reaching for the buckle of Cassian’s jeans.

But Cassian grips Nesta’s hips, tugging forward until she falls back again, splayed across the blankets. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

He shifts his grip to the waistband of her panties again, pulling them down her legs and off. His fingers dig into her thighs, spreading them wide and exposing her cunt to him. The appreciative groan that tumbles past his lips goes right to Nesta’s head, and she revels in drawing out such a reaction.

“Look at this pretty cunt,” Cassian tells her, fingers flexing. “And it’s all for me.”

Cassian settles back on his stomach, Nesta’s toes curling in anticipation, at the warm breath fanning across her cunt, but then nothing ever comes. An unfortunate tendency with this man. She whines, squirming against Cassian’s hold, desperate for that pressure, for that delicious friction.

“Please… Cassian, please.”

“What a good girl, begging for it.”

Nesta keens at the praise, and then Cassian really rewards her. He presses the flat of his tongue against her, licking a long, thick stripe all the way up to her clit. He repeats the same motion, and Nesta can feel the vibrations of his answering groan, only adding to the pleasure building inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Nesta gasps when Cassian’s tongue finds her clit and traces tantalizing circles there.

She buries a hand in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp as she holds him there, holds him right where she needs him. It draws another groan from the man between her thighs, his grip on them holding them open tight enough to bruise. Nesta tries to buck against it, tries to rock against his face, but he truly seems intent on taking his time.

Truly seems intent on undoing her and turning her into a whimpering, moaning mess.

It’s almost unfair the way he works his mouth over her and eats her out. The way he presses his tongue into her cunt and curls it. The way he sucks her clit between his lips. It’s almost unfair how attractive he looks doing it, dark curls tangled and unruly from Nesta’s fingers, hazel eyes swallowed whole by his blown pupils and pinned right on her face.

He releases his hold on one of her thighs, his hand sliding up to join his mouth. He sinks two fingers into her cunt, and Nesta arches up off the bed at the stretch. He quickly builds up a steady rhythm, pumping and curling his fingers, and Nesta’s cunt clenches and flutters around them, drawing them deeper still.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Cassian praises, pulling another long moan from Nesta’s throat. “Are you going to squeeze my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers?”

Nesta is barely able to form a coherent thought, let alone speak one. All she can do is moan again in response. All she can do is give herself over to the familiar heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut, the pleasure singing in her veins.

“How about you be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”

Cassian leans back down, his mouth working over her clit in time with his fingers, and Nesta can do nothing but obey. She moans Cassian’s name as her release tears through her, thighs shaking around his ears and cunt clenching down hard around his fingers. He works her through it, continues to rock his fingers and elongate her orgasm until the pleasure starts to melt into pain, and Nesta reaches her hand down, squeezing at Cassian’s wrist.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” Cassian breathes, carefully pulling his fingers free and pressing soothing kisses to the inside of her thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, cowboy.”

Cassian’s smirk is wide and cocksure as he slides back up Nesta’s body. He wastes no time sealing their lips together again, Nesta able to taste herself on his tongue when he presses it into her mouth. She slides her hands down Cassian’s chest, over the hard muscles, through the downy hair leading her to exactly what she wants.

He doesn’t stop her this time when she reaches for the buckle of his pants, shoving the waistband down his hips. He pushes up off the bed and to his feet, pulling his jeans and his boxers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them, and Nesta’s mouth practically goes dry.

She’d known from the stretch of his jeans that his thighs were thick, but seeing them like this is another thing all together. And then there’s his cock, hanging hard between them. He’s certainly larger than any of the men Nesta has been with back in Adriata, the girth of him wide. She can already imagine how the thick head will feel sinking into her, how the veins running along the side will feel dragging against the walls of her cunt.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, fisting his cock and stroking lazily.

“And what if I am?”

“You should see my view.”

Nesta smirks at his words, preening at the implication of them. She makes a big show of spreading her legs wider, tilting her hips up, to really give Cassian a view. She can hear the way his breath hitches, see the way his grip on his cock tightens, but she doesn’t stop there. She slides her fingers slowly down her chest, down her stomach, to the mess they’ve already made.

Cassian’s answering groan goes right to her head. Right to her cunt, already fluttering and desperate to be filled.

“Look at my good girl,” Cassian breathes, kneeling back up onto the bed. “Legs spread wide and ready for me.”

