#petrichor the novel

[namtans-jean-jacket]

finished petrichor vol 1 and all i can say is that i LOVE them and i can tell that charlotte and engfah are gonna nail the characters

[prikarin]

Fanart Rules for my characters

Alrighty, as promised, here are my fanart rules for all my characters (except the Panacea ones, I think I'll release those later 'cause most people have no idea who they are 😂 I may add them at a later time).

[this-blog-needs-a-new-name]

I feel so called out 😅

[boymeetsevil-bts]

Novel: Gotas de chuva com cheiro de sangue

[randomfoggytiger]

I’ve been an x files fan for years now (since 2008ish) but fan fic has never been my thing. If I wanted to give it another go, what writers or pieces of fic would be a good place for me to start? Thanks! 😊

What a dream request, thank you!

Not much of a fic reader? Hm. I drifted to fanfiction because I wanted a canonical hole plugged in; but it sounds like you're looking for quality.

I'm narrowing these suggestions to long-form fics, and going to try to keep them as "fandom approved" as possible. (I'm also cutting back on the "famfic" recs because that's not everyone's cup of tea~.)

Authors whose works could (one could argue, should) be published as novels, in no particular order:

@amplifyme/Lydia Bower, @aloysiavirgata, @slippinmickeys,

@cecilysass, @teethnbone, @dreamingofscully, @sixhours,

@mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra, @sigritandtheelves/Darla,

@onpaperfirst, @melforbes, @ghostbustermelanieking/skuls,

Jenna Tooms, @seek-its-opposite, @settle-down-frohike,

@frostbitepandaaaaa, @leiascully, @darwin-xf, Beshter,

@scenes-in-between/scullywolf, @scullylikesscience

Here's a brief rundown on each author, to the best of my abilities:

amplifyme

My mother's embraces are frightening in their intensity, and I can feel her fear as though it seeps from her pores. Mulder's arms hold me easily but fully. And there is a calming effect in his touch. He restores me to myself, makes me strong again. I wish I had taken the chance and discovered that years ago.

-Dance Without Sleeping

One of the OGs. Her writing explores the paths of Mulder's and Scully's minds. The Scully in her stories is pragmatic, matter-of-fact, and protective of her secrets. The Mulder in her stories is tender, predictably mercurial, and secretive, as well. The most direct admittance can be the most damaging, and the most healing. Her longest work is, I believe, Dance Without Sleeping; but my favorite, though short, happens to be Light Don't Sleep. Her Ao3 is here.

aloysiavirgata

“That’s a fair question, Senator,” Scully observes in her liquid nitrogen voice. She leans forward in her seat, just a little, just enough, to remind him that predators have eyes at the front of their heads. Scully crosses her legs and gives the Senator the full force of her blue eyes, the hard angles of her good cheekbones.  

She is magnificent, Mulder thinks, smitten. She is Themis, she is Ma’at. One day she will devour the hearts of the unrighteous, his own included.

-Singing of Mount Abora

One of the OGs. She treads the line between poetry and prose so seamlessly you are left, baffled, by her intelligence. Her writing features Mulder and Scully with a little bite: neither are fools, and neither will be trifled with. (They're also wickedly intelligent nerds.) Mulder is Jewish (though that rarely comes up) and was married before (though that only comes up when it comes up.) Canon halts in Season 7, but that doesn't stop her from writing Season 9 masterpieces with Mulder and Scully and their son-- which is where I'd recommend you begin, with By Falling In and In. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd say catch up on her canon divergent Waters of Babylon, Petrichor, and Singing of Mount Abora. Her Ao3 is here.

slippingmickeys

The boy winced and inhaled sharply as her fingers ran over the cleft where the fibula met the talus and she rocked back on her heels, eyeing the darkening horizon. Did he have people nearby? Could she leave him here without guilt? She didn’t really have the time or inclination to take on a project — she and Mulder had tried that before — banding together with other survivors, and it had always ended poorly. And boys his age, as few as she had seen, made her uncomfortable. Her subconscious would scan their features, looking for a genetic echo of the Scully-Mulder’s. Mulder would have to pull her aside and whisper “it’s not him,” and she didn’t have the space in her heart for the guilt. Even now she had to ignore the blue of his eyes and the way his gritted teeth had the same gnathic slant as the only man she’d ever loved.

-North of Zero

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are practical, capable, sleek survivors. Her writing exists somewhere between the clack of a gun slide and the omnipresence scent of a wild pine forest. She's written extensively on... everything: Colonization, space, POL, case files, mytharc, everything; and well. I'd recommend North of Zero for a starter. Her Ao3 is here.

cecilysass

It’s Mulder, she reminds herself. No matter how long you may have been gone, or what has happened in your absence, you know what to expect from Mulder.

At last he shuffles through the door, and it’s him, definitely him: head bent, looking weary and wilted. He turns to lock the door again, evidently not paying very much attention to his surroundings.

Her heart constricts. “Mulder,” she voices softly.

She can see his whole body go still from behind, but he doesn’t look right away. His back remains to her.

-Pause

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are weighed by secrets, by their unspoken. Her writing dwells in the silences; and the tones of her work shift depending on the narrative: insular and psychologically exploratory, fast-paced and bitterly overwhelming, slow and unspooling and peaceful-- but always with a bittersweet aftertaste. I would do a disservice if I didn't recommend A Boy on the Beach first; but my personal favorite is Pause (and All the Dead Mulders and Not Orpheus, Not Eurydice.) Her Ao3 is here.

darwin_xf

Mulder. Her genius. Who happened also to be her blithering idiot. A fresh swell of affection overtook her. This is how it was for her, even just talking to him. One minute she was standing in the shallows enjoying or enduring or surviving a day at the beach, whichever kind of day it was. The next she'd find herself walloped and rolled by the rogue wave of her feelings for him. Then she was surfacing, sputtering, salt-blind, struggling to find the steady line of the horizon.

-Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired

One of the OGs. Darwin's writing is clipped and "action" focused. Her Mulder and Scully are fond and quippy and silently torturing themselves with their own repressions or secrets. Vox Mulder: Fired and Wired covers the IVF arc concurrent with Mulder's (secret) brain disease diagnosis; and her notes tearing into canon's handling of the latter arc are incredibly detailed, incredibly satisfying, and incredibly hilarious. Her Ao3 is here.

dreamingofscully

They searched, staying together with Scully’s single flashlight. As she suspected, they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The cellar was devoid of sound and light, not a single rat or insect scurrying about. No more traces of the unknown substance.

They followed the trail of viscous fluid back to their room. Their adrenaline-fueled trek left her exhausted, and she was hopeful she would be able to sleep for a few more hours before dawn. Not even her fear could break through the cottony haze that clouded her mind. Collapsing on the bed, Mulder pulled off her slippers. 

-Surely, to the sea

One of the OGs. Her writing is practical and pleading-- the veneer that Mulder and Scully front, and the truth. Her Scully has teeth but prefers silence and distance. Her Mulder stubbornly walks the thin line between opening his partner up or closing her back together tighter. Trust-- in each other, in themselves-- can be broken and mended with the right words, the right meaning. I recommend starting with Surely, to the Sea (and my favorite short fic is this one.) Her Ao3 is here.

Frostbite Panda

“I make you a whole person,” she whispers. The slam of sudden memory is heady, destabilizing, threatening to spin her clean from reality. 

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, a sound escaping him that she cannot identify. Truth be told, he looks a bit ridiculous— wrapped in a green sleeping bag looking like a dormant pupa, not the wrecked and ruined man he was. 

-Four Days on the 63rd Parallel

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her writing is grand and touching, a microcosm of the macro effects Mulder and Scully face alongside, and with, each other. Her Scully is reluctant, doubting Mulder's beliefs but trusting him; and her Mulder is courageous and wallowing, afraid to try for fear of rejection. Four Days on the 63rd Parallel (and its follow-up In a Perfect World) explores what would have happened if Mulder and Scully had been trapped in Antarctica, in a snocat, alone, until help arrived. Her Ao3 is here, and requires you to be logged in.

Jenna Tooms

Then there's the matter of Mulder and his reaction to scissors and the razor. When he was first released from the hospital I took him to his old barber. He made it into a seat, and even let the barber tie the cloth around his neck. At the first flash of the scissors, though, he was up and out so fast for a moment I only stood in the waiting area dumbfounded, the baby in my arms.

He will, however, let me cut his hair and trim his beard--which he grew to cover his facial scars. I let him keep it as long as he lets me keep it neat.

-An Acceptable Level of Happiness

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her writing is just north of canon, veering off to give us better, brighter spots to land Mulder and Scully. Her Mulder and Scully are soft, seemingly delicate with a touch of steel underneath. They've taken a beating, have internalized that beating, and are being supported wholeheartedly by the other person in their partnership. If you want canon-ish, I'd recommend An Acceptable Level of Happiness; if you want mytharc-ish further down the timeline, I'd suggest Truly, Madly, Deeply, and if you want canon veered off from and returned to-ish after Requiem (16 years later), then I'd strongly lobby for Shooting Star. Her Ao3 requires a log-in, here; but Jenna's works are also on Gossamer (here).

leiascully

“Did you see this?”

She blinked at the screen of Mulder’s phone and gently pushed his wrist until it was at a distance she could focus on. Technology changed but Mulder didn’t. She couldn’t count the near misses with magazines and file folders, the threat of papercuts across her cheeks.

“Ford isn’t going to make Tauruses anymore,” he told her before she’d had a chance to actually read the headline. That was also standard procedure. Mulder was a scrolling marquee of odd headlines and interesting trivia. He was the original clickbait, drawing her in with his promises to change her world and alter her perception.

-Taurus Season

One of the OGs. leiascully's prose captures the essence and magic of ordinary things. Her Scully is secretly a wanderer, her Mulder an errant domestic. There is reciprocity in their strengths and weaknesses; and the world is always more beautifully strange together. I recommend her Visitor series, which rewrites Revival canon along necessary lines. Her Ao3 is here, and requires a log-in.

Penumbra

They slipped among the dumpsters at the back of the building and into the empty quivering night, jaywalking the shadows up the hill streets, ringing the manhole covers. False planetary lights floated about in the foggy sky. Scully opened her fawn umbrella. Mulder glanced often behind them, his fingers pressed into the suspension muscles of her hard young back.

-Bad Radio

One of the OGs. Her Scully is strong and silent and will not be swayed; her Mulder is withdrawn and foreboding. Her most infamous work is Heuvelmans' On the Tracks, but I know her better through this post Gethsemane cancer arc fic: its darkness, its inevitability, its immovable-object-meets-unstoppable-force. Her Ao3 is here.

