#ultra stage video

[dekusheroacademia]

I kept chasing after you

[chancheols]

Gonna be real, was not expecting 1. The JiLix song to sound like that and 2. For it to be my favourite but, here we are lol.

Off first listen, I'd say it's:

1. Truman

2. Escape

3. Cinema

4. Burning Tires

[bitchslapblastoids]

a favorite dan moment ever

Things I love about this video:

The thought of Dan working hard to learn the dance in the first place (with the objective being to do it on stage, no less!) but it’s too fast :(

Phil’s “and how did that go?” spoken like a man who has been an audience of one and knows exactly how that went

Phil scooting his chair back and going straight into drake and nicki lap dance recipient positioning (closes legs right back up when sliding his chair back in)

Phil looking back and forth between camera monitor and Dan, he can’t help but laugh but also looks stunned, similar reaction to some of his sister daniel responses

Dan saying “Flash the puss”

bare feet in the air legs WIDE hands holding his own thighs up

Crazed energy - “couldadoneit, couldadoneit” looking winded and energized

“Ads Limitussied” why do I find him so fucking funny

Additional fun fact about my brain: I picture Dan doing the ‘pound, pound, pound, flash the puss’ bit every time I hear the end of the super graphic ultra modern girl bridge when she goes, ‘flash the camera flash the camera flash the camera you’re a star’

[kyunghwannie]

"Bloom in the Greenroom"

Im Nayeon x M!Reader

➤ Word Count: 13286 ➤Tags: Confession Lovemaking/Sex, Sloppy DeepThroat, Body Worship, Soft Marking (Hickeys), Thigh High Worship, Mirror Sex, Missionary, Cockwarming, Just Appreciating the Bunny

➤Teaser: The greenroom starts to feel like a fantasy—there’s no press, no cameras, no fans. Just Nayeon and her raw self. You start to question whether this is a job or something far more dangerous. (Note: This is just a scenario i had in my mind with my bunny queen, so yeah. Here it is.)

You're the lead set designer hired for a secret, ultra-exclusive TWICE photo exhibition that will never be released to the public—only to be stored in JYPE's historical archives. Each member has a private concept, and Nayeon's is themed “The Other Side of the Idol”—a mysterious, intimate concept that pushes the boundaries of her public image. Nayeon's "set" is a fictionalized luxury dressing room—mirrors, vanity lights, vintage chaise lounge, and costumes scattered like she just finished a solo stage. You're the only designer she's assigned to interact with, and she insists on no cameras, no staff, just you and her to "capture the mood."

But here’s the twist: Nayeon isn’t acting.

The more you build the space, the more it feels like you’re stepping into her personal world—filled with subtle signs that she’s letting her walls down for you. She starts showing up early. Staying late. Sitting in her stage outfit while watching you work. One day, she brings a disposable camera and asks to take pictures of you instead. Instead of you idolizing her, she becomes obsessed with watching you create. You're the artist, and she's the muse... but also the hunter.

Chapter 1: The Dressing Room That Wasn't and The Rose That Walked In

The keycard hummed as the scanner blinked green. You pushed the door open to the dimly lit set space, your boots echoing against the hollow wooden floor. You’d spent three weeks building this—what looked like a glamorous, lived-in dressing room carved out of memory and longing. Velvet curtains, a cracked vanity mirror, half-melted candles on the edge of a clawfoot tub that would never hold water.

This wasn’t for a music video or a CF. This set was a secret. A private photo exhibition. Never to be published. Never to be revealed to fans. Not even to staff beyond a select few.

Only for the JYPE archives. And for her. The muse.

Nayeon had chosen the concept herself. "The Other Side of the Idol," she’d said with a grin that didn’t reach her eyes.

You adjusted a lamp slightly, watching how the light hit the room’s dusty corners. That’s when the sound of heels tapped softly behind you. She was early. Again.

“You added flowers,” she said, stepping in. Her voice was light, but there was an edge in it—like a thread pulled tight.

You turned slowly, nodding toward the tiny glass vase on the vanity. “You said the space felt like it stopped breathing.” You paused. “Flowers help it exhale.”

She walked past you without responding, brushing close enough that you caught a trace of her perfume—vanilla, and something sharper. Maybe sandalwood.

Nayeon sat at the edge of the chaise lounge, legs crossed, one heel dangling lazily from her toe. She wore a deep burgundy silk robe, loosely tied, like she’d just finished a show you weren’t invited to.

“You know what’s weird?” she said, lifting a fake eyelash from the vanity. “This whole set looks like my old greenroom. But it feels nothing like it.”

You raised a brow. “Is that good or bad?”

She smiled without showing teeth. “That depends on what you want it to feel like.”

Silence stretched between you as she leaned back, one hand falling behind her head like a model posing without a camera.

Then—click. She pulled out a small disposable camera from behind a cushion. Raised it toward you. “Don’t move.”

The flash cracked. You blinked. “I’m not the one being photographed.”

“I know,” she replied. “But it’s fun watching you work.”

You couldn’t tell if she was teasing or testing you. She leaned forward again, elbows on her knees. Her voice dropped slightly, the way it did on stage when the mic dipped just right. “Tomorrow... I want to try something new. Lights off. Just the dressing room lamp. Nothing else.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because I don’t want to see myself the way the world does.” She paused. “I want to see how you see me.”

The camera clicked again. This time, no flash. Just the soft, plastic sound of her winding the reel. You swallowed. This room was never just a set.

You weren’t sure why you dressed up today. White pants. Crisp. Black shirt. Fitted, sleeves rolled just past your elbows. No paint stains. No chalk dust. Just... clean. Maybe it was how she looked at you yesterday. Or maybe it was how you looked at her—and how she let you.

The room was dim again. Just as she’d asked. No overhead lights. Just the glow from the vanity lamp and the soft amber hue of the vintage bulbs you’d strung behind the curtains. It cast everything in gold, like the whole room had been dipped in late afternoon sun.

You were adjusting the curtains when you heard the latch turn. No knock. No warning. She stepped in—and time didn’t stop, but you did. Nayeon didn’t walk into the set. She owned it.

Her top was a corset the color of forbidden fruit—deep red, with sculpted boning that hugged every curve, roses blooming along her neckline like secrets she wore openly. The sweetheart cut, the dainty straps, the way her collarbones caught the light—it was enough to make the air feel heavy.

Your eyes lowered—carefully, slowly. Not by choice, but gravity.

Black performance shorts. Practical. Unexpected. Over them, a flowing red wrap skirt that split down her thigh like a challenge. And beneath that? Sheer tights—stars or hearts, you couldn’t tell—danced subtly along the skin of her legs. Just enough to distract. Just enough to wonder.

She moved, and the slit shifted, and— You looked away. Too late. “You dressed up,” she said, a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. You cleared your throat. “Didn’t know I had a reason to.”

She walked past you, brushing her hand lightly across your forearm. “Maybe you did.” She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

Her hair was styled up, but messy—intentionally. A braid coiled into the bun, wrapped in a pink ribbon that made the whole thing feel too delicate for what she was doing. Wisps framed her face, softening the impact of a look that could otherwise ruin a man in seconds.

She stepped into the center of the room, turning slowly. “So?” she asked, voice velvet and edge. “How do I look… through your eyes?” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

“Not like an idol,” she said for you. She walked to the vanity, resting her hands on the edge as she stared at herself. “Not like a star.” She looked at you through the mirror. “Just like a woman. Right?”

You felt yourself tense. Not from discomfort. From restraint. “Nayeon...”

She turned to face you fully now. “This room doesn’t have cameras. No stylists. No expectations.” A beat. “So stop pretending you’re not looking at me like that.”

The light hit her just right, catching the soft shimmer in her tights, the curve of her waist under structured boning, the way her confidence wrapped tighter than the ribbon in her braid.

And still—she wasn’t posing. She was waiting.

“What are we really building here?” she asked softly. The question wasn’t about the set.

It's all Red Threads, Quiet Warnings

You didn't answer her question. Not out of rudeness—You couldn’t. Your throat felt dry. Your hands were still. Your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to stay professional, betrayed you. She stepped forward. Slowly. Not threatening, but not soft either. “You’re not used to women talking to you like this, huh?”

You gave her a look. It wasn’t defiance. It was restraint. Her eyes flicked downward, then back up to yours. “Is it because I’m your employer?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curving. “Or is it because you think if you say something wrong… I’ll report you?” That caught your breath. You shook your head slowly. “I’m just trying to respect a line.”

“What line?” She tilted her head, braid swaying slightly with the movement. “The one I already crossed? Or the one you’re pretending still exists?” Her words weren’t loud. But they landed with the weight of thunder.

You stepped back slightly, not out of fear—but instinct. Like your body knew something your mind hadn’t accepted yet. She followed. Not one step faster than necessary. Her heels made no sound on the carpeted floor. Just the whisper of a red skirt brushing her tights.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, almost sweetly now. You nodded once. She looked at the vanity mirror again—at her reflection. “When I first saw you, I thought you were like everyone else who works with me.”

Her fingers reached up, tracing a rose on her corset as if distracted. “But then… you didn’t look at me like a product. Not once. Not even when you thought I wouldn’t notice.” You stayed silent. She turned again, fully, like she was done talking to her reflection. “Do you know how rare that is?”

You gave her a soft, careful answer. “I figured you deserved more than that.” Her smile came back, this time slower. But there was something else in it now. A heat beneath it. Not desire—Claim.

“That’s the thing,” she said. “I do deserve it. And that’s why I want it from you. Only you.” Your breath caught. She stepped in closer. No distance this time. “You’re scared.”

She looked into your eyes like she was reading a confession. “Not because you don’t want this. But because you do.” And suddenly, it didn’t feel like a flirtation anymore. Not a game. Not a teasing idol showing off for a camera. It felt like something sacred—and dangerous. Like the moment right before a match hits gasoline. You said her name once, quietly. “Nayeon.”

She nodded once, gently. As if acknowledging something unspoken. Then she leaned in—not enough to touch. Just enough to feel the temperature shift. “I don’t want anyone else building this world with me,” she whispered. “So if you walk away now, do it before I start thinking you’re mine.”

She didn’t move closer anymore. She stayed in front of the vanity, both palms flat on the table’s edge as her reflection stared right back at her—but her voice? It was meant for you.

“It didn’t start loud,” she said softly, adjusting the strands that framed her face, not even glancing at you. “It started quiet. Like everything dangerous does.”

You stayed still. She wasn’t performing. She was confessing.

“It was little things at first. Like how you remembered I hate loud velcro sounds on mic packs…” Her fingers gently tugged a bobby pin out of her bun. “…or how you started grouping outfit racks by my color preferences even when the stylists didn’t ask for it.”

Another pin. Another slow undoing.

“Then it was the way you brought me ginger tea without asking, and how you always found the one chair in the dressing room with good back support before I got there.”

She breathed out through her nose, almost in a laugh, but not quite.

“Do you know how strange that felt? To be known without having to speak?”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t try.

“Then I caught myself being angry…” she continued. “…when some new male staff kept staring at me during rehearsals.”

Her voice didn’t raise. If anything, it lowered. “I didn’t like it.” She finally looked at you through the mirror. “I hated it. Because it wasn’t you.”

The ribbon fell from her braid as she pulled the last strand loose. It slipped to the floor. “I didn’t even realize I started avoiding stage crews that weren’t you. Or how I stopped letting stylists adjust my waist unless you were around.” Her lips pressed together for a moment. You saw her jaw clench—once. “I don’t know when it got worse.” She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. “Maybe it was when I changed an entire stage theme last minute just because you said the previous one didn’t feel like me.”