He reaches past her toward the bedside table, rooting around in the drawer until he pulls back with a condom between his fingers. Nesta watches through lidded eyes as he tears the wrapper open, sliding the condom on and down his cock. When he’s finished, he drags the head of his cock along her cunt, all the way to her clit, and Nesta whimpers, hips bucking up against him.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, repeating the motion again. “Want to be full and stretched on my cock?”

“You have no idea,” Nesta tells him, shoving at his shoulders until he falls flat on his back on the bed. She throws one leg over his hips and settles astride him, gripping his jaw and forcing his head back enough that she can lean down and whisper in his ear, “but maybe I want to hear you beg for it.”

Cassian groans, his hands finding her hips and squeezing. “Trust me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Nesta hums, satisfied with the answer, and sits back up. She spies where she discarded Cassian’s cowboy hat earlier, grabbing it and settling it back on her head before she starts to rock her hips, reveling in the slide of Cassian’s cock against her, the way it twitches and jumps in response to her movements.

“Mother save me, you’re a dream,” Cassian sighs, his hands sliding down her thighs and back up to her hips again.

“Didn’t I tell you compliments would get you everywhere?”

She reaches a hand down between them, gripping Cassian’s cock, reveling in the warm weight of it against her palm. She raises up onto her knees, lining his cock up and sinking down inch by slow inch. She was right about how amazing the wide girth of him would feel, already feeling keyed-up by the time she bottoms out, her cunt already clenching hard around him.

“Oh fuck,” Cassian gasps, throwing his head back. “That’s it, Nes.”

Nesta tries to respond, but all that tumbles past her lips is a low moan, especially when she dares to rock her hips, Cassian’s cock sliding against the walls of her cunt, her clit dragging across his pelvis. She settles her hands on Cassian’s chest, using it for balance as she presses up onto her knees and sinks back down again, building up a steady rhythm that has her nerve endings sparking, her blood simmering with delicious pleasure.

“Gods, look at how you take me, how your sweet cunt squeezes me.”

Nesta whimpers, picking up the pace of her movements, circling her hips every time she sinks down and trying to get Cassian’s cock to press deeper still. She feels so full of him, but the need for more still claws up her throat. Still has her chasing that high, that precipice.

“Such a good girl, riding my cock so perfect.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, reaching one of her hands to her own chest, squeezing her breast in hopes of finding that edge she needs. “Please.”

She doesn’t know how Cassian somehow knows what she’s asking, how he knows exactly what she needs, but with a growl, he grips her hips, flipping them over again, his hat tumbling somewhere off her head and the bed. He hikes her leg up high, spreading her open completely for him as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again. Nesta cries out as he sets a brutal pace, driving into her hard and just how she likes it.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Cassian breathes right against Nesta’s ear. “Need my cock right where it belongs, fucking you deep and hard?”

“Yes! Don’t stop. Gods, don’t stop.”

Nesta grapples for purchase in Cassian’s hair, on his shoulders, unable to do anything but hold on. It’s almost unfair, the way he plays her body so well, the way every drag of his cock, every slam of his hips, has her melting into little more than a puddle of moans and whimpers of his name.

But she can’t find it within herself to care.

Not when her entire body feels ablaze. Not when Cassian continues to snap his hips, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with her breathy pleas and his answering groans. Not when his hand slips between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit.

“We’re gentlemen here in Windhaven, you know. That means ladies first.”

Cassian continues to trace tight circles across her clit in time with his thrusts, and Nesta’s unable to deny his request even if she wanted to. She arches up off the bed, clenching hard and shouting Cassian’s name as she barrels through her second orgasm of the night. She’s half aware of Cassian groaning in her ear, of the way he continues to snap his hips a few more times before he shudders above her.

He pulls out and settles beside her with a soft sigh, Nesta taking a moment to catch her breath before she rolls over onto her side to face him. She finds herself tracing his dark lashes and the way they flutter, the pink that clings beneath the golden brown of his cheeks. Finds herself stuck on the pink of his lips, the way they tug up into a smile as though he can feel her attention on him.

He turns his head toward her, Nesta getting an up close look at the bright colds and twisting greens of his hazel eyes, the way they flare and simmer as his gaze dances over her face.

“Have I told you you’re beautiful?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she pushes herself up enough that she can lean over him, Cassian’s eyes tracking her the whole way. She dips her head, pressing her mouth against Cassian’s in the barest brush of a kiss, reveling in the way Cassian tries to chase her lips when she pulls away again.

“Careful, cowboy. If you keep up all these compliments, you’ll end up stuck with me.”