Prufrock's Love

"He says a horse bit him," Duana translated for her mother. Duana stripped off Lord William's tunic and ruined shirt to reveal the wound. "He damages more clothing..."

Lord William stooped to show Caithrin the twin rows of tooth marks on his left shoulder, still telling his woeful tale....

Not sure what was expected of her and thoroughly intimidated, Caithrin did as she would with her own sons. She made the sympathetic face and clucked over him like a mother hen. Lord William, pacified, settled down on the stool by the fire to let Duana doctor him.

-Hiraeth

One of the OGs. Her Mulder and Scully are messed up, secrets upon secrets, love and miscommunication and chaos towards each other and themselves. Prufrock's prose and dry wit can't be denied; and she's most notably known for Belghor's Prime, a Mulder time-traveling story, and Paracelsus, a Civil War fic that loosely locks into her sprawling, transformative "past lives" series. I, personally, prefer Hiraeth, because the Mulder and Scully I read there aligns (mostly) with my interpretation of canon. Her Ao3 is here.

onpaperfirst

The chip was round and under a microscope the texture looked like fish scales. 

The procedure was over in ten minutes. Three tiny stitches at the back of her neck with a gauze pad taped on top. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

-Snakebitten

One of the OGs (if I recall.) Her Mulder and Scully are inherently bound, even if the plot has driven a wedge between them. They speak the same language with different words, they work back to each other with lightning speed, they are chummy, they are contented. Their humor is fantastic. Her longest, angstiest work is Snakebitten, a rewrite leading up to The Pine Bluff Variant; but my personal ones are (surprise, surprise) her "part one" and "part two" short fics, Home, Home and Honey Hi. Her Ao3 is here.

seek_its_opposite

She leaves her rumpled partner in the car with the window cracked while she goes to the front desk, glancing back possessively over her shoulder as the woman behind the counter gets their keys. One room, two beds. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Mulder.”

She keeps seeing him like she found him, on his knees before the ghosts of his childhood. She sees him praying to the barrel of his gun.

-photosensitivity

One of the OGs (I think?) She writes incredible meta on the series; but she's also written one of my favorite short fics, ever (and I have a lot of those.) You can navigate to the rest of her Ao3 through this link, but you'll have to get through photosensitivity first. >:DDD

settle-down-frohike

“I’m fine, Scully,” indignantly going back to the task at hand. And she’d have believed him too, if he wasn’t looking through her, if his pitch hadn’t been a little too high, if he hadn’t forgotten the fact that her shoes were the very last thing to put on and she wasn’t even out of her hospital gown yet. She allowed it out of pity, mostly. Or humor. But his hands shook, fumbling with the laces like a feening alcoholic.

-for the WIP prompt: hospital

One of the OGs. She writes distraught Mulder incredibly well; and balances him with a Scully who is dry, caring, and bouyant all in one breath. I can't rave enough about her short fics (their links can be found here); but I'd recommend this and this and this because they tie together to form a Redux II whole. Her Ao3 is here.

sigritandtheelves

The world is different now, after so much has been lost. It moves a little slower, takes for granted a little less. It is still a dangerous place—because fear is catching and learning that things are not as they seem can make some go mad with denial and rage and terror at the loss of their footing. But it is also more peaceful, in some ways—because loss reminds us to hold love close. Because all the hearts that stopped beating are still felt in their absence. Because people, in the end, come together in crisis. They don’t only tear each other apart.

“I think we did okay,” he murmurs. “With our quarter century.”

Scully leans her head back to look at him. “Just okay?”

“Mm hmm.”

-Advent

One of the OGs. Her writing is pure sensation: cotton and earth and jeans and nine o'clock shadows and soft skin and the tangible grasp of wishes come true. Advent is her longest fic; but I implore you, on my hands and knees, to read all four of her pages on Ao3-- they're not only the gateway drug to other incredible, incredible short fic writers (ghostbustermelanieking, @baronessblixen, @o6666666, all the authors mentioned here, and so many, many more) but are also a shining example of family fic done well-- a very hard skill to pull off. Her Ao3 is here.

sixhours

Back to sleep. Sleep. No big deal. Just go to sleep.

A minute passes, then two. He’s not tired, in fact, he feels incredibly awake. His heart is pounding, a distracting pulse in his ears. The bed is too soft, too deep, too…real. He can hear her breathing next to him, feel the warmth radiating off her body, his senses screaming at the level of detail, the texture, the vividness of it all. Instinct is a dog with a bone, and it won’t let go.

Something’s wrong.

-Lucidity

One of the OGs. Her writing clips along at an even pace, the story driving Mulder and Scully ever forward. Mulder is most often on the outs, Scully most often peering at her partner silently, trying to figure him out and draw him in. But mostly, the two function independently of each other, content to drift further or nearer as long as they are together. I would recommend Lucidity as a primer. Her Ao3 is here.

touchstoneaf

He did not soften, at first.  Did not edge away, nor did he lean into her.  Much like that awful night when their office had burnt he simply stood cold with shock and while she supported him; the steadfast fidelity of their bond never questioned in the decade that they had been together.

“I was there,” she murmured into his shoulder.  /I’ll always be here./  He could accept it now.  She was finally able to press her arms about him in the night.  Feel the strong bones beneath unblemished flesh; amazed that he was even alive for her to hold after an ordeal that had indeed taken him from her for so long that she had lost all hope.  She shuddered and cinched her arms tighter; felt his ribs shift beneath the silky envelope of his skin.  They creaked in protest, but he did not move, and she spoke like one driven. 

-Amor Fati: Destinata (The Fated Love), Act Three

One of the OGs. So OG, in fact, that the butchery of Season 9's mytharc pushed her to write a mythology replacement. Scully is fearful, anxious, but strong to her core. Mulder is lonely, and loving, and afraid to slip back into dark places. Both push each other to become better than they believed they could be. Her Amor Fati, Destinata (The Fated Love) series is still being written; but it's detailed reconstruction is well-worth the read. Her Ao3 is here.

I separated these two authors out because they're the x and y axes of my personal taste:

melforbes

She falls asleep before him. In some ways, it’s a burden to share a bed with someone, not a pleasure; if he moves, he fears he’ll wake her, but it’s horrible to stay so still for so long, especially when he can’t sleep. But he can see her eyelashes in the dark, and her cheek is squashed against her own pillow, and she checked the room when they arrived to make sure that there were plenty of tissues. Had there been a couch here, even a divan, he would’ve taken to that instead, let her sleep soundly without him. The day of the wedding - he almost tenses at the word wedding, not because he dislikes it but because it feels so strange and unreal, as if it never really happened even though he remembers it so easily and comfortably - they had a makeshift reception in her apartment, just cutting cake with her mother and then sharing slices with the Gunmen after her mother left. If anything, it felt more like a funeral than a wedding reception, so many questions tiptoed around, everything too urgent and human to be a celebration, but between guests, she grabbed part of her slice with her bare fingers and pressed the cake against his face unexpectedly, and he looked at her with surprise, and she laughed in an inward way that made her shoulders move. 

-seaglass blue

One of the OGs (I believe.) I have to start here because seaglass blue is grafted onto my heart. Set before Gethsemane, the author based it on a real couple's journey with impending death; and the way she wrote Mulder's POV-- how she kept us always locked in his head each and every day of his honeymoon with Scully-- is forever burned on my psyche. I don't see the emotional damage, if you will, as unnecessary or melodramatic or traumatic-- it's just a window into the slow approach to the end, or a fear of it. (However, if the writing is too "overlapping" or "run-on" for your taste, I'd recommend aloysiavirgata's gorgeously succinct prose, mentioned above~.) All of her works are fantastic; and, oddly, the rest are usually beautifully cozy (if you can find them on her page.) (Note: authors with their own uniquely similar styles include @teethnbone and @enigmaticdrblockhead -- can't recommend their work enough, particularly The Ansted Graft and this list here, respectively.) mel's Ao3 is here.

skuls

They follow Mulder's trail, Scully's heart thudding too hard against her ribs. Skinner is telling her that Mulder wouldn't do anything crazy when it comes, the headache. Pounding against her skull. And then she hears Will crying out: Dad!

Scully bends over, stomach against her knees, clutching her temple. “Scully?” Skinner is saying. “Scully, what's going on?” But she can't hear him over the roaring in her eyes. William is still speaking, rapid-fire in her mind: They're hurting him, Mom, they're hurting him! Make them stop!

In a flash, she can see what William sees. Mulder barely conscious, being dragged outside through the snow. An axe in the hand of his attacker. “Scully, are you alright?” Skinner protests.

-silent conversations

One of the new recruits (I think.) Her writing is an art form: painting broad, sweeping pictures on the tiniest canvases, in the shortest sentences. Her descriptions, characterizations, and dialogue all serve the plot-- not a hair out of place and not a nook or cranny neglected. I will never be over her short fics, but her longer works are crafted carefully, too. If you want a complete rewrite of the entire series' mythology, then the Half-Light universe does it, and does it better; if you want a Season 8 casefile, then snow in april manipulates Mulder and Scully to a very sinister town; if you want Season 7 to properly deal with Mulder's brain disease, encephalon's got you covered; if you want William to stay with Mulder and Scully, William AU (relent, silent conversations, noises echoing, not out loud) bends in that direction; and if you want a complete rewrite of Samantha's abduction, california winter is where I'd start. Her Ao3 is here.

And lastly, do you want to read long-form fill in series? These three are masterfully done.

Beshter

There were few things in the world that Dana Scully could imagine were more arduous in her the world than family dinner night. Perhaps climbing Mt. Everest in the middle of a howling blizzard would be one. Maybe crawling out of the Amazon rainforest with a broken limb would be another. Even walking single-handedly into the desert with just one canteen of water between you and horrible death under the scorching sun could trump the monthly gathering of the Scully clan at her parent's house in Baltimore to have dinner with her parents.

One of the OGs. Her X-files Seasons covers every crack, crevice, and canyon in the show: Scully's life and family separate from Mulder, the journey drawing her closer into Mulder's world, and her own transformation from the green agent she was to the woman of diamond she became. Her Ao3 is here.

scullylikesscience

Over the course of the weekend, Mulder hardly talked at all. When he did speak, he was abrupt, flippant, and sometimes defensive. He still didn’t want to be touched, nor did it seem to Scully that he wanted to touch her. He kept a wall up around him, a protective shield. She tried to give him what she thought he wanted, space and distance, while at the same time trying to let him know that she was there if he needed her. It was a difficult balance. He seemed glad of her company, yet disinclined to talk to her at all.