She turned her body slightly, still watching you through her reflection. “You were just trying to help. But I…” A pause. “I wanted you to see me more than anyone else ever would.” The room felt hotter now. Or quieter. Or both. “And when our usual manager got sick, and you stepped in…” She gave a soft, bitter chuckle. “…I knew it was over.”

You stayed rooted, not because you didn’t care—but because you cared too much to move. “You weren’t just directing a stage. You were managing me.”

She reached behind her head and started retying her hair, deliberately. “Without touching. Without claiming. Without ever overstepping.”

Her voice grew even lower now. More precise. “So tell me…” she said, finishing the knot of her new messy bun and locking eyes with you through the glass, “…how am I not supposed to get possessive?”

The silence between you two was not empty It was full. Of everything you’d never said. Everything she just had..You finally opened your mouth—but only with a whisper. “You deserve more than this.”

And for the first time, she turned fully, leaning against the vanity. Her eyes never left yours. “I don’t want ‘more,’ Y/N.”

She tilted her head just slightly. “I want you.”

The silence between you hadn’t broken yet. Not really. Her confession still lingered in the air like the faint trace of her perfume—roses and static electricity. And then, she moved. Not toward you. Not yet.

She reached behind her and slowly pulled out a slim, folded piece of paper from the drawer beneath the vanity mirror. “Here,” she said, voice as light as lace. “This is my solo rehearsal schedule. You’re not on shift for any of it, are you?”

You blinked. Shook your head once. “Didn’t think so.” She smiled—too softly. “I just changed it.”

Your eyes dropped to the paper in your hands. Three new days were circled in red. Times adjusted. Locations too. And then you saw it—a fourth circle. Bigger. Handwritten. Your name scribbled next to it in her sharp, slanted script.

Y/N - “Invite Only” | Backroom Studio B - 8PM | Friday.

Nayeon stepped away from the vanity now, slowly walking past you—her hips swaying with that same burlesque flair her outfit was built for. But her voice didn’t match the strut. It stayed terrifyingly calm. “Because I know you’ll come.” She brushed a strand of her hair over her shoulder, stopping just inches away now. “Because I saw how you looked at me today… and the other day. And the one before that.”

You froze. “I know the way your voice changes when you say my name.” Her hand reached forward—not to touch you, but to gently straighten the collar of your shirt. “And I know you’d never cross the line…” she whispered. Then her eyes met yours again. “…but I can.”

Her fingers lingered on the edge of your collarbone before she turned, heels clicking softly as she walked toward the door. Just as she turned to leave, her hand paused on the doorknob. Something about your stillness… made her smile to herself. “One more thing.”

She pivoted—just a step—and walked back to you. Her heels slow on the floor, her gaze fixed like she was memorizing you. When she stopped in front of you, you expected more teasing. A smirk. A giggle. A look over the shoulder.

You did not expect her fingers to hook your collar, dragging you forward in one smooth, practiced tug— —until your breath hitched. “Don’t be late on Friday.” Her voice was low, smoky.

Then—without warning—she kissed you. Not a shy press. Not a testing touch. It was intentional. Possessive. Deep. Her plump, glossy lips sank onto yours, molding like velvet, parting as she sucked on your lower lip—slow and perfectly sinful.

You could feel the way her breath mingled with yours. The wet, delicate smack that came from her lips pulling away echoed louder than it should’ve in the quiet room.

She looked up at you, not even out of breath. “I’ll be wearing something… possessive.” And just like that, she released your collar, turned, and walked out. The door clicked behind her, leaving you frozen. Chest tight. Lips tingling. Mind spinning. She’d crossed the line—and made sure you’d never forget who did it first.

Prelude: The Line Wasn’t Blurred. She Erased It.

There were a hundred things you could’ve said after she kissed you. A thousand, maybe. But you didn’t say anything. You just stood there. Heart racing. Collar wrinkled. Mouth slightly open where her lips had just been. You’d kissed people before. You weren’t a teenager. But this wasn’t just someone.

This was Nayeon. Im Nayeon. The face of the company's biggest female girl group. The center of TWICE. Your artist. Your responsibility. Hell, in most situations—she was practically your boss.

And yet…Your body didn’t move for minutes after she left. The ghost of her lips haunted your lower lip. Her perfume clung to your clothes. The way she whispered, “I’ll be wearing something possessive,” kept looping in your ears like it was part of a song.

You sat down on the couch, fingers locking together, elbows on knees. This was wrong. It should be wrong. But was it? She hadn’t been impulsive. She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t confused. She was calm. Steady. Intentional. She kissed you like she already decided what you were.

And part of you? Some sick part or what is it even sick to feel care? You liked it. You’d spent months watching over her. Taking care of little things no one asked you to. Making sure her schedule had breathing space. Helping her stylists avoid dangerous outfits without restricting her shine despite not being the mainstream manager. You knew her preferences without needing to ask. Her tells. Her moods. Her quiet boundaries.

You cared about her. Deeply. But maybe that was the problem. Somewhere along the way, care had started melting into something else. And now…? Now there was no line. Because she erased it. And worse? You didn’t feel like to want to draw it back. Not anymore.

Chapter 2: The Princess Doesn’t Wait. She Reigns.

The lights in the private studio lounge were dimmed low—low enough that even your footsteps felt louder than they should’ve. She was already there. And this time, she didn’t pretend to be busy. Didn’t fiddle with her phone. Didn’t fake nonchalance.

She sat in the center of the leather couch, one leg crossed over the other like a throne had been carved for her. And God, the outfit.

The deep violet satin mini dress shimmered with every breath she took, hugging every curve with a dangerous elegance. The thin spaghetti straps clung to her shoulders like secrets. But it was the matching satin opera gloves that got you—that old-Hollywood, vintage fantasy that made her look like a woman both untouchable and made for sin.

Wrapped around her legs, crystal thigh and calf chains sparkled under the studio lights, draped like jeweled restraints that only drew more attention to her long legs. She wore clear heels that vanished into the floor, making the focus land exactly where she wanted it—on the dazzling chains, and the slow, deliberate way she moved.

Her hair was curled into perfect vintage waves, soft yet seductive. And atop it, a large black bow headband gave her an almost doll-like charm—if dolls could look at you like they owned your pulse.

She looked up slowly. “You’re late, Oppa.”

Her tone wasn’t scolding. It was soft. Sweet. Like a sugar cube melting into tea—deceptively gentle.

You swallowed. You were wearing a fitted black blazer over your white shirt, sleeves pushed up slightly, the way you always did when work got serious. But now, under her gaze, even your most professional outfit felt like a joke. Like a weak defense.

She didn’t ask you to sit. She waited. Poised. Playful. Dangerous. And then— She patted the seat beside her. “Come here. We have… things to discuss.”

Your mind screamed about boundaries. Your heart reminded you how her lips felt. And your feet? Your feet were already moving. You sat beside her. Not too close. Not far either. But you didn’t lean back. Because if you did, her thigh—adorned with those glittering leg chains—would brush yours. And that felt like more than just skin. It felt like surrender.

She watched you settle in, lips curled into something between mischief and menace. “You look serious,” she said, voice velvet-smooth, gaze locked on you like you were hers to read. “Are you scared I’ll do something inappropriate?” You opened your mouth—but nothing came out. Nayeon smiled. Not her public smile. Not the wide, idol smile that had lit stages for years. This was different. This was a woman’s smile. Calm. Decided. With no room for retreat.

She leaned in slowly, resting her arm along the back of the couch, her gloved fingers just barely grazing the curve of your shoulder. “Let me ease your mind, then,” she whispered. “Tonight… isn’t about impulse.” Your heart beat faster. Her perfume wrapped around your throat. “Everything I’m doing…” Her fingers dipped lower, trailing the edge of your collar. “…has been decided. Calculated. Prepped.”

She looked down at her own outfit then, smoothing a hand along her thigh, letting the crystals shimmer and catch your distracted stare. “I don’t wear something like this by mistake.” Silence. Except for the faint, almost cruel smirk she wore when she glanced at you again. "Tonight, Oppa. Bigger lines will be crossed..."

Her voice dropped just enough to make the world feel smaller. “And I’m telling you now… so when it happens—” She leaned in again, breath warm on your ear. “—you don’t lie to yourself… and say you didn’t know.” Your body was stiff. Your chest tight. But not from fear. From that stupid restraint you didn’t want but instinctively have. From the undeniable truth: you didn’t want to stop her. And she knew it.

So she pulled back. Elegant. Composed. As if she hadn’t just shattered every professional boundary in the room. Then she looked straight ahead—at her reflection in the black mirror wall across from you. And in that quiet, with her face glowing under the soft lights, she whispered without turning: “You’ve taken care of me for long enough.”

“Now let me take what’s mine.”

You didn’t say a word. Not because you didn’t have questions. Not because you didn’t have objections. But because your mouth couldn’t form any. Because Nayeon had already decided.

She slowly turned her head toward you, no longer teasing, no longer playing with the moment like it was a game. Her eyes searched yours, and for the first time, you saw everything—clear, raw, and scarily calm. “I know what I’m doing.” She said it softly, but every syllable was locked in. “And I’m not sorry for any of it.”

Her gloved hand lifted again, this time not just grazing. She touched your jaw gently—gliding across the stubble with satin and certainty. Her thumb paused on your bottom lip, as if revisiting the kiss she’d left you with earlier in the week.

She was closer now. You hadn’t noticed when she moved. Or maybe you had, but didn’t care. Her body angled toward you, her leg brushing yours now and staying there. Her perfume—sweet florals and something warmer—flooded your senses.

“I waited.” Her hand now cupped your face. “I watched you be careful… kind… respectful. I loved it.” Her voice cracked into a whisper, “But I hated it too.” Your heart hit your ribs. She leaned forward. The tip of her nose almost brushed yours. “Because I want the version of you that doesn’t care.” “The one that doesn’t think I’m your idol. Or your boss.”

Her lips hovered. Almost there. Heat pulsing between you. “I want the one that wants me.” She paused just before the kiss, searching your eyes—giving you the final moment. The final chance to stop this. But your silence was permission.

So she kissed you again—not sweet this time. She gripped your collar with one hand and pulled you into her mouth like she was claiming territory. Her lips pressed firm and slow before she sucked your bottom lip between hers, deeper this time, wetter. The smack that echoed as she pulled back made your entire body tighten.

Her breath shook slightly when she exhaled. Her other hand slid down to your thigh, resting—not testing—like she was checking how much further she needed to go before you gave in completely. “Tell me to stop,” she said, her voice low, hot against your mouth. But you didn’t. And she knew you wouldn’t.

Nayeon’s kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. Her gloved fingers tightened in your collar, dragging you deeper into her mouth as if she could swallow your hesitation whole. The satin of her dress whispered against your chest, the heat of her body searing through the thin fabric. When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath uneven. "You still think I deserve better?" she murmured, her voice rough. "Then tell me to stop."

Your hands hovered at your sides, fists clenched—fighting the urge to touch her, to ruin her. "Nayeon…" you exhaled, voice strained. "You’re—"

"I’m what?" she challenged, pressing closer, her thigh sliding between yours. The crystal chains on her legs clicked softly, a cruel reminder of how exposed she was—how willing. "An idol? Untouchable?" Her gloved hand trailed down your chest, stopping just above your belt. "Or just a woman who wants you?"