—

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[honeyhae-svt]

On My Command

SEVENTEEN FANFICTION (SERIES)

AFAB!READER x SEVENTEEN - MNID!!!

GENRE: Mafia, Businesses, Dark Romance, Smut, Gangs, RomCom, Action, Fem!Reader x Mafia!Seventeen, Baddie!Reader x Businessmen!Seventeen

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: (LOL for this chapter it doesn't have explicit scenes but overall, it does, so yeah, mdni) Gunshots, Blood, Language, Manipulation, Fighting, Action. -warnings for this chapter

♡-Mention of other groups like TXT, EXO, ENHA, G-IDLE, LE SSERA, NCT DREAM, RIIZE (THIS IS A SERIES SO IG I WILL BE ADDING MORE TO THAN THESE WARNINGS) - MDNI OR I WILL BLOCK THOSE WITHOUT AGE INDICATOR ON BIO.

READER IS NAMED LI MEI QIANG!!!

>>>> IMAGES ARE FROM PINTEREST so yeah, ctto. Also, there will be a 1st person POV 'cause I like starting from Y/N's POV at every story I make. Lmao. Enjoy babies. ♡

On My Command - Masterlist (Chapters)

CHAPTER 1

First Person POV: ☆

I was just persuading a customer to buy one of the newly released beauty products from the store I worked at—'Jayeonmi,' which meant 'Natural Beauty.' Seriously, who names their store like that?

As I expertly explained the benefits of our top-tier concealer, I didn’t even stutter, maintaining the calm, professional demeanor that made me the best salesperson they had.

But just as I was about to close the sale, a commotion at the counter grabbed my attention. Instinctively, I pulled the customer down, shielding her with my body. My eyes darted to the source of the noise—a masked man holding a gun, pointed directly at Yuqi, my co-worker and close friend, who was manning the cashier.

"Give me all the money you have and put it in this bag!" the man barked, tossing the bag at Yuqi.

Great. We didn’t even have any security today since the store is practically bankrupt. Honestly, this was bound to happen sooner or later.

I sighed, releasing the terrified customer from my hold and motioning for her to get out while she still could. Once she was safe, I rose from the floor and started toward the man, moving slowly. He noticed me almost immediately, his gun shifting to track my movement.

"You! Stop right there!" he commanded, his voice edged with panic.

I raised my hands, but kept walking. "Don't worry," I said with a calm, almost teasing smile. "I’m not going to hurt you."

He flinched at my words, clearly unnerved. His grip on the gun faltered as he locked eyes with me, momentarily distracted by my steady gaze. In that split second, I closed the distance between us, my smirk widening. I knew my calm demeanor might have unsettled him. His distraction gave me the chance to close the distance between us. Just then, the door flung open and my idiot friend, Beomgyu, burst in. Perfect timing, as always. The masked man’s attention shifted to Beomgyu, freezing him in place.

Without hesitation, I yanked the gun from his hand and delivered a swift punch to his face, sending him crashing to the floor. I stood over him, the gun now pointed down at his bleeding nose.

"You should've paid more attention to me, darling," I sneered, the smirk never leaving my face. The punch hadn’t even been that hard. Pathetic.

Yuqi immediately called the cops, and it wasn’t long before they arrived to haul the guy away. Turned out, he’d been pulling stunts like this all over the city. As they cuffed him, Yuqi ran over and hugged me from behind, nearly choking me with her enthusiasm.

"Oh my gosh, Unnie, you were so cool!" she squealed, clinging to me like I’d just saved her from certain death. I rolled my eyes, patting her head.

"I know, I know. I’m awesome," I replied, a smug grin plastered on my face. Yuqi was Chinese too, so we often slipped into our native language when we spoke, though her excitement made her Korean slip out.

And then Beomgyu—ever the idiot—decided to smack me upside the head. "What the hell were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!" he scolded, crossing his arms as if he were my mother.

I shot him a death glare. "What’s the smack for, you bitch—" I caught myself as I noticed Yuqi still clinging to me, and I forced myself to calm down.

“I’m not a bitch, dumbass,” he replied, crossing his arms. I turned my attention to the chaotic aftermath of the incident. Products were scattered, and I suspected some customers might have taken advantage of the situation to steal.

After we tidied up, I went straight to the CCTV room to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, two girls who looked like students had swiped a bunch of products before bolting during the commotion.

“Those rats. If I ever see them in this store again, I’ll make sure they regret it,” I muttered to myself, fists clenched in anger. It wasn’t even about the store—it was the thought of those stolen items coming out of our paychecks. That greedy owner was already squeezing us dry. Damn greedy manager.