-Chapter 87

One of the OGs. Her He is the Master of His Fate, She is the Captain of Her Soul series exquisitely fills in Season 7, Season 8, Season 9, IWTB, Season 10, and S11 while filing over and rewriting the incredibly stupid canon decisions along the way. Her Ao3 is here.

scullywolf

Mulder stirred again and mumbled something she couldn’t make out, and she wasn’t sure if he was talking in his sleep or actually trying to tell her something. She leaned over to put her face closer to his, listening.

“They’re not the same.”

She frowned. “What’s not?”

He shifted, blinking up at her. “Moth men. You might think they’re the same as the Jersey Devil, and the circumstances are similar, but they’re not the same.”

“You mean aside from the fact that this is Florida, not New Jersey?”

-Detour

One of the OGs (I believe.) Her TXF: Scenes in Between series plucks one moment from each episode and builds upon it, providing a window into either Mulder's or Scully's psyches. She even tackles Mulder's (alleged) Season 7 brain disease. Her Ao3 is here.

If you want more fic recs, I have lists catalogued under my Collector's Edition tag. If you want even more fic recs, I wrote a fanfic resource post here. And if those aren't enough to appease your hunger, @lilydalexf and @fine-nephrit have pinned master posts that will probably have something for you.

Hope this helped~! And drop back in sometime-- let me know if you read something you enjoyed, or found fanfic still isn't your preference. :DDDD

[verysium]

ACT 1, SCENE 3: blue lock headcanons

sae is into skincare: lotions, serums, the whole set. he and rin used to have self-care nights as children during which they would sit in bed with matching face masks and watch cartoons on the family tablet. if they were in a good mood, they would let you join.

barou listens to classical while working out. no joke. this man is so insanely focused he will shoot goals and play paganini at the same time. his work ethic is low-key why you were attracted to him the first place.

nagi is lazy to the point he will deliberately buy five pairs of the same exact pants just to save himself the trouble of having to choose an outfit in the morning. thank god for reo otherwise nagi would still be dressing like he just crawled out of bed. he still can't do much about his bedhead though.

rin desperately wanted to join sae in the deeper end of the community pool; however, he was deathly afraid of drowning. his only logical solution was to cover himself in pool floaties while he dipped a single toe into the water. even to this day, he still has traumatic memories of that experience. you need to hold his hand every time.

kaiser acts like his football prowess comes entirely from natural talent. in reality, he trains to an obsessive degree behind the scenes. you could come home at midnight, and he would still be there replaying every single highlight of his recent game. he is the type to keep detailed notes about all the players he went up against.

isagi likes to walk around his hometown of saitama and just observe the snapshots of life around him. whether it's a street vendor, children playing on a grass patch, or a couple in the sunset, he secretly enjoys these little vignettes of human experience. he would become sentimental when it comes to you. sometimes you have to pull his head out of the clouds.

nagi has parents who work overseas, so the most he sees of them is through video calls or holiday presents. occasionally, he also gets a birthday card shipped through international mail. when you threw him his first surprise party, he secretly felt touched because his family was never big on physical celebrations.

sae is ridiculously good at anything that involves data and calculations. he participated in a math competition one time in junior high, and he would have made it to the national level had he not been entirely focused on football. refused to tutor rin in algebra though because apparently his little brother has to figure out everything for himself. if it were you though, he would begrudgingly agree.

bachira holds the world record in procrastination. his notebook, pencil, and eraser are still as untouched and pristine as they were on the first day of the academic school year. he does not know what a book is, nor has he read one. he only studied because you refused to cuddle with him otherwise.

ego eats so many cups of instant ramen noodles that his glasses begin to fog up from time to time. anri has to clean the frames and lenses weekly just to make sure his myopic self can even see. at this point, she's the real MVP of the entire series.

barou likes to open the windows right after it rains because he enjoys the sweet smell of petrichor. his ideal day would be spent lounging on a couch with some tea and a novel. it would be even more perfect if you snuggled under the blankets with him.

niko sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, immensely insecure about his forehead. he thinks it looks giant though it really isn't. you have to brush his fringe back and pepper kisses down his face and remind him that a big forehead means a big, sexy brain, so it really isn't that bad. he believes you and goes back to sleep.

shidou would make fun of boomers. in fact, he'd ridicule every single person he considers past their prime. he does not believe in any form of authority, nor does he like being told what to do. if he had his way, he would have turned the entire world into anarchy a long time ago. the only reason why he doesn't wake up and make himself everyone's problem is because he doesn't want to upset you.

kaiser knows he is very well-endowed physically, so he purposefully walks around your apartment shirtless. if he catches you eyeing him, he will make a big deal out of it. tries to not-so-subtly flex his biceps every time he reaches for the milk carton.

reo loves cocktail dresses, especially in the wine red shade. something about the accentuated figure and natural curves gives him goosebumps. his favorite part of you is when your tummy slightly protrudes after you've eaten too much. you might think it's embarrassing, but he thinks it's adorable.

rin only uses shower gel, mostly because he learned his lesson after using the locker room shower stalls. never use bar soap, always use bottled. he's also the type to always have shower shoes. sae taught him that.

bachira is the type of student to completely misread the question and still not feel bad after the teacher points it out. oh no, he was actually supposed to solve for x, not just circle it? he'll shrug it off like nothing ever happened. at least he tried. the teacher should be grateful for his effort.

sae says he does not understand the sentiments behind cute couple traditions but then proceeds to get upset when you show up to his game without wearing his jersey. would definitely get you matching bracelets for your anniversary.

aiku has a high spice tolerance. he would definitely drown his food either in sriracha or buldak sauce. if you can't handle spicy though, he would set aside a separate plate just for you and manually spoon out the food just to make sure you have something to eat too.

aryu never has dry cuticles. he is always trimming and filing to perfection. sometimes he has beef with your nail tech because he thinks he could have done so much better on your acrylics. refuses to let you go to a salon because he already has all the tools and expertise necessary.

sae does not know how to cook. his manager has always ordered take-out for him. the one time he tried to use a microwave, he completely misread the package instructions and nearly burned the entire building down. called you up with the straightest face afterwards to tell you that the smoke alarms were not shutting off.

barou unconsciously caves into peer pressure. every single new trend makes him rethink his personal style. however, he views it all with an old man mentality. like what are these youngsters doing these days? dying their hair every possible color of the rainbow? he has to do that too. proceeds to call aryu to add red streaks into his own hair. sometimes you have to remind him that external opinion should always taken with a grain of salt.

chigiri has a major sweet tooth. if you so much as bake him one single treat, he will have made plans to put a ring on your finger before he even finishes the damn pastry. his ideal partner is someone mature and understanding who can take care of him well. definitely likes the homemaker type.

gagamaru is the seeing friend in your relationship. no matter how many trips he makes to the optometrist, he will always come back with perfect 20/20 vision. definitely a nature enthusiast, and he loves hiking. even if you're blind as a bat, he will always be there to hold your hand in the dark.

© verysium 2023 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

[arklayraven]

Current VNs characters I know that are canonly ace, aro, aroace, demi and other identities that fall on the ace and/or aro spectrum. With sources and game links (if available).

Inspired by my list of pan rep in VNs too.

Will update if more are found or such.

(Updated: 10/23/24)

⚠️ Notice: This post for listing canon characters who fall on the ace and/or aro spectrum from visual novel games(whether officially released, demos, etc). Not about the devs and any possible issues they had in the past. So please keep any/all discussions over them off this post. ⚠️

Intertwine

Van (demisexual)

Source | Game

Mushroom Oasis

Mychael (asexual panromantic)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Game

14 Days With You

Ren (demi/pansexual)

Elanor (demi/panromantic + asexual)

Leon (demi/pansexual)

Source | Game

The Kid At The Back

Geo (asexual)

Source | Game

Where Winter Crows Go

Crowe (demisexual and demi-panromantic)

Aspen (graysexual and panromantic)

Source | Source | Archive source | Game

Repurpose

Noel (asexual panromantic)

Source | Game

Sweet Tooth

Andre (pansexual/demi)

Source | Game

Your Guardian Angel

Noel (pan/demi)

Joel (bi/ace)

Source | Game

Colored Gaze

Zachary (demi)

Source (broken/unavailable, explanation why, with archive source screenshot and more) | Game

Our Life: Beginnings & Always

Cove (panromantic demisexual, previous labeled as pansexual too)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Game

XOXO Droplets

Bae (asexual)

Source | Game

My Dear Hatchet Man

Erika (biromantic and demisexual, with a preference for women)

Source | Game

Alaris

Etza (demisexual)

Aisa (demisexual)

Source | Game

Broken Colors

Rasmus (demiromantic)

Milla (asexual)

Shadowman (bisexual and demisexual)

Sources: 1 | 2 | 3 | Game

Klein v.0.1

Yael (demisexual)

Source | Game

Hummingbird's Crown

Wren (demisexual and panromantic)

Galvin (graysexual and demi-biromantic)

Lonan (asexual and panromantic)

Sources: 1 | 2 | 3 | Archive source | Game

Panacea: Rebirth

Angis (demisexual and panromantic)

Nox (aroace)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Archive source | Game

Killer Trait

Oz (graysexual and biromantic)

Fawna (demisexual and demi-biromantic)

Arthur (aroace)

Carl (pansexual and demi-panromantic)

Sources: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Archive source | Game

Potion Pleasing

Parker (asexual and panromantic)

Rue (asexual and gray-panromantic)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Archive source | Game

Petrichor

Pommy (graysexual and demi-biromantic)

Source | Archive source | Game

Monochrome Pixels

Diana (graysexual and demi-biromantic)

Enya (asexual and panromantic)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Archive source | Game

Magical Warrior Diamond Heart

Sophie (lesbian and asexual)

Amber (asexual and aromantic)

Liam (bisexual and demisexual)

Source | Game

Pushing Up Daisies

Oliver (unsure / demisexual)

Source | Game

Restart Heart

Willow (demiromantic)

Xiomara (aroace)

Asha (aroace)

Sources: 1 | 2 | Game

Here For Sweethearts!

Vasilis (unlabelled m-spec ace)

Mary (bi ace)

Reginald (bi ace)

Acanthibar (aro)

Source | Game

Astoria: Fate's Kiss & Astoria: Lost Kisses

Josh (aromantic asexual)

Athena (aromantic asexual)

Source | Game

Love & Legends

Imohn Idreis (aromantic asexual)

Source | Game

Havenfall is for Lovers

Levana Helsing (asexual biromantic)

John Lapin (asexual biromantic)

Source | Game

Sweet Enchantments

Emeril Everbloom (demisexual lesbian)

Elyscia Volalin (asexual biromantic)

Source | Game

Queen of Thieves

Nikolai Stirling (demisexual pansexual)

Raveena Patel (demisexual)

Source | Game

Sin With Me

Malakai Collins (demisexual)

Nahara (bisexual demisexual)

Source | Game

Would You Stay?