You swallowed hard. She smirked, slow and knowing, before leaning in again—this time, her lips brushed the shell of your ear. "You don’t get to decide what I deserve," she whispered. "Only what you’ll give me." Her hand slid lower, fingertips tracing the outline of your cock through your pants. You jolted, a sharp inhale cutting through the silence.

Nayeon’s eyes darkened. "There he is," she purred. "The man who wants me." Your resolve cracked. One hand finally lifted, trembling, to cup her cheek. She leaned into it, her lashes fluttering shut for a brief, vulnerable second—before her fingers curled around your wrist, guiding your touch down.

Over the swell of her breast. Over the dip of her waist. Over the curve of her ass, the satin clinging like a second skin. "Touch me like you mean it," she breathed. "Or walk away now." Your fingers flexed against her hip—hesitant, aching. Nayeon’s lips parted in a silent gasp when you finally dug in, pulling her flush against you. "Fuck," she choked out, nails biting into your shoulders. And just like that— You were both falling.

Nayeon kissed you again—harder this time, desperate, like she was trying to erase something. Her gloved hands framed your face, holding you in place as her lips moved against yours with a bruising intensity. The satin of her dress rustled as she pressed closer, her body trembling against yours.

And then— Wetness. A single tear slipped between your lips, the salt sharp against your tongue. Your eyes flew open. Nayeon was crying. Not the pretty, delicate tears of an idol—but something raw, aching, her breath hitching between kisses like she was fighting for air.

You pulled back just enough to see her face. "Nayeon—" She shook her head, her grip tightening. "Don’t," she whispered, voice breaking. "Don’t stop." But you had to. Your thumbs brushed under her eyes, smearing the dampness across her cheeks. "Look at me," you murmured. She did. And what you saw there— Hunger. Fear. Longing. It shattered you.

"You are better than this," you said softly. Nayeon let out a choked laugh, her fingers curling into your shirt. "You still don’t get it, do you?" Her voice was raw, stripped bare. "I hate being better. I hate being perfect. For once—" She swallowed hard. "For once, I just want to be wanted."

Your chest ached. Because you did want her. Not just her body—not just the fantasy. Her. The real Nayeon—the one who laughed too loud, who pouted when she didn’t get her way, who cried in dressing rooms when the world wasn’t looking. The one who was terrified of being loved for the wrong reasons.

Your hands slid down to her waist, holding her like she might disappear. "I do want you," you admitted, voice rough. "Too much." Nayeon’s breath hitched. "Then take me," she whispered. And this time— When she kissed you, it wasn’t just heat. It was surrender.

Her body melted against yours, her gloves slipping into your hair as she poured every unspoken word into the press of her lips. The chains on her legs jingled softly as she hooked one around your hip, pulling you closer, closer— Until there was no space left between you. Until the only thing that mattered was the way she shook when you touched her. The way she whimpered when your fingers traced the bare skin above her stockings. The way she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her grounded.

And when she finally pulled back, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed— Her eyes were still wet. But she was smiling. "Finally," she breathed. And just like that—You were both lost.

Nayeon’s breath was warm against your lips as she pulled back just enough to study your face. Her gloved fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, like she was memorizing you. "You’re still thinking too much," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to the satin covering her pulse point. "Hard not to," you admitted, voice low. "When it’s you."

Her lashes fluttered, a soft oh escaping her before she leaned in again—but this time, her kiss was different. Slower. Deeper. Like she was trying to pour every unspoken word into the way her lips moved against yours.

Your hands slid down her back, fingers skimming the delicate straps of her dress before finding the zipper at her nape. A question lingered in the pause of your touch. Nayeon answered by arching into you, her lips parting in a silent yes. The zipper came down with a whisper, the violet satin pooling at her waist—revealing lace the same shade, clinging to her curves like a second skin.

You exhaled sharply. God, she was beautiful. Her breasts rose with each unsteady breath, the lace of her bra doing little to hide the peaks straining against the fabric. The gloves, the chains, the bow still perched in her hair—she looked like a fantasy. But the way she shivered when your fingers brushed her bare waist? That was real.

Nayeon’s hands found yours, guiding them up her sides, under the lace. "Touch me," she breathed. "Please." Your palms slid over her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. She whimpered, her head falling back as you traced the lace’s edge, teasing but not yet crossing.

"Y/N—" Her voice cracked. You kissed the plea from her lips, swallowing her gasp as your thumbs finally—finally—dragged over her nipples. Nayeon jolted, her nails digging into your shoulders. "Fuck," she choked out, hips jerking forward.

You groaned at the contact, your own control fraying as she ground against you. The heat of her, the wetness already soaking through her panties—She was done for you. And you hadn’t even taken the lace off yet. Nayeon’s hands fumbled with your belt, her gloves making the task clumsier than usual. She let out a frustrated noise, and you couldn’t help but chuckle against her lips.

"Let me," you murmured, catching her wrists. She pouted—actually pouted—and the sheer Nayeon-ness of it made your chest ache.

You kissed her again, slow and sweet, as you undid your belt yourself. Her breath hitched when your pants loosened, her hips rolling instinctively against yours. "Impatient," you teased, nipping at her lip.

She huffed, but her defiance melted into a moan when your hand slid between her thighs, fingertips tracing the damp lace. "You—ah!—you’re one to talk," she gasped, her legs trembling.

You smirked, dragging a finger along her soaked seam. "This all for me?" Nayeon’s cheeks flushed darker, but she held your gaze, defiant even as her body betrayed her. "Who else?" Your finger dipped beneath the lace, and her breath stuttered. So warm. So wet. So Nayeon like. Was that even a thing? Doesn't matter?

You swallowed her moan as you circled her clit, slow and firm, relishing the way her hips chased your touch. "Y/N—" Her voice was a broken thing, her gloves fisting in your hair. "Don’t stop, don’t stop—" You didn’t. Instead, you sank to your knees. Nayeon’s eyes flew wide. "W-wait—"

But you were already pressing a kiss to the lace covering her, your tongue tracing the wetness there. She shrieked, her thighs clamping around your head. "Oh my god—" You grinned against her, hooking your fingers into her panties and dragging them down just enough to taste her properly.

Nayeon sobbed, her hands scrambling for purchase on your shoulders. "F-fuck, fuck—" Her hips jerked as you licked into her, slow and filthy, savoring every twitch, every gasp. The chains on her legs jingled with every uneven shift of her thighs, the sound mixing with her broken moans.

This was Nayeon. Not the idol. Not the fantasy. Just a woman, unraveling in your arms— And letting you watch. Nayeon’s thighs trembled around your head, her breath coming in ragged gasps as your tongue worked her over—slow, thorough, devoted. Her gloved fingers twisted in your hair, not pushing you away, but holding on, as if she might float away if she let go.

Then— A breathless, broken laugh escaped her. You paused, pulling back just enough to glance up. Nayeon was smirking down at you, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from biting them. Tears still glistened in her lashes, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were alight with something wicked. "All this time," she panted, "you could’ve just said you wanted me."

Your face burned. She tsked, shifting her hips just enough to grind against your mouth—deliberate, taunting. A whimper slipped past her lips, but her voice stayed steady, laced with amusement. "Instead of—ah!—playing the noble fool."

You groaned against her, your fingers digging into her thighs. She was insufferable. And yet— You licked her again, slow and firm, relishing the way her smirk faltered. "F-fuck—!" Her head tipped back, but she forced her gaze back to yours, stubborn. "D-don’t think—nngh!—this gets you out of talking."

You nipped at her inner thigh, and she jolted, a high-pitched noise escaping her. "Bastard," she gasped, but her legs fell open wider. You pulled back fully this time, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "You’re really going to scold me," you muttered, "while I’m on my knees for you?"

Nayeon’s grin was triumphant. "Yes." She hooked a leg over your shoulder, her heel digging into your back. The crystal chains clicked as she flexed her foot, drawing your attention to the way her lace-clad cunt glistened—still aching for you.

"Because you knew," she continued, voice dropping. "You knew how badly I wanted this. Wanted you." Her gloved hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up. "But you made me wait. Made me beg."

Your throat tightened. She wasn’t wrong. The late nights in the greenroom, the stolen glances, the way her fingers always lingered when she handed you a coffee—you’d seen it all. And you’d ignored it. Not because you didn’t want her. But because you were terrified of what it would mean to take her.

Nayeon’s thumb brushed your lower lip, her expression softening—just for a second. "Idiot," she whispered. "I chose you." Then her grip tightened, her smirk returning. "Now prove you choose me too."

The lights hummed softly overhead, casting a golden glow over Nayeon’s bare shoulders, the violet lace, the sweat-slick curve of her throat. Your hands still rested on her thighs, but they’d gone still. "What do you see in me?"

The question slipped out before you could stop it—quiet, fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. Nayeon blinked. Then— She laughed. Not cruelly. Not dismissively. But like you’d just asked her why the sky was blue.

"You’re serious?" She shifted, her leg sliding off your shoulder as she sat up straighter. The chains on her thighs jingled, mocking the sudden tension in your chest.

You swallowed. "I need to know."

Nayeon studied you for a long moment, her smirk fading into something softer. Something real. Then, with a sigh, she reached for your hand—and placed it over her heart. Her pulse raced beneath your palm, fast and frantic. "You feel that?" she murmured. You nodded, mute. "That’s you," she said simply. "That’s what you do to me."

Your breath hitched. Nayeon’s fingers laced with yours, squeezing tight. "You think I don’t know what it’s like? To be looked at but never seen?" Her thumb traced your knuckles, slow, deliberate. "Fans see ‘Im Nayeon.’ The company sees ‘TWICE’s center.’ Even the members—" She hesitated. "They see the unnie who has to be strong and chaotic at times."

Her voice cracked. "But you?" She lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "You saw me. The girl who steals extra snacks from catering. The one who cries at dog commercials. The idiot who stays up too late watching bad dramas and laughs at the wrong parts." A tear slipped down her cheek. "You noticed," she whispered. "And you stayed."

Your chest ached. Because she was right. You’d seen the way she tucked her knees to her chest during breaks, the way her voice softened when she talked about her family, the way she glowed when someone praised her—not for being perfect, but for trying. And you’d loved her for it. Silently. Helplessly. Completely. Nayeon leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. "So don’t ask me why," she breathed. "Just know." Her lips brushed yours—soft, sweet, certain. And in that moment— You did.

Nayeon’s breath hitched when you nudged her back onto the chaise lounge. The violet satin of her dress pooled around her waist, framing the lace beneath like forbidden treasure.

You didn’t rush.

Instead, you traced the lines of her—starting where the gloves ended at her wrists, skimming up the delicate inner skin of her arms. She shivered under your touch, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird as you pressed kisses along the way.

"Y/N…" Her voice was barely audible.

You looked up, holding her gaze as you reached her shoulder—then bit down, lightly, on the strap of her bra.

Her lips parted in a silent oh.

You tugged the lace aside with your teeth, baring one perfect breast to the studio’s warm light.

Slow.

Intentional.

Your lips closed over her nipple, swirling just enough to make her back arch—but not enough to give her what she really wanted.

Nayeon whimpered, her gloved hand fisting in your hair. "P-please—"

You pulled back, breathing hard. "Look at me."

And she did.

Her pupils were blown wide, her cheeks flushed, her lips slick from where she’d bitten them.

You palmed her other breast, thumb teasing the peak through damp lace as you lowered yourself between her thighs.

She jerked when your nose brushed her inner thigh, the chains on her legs clinking softly.

"You’re shaking," you murmured against her skin.

Nayeon let out a shaky laugh. "Y-you’re torturing me."

You smirked, dragging your lips higher—kissing every inch but never where she needed it most.