I’m Li Mei Qiang, a Chinese expatriate living in Korea since I was six. Raised by someone I consider a brother, Lee Heeseung, people often mistake us for real siblings because our surnames sound similar.

At 25, my life is a mix of the mundane and the peaceful. Despite knowing a lot about psychology—skills that make me an exceptional salesperson—here I am, working at a bankrupt store for a meager salary of 3,250,000 won (about 4,167 USD).

Events like today’s excite me, though I’m not sure why. I suppose it’s the thrill of disruption that keeps me on edge.

As I waited for my shift to end, Beomgyu tapped my shoulder and pointed to the entrance. I looked up to see Heeseung, who had come to pick me up. I nodded and signaled him to wait while I changed into my casual outfit.

“I’m heading out now. See you tomorrow,” I told Yuqi and Beomgyu before walking outside. Heeseung handed me a helmet, and I hopped onto his motorbike.

As we rode, I stared blankly into the distance until Heeseung broke the silence. “So, I heard you caused quite a ruckus today.”

I frowned at his words. “I didn’t cause it. I saved everyone’s lives,” I replied, my tone defensive. “You still risked your life. What if you’d been shot? The guy had a gun,” Heeseung countered.

I rolled my eyes. “Doubt my abilities if you want. That guy was so weak he went down with one punch. Why would he even attempt to steal when he’s that pathetic? He should’ve just—” I trailed off as Heeseung gave me a stern look. I fell silent, knowing I had gone too far.

When the light turned green, Heeseung drove off again, and the rest of the ride was spent in silence. He didn’t like it when I went on rants, especially when I didn’t hold back.

We reached our apartment complex, and Heeseung parked the bike. As we walked toward the elevator, Heeseung mentioned, “Mr. Ahn from next door has gone missing.”

I was taken aback. “Mr. Ahn? The kind old man who used to give us fruits and sweets?” I asked.

“Yeah, he was last seen near his workplace, and now he’s missing,” Heeseung confirmed.

I sighed, feeling a pang of sadness. It was cruel how the world could be so unjust. My frustration was palpable.

The elevator arrived, and a man in a black mask and cap exited. Heeseung and I exchanged a brief, uneasy glance as we entered the elevator. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about him.

Once we reached our floor, I unlocked the door and headed to the bathroom to freshen up before collapsing onto my bed.

Heeseung opened the door to check on me. “Aren’t you going to eat anything before bed? You haven’t eaten since this morning.”

I groaned, irritated. “Can’t you knock?”

“This is my apartment, in case you forgot,” he said.

“Whatever. I’m too tired to eat,” I replied, closing my eyes. Heeseung hummed in response and closed the door.

In truth, I didn’t want to eat because I wanted to maintain my slim ass figure. Besides, I was too lazy to get up. Beauty standards here are no joke, but I care more about my own perception of myself.

Authors POV: ☆ (the rest will be on a/pov)

A man sat casually atop a dying body, using it as a makeshift seat, savoring the torment of his victim. The dying man on the floor groaned in pain, clutching at the knife buried deep in his stomach, blood pooling around him. The man sitting above him leaned forward, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips as he watched his victim struggle.

"Now, tell me," the man said, his tone almost gentle, "who do you work for?" He stood up and sauntered over, gripping the knife’s handle. With a sickening twist, he drove the blade deeper, eliciting a scream from the man on the floor.

"Just kill him already, hyung," came a voice from behind, impatient and indifferent, making the seated man sigh in irritation. "This is the last one who might have information," he replied, his patience wearing thin. "I know, but this guy won’t even open his mouth," the second man retorted, pulling a gun from his side pocket and aiming it at the injured man. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, and the gunshot rang out. The man on the floor went silent.

The first man's eyes shot toward the second man, piercing through him with frustration. "What the fuck, Seungkwan? We needed him alive."

Seungkwan shrugged. "He wasn’t saying anything useful. We can’t waste time on these lowlifes." he shrugged nonchalantly before walking out of the room.

Boo Seungkwan was a member of Seventeen, a powerful gang hidden beneath the surface of a thriving business empire. Known for his sharp wit and quicker trigger, Seungkwan often acted without waiting for permission—an attitude that earned him both respect and frustration from his peers. In the gang, he handled fieldwork with brutal efficiency, while in the legitimate world, he was a key player in marketing and production.