Kiyomi (asexual biromantic)

Source | Game

In Your Dreams

Lynde (demisexual)

Traumfänger (demisexual)

Source | Game

A Late Night Convo

Seo-jun (demisexual)

Source | Game

First Skate

Seo-jun (demisexual)

Source | Game

Nat(urally) Me

Helia (asexual)

Source | Game

Drink of Choice

Valeria (ace)

Source | Game

Duplicity

Griffin (demi pansexual)

Tris (demisexual)

Taipan (graysexual)

Melon (asexual)

Mags (asexual)

Sources: 1 | 2 | 3 | Game

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part two)

Got too silly. Have some more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren cause the bot came back and wormed into my brain to post it. Part one here if you haven't read it yet hehe.

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

The quiet cabin where Ren lived was a stone’s throw from the flowering field you found them in. The devil graciously opened his home, even guiding you around the town you now knew was called Corland Bay. Each morning when you wondered about leaving, he brought something new to pique your interest and put off your departure. The time seemed to fly by and soon you hardly spared a thought to leave.

You'd quickly grown accustomed to his constant presence over the past month. He was never far from your shoulder at any waking moment. The uneasy feeling from when you met was completely gone, replaced with a strange sense of comfort. He had only shown kindness to you, after all. To call a devil your friend was laughable, you knew. But no other word quite fit.

Still, you wondered how he had come to live outside their realm. Every time you questioned him the conversation slipped away to another topic. It must've been odd to discuss with an angel, you naturally assumed.

So you stopped bringing it up after a few days, instead choosing to inquire about the changes in the plants you so often admired. Some had begun to wither, and new buds sprouted up seemingly overnight in their place. A strange new array of flowers that Ren promised would tower over your head and his in due time.

“I think I'll like these flowers more than the others,” you told him one late afternoon. 

You were lying on the porch, your head resting against his thigh as you watched the endless rows of flora sway in the breeze. Their focus was on you, though you didn’t notice. You could feel the faint trace of constellations drawn along the bare skin of your legs. The human clothes he’d gotten for you were a little different from the robes and tunics donned by servants of heaven, but they were just as comfortable despite the lacking fabric.

“I couldn't begin to imagine why,” he mused, his tone teasing as if he already knew your answer.

You explained regardless. “You told me some will grow as tall as they can, even following the sun’s light. It’s rather interesting.”

“I’m already as tall as they'll be.” His tail flicked into your field of view, casting only a slight shadow until his face obscured your vision further. "Is a devil not as interesting as a flower to you?"

The rapidly changing sky above caught your attention before you could respond in kind. Clouds blotted out the sun, tinting the world below in a murky gray. All the signs were there. Heavy clouds, a drop in temperature, and a strange smell in the air—petrichor, it was called in the books Ren had read with you by candle light on quiet evenings. It was a change you'd been waiting for ever since learning about it.

Bursting with excitement, you rolled from their lap and darted from the safety of the covered porch, the answer you meant to give them already long forgotten. Ren followed on your heels in the dirt until you stopped.

“It's rain, isn't it?” you wondered aloud and turned back to them for confirmation.

“Humans normally stay inside when it happens, my angel. But yes. Rain.” He nodded with a smile, enamored by the way your eyes curiously sparkled before you looked away. His pale hands came up to shield your face when the first drops began to fall. 

Tiny thumps of something suddenly bounced off your hair and shoulders, seeping into your clothes. His makeshift shield seemed to be doing its job as you looked all around with wide eyes. Minuscule puddles of water and earth formed around your feet. The sea of flowers still swayed before you, though a few weaker ones fell out of sync as the rain pushed them to and fro as it pleased. You could even hear something akin to chimes when drops pattered over the roof of their home.

You spared a glance up towards the sky, quickly changing your mind with an unwelcome gasp at the spray that tickled your face. Quiet laughter came from behind and you turned to look at your companion once more, shaking off their hands.

Ren appeared unbothered by the dozens of small droplets beading down his forehead to his chin, until you reached forward to wipe them from his face. The heat of his skin stood out to you, and you let your hand linger, rubbing your thumb back and forth over the drops that kept landing on his cheek. 

A dull ache began in your back. 

You took an innocent step towards him. The light shower of rain was slowly chilling you to the bone, so it only made sense that you sought out their warmth. A warmth that felt as familiar and welcoming as your heaven. Gentle hands wound their way around your waist, guiding you back to the shelter of the porch only a few feet away. With the curtain of his fingers gone you expected another torrent to stream down your face for a brief moment. Instead, all you felt were stray drops falling from his hair.

Relief washed over you almost immediately in their embrace. Every so often you’d feel homesick like this. That sharp, almost stinging lance of pain where your wings were hidden away—yet it always faded as soon as he comforted you. You couldn’t understand why their presence brought such solace to you. 

“I’m ready to go inside,” you suddenly said.

Your gaze wandered up to Ren's unreadable blue eyes as he answered, “Are you?”

“Yes… I think so.” But you made no move to leave, instead letting your eyes follow the slow crawl of a droplet down from his cheek to the corner of his lips. Their pale pink color reminded you of the sunset that left you empty only days ago.

It was a dreaded feeling you couldn't bear to feel again.

Without even thinking about it you leaned up to kiss them for the very first time. A faint stutter of surprise to his breath, and then he kissed you back. Part of you expected it to burn, to sting, do something when you mistakenly sought out affections you knew were meant only for a bonded pair—especially from a devil of all creations. Yet there was nothing to punish you for now.

The fluttery haze to your body didn’t wane at all, only blossoming at their touch. Until a gentle nip of fangs at your bottom lip had an entirely new feeling thrumming to life in your heart. You pulled back just to breathe for a minute, running your tongue over the spot that stung in a way you belatedly realized you liked for some reason. 

Guilt and confusion battled in your heart at the thought. “Heaven will need me home soon,” you whispered, avoiding their watchful gaze for a long while as you toyed with the still damp strands of his hair.

The devil waited in silence, running one hand in an unknown pattern on your back until you managed to look upwards. “...Do you truly wish to return, my love? Won't you at least stay until the flowers bloom?” The words were desperate, but his voice resigned. As if your answer was already set in stone.

You carefully nodded at his words. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if you were even capable of leaving. It scared you more than your god's surefire chastising about the sin you'd just committed. But it has to be then, you wanted to convince yourself. Or you feared you’d break your vows and never leave him.

He accepted with a heart wrenching smile, took your hand and led you up the few steps that were slick with rain. Your fingers tightened achingly around theirs as he opened the cabin’s door.

Beneath the steady drumming of rain, you didn’t notice a bell had been faintly tolling from somewhere far above you.

[sunshinegirl29]

Petrichor

SO hi! This is the first smut I've written in 5 years. So I'm sorry if it's a little dodgy. Anyway, it was raining when I wrote this, hence the imagery!

Summary: A rainy day, coffee between friends leads to something more, but it's not always that simple with Spencer.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: swearing, smut, alcohol.

I'd love to hear some feedback xo

-------

You learned in Art History class, that hands were the hardest thing for an artist to master.  His were slender and gentle; caressing the words on the page, brow pinched in concentration. His nails, trimmed, cuticles soft and small. That was Spencer, most things about him were put together and careful to a point.  He rubs the heel of one into the hollow of his eye, squints and continues to absorb the words of his novel like patterns on a lover’s skin.

A simple cough catches your attention and you blink slowly, coming to from your reverie.

“Are you okay?”

Alex Blake’s tone is soft and low. She’s gentle and warm, chocolate brown eyes swimming with concern.  An answer doesn’t come at first; what words would you choose? You couldn’t look her in the eye and call it what it was.

“Tired, you know? Tough case.”

Your words wither like dry leaves under her gaze. Alex you’d learnt early on, held them in high regard – the way they stretch and curl and hold more weight than you realise.  But she doesn’t push and squeezes your shoulder, before resting back against her seat.  You glance back toward Spencer once more.  His eyes closed, soft brown rivulets curl behind his ears, messy against the small pillow he never leaves home without.

A small breath hitches as you eye his collar, the usually tight purple tie is broken and free from the confines of the material.  It reveals the innocent edges of bare skin, and your stomach feels like a knot in a chain. The tighter it gets, the harder it is to take apart.  You allow the thoughts to flow unfiltered for a moment longer, wondering how he’d react to your touch, both palms pressed to his chest, your lips mapping a path of devotion on his skin.

Then the jet rumbles its warning and you breathe again. Slippery hands grip the sides of the seat and the jet tips, shaking the dredges of cold coffee from your abandoned mug.

The next day, it rained. You wake to the sound of it, watery fingertips tapping a beat on the conservatory roof; you’d fallen asleep there, drowning in dreams of soft touches and stuttering breaths.  You wipe sweat from your chest and pad on bare feet into the small kitchen, working through neglected pots and pans to find your Sunday morning mug teetering on the edge of the kitchen island. 

“There you are.” You hum smiling around the imperfect rim, inhaling the rich black coffee that had become a tradition over the last few months. You spend the next few hours, cleaning the skeletons of the last week off the floor; being away from your cosy suburban home most of the week left little time for housework and it was about time.

The kitchen was pristine by the time the sky had given way to heavy biblical rain; the windows misty with condensation.  It didn’t take long for the house to fill with the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee once more as you hum to the radio and sway in between sips.  The music trickles into something slower, sensual and you smooth your hands into your hair and remove the tie, letting it hang loose instead.  Hips sway in slick circles as you lean back into the counter, running your hand along its wood grain as if a broad back or the gentle slope of his neck.   The chain knot is back, low in your stomach, tightening with every move.  The island bites into your back as you slide across it, a hand ghosting the bare expanse of your leg and into the waist band of your shorts.  It’s slow at first, the image that comes; he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, books piled up around him and a discarded coffee in the wings.

 Spencer holds books like you imagine he’d hold a lover, careful but with meaning and unbridled need.  His soft fingers dance on the page, mirroring yours in short circles, short gasps as he finds a lead hidden within the letters.  He knocks a book with his foot, rearranging his position on the floor and the muscles in lean arms twist when he gets to his knees. Your own sock clad feet crush the rug beneath them as the feeling builds.  Spencer reaches for a new coffee, but jumps at the heat sending liquid down his chin. He wipes it from his lips with an index finger, dipping it into his mouth savouring its rich sweetness.  This image alone was enough to tip you over the edge, waves crash and ebb leaving you panting and spent on the kitchen floor.