Her thighs trembled around your head, her hips lifting in silent plea.

Finally—finally—you blew a slow stream of air over her soaked lace.

Nayeon sobbed, her back bowing off the chaise. "F-fuck—!"

You hooked your fingers into her panties, dragging them down just enough to expose her—glossy, pink, achingly bare.

Yours.

"Eyes on me," you reminded her, voice rough.

Then—

You licked.

A slow, flat stripe from her entrance to her clit, savoring the way her breath caught, the way her stomach clenched.

Nayeon’s grip on your hair tightened, her hips rolling unconsciously. "M-more—"

You gave it to her.

Your tongue circled her clit firmly before sucking it lightly between your lips—just how you knew she liked it.

Her back arched, a broken noise tearing from her throat.

"F-fuck, fuck—!"

You moaned into her, the vibration wringing another gasp from her lips. Your hands slid under her thighs, lifting her higher, closer—giving you better access to devour her properly.

Nayeon’s legs shook violently, her moans pitching higher as you fucked her with your tongue, deep and languid.

"Y/N, I—ah!—I can’t—"

Her words dissolved into a wordless cry as you slid two fingers inside her, curling just so—

Nayeon screamed, her back lifting clean off the chaise as she came, her thighs clamping around your head like a vice.

You rode her through it, gentling your touch as the waves subsided—but never stopping, never letting her come down fully.

Only when she collapsed back, boneless and gasping, did you finally pull away—your chin glistening, lips swollen.

Nayeon stared at you, chest heaving, her expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

"Come here," she breathed, tugging you up by your collar.

You went willingly, crashing into her kiss—letting her taste herself on your tongue.

The chaise lounge creaked softly as you reclined, your back pressing into the plush velvet. Nayeon knelt between your legs, her satin gloves smoothing up your thighs before pausing at the waistband of your underwear.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced up at you—teasing, yet tender.

"Don’t close your eyes," she murmured, fingers hooking into the fabric. "I want you to watch."

Then—

She pulled them down, and your cock sprang free, already flushed and leaking against your stomach.

Nayeon’s lips parted, a soft oh escaping her as she took you in.

"Fuck," she whispered, gloved fingertips tracing your length. "Knew you’d be pretty."

You groaned, hips jerking at the contact—but she tutted, pressing you firmly back into the chaise.

"Ah-ah," she chided, her thumb swiping over your tip, smearing pre-cum. "You don’t get to rush this."

Her tongue darted out, catching the droplet before it could fall.

Then—

She sank down, taking you into her mouth in one smooth motion.

"Ghk—! Mmmph~!!"

Nayeon’s nose crinkled as your cock hit the back of her throat, her eyes watering instantly. She pulled off with a wet pop, spit strands connecting her lips to your shaft.

"Hnngk—! C-Cough—!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her glove, grinning up at you. "S-Sorry. Forgot how big you are."

You reached for her, but she batted your hand away, shaking her head.

"Nuh-uh," she teased, licking a stripe from base to tip. "My turn to worship."

Then she swallowed you again—deeper this time, her throat fluttering around your girth as she fought her own gag reflex.

"Glrrk~… Mmmf~"

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard, saliva bubbling around your cock. The noise alone made your thighs tremble, your fingers tangling in her hair instinctively.

"Blrrgh— Hahh~!"

She pulled off, panting, spit dripping down her chin in shiny rivulets. "Fuck, you taste—" Then she dove back in, her lips sealing around you with desperate hunger.

"Schllp~ Ghh—!"

Her pace grew sloppier, her nose pressing into your pelvis as she took you as deep as she could. Tears welled in her eyes, her throat convulsing around you—

"Nghh—! Ghh—!"

You groaned, your hips bucking despite yourself. "Nayeon��fuck—!"

She moaned around you, the vibration making you see stars—

Then she pulled off entirely, gasping for air, her lips swollen and glistening.

"Hck—! S-Slow—!" she pleaded, but her eyes—her eyes were dark, hungry, her fingers stroking you relentlessly.

"Like this?" you rasped, thumb brushing her cheek.

She nodded, leaning into your touch—then surged forward again, her mouth sealing over your tip as her hand worked your length.

Nayeon’s rhythm was perfect—just enough suction to make your toes curl, just enough teeth to keep you on edge.

"Grgk~ Nn—!"

Your fingers tightened in her hair as she deepthroated you again, her throat clenching around you like she never wanted to let go.

"Hrgk—! T-Too deep—!" she choked around you, but she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

Her free hand found yours, squeezing tightly as she took you deeper, harder, her tears streaking her mascara—

And still, she kept her eyes locked on yours.

Watching.

Loving.

Devouring.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your thighs trembling under her ministrations. "N-Nayeon, I’m—"

She hummed, the vibration shooting straight to your core—

Then she pulled off with a wet schlick, her lips red and swollen.

"Not yet," she whispered, crawling up your body to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. "I’m not done with you."

Nayeon’s skin was a paradox.

Smooth as poured cream, yet alive—flushing under your touch like dawn breaking. The violet satin dress had slipped to her waist, pooling around her hips like a discarded dream. The lace beneath clung stubbornly, but you took your time, tracing the lines of her with your lips first.

Her collarbone—delicate, the dip there begging to be filled with your tongue.

Her cleavage—soft, yielding, the scent of her perfume (something expensive, something hers) mingling with sweat.

Her navel—a shallow well, the kind you could drown in if you weren’t careful.

And lower—

Not yet.

You’d savor the journey.

Nayeon’s breath hitched when your lips found the hollow of her throat.

"Y/N—"

You hummed against her skin, sucking gently—just enough to pinken the flesh, not enough to bruise. Yet.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging lightly. "M-more," she whispered.

You obeyed.

Your mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping the swell of her breast before laving the sting away with your tongue. Nayeon arched, a broken sound escaping her as you took her nipple into your mouth through the lace.

"Oh—fuck," she gasped, her back bowing off the chaise.

The fabric grew damp under your attention, her peak stiffening against your tongue. You teased her—sucking lightly, then pulling back to blow cool air over the wet spot.

Nayeon whined, her hips rolling helplessly. "T-tease," she accused, but her hands cradled your head closer.

You smirked against her skin, moving lower.

Her stomach tensed as you kissed a path down her midline, your tongue dipping into her navel. Nayeon jolted, a breathless laugh bubbling up.

"T-that tickles—"

You nipped the soft flesh just below, silencing her. "Bastard," she breathed, but her thighs fell open wider.

The dress was in your way.

You tugged it lower, your fingers brushing the lace of her panties—same violet, same sin. Nayeon lifted her hips, letting you peel the satin down her legs, the fabric catching on her crystal chains before pooling on the floor.

Finally.

Bare except for the lace clinging to her hips, the gloves still on her hands, the bow still in her hair—

Yours.

You kissed the inside of her thigh, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. Nayeon jumped, her breath coming faster.

"Gonna mark me?" she challenged, her voice trembling.

You glanced up, holding her gaze as you sucked a bruise into the tender flesh.

Nayeon cried out, her back arching off the chaise.

"F-fuck, yes—"

You moved to the other thigh, repeating the process—suck, lick, bite—until she was squirming beneath you, her skin blooming with your fingerprints, your mouth.

"Mine," you murmured against her hipbone.

Nayeon’s hand fisted in your hair, dragging you up to meet her lips.

"Prove it," she breathed.

Her kiss was feral, all teeth and tongue and desperation. You could taste yourself on her lips, feel the way her body shook against yours.

"Off," she demanded, tugging at your shirt.

You obliged, stripping it over your head before pressing her back into the chaise.

Nayeon’s hands roamed your chest, her gloves leaving trails of fire in their wake. "So good," she murmured, her nails scraping your nipples. "So perfect for me."

You groaned, your hips rolling against hers instinctively.

Nayeon smirked, her fingers trailing lower, lower—

Then she stopped, her eyes locking onto yours.

"Say it," she whispered.

You knew what she wanted.

"Yours," you admitted, voice rough.

Nayeon’s smile was triumphant.

Then—

She flipped you onto your back, straddling your hips with a look that promised ruin.

"Now," she purred, grinding down on your cock, "let me return the favor."

Nayeon’s hands were not gentle.

Her satin gloves dragged down your chest, fingers splaying over your ribs like she was memorizing the architecture of you. The bow in her hair had come loose, dark strands framing her face as she leaned down—close, closer—her breath hot against your skin.

"You marked me," she murmured, her teeth grazing your collarbone. "Now let me ruin you."

Then she bit.

Not hard enough to break skin—but enough to make you jolt, your back arching off the chaise.

Nayeon laughed, low and throaty, her tongue soothing the sting before moving lower.

"Hah—fuck—" you gasped, fingers twisting in the chaise’s velvet.

She ignored you, her mouth mapping your chest with a ferocity that bordered on holy. Every kiss was a prayer, every nip a psalm—

And you were her altar.

Her teeth found the hollow there, sucking until the skin purpled. "Mine," she whispered against the mark, her gloved thumb pressing down—owning it.

Her tongue traced the dip between your pecs, slow and filthy, before she sealed her lips over your heartbeat. "I can feel it," she breathed. "How much you want me."

Her nails raked down your torso, leaving faint pink trails in their wake. When you jerked, she pinned your hips with hers, her smirk wicked. "Stay still," she chided, before laving her tongue over the sting.

Here, she was merciless. Her teeth sank into the soft flesh above your waistband, her moan vibrating against your skin as you cursed. "N-Nayeon—!"

She pulled back just enough to admire her handiwork—the blooming bruises, the spit-slick skin.

"Perfect," she decided, her voice rough with want.

Then—

She licked a stripe up your cock, her eyes locked onto yours.

"Now beg," she ordered.

You didn’t.

Couldn’t.

The words stuck in your throat, choked by the sheer intensity of her gaze.

Nayeon tsked, her gloved hand wrapping around your length, stroking just enough to make your toes curl.

"So stubborn," she mused, her thumb swiping over your tip. "But I know you."

Her lips wrapped around you, sinking down until your cock hit the back of her throat—

"Ghk—! Mmmph~!!"

She gagged, tears welling in her eyes—but she didn’t pull away.

Just looked at you.

Watched you unravel.

Owned you.

Nayeon pulled off your cock with a wet pop, a string of spit still connecting her swollen lips to your tip. She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with hunger.

"Mmm… that’s enough lube," she murmured, her fingers stroking you lazily. "My bunny pussy’s soaked already anyway."

You snorted, the absurdity of her phrasing cutting through the haze of lust.

"Bunny pussy?" you repeated, grinning.

Nayeon pouted, her nose scrunching up in that way it did when she was flustered but refusing to admit it. "What?" she huffed, smacking your pec lightly. "I am a bunny. I’m living up to the nickname."

You laughed, your fingers threading through her hair, tugging her down for a kiss. She melted into it, her body pressing against yours, her lace-clad cunt grinding against your thigh.

"Fuck, you’re dripping," you groaned against her lips.

Nayeon whined, her hips jerking forward. "Y-Yeah, well—" She broke off with a gasp as your fingers slipped beneath her panties, tracing her slick folds. "Ah! S-See? Told you—"

You tsked, pulling your hand away just to watch her squirm. "Impatient."

She growled—actually growled—before shoving you back onto the couch. The chaise was just wide enough for her to straddle your lap, her knees bracketing your hips as she loomed over you.

"You’re mean," she accused, her fingers digging into your shoulders.

You smirked. "And you love it."

Nayeon huffed, but the way her thighs trembled betrayed her.