The first man also exited the room as they then took the stairs to head down. A car was already parked in front of the building and the two headed inside. Seungkwan took a sigh at the events that just occured, obviously, they failed to get the information they needed.

"Wonwoo hyung... Boss will really be mad at us. We killed a bunch of people and didn't even get any information," Seungkwan says while the other man just massaged his temples as he was still feeling annoyed and frustrated at the same time.

Jeon Wonwoo, another member of Seventeen, was known for his ruthless efficiency in punishment and torture. His poor eyesight required him to wear glasses or lenses during missions. Although he was typically exceptional at his job, today’s failure had left him exasperated. In their organization, he was responsible for planning and product releases.

The two men exited the building and climbed into a waiting car, joining their comrades. Wonwoo leaned back in his seat, frustration etched into his features. Seungkwan clicked his seatbelt and glanced at the driver, Mingyu, who was grinning as he watched the interaction through the rearview mirror.

"Wow, our genius Wonwoo failed to get information from a half-dead guy?" Mingyu teased, unable to hide his amusement.

"Shut up, Mingyu. You did nothing but drive this whole mission," Wonwoo snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Wonwoo sank into the front seat of the car, still fuming. The voice of a team member came through their earpieces, "All four of you, return to headquarters immediately." The message ended abruptly.

Kim Mingyu, with his tall frame and undeniable charm, was often the face of Seventeen's business dealings. His easygoing nature masked a cunning mind, and his role as a driver during missions belied his true value—wooing investors and manipulating deals with a smile. Despite his flirtatious ways and playful demeanor, he was fiercely loyal to his gang, earning him the nickname "Seventeen's puppy."

The car ride continued in tense silence until the fourth member of the group, Hoshi, spoke up from the backseat. "Mingyu, can you drive any slower? At this rate, we’ll be old by the time we get back," he whined, not looking up from his laptop.

"Oh, shut up. I’m driving safely," Mingyu retorted, rolling his eyes. "Do you guys want to crash and die?"

"You did hack the building's security cameras, right?" Seungkwan asked, eyeing Hoshi’s laptop skeptically."Of course," Hoshi replied with a dismissive wave. "I hacked everything before we even got there. You guys seriously doubt me too much."

Kwon Soonyoung, better known as Hoshi, was Seventeen's resident tech genius. His hacking skills were legendary, both within the gang and their legitimate business operations. Whether it was disabling security systems or siphoning data from competitors, Hoshi's fingers on a keyboard were as deadly as Seungkwan’s on a trigger. Despite his cheerful persona, he had a sharp mind that always seemed three steps ahead.

Arriving at their headquarters, the team headed straight to the meeting room. Nine familiar figures were already seated, leaving only the four of them to arrive.

The leader, a commanding presence with an intimidating aura, addressed Wonwoo directly. "No information at all?"

The leader sighed, clearly disappointed. "This was our second attempt, and we’ve come up empty-handed again. Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, Seokmin—you’ll handle the next phase. We need results this time."

The mentioned four nodded in agreement. "I expect better results from you. Don’t let me down," the leader said before exiting the room, escorted by a guard.

"Let’s start planning immediately," one of the team members said as he stood up to leave, followed by the others.

The team knew they had to regroup and strategize quickly to meet their leader’s expectations and overcome their recent failures.

Yoon Jeonghan, seventeen’s second-in-command. A devil disguised as an angel. His soft voice and mesmerising beauty makes people feel drawn to him. was a master of strategy and manipulation. His angelic appearance belied a ruthless nature. He excelled in both business and planning, contributing significantly to their operations.

Hong Joshua, almost a mirror image of Jeonghan, handled meetings and strategic planning with equal prowess. His gentle demeanor masked a calculating mind capable of cruelty when necessary. Don't be fooled by his gentle-like voice and gestures, he can turn into the devil any time.

Lee Jihoon a.k.a. Woozi, was their resident medical expert and a jack-of-all-trades. The hacker, producer and planner of the group. His skills spanned planning, marketing, production, and medicine, making him an invaluable member of Seventeen.

Deokyeom or Lee Seokmin, the sunshine that can be dim any time. He is known for his shooting skills as he never misses a shot, from bows and arrows to riffles. His shooting skills were unparalleled, and while he contributed to the marketing team, his primary role involved handling the more dangerous aspects of their operations.

~~~You've reached the end. Wait for Chap 2 ;)

On My Command - Masterlist

-AEYA HERE!: your likes, reblogs, follows are very much appreciated. it boosts my dopamine and makes me want to upload asap so yeah, interacting with me really helps ^^