It's then that the murderous cry of your cell phone shatters the post orgasm comfort, shocking you into rising from the floor on unsteady legs.  It’s screams for attention from the couch, buried in pillows and a neatly folded blanket that’s thrown to the floor in frustration.

“For god’s sake I—”

Hotch’s name lights up the screen and it’s like ice water down your back.

“Hello?” you cough, attempting to cover any signs of breathlessness but he doesn’t bother a greeting; “we have a case, local, bad – Spencer will pick you up on the way, be ready in an hour.”

In a world with boundaries, you could say no; that you spend sometimes fourteen-hour days, six days a week on cases and you were owed at least one day to rest. But the shining reward gives you pause at the entrance to your bedroom. Spencer will pick you up.  You dress and return to the bright and airy front room to pace in anticipation, the sweet delay.

 

Out the window you watch as rain rushes down the street, lifting leaves and litter from pregnant drains. They disappear as a black SUV pulls up, he’s early. You half expect him to blare the horn but he slips from the driver’s seat and runs up wet steps, sliding a little before coming to stop.  Greed urges you to answer the door, but you hold steady waiting patiently for him to knock – which he does, neat and direct.

The wind blows spatters of muddy water on the oak floors as you open the door. Spencer waits politely for invitation which you readily provide him, instinctually grabbing his bicep to shelter him from the pouring rain.

“Sorry—hi.” He stammers, gesturing at the puddle that follows him in like an obedient dog.

“It’s okay, it’s horrendous out there!” you huff a nervous laugh and twist back toward him, he’s closer than you’d anticipated and you have to look up to drink him in

His hair curls with rain, dripping onto the dark wool of his coat. His lips part and close slowly, as if wanting to confess a lie but nothing comes.  You swallow thickly, daring a look at his mouth for a needy second before coming back to his hazel eyes.  They hold a weight with an unknown name and dart away, the burgeoning anticipation ebbing slowly.

The growing silence lingers on for a few more seconds before he steps back, wiping both hands down his coat, looking anywhere but you.

“We have a case.” His voice ticks up and he coughs, wrapping those long fingers around his opposite wrist.

“Yeah, Hotch said.” You beckon him to the kitchen in an attempt to defuse the tension. “Know anything about it?” He crosses the room in two strides, the kitchen island a wedge between you.

The BAU had been your home for six months and after a few growing pains you fit in nicely, spending slow evenings in Penelope’s apartment and even began to get Aaron to smile now and again. Spencer though had been slow to trust, not that you blamed him but eventually he began to thaw. His shield of intelligence had melted into trickles of kindness that leaked into your life; he’d have your favourite mug filled with black coffee how you liked. After particularly hard cases he’d taken to sharing half his blanket and somehow a luxury pastry ended up on your breakfast plate before landing each time.

“Yeah, a home invasion homicide, mother and two children both dead. Did you know, the odds of being killed in your own home by a stranger are dependent on gender! With twenty one percent being men and only twelve percent being women.” Spencer smiles, in his element leaning into the counter. A heartbeat goes by before you note where he stands. Only an hour earlier you sat alone with fingers buried deep in your shorts, panting and writhing against the tile, all for him – its almost too much to bear.

 The carafe rattles imperceptibly against the mug, you fill it with sweet coffee for him without thinking;

“Are you alright?” it’s evident you can’t escape a profiler’s eye “if it’s what I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, the odds are—”

“It’s fine Spence, here you look like you need it.” You’re brutally aware that you’re rambling and he doesn’t miss a beat, but graciously doesn’t press any further. Instead, he takes a sip of the coffee, humming contentedly. The small noise starts a raging desire that burns through your blood.

“This is great coffee. You know, coffee is a language in itself...”

He walks around, coming to rest opposite you without the barrier of the island.  You’re drunk on the scent of damp clean hair and faint cologne, it’s a force you have no name for that fills your chest, fuelling the beat that matches the way panicked rain hits the windows behind your head.

“What’s it telling you?” You whisper, looking up into a blown-out gaze.

It was in your nature to burry intense feelings, but you wonder if he can see it all over your face, the pure naked wanting. 

Suddenly aware of his animal warmth much closer now. The knotted chain pulls tighter, burning low and you press your thighs together for any scrap of relief.  He doesn’t say anything and for a slow second you worry you’ve misread the situation. But any reservations die as Spencer reaches for the mug in your hands with the soft fingers you’d mused over so much in the last few days. He takes it from your hand, placing it on the sink behind you absentmindedly.

““Spence…” you plead, body trembling as his gaze covers your face, asking...

The first brush against you is chaste, a whisper of a kiss that barely touches the skin, it’s almost as if he breathes across your upper lip. He pulls back, barely, just enough to lay a question between you.

“Please.”

You step into him as the first rolls of thunder come in. Damp ropes of hair drag across your face and you can’t hold back from touching it, pushing it back like water. You anchor yourself to it when he kisses you again, just as brief but more firm, lingering against your mouth.  

“Is this okay?”

His question is lost on your lips as you grasp the damp collar of his coat and pull him down toward you, swallowing his yelp with a deep kiss; it feeds the hunger for him and you can’t help but moan into his mouth, savouring the sweetness.

You’re nothing but him, drowning in the press of his lips, so soft and strong as you lick into his mouth, surprised by the strength he uses to lift you up onto the biting edge of the counter.

His fingers arch around the side of your neck bringing you back to his mouth like a man starved; your free hand that isn’t wound in his curls sears a path along his neck, diving into his shirt.  He’s muttering something, you suspect a flustered fact about pathogens and almost laugh, but you can only feel the syllables of hot and wet before he jerks so violently your lips wrench away from his.

You both freeze. One hand in his hair, the other on his chest, his own still grasp the swell of your ass.

“I don’t normally do this.” He stammers again, taking a shaky step backwards and you mourn the loss of him. The heat that simmered low between your legs is doused in shame.

“Don’t, don’t do tha---” 

Your words die in your throat as his cell phone screams from his coat pocket, sending him away from you, a crease of concern between his brows.

“Okay, we’re leaving now. Thanks Morgan.”

Spencer glances at you, as if waiting for a scolding – it doesn’t come.  You just sigh, letting him sweat in silence; his mouth is swollen, both cheeks flushed in an uncharacteristic bloom of colour. You gaze at him despite yourself, a sad smile passing your lips.

“Spence..” you press, striding forward to meet him.

You reach for him, tugging on the sleeve of his damp coat like a child.  He shakes his head ever so slightly, but grasps your fingers gently in his own anyway.  

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles into your hair, releasing your hand with a small squeeze.

“Are you..” you sigh, not bothering to wait for an answer before heading out and into the rain.

>

 

 

By the time you arrive back at Quantico rage had made its home in your gut.  Rage at him, because how dare he kiss you out the blue, in your own home and run off like he’d been burned. JJ is the first to notice when you speed from the car, barely putting it in park before slamming the door and standing at her side.   

“Everything, okay?” She whispers, eyeing you and a jittery Spencer who’s pointedly staring anywhere else. 

“You know, working on a Sunday sucks,” You huff, glancing at her before turning toward him  “and the middle of the day too, it’s almost as if you thought you’d get one thing, but ended up being sorely disappointed.”

A beat of dead silence passes but no one gets to push the subject. Hotch appears from the SUV with a peaky looking Rossi at his side, the case had been brutal and a complete bust – two children and a mother dead with a missing top suspect and a suspicious Grandfather to boot.  No one liked going home empty handed and it showed.

“Thank you everyone, I’m sorry to call you in on your day off. Finish off your paperwork and take tomorrow to yourselves. You earned it.” you almost hugged him, the ever stoic Aaron Hotchner, but instead followed the rest of the team inside toward Penelope who waits with freshly baked goods and an award winning smile.

“Hello my heroes! I bare the sweetest of treats and that’s just on the plate--”  she laughs, cut off but Aaron who pats her gently before swiping a Danish and disappearing into his office. Penelope’s keen eyes miss nothing – not the way Spencer whips past the others, muttering about callings his mother, not the way your own eyes follow him until he disappears.

“Hey gorgeous, cinnamon roll?” Penny smiles and you look at her at last, gratefully taking the gift – a sweet cushion to the bitter blow of Spencer’s rejection.

“I know it’s none of my business” Penny starts, walking toward your office side by side. You shoot her a withering look, knowing that it wouldn’t matter if it was her business or not – Penelope needed to know things.  But in a painful reality, there was nothing to know and there never would be, not now, not after this.

“Working on a Sunday.. not what I had planned! Thanks for the treats, I’ll see you.” You smile, putting on the brightest facade of happiness before fleeing into the unpersecuted safety of your office.

_

On the last day of the month you take the train downtown. The sharp November air slices the bare skin of your legs as you head into the depths of the city; the Saturday evening buzz is strong and floods of intoxicated partygoers filter in and out of clubs on each side of the street.  The claustrophobia thins out as you approach the affluent section of the city; harsh neon lights fade into comforting warm candlelight, they reflect gently against the black gloss of Emily’s hair as she stands in the sheltered awning of the Gilded Lilly.  You linger under the guise of adjusting your shoes and observe her for a moment; a lighter sparks in the dark, long inhale, a long exhale – the first curl of smoke, grey against black.

“Over here!” She calls your name, waving a gentle hand to beckon you forward.

She looks different, her cheeks are pink and her dark hair falls softly around her face, flushed and girlish and completely alive,

“You’re wearing a dress?!” You grin at her not so typical outfit and squeeze at her hand, readily accepting the invitation inside.

The polarising temperature is gratefully welcomed and you can’t repress a comforting hum as feeling comes back to your toes and hands. Emily chatters absentmindedly, pulling you by the wrist toward the bar where an opulently dressed man prepares a drink with loving precision and for a moment panic sets in.  Emily, seemingly reading your mind, wraps her arm around your waist and huffs a laugh.

“These are on Rossi, this is his bar after all.”

 

A rich green path of marble leads you toward a large backroom where luscious velveteen couches surround solid oak tables and glistening chandeliers ricochet off art lined walls. You catch Rossi’s eye across the room and he smiles proudly.

“Kiddo! You made it!” he smells of faint cigars and expensive cologne when he envelopes you in a warm hug and tugs you down into the seat next to him. 

It takes you less than seconds to deduce they’d been drinking long before you arrived – Morgan’s laugh carried louder and farther than usual, thick and low with drink. JJ and Emily snuggled into the rounded corner, laughing with Garcia around elaborate cocktails. Rossi and Aaron, older and more demure than their younger counterparts are blurred slightly at the edges, both follow your eyes and catch them when you turn.

“Where’s Spencer?”