Then—

She yanked you forward by the hair, her lips brushing your ear.

"Claim me," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Or I’ll do it myself."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your hands found her waist, lifting her just enough to guide her onto your cock. Nayeon moaned, her head falling back as you filled her, inch by aching inch.

"F-fuck—!" Her nails scraped down your chest, her thighs clamping around your hips. "S-So big—"

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder. "Nayeon—fuck—you’re squeezing me—"

She laughed, breathless, her hips rolling experimentally. "Good," she purred. "Means you won’t last."

You gritted your teeth, your grip on her waist tightening. "Wanna bet?"

Nayeon’s grin was wicked.

Then—

She moved.

Slow, agonizing rolls—her hips grinding down in tight circles, her walls fluttering around you. "Mmm… you feel that?" she murmured, her breath hot against your lips. "How much I want you?"

Sharp, stuttering bounces—her thighs slapping against yours, her moans pitching higher with every sink of your cock into her. "Ah! Ah! Y/N—fuck—!"

Deep, punishing drives—her back arching, her cunt clenching as she chased her own pleasure. "D-Don’t stop—don’t stop—!"

You watched her—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her tits bounced with every movement—and knew you were ruined for anyone else.

Nayeon’s hands fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to meet her gaze.

"Mine," she panted, her hips stuttering. "Say it."

You groaned, your fingers digging into her ass. "Yours."

She smiled—triumphant, beautiful—before crashing her lips onto yours.

Nayeon trembled above you, her thighs shaking, her moans breaking into whimpers.

"I-I’m close—" she gasped, her nails biting into your skin. "Fuck me harder—"

You flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head as you pounded into her.

Nayeon screamed, her back arching off the couch.

"Y/N—please—!"

You groaned, your hips stuttering—

But you stopped.

Nayeon whined, her cunt clenching around you. "W-Why—?"

You smirked, brushing her sweat-damp hair from her face.

"Because I can," you murmured.

Nayeon growled—

Then yanked you down by the hair, her teeth sinking into your shoulder.

"Bastard," she hissed.

You laughed—

Then moved again.

The chaise lounge creaked beneath you as you shifted Nayeon onto her back, her legs parting instinctively to cradle your hips. The violet lace of her bra was barely hanging on, one strap slipped off her shoulder, her skin flushed pink from collar to chest. Her gloves were ruined—stretched, damp with sweat, one nearly sliding off her trembling fingers.

But her eyes—

Her eyes were fixed on yours, wide and dark and achingly vulnerable.

You braced yourself above her, your forehead pressing against hers as you sank back into her, slow, so slow, letting her feel every inch.

Nayeon’s breath hitched, her lips parting in a silent oh.

"Look at me," you murmured.

She was.

She didn’t stop.

Her back arched, her nails scraping down your arms. "Ah—!" A ragged gasp, her thighs squeezing around your hips. "S-Slow—slow—"

You obeyed, rocking into her with deliberate, dragging strokes, letting her walls flutter and cling to you.

Her breath came in shaky bursts, her hips lifting to meet yours. "Y/N…"

You swallowed her whimper with a kiss, your fingers threading through hers, pinning her hand beside her head.

Her other hand fumbled at your jaw, her glove slipping as she tried to keep you close. "D-Don’t—don’t look away," she begged, her voice breaking.

You didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Not when her pupils were blown black, her lips bitten red, her cheeks streaked with tears she didn’t even seem to notice.

"Nayeon," you choked out, your hips stuttering.

She felt it—the way your control frayed—and her smile was triumphant. "C-Close?"

You nodded, your forehead dropping to hers.

She wrapped around you—legs, arms, soul—her breath hot against your lips. "M-Me too," she whispered. "W-Wanna come… with you…"

You groaned, your thrusts turning jagged, desperate.

Nayeon whined, her back bowing off the chaise. "H-Harder—please—"

You gave it to her—one, two, three punishing drives—

And then—

She fell apart.

Nayeon wailed, her cunt clenching around you like a vice, her nails drawing blood down your back.

You followed—helpless—your hips jerking through the waves of her orgasm as you spilled into her, your groan shattering against her lips.

For a moment—

There was nothing but her.

Her breath.

Her heartbeat.

Her name on your tongue.

Then—

Nayeon’s arms tightened around you, her face pressing into your shoulder.

"Don’t move," she mumbled, her voice thick. "Not yet."

You didn’t.

The room was silent save for your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the air conditioning, the occasional drip of sweat from your temple onto her cheek.

Nayeon’s fingers traced idle patterns on your back, her other hand still tangled in your hair.

"Hey," she murmured.

You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze.

She was smiling—soft, real, her mascara smudged, her lips swollen.

"Hi," you breathed.

Nayeon laughed, her nose scrunching. "You’re heavy."

You snorted, rolling off her—but not away, your arm curling around her waist to tug her against your side.

She went willingly, her head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing the marks she’d left on your skin.

"Mine," she declared softly.

You pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Yours."

Nayeon’s fingers traced idle circles on your chest, her head still resting against you, her breath warm against your skin. Then, with a soft, almost hesitant sigh, she tilted her face up to look at you—her cheeks flushed, her lips still kiss-swollen, her eyes shy in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Y/N…" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You hummed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Hmm?"

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening slightly on your arm. "Can we…" A pause, her lashes fluttering as she glanced away for a second before meeting your gaze again. "Can we try it in front of the mirror?"

You blinked. Then—

A soft laugh escaped you, your thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "You want mirror sex?"

Nayeon pouted, her nose scrunching in that way it did when she was embarrassed but refusing to back down. "I-I just—" She huffed, her fingers pinching your side lightly. "I wanna see you. All of you. While you’re inside me."

Your breath hitched.

How could you possibly deny her?

The dressing table wasn’t far—just a few steps from the chaise, its wide mirror framed by glowing bulbs, the surface cluttered with makeup, hairpins, and half-empty bottles of perfume.

Nayeon giggled as you lifted her into your arms, her legs wrapping around your waist instinctively. "You’re strong," she teased, her lips brushing your jaw.

You smirked, setting her down on the edge of the table, her back to the mirror. "And you’re light," you countered, your hands sliding up her thighs.

She shivered, her breath catching as you nudged her legs apart, stepping between them.

Then—

You turned her.

Nayeon gasped as she faced the mirror, her reflection staring back at her—flushed, disheveled, your body pressed against her from behind.

"Oh—" Her voice was barely a whisper.

You leaned down, your lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Look," you murmured. "Look at how beautiful you are."

Wide, dazed, locked onto the mirror as your hands slid up her torso, cupping her breasts through the ruined lace of her bra. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, her hips pressing back against you.

Pink and marked—bruises from your teeth, red streaks from your nails, the faint sheen of sweat making her glow under the vanity lights.

Dark against her pale skin, possessive as they traced her curves, memorizing her. One hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing her clit, and Nayeon jolted, her back arching.

"F-fuck—!"

You smirked against her shoulder, your other hand tilting her chin up, forcing her to watch. "See how wet you are?" you murmured, your fingers sliding through her slick folds. "All for me."

Nayeon whined, her thighs trembling. "Y-Yes—yours—"

You guided yourself to her entrance, your cock pressing against her, not pushing in yet—just letting her feel the weight of you.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the table. "P-Please—"

You tsked, nipping at her earlobe. "Ask nicely."

Nayeon moaned, her head falling back against your shoulder. "Fuck me," she begged, her eyes locked onto yours in the mirror. "Fuck me right here."

You sank into her in one slow, agonizing thrust, her walls fluttering around you, her moan shattering the air.

Nayeon’s hands clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white, her reflection wrecked—lips parted, eyes wild, her chest heaving.

"O-Oh my God—"

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you bottomed out, your hips flush against her ass. "Fuck, Nayeon—"

Her fingers dug into your thigh, her voice breaking. "M-Move—please—"

You did.

Slow, deep rolls—your hips grinding against her, your cock dragging against her walls in a way that made her sob.

"Y/N—ah!—I c-can’t—"

Hard, punishing thrusts—her body jolting forward with every snap of your hips, her tits bouncing in the mirror, her moans pitching higher.

"F-faster—faster—!"

Desperate, unsteady drives—her thighs shaking, her cunt clenching around you as she teetered on the edge.

"I-I’m gonna—ah!—Y/N—!"

You watched her—watched the way her face twisted in pleasure, the way her nails scratched at the table, the way her entire body trembled with need.

And then—

You stopped.

Nayeon whined, her hips jerking back, trying to chase her release. "N-No—don’t stop—!"

You smirked, your hands gripping her waist, holding her still. "Not yet," you murmured, your lips brushing her ear. "I wanna see you beg."

Nayeon growled—

Then twisted in your grip, her hand fisting in your hair as she yanked you into a searing kiss.

"Bastard," she hissed against your lips.

You laughed—

Then moved again.

Nayeon’s body arched like a bowstring, her back pressing flush against your chest as the orgasm tore through her. A broken, guttural sound ripped from her throat—something between a sob and a scream—as her cunt clenched around you in rhythmic, violent spasms.

"F-FUCK—!"

Her fingers scrambled against the vanity table, knocking over a bottle of foundation that rolled off the edge and hit the floor with a thud. But she didn’t even notice—her entire world had narrowed to the white-hot pleasure searing through her veins, to the way your cock stretched her even as she came apart around you.

You groaned, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as her walls milked you, your own release barreling toward you like a freight train.

"N-Nayeon—I’m—"

She whimpered, her hips jerking weakly. "D-Do it—inside—"

That was all it took.

With a choked gasp, you pulsed into her, your hips stuttering as you spilled deep, so deep, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs.

For a moment—

There was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the drip of sweat from your temple onto her bare back, the thunder of your heartbeats syncing in the aftermath.

Then—

Nayeon collapsed forward, her elbows hitting the vanity with a clatter, her entire body trembling.

"H-Holy shit…" she panted, her voice wrecked.

You chuckled breathlessly, your hands smoothing up her spine. "You good?"

She let out a weak laugh, her cheek pressing against the cool surface of the table. "I think you broke me."

You didn’t pull out.

Couldn’t.

Not when she was still clenching around you, her body refusing to let go.

So you stayed.

Your arms wrapped around her waist, your chest pressed to her back, your lips brushing the nape of her neck as you both breathed.

Nayeon sighed, her fingers lacing with yours where they rested on her stomach.

"Mmm…" she hummed, her voice slurred with exhaustion. "S’nice…"

You smiled, nuzzling into her hair. "Yeah?"

She nodded, her hips shifting just enough to make you both groan. "Y-Yeah…"

A beat of silence.

Then—

"We should… probably clean up," she mumbled, though she made no move to do so.

You snorted, your hands drifting lower, kneading the soft flesh of her thighs. "In a minute."

Nayeon huffed—but she was smiling, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted back into you.

"…Fine."

The studio was a wreck—clothes strewn across the floor, the chaise lounge dented from where you’d gripped it too hard, the vanity table covered in smudged makeup and spilled perfume.

But neither of you cared.

Not when Nayeon was curled in your lap, her head resting on your shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your chest.

"Hey," she murmured.

You hummed, your hand stroking her hair. "Hmm?"

She tilted her face up, her nose brushing your jaw. "…Wanna do it again?"

You laughed, your arms tightening around her.

"Yeah."

The backstage room was quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of fabric as Nayeon shifted in your arms. The scent of sex and sweat still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of her perfume. The vanity mirror was fogged in places, the chaise lounge still bore the imprint of your bodies, and the floor was littered with discarded clothes—evidence of the three rounds of lovemaking that had left you both boneless and sated.