The anger had simmered comfortably under the surface for weeks since that day in your kitchen, your relationship never fitting back into the boundaries of friendship. Penelope tried her best to prod at the wound, egging for blood but nothing came, you couldn’t admit the rejection even to her.  The rest of the team sensed the mounting tension, but you waved away their concern with a decorative excuse and it seemed to placate them. 

“I’m not sure he’s coming kid..” Rossi sighs, patting your shoulder as if he knows something he shouldn’t.  “come on now, have some fun. Too much thinking isn’t good for anyone. Right Aaron?” Dave laughs, sliding a fresh cocktail to join the one Morgan and Emily bought you. 

Before long three more empty glasses join the others and it had started to get rowdy. The copious amounts of liquor had bounced straight from your head to your bladder, it forces you out of your seat and you climb awkwardly over a blushing Aaron who pointedly looks anywhere but the low neck and short skirt of your new dress. It’s then a sharp choking cough breaks the mounting tension;

“Spence..” you breathe, scrambling away from Aaron who’s face blanches like sour milk.

 He’s beautiful and still, spots of light rain litter his lambs wool coat like glass. 

“Spencer!” Garcia squeals, and at that moment you could have kissed her. Spencer's expression cracks open, a rare smile and even rarer hug.

You blink at that, still stunned slightly dumb at the sight of him.

“Good to see you kid! Let’s get you a drink!” Rossi cheers and then they’re gone, bundled off toward the distant bar.  

You stand silently for a minute, looking toward the hallway but turn at the sound of your name.

“So, are you going to tell us why pretty boy looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust every time you’re within fifty feet?” Morgan grins, smirking round a spectacular old fashioned.

You find yourself flinching at your own words, teeth clattering against the cold hard lie of;

“We had a disagreement that’s all. It’s nothing.”

 

It never really went away. You’d deliberately ignored the symptoms, but days and weeks went by and your craving for him never abated.  Despite the disappointment of his rejection you’re happy he’s here and begin to relax.

It’s smiles all around when you deposit drinks to each member of the team in turn, including Spencer who’s shed himself of his coat, revealing a grey herringbone cardigan and white shirt.   He doesn’t seem to notice you, he’s rambling about the origins of a Bloody Mary with unbridled passion and your heart melts like the ice in his glass.   Whether it’s the heightened buzz of multiple cocktails or not you decide it’s a question for tomorrow and a squeeze his arm;

It happens in slow motion, the way Spencer jumps.  The action sends the drink in your hands backwards and all over the front of your dress.

“What the hell?!” you gasp and stagger backward, taking a bunch of napkins from Emily who’s wide eyed along with the rest of the team who’ve lapped into uncomfortable silence.  

Spencer stammers, gawping like a fish out of water, flapping about the mess on the table which he wipes erratically without sparing your wet dress and thunderous expression a second glance.

Aaron and Rossi, no longer blurred by liquor mutter to each other in your peripheral.

“Care to tell me what the hell that was about?”  You’d had enough, weeks of icing each other out you thought he’d be receptive to your warmth but he says nothing instead.  You almost laugh;

“A man with an IQ of 187 and nothing to say. Typical.” You hiss, slamming down the glass, splashing the residual whisky onto his jumper.

Aaron stands, stepping toward you with a pleading expression and his jacket.  You ignore him, staring at Spencer who still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Spence..” you plead and reach out but stop half way, thinking better of it. He seems to relax for a split second but visibly tenses when Aaron wraps his suit jacket around your shoulders.

You’re grateful for it’s warmth against your skin and step into it, pulling the inky black lapels around your exposed chest gratefully. 

“Come on. Let it go. I’ll call you a cab.” 

“Yeah.” Spencer snaps, his hazel eyes cutting, looks you and Aaron up and down “back to her place right?”

A collective intake of breath.  A sharp snap of heels against marble. You’re dragging him off the chair by his cardigan, nails dig into the lean flesh of his arm.  Rossi’s protests and Garcia’s high pitch yells are ignored and disappear as you shove a squirming Spencer out into street.

The sharp winter air ruffles Spencer’s hair, his back to you, pacing.  Your arms folded against the cold, stoic and thunderous.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the echo of your breath comes out in plumes of white, hard and fast.  Spencer paces, large fingers curling into hard fists at his side.

“With me?” he squeaks, spinning to face you, honeyed eyes tear you in two . It’s almost a relief, a weight lifted as he finally sees you, holds your gaze for the first time in a month;

“You should look in the mirror.” He spits, the alcohol on his breath fanning your face; “throwing yourself over our boss because you can’t take rejection!”

It’s your turn to say nothing.  You do nothing but shake like a trapped bird, winged and frantic. Whatever your face conveys, Spencer’s is stiff, a stoic mask giving nothing away.  

“Yeah” you scoff, a wave of rage rising from your stomach hot and forceful “I see.”

How dare he make such a foul insinuation. You loved Aaron but wouldn’t cross that line, but Spencer didn’t need to know that.  It didn’t take a genius, clearly to realise what was really going on here and you almost laugh in his face.   

“See what exactly?” you’ve peaked his interest but hold steady.

He’s so close now, so close you don’t feel like one person anymore. Standing in place in the cold, gravitating toward his warmth.  Brown rivulets fall in pieces around his face like a shield. The heady smell of faint cologne and black coffee fill your nostrils when you close in on him, ignoring the blaring of sirens and faint chatter from across the street.

“It’s funny. Your tongue in my mouth didn’t seem like rejection to me. But who cares?” You breathe in shakily, emboldened by a heady cocktail of liquor and adrenaline grab his forearm. “I’m going home with Aaron, right Spence?”

“Right..” Spencer breathes and steps in close, the ice in his eyes seem to crack imperceptibly.

“He’s going to touch me. Is that okay with you?”  Spencer’s breath hitches as your voice purrs between you. He’s not running and the low throb between your legs begs for more.

“He’ll lay me down.” You continue, trailing numb fingers up his arms to come rest at his neck revelling in the way he trembles.  “he’ll taste me.”  Spencer moans; a breathy thing, barely heard, barely there. You sway, overtaken by the pleasure of such an innocent sound. 

  Spencer stutters your name more earnest, more desperate, and you aren’t even pretending to argue anymore. You lick your lips and almost catch his chin with your tongue and he moans again, breathy and begging. Begging for something, begging for you. 

“And you know what?” you giggle now, pressing flush against him and feel just how much this is effecting him too. “He might just make me cum..”

The remnants of your laugh drown in his kiss; it’s flooded with frustration, hungry and wanton and the confidence of it knocks you back. He tastes like whisky and something sweet and soft that echoes through your body like a hiss down your spine. Moaning into it you know he feels it in his tongue where it strokes against yours.  He snakes a long arm around your lower back and swings you closer, his other hand continues its path up your neck to grasp your jaw and it takes all your self control not to drop to your knees in public.   As if reading your mind, Spencer pulls away, flushed and panting and hails a cab;

“Where are we going?” You laugh, a breathy wisp like sound but don’t get answer until he rambles your address, shoving a bunch of tens to the cab driver and suddenly you’re back where it all started. 

 

You fall together in the dark, grappling with his coat and your shoes that he bends chivalrously to undo; the simple act elicits a moan from your lips that stops Spencer in his tracks and you can’t help but clench your thighs together for any scrap of friction.  Spencer isn’t unaffected by the wanton noise but surprises you with a smug chuckle and the slow trail of his fingers against the pad of your foot as he divests you of the stiletto.  It’s downright perverse, the jolt of pleasure that runs through your body, an erogenous zone only he would remember – damn that eidetic memory.

“Tell me” Spencer breathes out finally, adjusting his slacks with a pained grimace

“God, Spence..” you reach down and card a hand through his hair, suddenly shy “taste me..please.”

Spencer’s hands swallow your thighs, pushing your dress to sit around your waist.  Your pulse pounds with anticipation and nerves, but you don’t miss his reassuring smile.  Your nod of permission is all but lost against the wall when he dips a finger into the silky fabric of your underwear, just grazing you to pull the scrap of material to pool at your feet. 

“Oh...my god.” You cry out and pull in a breath at the first wet press of his soft mouth, you’d spent more time than you’d admit out-loud staring at his lips – round coffee cups and pens, imagining this very moment.  What you didn’t imagine is him being so damn good, the flat swipes of his tongue just where you need, the desperate sounds that vibrate against your clit.  It doesn’t take much time to push you toward the edge, teetering – but his strokes turn languid, earning him a choking groan.

“Please, don’t..” you moan and grasp and the hair you can reach, desperate to put him back to work “don’t stop now..”  a small wave of dread follows the memory him a few weeks earlier.

“I—I’m not.” He begins, you know him enough to see the nerves bubbling up amongst his arousal and step forward, reaching for the top of his waistband. Spencer’s throat jiggles, swallowing a squeak as you slip a hand into the fabric and choke on a gasp at what you find;

“Jesus...” He’s rock hard and thicker than you expected. It seems to embolden him, your reaction and his awkwardness is stifled to a small laugh that morphs into a groan of pleasure when you wrap a hand around him.  He whines, bucking against your hand and it makes you weak, the whimpers coming from his perfect lips fuel to the fire.

“I’m, not going to last.”  Spencer shimmies out your grasp, haloed by the moonlight pouring in from the uncovered window, tall and beautifully undone.

The first time you’d touched each other it’d been desperate, the way you came together , grappling for each other.  You remember his face before he kissed you for the first time, much like the one he wears now, slinking forward, capturing your lips in a heady kiss that doesn’t stop until you hit the edge of your unmade bed.  In another world, you’d be embarrassed at the chaos that hints to your unravelling but he’s turning you round to straddle him, both hands working expertly at the material of your dress. He’s impossibly hard and groans deeper than you’ve ever heard him and it shoots a bolt of pleasure so deep you ground down against him, ripping at the material of his shirt to marvel him.  Spencer wasn’t like Derek, but god your imagination never put the pieces together quite like this.

“You’re so damn beautiful” you gasp, not giving him time to respond more than a muffled groan as you shove him into the bed. You don’t wait for him to respond, a slave to the throb between your legs, it takes seconds to strip him of all barriers.  Spencer says nothing, his mind seems blank for the first time, you watch his honeyed eyes commit you to memory forever, the swell of your breasts, the taste of your skin and the intoxicating wetness that drenches his lap.

“Please, I need you..”  you beg, as if he has control, as if you’re not just seconds away from sinking onto him.

Your gasp is strangled when he juts upwards, burying himself to the hilt. You almost don’t recognise yourself the way you cry in between dirty kisses that cover his neck, something that Morgan would definitely pick up on later – the thought of everyone witnessing your claim on him, the way you’ve made him your own sparks something like wildfire in your gut it drives your forward and you meet him in sloppy bobs of your hips.