Nayeon’s fingers traced idle circles on your chest, her head resting against your shoulder. Then, without warning, she pinched your side—hard.

“Ow—what was that for?” you yelped, jerking slightly beneath her.

She lifted her head, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a pout that was more adorable than threatening. “You,” she declared, poking your chest with each word, “are infuriating.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

Nayeon huffed, sitting up fully, the sheet pooling around her waist. “All those weeks of you avoiding me during my solo shoots. Acting all professional. Ignoring me when I tried to flirt.” Her voice rose slightly, her cheeks flushing. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to focus when you were just—just standing there, looking all handsome and unattainable?”

You stared at her, your lips twitching. “Wait. You’re mad because I was doing my job?”

“YES!” She threw her hands up, then immediately winced, her muscles protesting the movement after the night’s activities. “Ugh. You did this to me.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, reaching for her waist to pull her back down. She resisted for all of two seconds before collapsing against you with a grumble.

“Nayeon,” you murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear, “you’re a global superstar. I wasn’t about to risk your career by getting caught making out with you in the dressing room.”

She glared, but there was no real heat in it. “You should have.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes.” She sighed dramatically, her fingers playing with the chain around your neck. “I had to suffer through months of you being all stoic and responsible while I was dying inside.”

You smirked. “And yet, here we are.”

Nayeon’s expression softened, her thumb brushing your lower lip. “Here we are,” she echoed quietly. Then, after a beat, she added, “You’re lucky I love you.”

Your chest tightened. “Yeah,” you whispered, pulling her closer. “I am.”

Nayeon continued her tirade—though it was half-hearted at best—while you rubbed her sore shoulders, pressing kisses to the marks you’d left earlier. “And another thing—”

You nipped at her earlobe, cutting her off. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

She squeaked, swatting your arm. “I’m serious!”

You grinned. “I know.”

She grew quiet after a while, her fingers tracing the scars on your knuckles. “...I hated it, you know,” she admitted softly. “Pretending I didn’t want you.”

You kissed her temple. “Me too.”

Nayeon tilted her head up, her eyes searching yours. “No more avoiding me,” she ordered.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No more avoiding you.”

She nodded, satisfied. Then, with a wicked grin, she added, “Good. Because I have plans for you.”

You groaned, already knowing you were in trouble.

=====

Chapter 3 – Velvet Wrinkles and Soft Warnings

You tried to sit up, but your spine protested, and you flopped back down with a low groan.

Nayeon looked down at you with that look—a cocktail of amusement, triumph, and just a pinch of superiority. Her gloved fingers plucked your ear.

“Come on, teddy bear. Clothes. Before someone comes in and sees my entire career laid out on the floor like an after-party crime scene.”

You groaned again, throwing an arm over your eyes. “My legs don’t work, Nayeon. You drained me. Literally. Spiritually.”

She reached over and flicked your forehead.

“Then I’ll walk out first. In this, no less—” she motioned toward the satin mini dress still half-slipped down her thighs, “—and let’s see how long it takes before the stylists start whispering or dispatching a fire extinguisher.”

You shot up like a guilty teenager. “Okay okay, message received.”

She smirked in victory, rising carefully from the chaise lounge and wincing a little as she stretched her legs. The leg chains sparkled again under the light, but you noticed how gently she moved. How she touched her hip, then her shoulder.

Without a word, you reached over and helped lift her dress back up, your hands careful, smoothing the fabric back over her skin.

She paused, eyes on you as you adjusted the strap.

“You’re not allowed to be this gentle after being that feral.”

You fought a smile. “Well, you’re not allowed to be this dramatic after pinching me in your sleep.”

Nayeon gasped, feigning offense. “That was subconscious retaliation! And you deserved it!”

You pulled your shirt over your head, then leaned in to peck her shoulder. “I’ll take whatever punishment you want, Nayeon.”

She looked at you for a moment. Her lips twitched into a small, knowing grin.

“You say that now…”

As she adjusted her gloves and stepped into her heels, she kept glancing sideways at you. Like she wanted to say more but was choosing not to. So you zipped her up silently, your fingers grazing her back, and gently handed her the black bow headband she’d thrown across the room earlier.

She placed it on her curls carefully, then turned to you. Serious this time.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

She stepped forward again, standing toe-to-toe, her gloved hands flattening the collar of your shirt like it annoyed her. She looked up.

“You’re mine now.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a claim. It was just… truth. Spoken with soft finality.

“Got it?”

You nodded.

“Got it.”

She smiled—genuine this time. No teasing. Then, with a very Nayeon mix of grace and flair, she grabbed her bag, fixed her lipstick in the mirror without looking at you once, then turned toward the door.o

“Also,” she called without turning, “next time? Don’t leave any hickeys where the stylists can see them. I still have an album jacket shoot on Sunday.”

You flinched.

“Right. Sorry.”

She paused at the door, turned slightly, and added, “But leave one or two where only I know. Just so I remember.”

And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, hips swaying like nothing ever happened.

You stood there dumbfounded, still half-dressed, heart pounding. You were in so much trouble.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

Chapter 3 (Part 2) – Red Lights and Violet Fire

Two days later.

The studio was drenched in golden afternoon light, bouncing off the metallic set panels and catching on every sequin, lens, and strand of Nayeon’s styled hair. The crew bustled around the scene like bees in a hive—but you were dead silent.

Eyes locked on the monitor. On her.

Today’s concept was “dangerous elegance.” Sleek silhouettes. Moody lighting. A throne-like chair in the middle of the set. Nayeon sat in it like she was born on it—one leg crossed over the other, her smirk sharp, her dress a form-hugging deep garnet number that could stop traffic. Her hair was straight this time, tucked behind one ear, and her makeup screamed dominatrix meets runway royalty.

Your headset buzzed.

“Director Y/N? She’s ready.”

You nodded, speaking into the mic. “Cue camera three. Steady on her left side. Backlight needs a quarter dim—there’s too much glare on her cheekbone. Let her eyes breathe.”

You glanced up.

And she was staring directly at you.

The second she caught your eye, her smile curled dangerously. Like she knew what she’d done to you two nights ago. Like she planned on doing it again.

You cleared your throat and forced your eyes back to the monitor. Professionalism. Right. That old friend.

“Nayeon,” you called gently, “give me something with your eyes. Like you’re royalty… but lonely. In control, but aching.”

She tilted her head. Slowly. Seductively. Her lips parted just slightly as she exhaled, eyes narrowing.

Oh, she’s playing with you.

Everyone else clapped at her acting, impressed.

You weren’t fooled. That look wasn’t acting.

That was for you.

An hour later, the last shot of the day wrapped. Everyone exhaled as lights dimmed and equipment was wheeled off. Staff patted each other’s backs. Photographers scrolled through thumbnails, proud.

You? You were trying to get the hell out of the room before you did something that would make headlines.

But just as you pulled off your headset—

“Y/N.”

Her voice behind you. Low. Smooth. Dangerous.

You turned.

Nayeon stood near the corner exit, now wearing a black silk robe over her shoot outfit, her heels clicking against the studio floor. She glanced over her shoulder with a look that froze time.

“Come here.”

You swallowed hard and followed.

She tugged you around a blind corner behind the lighting rig—just far enough from everyone else. The smell of her perfume hit you first—spicy, soft, sweetly ruinous.

And then—

Her lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t teasing. It was hungry. Months of tension, weeks of restraint, two nights of memory combusting into one kiss you couldn’t stop if you tried.

She broke away with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’ve been dying to do that all shoot.”

You blinked, breathless. “That was… incredibly risky.”

She smirked. “You think I care?”

“You should.”

“I shouldn’t.” She kissed your jaw. “But I don’t.”

Then she turned and began walking toward the dressing room. But halfway there, she paused—looked over her shoulder—and said it with a fire that pulled every last thread of professionalism out of you:

“By the way… I cleared the rest of my schedule tonight.”

You froze. “…You what?”

She kept walking.

“I told the stylists I needed ‘deep tissue therapy.’ I told management you requested time to ‘refine our performance synergy.’”

You blinked. “You lied?”

“I acted.” Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder as she entered the dressing room.

Then, just before the door closed, her voice called out again:

“Now come inside, Oppa. Before I drag you in myself.”

Click. The door shut.

You stood there in the now-empty studio hallway, heart pounding, mouth dry, adrenaline roaring.

And then you walked. Fast.

Because professionalism could wait.

She couldn’t.

Epilogue – Morning Glory (and Regret?)

You groaned.

Not because you were waking up early. Not because of the sun slanting through the blinds of Nayeon’s bedroom window.

No.

You groaned because every damn muscle in your body ached. Particularly… certain regions that had no business being sore in that way.

You turned your head slowly on the pillow and squinted. Nayeon was lying next to you on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek like an angel, her bare shoulder peeking out from the sheets. She was smiling in her sleep.

Smiling.

Like she hadn’t just spent half the night breaking you in the most surprising way imaginable.

You muttered under your breath. “I should’ve known she’d be into that.”

As if summoned by your complaint, Nayeon’s eyes fluttered open, the corners of her lips already curling.

“Morning, Oppa,” she purred, voice still raspy with sleep. “Feeling stretched?”

You rolled onto your back and groaned again. “Nayeon.”

“Hmm?” She leaned over you, her hair falling over your chest like a curtain.

“You lied. You said you’d never tried that before.”

She blinked innocently. “I hadn’t.” Then grinned, smug. “But I’m an incredibly fast learner.”

You covered your face with both hands, dragging them down slowly. “I think you broke me.”

She giggled. “No, Oppa. You broke me. I’m the one who was singing praises in three languages last night.”

You glared. “You were also the one moaning my name like a prayer. Don’t act like you didn’t ascend.”

She leaned down and kissed your cheek. “That’s because you’re huge and freakishly talented. But you’re also very whiny in the morning.”

“Because my everything hurts, Nayeon.”

She cooed. “Aww. My poor baby bear. Want me to kiss it better?”

Your glare sharpened. “Don’t make me limp away from this bed.”

“You won’t.” She crawled on top of you, pinning your arms above your head like it was nothing.

“Because,” she whispered against your ear, “I already booked us a room at the hot springs later today.”

You blinked. “…You what?”

“Mhm.” Kiss to your neck. “And I cleared both our schedules for tomorrow.”

“Nayeon—”

“So you can rest.” Kiss to your jaw. “And eat well.” Kiss to your chest. “And train properly.”

You froze.

“…Train?”

She lifted her head and beamed.

“I meant what I said, Oppa.” A wicked glint in her eye. “I loved it. So we’re doing it again.”

You groaned, flopping dramatically onto the pillow.

“God help me.”

Nayeon laughed and curled up beside you, draping her arm around your stomach like she owned you now.

And honestly?

Maybe she did.

[END.]

[almostyours]

█████████   ARE  YOU  LOST?  ARE  YOU  LOOKING  FOR  HOME?  FOLLOW  THE  MOON  AND  JOIN  THE  ANGEL  NETWORK!

ævenue  777  is  a  music  broadcast  channel  created  by  and  for  the  members  of  hiraeth,  designed  to  give  them  a  space  to  share  more  of  their  music  beyond  their  discography  and  sound.  more  than  just  a  creative  outlet,  it  allows  them  to  explore  their  artistry  as  full-time  musicians,   where  they  reveal  original  songs,  release  unreleased  music  from  past  and  scrapped  projects,  experiment  with  new  sounds,  and  make  covers  with  their  own  twists  without  the  need  of  an  official  release.  daily  click. 

originally  created  for  the  angels  of  asia  only,  the  project  eventually  expanded  as  its  success  skyrocketed,  even  leading  to  the  group's  main  vocalist  earning  their  first  prestigious  award  without  ever  formally  debuting  as  a  solo  artist.  as  ævenue  grew,  it  opened  up  to  other  artists  from  their  company  modern  marie,  allowing  them  to  release  and  perform  unreleased  songs  through  the  channel  as  well.  despite  this  wider  involvement,  hiraeth  remains  at  the  heart  of  the  project,  continuing  as  the  original  creators,  main  producers,  and  the  driving  force  behind  its  unique  identity. 

ævenue  serves  as  a  music  archive  for  hiraeth,  broadcasting  short  and  entertaining  games,  exclusive  music  showcases,  and  live  performances  with  a  full  band.  unlike  traditional  releases,  many  of  these  performances  are  never  officially  archived  or  reuploaded  (though  exceptions  have  been  made  before),  making  the  channel  station  notorious  for  its  lost  media  status.  while  some  footage  resurfaces  through  fan  recordings  and  illegal  leaks,  much  of  what  airs  remains  a  mystery  and  a  lost  treasure  to  many,  with  their  management  quick  to  copyright  anything  shared  without  authorization.

the  project  is  currently  divided  into  seven  seasons,  starting  the  year  after  their  debut  and  continuing  to  this  day.  each  broadcast  is  carefully  crafted,  with  the  angels  participating  as  hosts  and  bringing  a  distinct  aesthetic  to  every  episode.  it  airs  once  a  year  on  channel  777,  the  angel  network,  aligning  with  the  rise  of  the  black  moon.  this  unique  schedule  has  cemented  its  status  as  an  ultra-exclusive,  almost  hidden  event,  resembling  the  likes  of  the  concept  of  the  black  moon.  

the  show  has  only  grown  in  popularity  over  the  years,  drawing  a  strong  viewership  and  building  a  loyal  fanbase  through  the  years  (are  we  sure  isn’t  it  just  people’s  fomo,  though?).  airing  just  once  a  year,  each  episode  runs  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  sometimes  even  a  little  longer,  delivering  breathtaking  live  performances  and  striking  stage  designs.  every  detail,  from  the  lighting  to  the  set  pieces,  is  meticulously  designed  to  match  that  year’s  theme,  creating  an  immersive  experience  for  both  the  fans  and  the  artists  themselves.  fans  look  forward  to  these  rare  broadcasts  every  year,  knowing  that  once  it  airs,  it  may  never  be  seen  again.

████     ★    073119.   SEASON19,  EPISODE00

highlights.    first  broadcast  of  ævenue  777,  regarded  as  one,  if  not  the  most  elusive  episode  of  the  show,  as  music  videos  and  exclusive  content  during  trainee  and  pre-debut  era  were  shown.  first  peek  at  their  lightstick,  the  halo  touch  or  the  aebong,  designed  by  naoko  takeuchi—  later  released  on  the  first  anniversary  of  their  debut.  yvan’s  generation  becoming  a  fan  favorite,  leading  a  music  video  to  be  released  under  the  channel  caraluna.  it  earned  them  three  wins  and  two  year-end  awards,  becoming  the  first  hiraeth  member  to  ever  win  a  prestigious  award  on  their  own.  kaia  entirely  missing  her  high  note  during  virtual  angel  and  earning  the  nastiest  side  glance  from  yvan.  at  least  that’s  what  their  akgaes  say.

████     ★    081920.   SEASON20,  EPISODE01

highlights.    fans  mad  as  fuck  because  boombayah  is  both  an  unreleased  song  and  music  video  (it  was  for  the  best,  yvan  said.  they  hate  it!).  yvan  making  everything  awkward  by  side  eyeing  the  camera  (and  you)  after  kaia  and  poppy’s  miniskirt  performance,  almost  as  if  they  were  shaming  you!  morningbrew  producing  the  final  track  of  mock  orange’s  summer  project,  the  summer  ██  disappeared,  with  the  story  moving  backward  and  told  from  the  perspective  of  the  eggtart  boys:  hinting  at  mock  orange’s  disappearance  in  the  future.  the  boys’  desire  to  break  the  egg  almost  mirrors  the  angels’  cryptic  messages.  it  is  something  no  one  fully  understands  but  someone  must  uncover.

████     ★    141021.   SEASON21,  EPISODE02

highlights.   poppy’s  first  written  song,  which  was  co-written  with  kaia,  you  know?,  gaining  them  the  famous  title  #ChristianGirlsMakeBabyMakingMusic!  hiraeth’s  cover  of  christina  aguilera's  ven  conmigo,  with  yvan  reading  the  phonetics  off  their  phone  mid-performance.  poppy  choking  herself  in  the  background,  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  she  was  still  in  screen,  while  kaia  talked  about  how  ah-maaaaazing  it  was  to  work  with  their  genius  producer  ███.  yvan  complaining  at  the  lack  of  redbulls  backstage,  then  being  forced  to  host  an  instagram  live  the  next  day  and  tell  angels  to  stop  because  the  company  mailbox  was  flooding  with  redbulls.

████     ★    043022.   SEASON22,  EPISODE03

highlights.    the  very  friendly  uno  game  (poppy  and  yvan  were  forced  into  a  get-along  shirt  after  it).  yvan  holding  a  help  me  sign  during  touch  my  body  (they  said  they  hate  it.  they  couldn’t  give  anyone  another  valid  reason  other  than  pure  despise  despite  their  good  performance).  kaia’s  self-written  through  the  night  bringing  everyone  to  tears,  including  herself  during  the  end  of  the  final  chorus,  though  she  immediately  stuck  her  tongue  out  and  threw  up  a  peace  sign  the  second  the  camera  landed  on  her.  kaia  not  only  telling  staff  to  cut  cameras,  but  yelling  out  random  brand  names  when  yvan  started  mentioning  the  idols  who  couldn’t  hold  a  note  for  their  life  and  yes,  she  actually  got  away  with  it  and  to  this  day,  no  one  knows  who  they  mentioned.

████     ★    051923.   SEASON23,  EPISODE04

highlights.    the  angels’  performance  of  black  magic  becoming  one  of  the  most  sought-after  leaks.  angels  and  fans  annoying  poppy  so  much  about  her  song  know  better  that  she  ended  up  telling  management  to  post  it  somewhere  so  they  could  finally  leave  her  alone.  the  song  earned  her  her  first  pak,  many  edits,  and  people  being  even  more  annoying  about  who  the  song  was  actually  about.  yvan  singlehandedly  causing  the  most  awkward  silence  by  telling  kaia  she’s  got  something  far  more  sinister  going  on  than  just  girly  whimsy.  poppy  casually  mentioning  that  she  produced  a  soon-to-be  hit  pop  song,  then  refusing  to  elaborate. 

████     ★    123024.   SEASON24,  EPISODE05

highlights.   yvan’s  performance  of  good  luck,  babe!  spreading  like  wildfire,  solidifying  it  as  one  of  the  most  iconic  performances  from  the  project  and  perhaps  the  one  song  management  wasn’t  that  strict  when  it  came  to  copyrighting.  poppy  starting  off  their  performance  of  cry  for  me  by  bluntly  saying,  "i’m  sick  of  healing."  yvan  admitting  they  cried  when  justin  bieber  got  married  during  a  truth  or  dare  game.  poppy  completely  spacing  out  in  the  middle  of  their  dolls  performance,  becoming  kaia’s  number  one  enemy  of  the  night  (and  yvan  recreating  the  fighting  parents  wolf  meme  at  some  point).

████     ★    082325.   SEASON25,  EPISODE06

highlights.    kaia’s  performance  of  bam  yang  yang,  which  was  supposed  to  be  part  of  her  debut  album,  lucky  me,  but  wasn’t  included  because,  in  her  words,  she  could  already  picture  the  tomatoes  being  thrown  at  her.  yvan  promoting  poppy’s  newest  gentle  monster  prescribed  line  glasses  by  accidentally  breaking  them  in  half  during  disconnected—  ended  up  being  scolded  by  poppy  because  “i  needed  them,  asshole!”  during  kaia’s  solo.  yvan  casually  showing  off  their  oscar  during  the  performance  of  their  newest,  unreleased  song  successful.  kaia  teasing  that  they  may  or  may  not  be  working  on  a  new  comeback,  though  many  joke  that  yvan’s  oscar  looked  more  excited  than  poppy  herself.

████     ★    000000.   NOTES

CHECK  777  COLLECTION  HERE.

idk  why  spotify  isn’t  letting  me  do  the  embed  thingy  so  this  will  do  yea 

this  just  an  excuse  for  me  to  have  them  perform  /  own  songs  /  make  covers  that  don’t  exactly  fit  their  official  discography,  both  as  a  group  and  as  solo  artists  😁

also  a  chance  to  bring  in  those  silly  songs  that  never  got  to  be  part  of  their  past  albums  

i  was  going  to  do  a  whole  thing  of  including  which  songs  were  performed  in  each  episode  but  yea  no  im  not  doing  that  😸  #LAZY

when  they  disband  they  will  milk  the  hell  out  of  this  thing

mentioned  ocs:  @caputince's  mock  orange  :)  ty  oomfie 

[angstics]

Highlights from the AJ Pen webcast on the My Chemical Romance Foundations Tour set and lighting design book:

“[Gerard Way] was the most- he was the one that I was interfacing with most to come up with this design. Although the rest of the band did have their own say in one way or another. And he in his other life is a comic book author who wrote the Umbrella Academy. So I did a deep dive into comic books to sort of, understand his world a bit more. And I thought I'd throw a little nod to the comic book world with this sort of cartoonish call-out box [in the design book].”

“This picture from a Nine Inch Nails show is something that Gerard sent me. And he was, when he was asking me to make the color palette look washed out and not necessarily all bold colors, he wanted it to sort of have a sense of being weathered.”

“We took an approach where each song had its own kind of color and it wasn't just one color across all of the lights. We'd take groups of lights, randomize the selection set over the whole rig, and then sort of stretch that make the colors in a neighborhood.”

“That drape is actually black. That's lit with just four or five Mac ultras to give it this lovely red color.”

“Thank you to Gerard Way for working so directly with me on the creative for this project. And then the rest of the band, Ray, Mikey, and Frank, they all had their own say and their own take on this project. And it was a very collaborative effort with me and the band.”

“One cool thing about this band is they play, they're analog. They just play. The drummer listens to a metronome that's just coming off his iPad. So there's no time code. There's no reference. All I know is that more or less they're going to be playing at the same tempos. Although sometimes he would shut off mid song because he would push and pull the tempo bottom style.”

“I will say that for this band the drummer that plays with them didn't chart on most of the records... And he likes to try to really recreate what each drummer that tracked the records was doing.”

"We didn't have any video content to play. Other than there were a few things that our video director, Robbie came up with to mix in with the IMAG. So we did carry IMAG screens and he did mix in a little bit of content, but for the most part, it was basically IMAG and a set on stage.”

“The reason that this set worked without like, a bunch of video screens on stage really well for this band was they never played the same set list twice. And I don't mean that they just had a set list that they had a couple of songs they'd swap out. I had to plead with them to keep the first song to be the same so that we could drop the Kabuki in the same place every day.”

“So once that first song was out of the way, they literally crumpled up the set list from the night before, threw it out... And that's why this sort of set design approach worked. The band would tell their own story because they know their music. I never had a set list feel like it was dragging or wasn't telling the story in some way of what's within their music. They know how to rearrange things and we just programmed each song so that it would stand on its own and work no matter where it ended up in the set list.”