The action sends Spencer reeling, his cock slipping easily out of you and before you grieve the loss of pleasure he’s looming above you,  messy and wild and so fucking gorgeous it takes tremendous self control not to cry right there. 

“Is this okay?” Spencer asks, nuzzling his question into your neck, smoothing the tip of his nose up and under your ear, to place a short kiss. 

“God, yes please.” You gasp at the bite of pleasure soaked pain when he stretches you open, tortuously slow. 

Spencer was a late bloomer, you knew that, but at this moment, when his expert fingers deftly catch the edge of your clit you’d never believe it.  The exquisite friction causes you to whimper into his ear, tugging a little too hard on his hair that fans your face as he thrusts.  You’re stuttering something akin to a plea, but he doesn’t give in that easily.

“Use your words.”  Your brain short circuits for a second, watching him draw back from your neck, pupils blown out with lust “ communicate, that’s a good girl.”

Any words you’d conjured up in your head die in the water, engulfed in moan that you’re sure three houses down could hear.  Spencer folds then,  swallowing your moans in a bruising kiss.

“Make me cum Spence”  you purr, rifling through his hair with one hand, pawing at his clenching stomach with the other.  He rewards you with rumbling growl, his fingers finding your clit without effort, tight rapid circles that have you bucking into his thrusts, pushing the both of you closer to the edge. 

You can’t stop it, you don’t even want to, for once in your life you let go. It crests like a sea, flooding through you and Spencer who growls and bites down on the gentle slope of your shoulder. 

Spencer collapses against you, sweating and gasping in what you think is pleasure but you quickly realise he’s laughing.

“What’s so funny Mr 187?”  you can only guess, but ever the educator, doesn’t leave you in the dark for long, rolling away he snuggles into your side. 

“I can’t believe it.” He sighs, lush with the heavy weight of post orgasm sleep “I wanted to do that for so long..” 

You can feel his nervousness in the beat of your silence and have to keep yourself from squealing in excitement like a love struck teen.  You turn slowly, eyes shining with unshed emotion that you know he can see laid bare.

“Me too..” you sigh, entangling his fingers into yours, rolling over to hook his arm across your stomach “you’re so damn good. For a late bloomer..” you snigger, erupting into giggles when he nips at the back of your neck.  You clench your thighs at the pleasure and can’t ignore the hard weight of his already hard cock at your back, but instead follow Spencer into sleep, cradling each other like sunken lovers on the ocean floor. 

When the sun drenches your bedroom in hazy light do you let yourself remember, grinning as the weight of Spencer Reid’s naked body wriggles against your own.  You catch yourself, just for a second, imagining a distant future of endless morning of this, but your dreaming is eventually interrupted by the rapid pulsing of a vibrating cell phone.  Lurching your heavy body awkwardly across the bed you pick through discarded clothes and answer the 8th missed call from Aaron Hotchner.

“Reid, where are you? We have a case.”

 A beat passes, a slow second of horrendous silence. You’d answered Spencer’s phone by mistake. Letting out a deep breath, resigned to the fact this is how they’d all find out if they hadn’t guessed already.

“Sorry Hotch. We’ll be there.”

With that, without saying another word you hang up and throw the phone into the corner of the room like it burnt. 

“I hope you’re prepared to answer so many questions about my sexual performance when Garcia gets hold of this!”  Spencer laughs, and you debate giving him blue balls for not coming to your rescue sooner.  But the near constant buzzing of your own phone on the other side of the bed tells you in no uncertain terms that Garcia had been privy to your very brief phone call with Hotch, who undoubtedly told them all to behave but you know better. 

Later, in the crisp afternoon air do you hook Spencer’s fingers in your own, a small gesture of solidarity and intimacy you can tell he greatly appreciated. From the end of the hallway, you spot the team who twist in a hilarious synchronicity. 

Spencer squeezes your hand and you bring them up between you kissing interlocked fingers.

Art history class taught you that hands were the hardest thing to master, but you’d hold his forever.

[namtans-jean-jacket]

ran and tul are so obsessed w each other I'm so excited to see them in englot form

[eileen-crys]

Happy birthday Freddie! 💕

With nefarious intent, the foursome observed the procession of creatures below them. Meadow and Dique kept eclectic company. Beside them sat an altogether different creature. He appeared as a dragonfly, which indeed he was. Few dragonflies owned names, though this one called himself Herald, in deference to his beloved trumpet, which lay on the grass beside him. Upon meeting the dragonfly, Meadow misheard the name as Harold - and the altered moniker stuck. Harold did not drink. Instead, he stood, stretching his insectile legs, revealing himself as the tallest of the group. "Midnight is not far off", observed the dragonfly. His eyes darted about, taking in the new moon, the surrounding forest and the steady stream of creatures entering the space from every direction. [...]

"What about you, Mustapha? Need a drink?" The fourth companion absorbed their exchange in silence, waving the bottle away with a shake of his head. Mustapha sat with long legs drawn up, chin resting on his knees. From beneath a dark curtain of hair, his pensive gaze fell upon the growing assembly. Mustapha's summons, the previous day, brought the group to this glade, deep in the forest of Petrichor. A grand heist required trustworthy co-conspirators.

This year I celebrate with an illustration that was kindly commissioned me by Craig Mulhall, the author of the novel "The King of Rhye" a Fantasy book based on Queen's songs and lore 🥰 I feel honored and I'm grateful that Craig gave me such freedom for this commission, it's been a lot of fun! I'm still halfway through the book, so -no spoilers!- I wanted to depict its very beginning, with Mustapha (Freddie) together with his friends: the pixies Dique (John) and Meadow (Roger) and the Dragonfly Trumpeter, Harold (Brian), all ready to start their mischievous plan! 😌💕 I hope you'll like this as well and don't forget to check out The King of Rhye and its sequel Metropolis, that just came out!

Here's some steps of the work, if you'd like:

Please do not repost! Reblogs and comments are welcomed 💜

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: July 2024 ~ 

🫐 Happy August!!! 🐝

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 Takara no Vidro - July 1st (Japan)

🌟 This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans - July 5th (Thailand) ✅

🌟 The Boyfriend (Gay Dating Reality Show) - July 9th (Japan)

🌟 The Next Altitude (BOC lineup event) - July 9th (Thailand)

🌟 Century of Love - July 10th (Thailand)

🌟 Meet You at the Blossom - July 11th (China/Thailand/Taiwan)

🌟 Heavens x Candy - July 13th (Japan)

🌟 Sky Valley - July 20th (Philippines)

🌟 I Saw You in My Dream - July 24th (Thailand)

🌟 4 Minutes - July 26th (Thailand)

🌟 Love Enemy - July 26th (Thailand)

🌟 Mitsuya Sensei no Keikakutekina Ezuke - July 26th (Japan)

🌟 Battle of the Writers - July 29th (Thailand)

Monthly Likes / Dislikes

❣️ - 👎���� No series but I find the whole Y-Find thing really fucked up like what are they thinking? I know it's the usual capitalism but to leave the winner with nothing but a paycheck and NO rights to their story whatsoever is wild to me. Kinda makes me want to write a story about Thailand's biggest company completely screwing over their fans and submit it lmao 💀

New series & movie announcements

🎥 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 P.S. You (starring Yoon Phusanu) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Buddy Boy - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Project Red (movie, starring BillkinPP) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Dear My Paradise - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 I'll Turn Back This Time - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 Host Friend - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Pretty Boys - Date TBA (Philippines)

🎥 Luminous Begins (prequel to The Luminous Solution) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Eternal Butler (sequel to Anti-Reset) - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 The Hell Guard - Date TBA (Thailand)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ After the withdrawal of Chimon W. from the upcoming BL Perfect10 Liners, GMMTV announced that company-newbie Santa P. will be taking on the role of Gun and thus become Perth's new partner in the show. Furthermore they announced that Chimon will still be taking part in the upcoming series Hide & Sis.

❗️ The production company Headliner Thailand announced that actor Seng Wichai will no longer participate in the upcoming BL project The Bangkok Boys due to scheduling conflicts. It has not been revealed whether or not his role will be recast.

❗️ Actor Frank T. made a post on Instagram, announcing the end of his ship with fellow actor Long Shi Lee, saying that there won't be any more joint projects as they are pursuing separate acting careers.

❗️ The annual Digital Awards Thailand were held on July 14th. The following BL actors/productions won:

UpPoom - Most popular pairing (My Stand-in)

GreatInn - Couple of the Year (Wandee Goodday)

MeenPing - Best Couple in a Sports Themed Series (The Rebound)

MosBank - Best BL Couple

❗️ Max Nattapol (Manner of Death) and Na Naphat (Until We Meet Again) will be paired as a side couple in the upcoming GL Petrichor. The show is an adaption of the novel of the same name and author Sammon has been confirmed as the screenwriter. An airdate is still unknown.

❗️ Former GMMTV actor Mike Chinnarat has joined the cast for the upcoming Domundi BL Your Sky as the character Oh. An airdate is still unknown.

❗️ GMMTV announced that their newly announced project Y-Find will accept submissions until August 31st. The project gives (only Thai) fans the opportunity to submit original BL/GL stories, one of which will be chosen to be extended and adapted into a series. The winner receives 30.000 Baht (~800$) and has to sign a copyright transfer agreement for the story and will not be involved in any of the further productions processes as all rights will be transferred to GMMTV. (wtf lmao)

❗️ The Korean vlog-style BL City Boy Log is getting a fourth season. An airdate is unknown.

❗️ GMMTV released a statement, declaring the end of Ohm P. and Nanon K.'s work as a pair and the end of the OhmNanon ship as a result. The pair debuted in Bad Buddy in 2021 and reunited for Our Skyy2 in 2023. According to the statement they want to pursue separate careers - Ohm will be the lead in the upcoming BL Kidnap where he is paired with Leng T. while Nanon has taken a step back from acting.

Upcoming series & movies for August

👉🏻 Sugar Dog Life - August 4th (Japan)

👉🏻 Summer Night (bl side story) - August 5th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Cosmetic Playlover - August 6th (Japan)

👉🏻 Monster Next Door - August 8th (Thailand)

👉🏻 First Note of Love - August 12th (Taiwan)

👉🏻 The Paradise of Thorns - August 22nd (Thailand)

👉🏻 My Idol - August TBA (South Korea)

[lalunanymph]

𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘

syp — you wait for rin to come home and no matter what, he always does.

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ mentions of injury, blood, bruises, broken bones, suggestive content, slight nipple play, mentions of babies, angst, mentions of death, emotional piece, slight character study, rin n reader are in their mid 20s

ೃ⁀➷ back on my ufc-verse brainrot n i couldn't get this out of my head ugh i just want soft!rin to be all over me :///

The clock struck two in the morning and he still wasn't home yet.

The beds of your nails were chewed down to translucent skin catching on the edge of his too large black t-shirt, and your palms were clammy and cold.

It wasn't like you were afraid.

Rin could hold himself up well from any perceived threat.

Rather, it was your own agitated thoughts which kept you in a loop somewhere between mounting panic and forced tranquility.

A listless quality befalls you when you turn your eyes towards the ticking clock with the words 'Y/N's kitchen' engraved across its porcelain face. Rin had got you that little trinket from an antique store beside his old fight ring as an apology for coming home yet again with another split lip and busted eye.

You didn’t comment on the shake in his fingers or the clandestine winces he made behind your back. Not wanting to ruin his gift. The next day, he had taken you to a friend of his tattoo artist and got it engraved with your name.

A little memory of me in our home, he had spoken softly, handing you the precious object.

Like his presence did not perforate every inch of this tiny apartment you shared with him.

From the rickety table holding his favourite horror novels and your fiction paperbacks to the lopsided console which housed spotted pictures of the both of you—everywhere you turned to look, the comforting presence of him blanketed over your erratic heartbeat like dew drops on a rain-soaked field.

Rin's presence reminded you of the smell of petrichor; faint memories of carefree days long gone. Replaced by bills crammed in your letterbox every tail end of the month, and texts from your workplace every Sunday night. He was a sliver of comfort in your dreary, fixed life, and you were sure that no matter how many days you spent roaming the earth, you would not find a hearth as comfortable as the ones his strong arms offered.

They did say home was where the heart is and yours was firmly with Rin.

You wanted him. In his entirety.

For better or for worse.

The clock chimed and the door turned.

His tired gaze appraised you, taking in your throat lightly bobbing with a hard swallow. The circles under his teal eyes were faint but noticeable, enrapturing you to drink him in. There was a bruise forming on his right jaw, and his bandaged hands were fists by his side. A film of quiet weariness hung over him, which meant he had won this evening’s fight.

He stood by the doorway, fettered to the spot from his unspoken greeting, and the worry brimming in your eyes. There was a faint relapse of composure in the form of those pretty irises faltering for a split second, and you took it as your cue to stand. To welcome him home.

"Rin."

"You're not asleep yet?"

How could he ask such a question with such callous disregard? Did he truly believed you could nod off without knowing if he was safe? If he was still alive?

Your boyfriend sensed more than understood that he had offended you. The slight downturn of your lips and the quiver in your clenched fingers spoke as much. His own fists were tightening, anticipating another fight—this one more lethal than the last one he was in. Rin was sure that if he failed to win this, it would mean more than a loss of his ego.

He would lose you.

And Rin could never afford to lose you.

"Y/N, I—"

His words are lost in your hair when you rush into his embrace, a flurry of mumbling and hitched sobs.

The serrated edge of white-hot bloodlust he held onto for the whole night ebbs out of him like a dark poison receding from his veins. He shuddered, wrapping his sturdier arms around you. He detected a hint of strawberry shampoo from your hair, and picked up on a weak waft of his cologne coming from the collar of his old sleep shirt you were wrapped in.

Rin lets the heady warmth of your body seep into his own, and he breathed you in deeper; letting your sweetness heal his sin. The bloodstains on his shirt and his bruised knuckles could never compare to how much of a balm your touch was for him.

He closed the door, locking it firmly shut and lifted you into his aching arms. Your legs tangled around his waist obediently, and he doesn't lift his head from the crook of your neck—knowing the path from door to room to hallway to bathroom like it was imprinted with permanent ink on the back of his closed eyelids.

You helped him shrug off his jacket and peel his sticky black compression shirt off his sore frame. His pants were off next, falling into a heap beside the lump of violence-stained clothes. Your gaze, always full of warmth, was hollow and scared; quick to assess the injuries on his tall frame, and the furrow digging the curve of your lips deepens, dragging the edges down.

Rin wanted you to forget he looked like this; that he had let himself get hurt when he promised you hours ago he wouldn't.

"It's my fault—" he started to say, but you cut him off with a grin as fragile as glass.

"It's not as bad as last time. Don’t worry.”

He leaned down to kiss you before your memories could get swept up in a current of bloody noses and dislocated joints. You taste the blood on his tongue, the hot breath of desperation moulding around your lips with sure, deep caresses.

You let him drive you back into a cool wall, the contrast of his hot palms on your hips also driving you to the edge of insanity. You opened your mouth hesitantly, and he brushed aside any existing shyness when he coaxed your tongue to twine with his.

Rin kissed you languidly for another few more seconds, keeping you focused on his presence and not the potential of his absence. It wasn't until strings of spit were connecting both your chins and the throbbing between your legs was demanding for a reprieve that he gently broke it off.

His forehead was a tacky, warm press on yours, and your fingers drifted closer to his torso, brushing the aching muscles with feather light touches. Rin didn't push you away, or tell you stop—letting you feel him. Letting you commit him back to your safe haven.

You started with the bruises on his sternum, some fresh, others faded. He hissed when you applied more pressure, but barely made a move to stop you. Emboldened, you let your touch drag up his solid pecs, pausing to briefly brush your thumbs across his rock hard nipples.

Rin's moan catches somewhere between a groan and a curse when you start to tug the rosy buds gently, rolling them in between your fingers. He was powerless to evade your hold, especially not when you focused your attention back onto his obliques. Tracing the dip of his abs, you let your attention consume every rise and valley of his body; moulding the hills and plains with your bare fingertips until he shuddered and braced two palms firmly on the wall behind you.

"I love you."

Rin blinked, the ache spreading across his chest second to the feel of the heel of your palm gently massaging a large bruise across his right hip. He drowned himself in the wondrous hue of your eyes that were shaded with so much love, Rin thought he could've went blind from such ardour.

"I love you, too."

He caught your hands before they could wander down further, lips brushing soft kisses on each pulse point three times—once for luck, twice for love and thrice for reassurance. Rin smirked inwardly when he felt your heart rate kick up a notch, and he continued to nuzzle your palms with more reverent kisses.

The best underground fighter in Japan knows the last thing he should do is make promises when he couldn't even guarantee if he would come back alive from the Blue Lock arena every time he was summoned for a fight.

But, he find that he wants to. It burns in the back of his throat, nearly dousing him in impulsive laughter to take you into his arms and whisk you away from this hell city. Away from the men who would threaten to rip you both apart if he gave up this life of bloodied fists and broken teeth.

Promises are nothing but broken wishes.

But, if he did make one, it would sound something like this:

I promise I will make you happy, baby. No more tears, no more deliberation, no more uncertainty. Just pure fucking happiness. I'll give you a home (not a shoddy apartment, a real real home), and we'll finally have a family. Two kids. Maybe three. I could do four if you're up for it. I'll pursue my degree and you can finally go back to school to finish yours. We won't have to worry about putting food on the table. We don't have to worry about late night emergency calls. It'll be you and me, together. Us and the life we built. Until the very end, baby.

He doesn't say those words; lets them implode and immolate in the recesses of his chest. He wished his hands could convey the words; that his touch could write his most desperate wishes across the soft curves of your hips and thighs.

Your lips painted whispers of devotion across his collarbone and he yearns to hear every single one of them over and over again until his life inevitably ends.

"I'm so glad you're home, Rin."

And just like that, his inner world erupts in sparks of ecstasy. He doesn't reply—fears that if he does, his voice would tremble and break—but he does close his eyes for a few seconds to let the implications of your words sink in.

Home.

Here, with him.

Rin doesn't want to make a promise he can't keep, so he settles for a simple assurance: to always come home to you no matter what, because home wasn't four walls and a roof over its head.

Home was the woman before him, gently sponging his cuts with antiseptic with her teeth caught over her lower lip. Whose expression brightened minutely the moment she realised he was starting intently at her. So full of love and ready acceptance.

You and your laughter, your love your soul.

You in its complete, heavenly entirety.

Home was you.

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, or claim as your own.

[pascalcampion]

La Nuit du chat is a graphic novel in the series “ Broussaille” by Franke Pe and Michel Bom.

I still remember reading this one for the first time, back in high school.

It changed my entire perception of what stories could be. To this day, it is still my all time favorite graphic novel because of the impact it’s had on me personally and my career( It doesn’t help that I’ve met Frank Pe a few years ago and he was just as lovely, charming and intelligent as his characters are).

There are a few things about this series and this character that impacted me.

First, it’s just beautiful. The simplistic characters in these gorgeous environments, the feeling of light and shadows is masterful. Every album is dripping with heat, mood, rainy weather. In the first book of the series, Les Balinese Publiques, the sky Is overcast and I could feel the wet pavement and the smell of petrichor. In the second one, Les Sculpteurs de Lumiere, the main character BROUSSAILLE goes to visit his uncle for the summer and the feeling of summer sun is incredible.

But, the one that astounds me every time I re read it is La suit du chat with it’s voyeur like camera work.

The second thing that broke and opened my mind was the story.

There are NO bad guys in this book. No big plot to save the world. It’s not a love story, not in the romantic comedy style at least. It’s just a simple story of a young man looking for his cat at night, in his neighborhood. There is a LOT happening in that one night and we meet interesting characters throughout.

One in particular stood out to me. A retired miner worker. One of the most extraordinary characters I’ve read in graphic novels.

There is a portion of the book where Broussaille is seeing inside people’s apartment. He’s outside on a wall looking at the facade of the building and sees through the windows. I realize how much of my work has been inspired by this and I didn’t even realize it till years later.

I bought this book when I was 15. I still have the original copy of that book and I take it with me every time I move. I re read it at least a few times a year.

I don’t know how easy it is to find in the US but if you could find it, I HIGHLY recommend it.

[charlesoberonn]

Friendly reminder about my collaborative worldbuilding server:

What Do They Eat?

It's loosely based on an old podcast idea I had. Every week we vote on a prompt and then develop a new fictional setting from that prompt.

This week we're not developing a new world but rather revisiting an old one.

Petrichor, a desert planet inhabited by anthropomorphic scavenging animals like hyenas, vultures, komodo dragons, and dung beetles. The people of Petrichor live off of giant mysterious corpses that fall from outer space, called Godfalls (like whalefalls in our oceans)

It explores themes of environmentalism, industrialization, class divide, cult indoctrination, and cosmic horror. It centers around a found family of outcasts who start a scavenging crew together.

It's my favorite world we've done so far and I'm super happy to go back to it. It also may or may not become the basis for a YA novel trilogy I will write in the future.

Come check it out!