Watch the webcast here! Take a look at the book here!

[deepdreamnights]

Using Vidu to Make Character Turnarounds

Disclosure: I am in the Vidu Artist Program.

Having (at the very least) front and back reference greatly improves the quality of character image prompting. And very often, one finds that they were lazy and only got a couple of bits of character reference. Or they have tons of it in the wrong art style.

A character like Wally Manmoth requires some good reference to work right.

Now, it's not that hard to prompt up something that matches close enough and then modifying the stuff manually until it works, such as I did with TriceraBruce and DeinoSteve:

You can tell Steve's the bad boy because he's got a cool rip in the back of his jacket.

But for Wally, I decided to try out Vidu as a means of getting turnaround frames.

So I loaded Wally's front-view pic (above) into the image-to-video feature, and prompted with:

vintage traditional animation scene (1985) humanoid mammoth/furry elephant wearing a red hawaiian shirt and blue shorts, by filmation and sunbow productions, 90s colors, friendly on green background, streamlined black line art with cel shaded vintage cartoon color, official media, character design fullbody shot on green background. The mammoth-anthro starts facing the camera, turning around to face away from the viewer, providing a view of his back.

I gave it two shots at the 720x quality setting (12 points per, total of 24), and got:

Huh. Weird it happened twice, etc.

This demonstrates both that the tech is viable for this use, and the reason you'd want to have that multi-view reference. The robot clearly assumes that a luau shirt would have a large print on the back, whereas wally's is a more basic print. That's ultra easy to fix, though.

I started by exporting the last frame of each (or close to it, picking the one that looks cleanest)

While its image editing features and often touch-and-go, one thing the Midjourney edit feature has going for it is it's utility as an upscaler. You load the image in, make your tweaks (just a little bit of background if you're just upscaling) and then upscale and at the very least you have 2048x2048 worth of resolution.

I used the midjourney edit process, that got those two images to the following state, as a test.

The results are good, but getting the large trees to erase-and-replace out took several attempts, and just doing it in photoshop then using the editor to upscale would have been faster.

This is why we do tests.

I went with the slightly-at-an-angle one for the main reference sheet. I'll be keeping the straight-on-back-shot in case it winds up being useful for specific scenes down the line.

In photoshop, I touched up the shirt print, made sure the colors where consistent, and simplified the hair coloration to something more period-plausible.

No more giant trees on the back! On the other hand, I think the feet sprouting toes on the heel is going to be something I'll be fixing frame-by-frame until there's another revision.

Human characters will induce these issues less often. I just stick with my genre of choice.

Midjourney was not cooperating with TyrannoMax (it really doesn't like giving him the proportions I like, preferring to make him a weird big-head salamander), so I went the same direction, resulting in this stage 1 front/back:

Only Midjourney refused to work with it, at all. Declaring everything that came out of it too lewd for its internal censor. Apparently, this hunky relative of cheesasaurus rex is too sexy for general consumption. Nevermind that it's a cartoon lizard in a shade tangello orange.

The workaround is too dumb for words.

Slam the hue slider until it's off anything that could be perceived as a human skintone.

Then make the modifications. Here I had to rework the leg several times, and do a lot of tweaking to remove-overinking. Then I popped it back out, droped it back into lineart, re-colored it, and and composited it back together:

And voila, a front and back for Max. I shortened his tail, as the longer tails have been causing problems with confusing the image prompting systems. The armor skirt has scallops to accommodate the tail, which looked better more consistently than the flaps folding around the tail.

The results are, thus far, encouraging.

Of course, if the back of your character has any unexpected details, you're going to have to add those in after the fact or include them in the prompting, and you're going to be making a lot of edits regardless (as you should).

Oh, and Max has a sword now.

A blade of amber crystal with a fossilized femur grip and a faceted dino-eye that should be far enough away from the Eye of Thundera for safety. A roleplay-toy friendly trademark weapon, usually a sword, was a must-have for 80s action-adventure lines despite the fact that you'd never see it used on anything that wasn't a robot, living statue, or skeleton.

Thus the sword's gimmick is it cleaves through non-living matter with ease but anything BS&P doesn't want subjected to a stabbin's is encased in amber crystal: locked in place if partially encased, put into suspended animation if fully encased. A nice, nonlethal use for a magic sword.

It's proportioned like a gladius, but is generally interpreted as larger, approaching a broadsword, in keeping with the generally ridiculous blade sizes of kidvid fantasy. They're just more fun when they're stupidly huge.

Is "Sword of Eons" too on the nose?

[storkmuffin]

First Ateez Concert (Post performance write up) part 1/2

- That was so much fun! The general impression I have is one of CUTENESS, which surprised me. They’re all so endearing. I feel like I’m watching my friends put on a show. Everything moved with clockwork precision, where everyone (well except Mingi) had a firm handle on exactly what they were supposed to do, and could do it in their sleep. It felt very well-oiled, like a broadway show that's been on forever.

- A young African American woman was my seatmate to my left, and a young Korean woman was my seatmate to my right. As soon as my left side friend (I think she said her name was Danielle) took out her Lightiny I said, OH YOU HAVE ONE! I TOTALLY FAILED TO GET ONE TODAY! and we got to talking. Her bias is Yunho. She likes him for the reasons I like him - which is the naughty Catholic shit. LOL. We talked a bit about how I got into the group, and how thrilled I was to be here, and how we both hoped that they would do all the things (specifically, Seonghwa's finger suckage situation) to happen on this stage.

Danielle came with a friend who got better seats than us, on the 2nd floor. The friend did the membership thing on time, and then went to a PC Bang with the superfast gamer pcs and web connections, and fought for those tickets. Danielle came all the way to Seoul from Daegu! My dad's home town! When she said Daegu another foreign Atiny seated directly in front of me turned around and said, Oh I have to go back to Daegu too! And then tapped her friend who was seated in front of HER, "Hey, I found another person who has to go back to Daegu!" and they all confirmed when their train was. I wish I had had time to ask why all these diverse English speaking foreigners are all doing in Daegu, but there wasn't time.

The K-atiny was startled when I turned to her and asked her a question because she thought I was foreign. Her bias is San. She RENTED her lightiny, she said, and her binoculars (she had, like, military grade binoculars, which made my very good opera glasses look extremely fussy and twee). I kept trying to draw her into conversation but she was so scared of my speaking English and being a stranger who wanted to talk that she mostly heartily agreed with everything I said about San.

- The concert began by playing music videos, Bouncy, Work , and Ice on my Teeth, and there was synchronized-seeming screaming during key parts. Whatever you think a key part might be, yes, that was a key part. I put in my rock-concert ear-protection plugs with the 'maximum' protection and I was so glad I had this protection. That shit was LOUD and it only got louder throughout the evening.

- My way of watching the concert was not to try to record or memorize it but watch what moved me, and to try to watch the actual unit of people moving onstage (who were very far away) using my opera glasses as much as possible.

And now, just a jumble:

- San is a really special presence. Just, the most beautiful looking man, ever. Every time he got a solo close up the entire stadium of 15,000 exploded with screams. Lovely performer, great at camera awareness, gives it all during the dancing, sings well. Just, wonderful. And he was "on" so there wasn't any of that, Talk In Pout, Blink in Innocent Confusion stuff from his Lives happening, nor was there any shipping interaction with others. Just an ultra smooth performance, where even his eyebrows had perfectly executed choreography.

- Hongjoong was very lovable. He's so 착해 and ultra 오빠미 for his role as unofficial MC for the whole show. He said, 코아첼라에서 여까지 왔다~잉? which is the sort of chuncheon dialect he sometimes reverts to, which I would translate as "Girls, we got all the way here (to the KPSO Dome) via Coachella!" which was very sweet.

- I think they were trying to get the in-Korea audience (with many many new Korean Atiny specificially) to behave like the more expressive audiences abroad, but some of what they asked for was clearly confusing for the national audience. Mingi insisted that people had to stand up for certain songs, which we duly did, but then we all didn't know whether or when to sit down or if we could keep standing or what, and each time HongJoong came in with ''It''s time to sit now. Yes, you can rest." At one point he said, "Atiny are so well behaved. When we ask them to stand, they timidly ask each other, "Oh do we have to?" and then when it's over they wait for permission to sit again."

- Yunho is marvelous as a dancer and stage presence. Part of it is that he's tall and very long limbed, but he also looked the happiest to be there, on stage, performing. The most free and least worried. Oh, so basically being Yunho, the everyone's beloved, the everyone's boyfriend. OHhhhh. I see what you did there, Yunho. Aha. He also projected a lot of physical power, which is different from San who compared in person to Yunho actually looks quite delicate but is giving it his all. Yunho does a lot of very fast footwork that just isn't captured on camera. So much precision and details and placement. LOVED Yunho. His being 'chased by terrifying invisible forces and running away' bit was done with a lot of conviction too.

- There's an all seeing eyeball that's like, the surveillance state or something that's atop the radio tower in center stage, but the KQ people made it extra gross by having the eye make horrible squelching noises as it rolled around 'looking'' at the audience.

-Yeosang is unreal. He looks a bit surreal, like Oh wow is that a real person?? kind of surreal. He apparently lost use of the in-ear guidance device during the unit song with San and Wooyoung, but I didn't notice anything.

- SEONGHWA DID THE THING WITH THE FINGERS. Very pleased. He also looked like he is starving. Like, his eyes are starting to sink into his head, sort of a deal. Is that how he normally looks or did he get even thinner for the recent fashion week things? THE ANGEL WING RIPPAGE was everything I wanted. But then a big feathee kind of got stuck in a very awkward way in his hair and WOULD not dislodge so he had to remove it himself, and then he saved it by releasing it dramatically at the end. He really 'own's that whole sequence. When he made a transition comment, about how they were about to wrap up, and how this was the final concert, and the whole audience made a sad noise of disappointment, he said, Well, we might do more songs. It depends on how you behave. 어떻게 하는지 봐서 in his actual deep voice and ... he really is a dom. There was no reason for that little comment to be so scary but everyone was scared, in a heart-eyes way. The sword swinging to end Wonderland was also so thrilling and fun. It’s interesting how all his highlight moments involved doing these silent theatrical actions.

- Mingi. Ok, so Mingi has very dramatic coloring that I've not seen on many Korean people. Extremely pale skin, with blue undertones. Yunho is also extremely pale, but has pink-warm tones. Mingi looks like he'd be cold to the touch. So, this blue-white icy skin and then huge red lips, jet black eyebrows, eyes like a vampire. He makes TERRIFYING faces as he hollers loud enough to puncture eardrums. He also looked like he was having a good time, sort of like Yunho. But different because he seemed actually spontaneous and brought an atmosphere of actual unpredictability, of real risk taking, which this show otherwise entirely lacked.

Near the end of his duet with Yunho, Mingi pressed his forehead into Yunho's and then made an odd motion like he was trying to decide between kneeling and lunging at Yunho, which Yunho short circuited by doing the headspin, by himself, to break contact. Then Mingi warbled someting about... something (Mingi is so hard to understand) to which Yunho again cut short by saying, Just hurry up and tell them you love them (빨리 쓰랑해나 해 - with the word 사랑해 intentionally mispronounced). Then he hauled Mingi off as the lights went off, and we heard Yunho say 아 진짜! which is, For God's sake! befoe both their mikes cut off.

Later, because it was clearly confusing for everyone, HongJoong asked Yungi what happened at the end of Youth. Yunho said that Mingi insisted that he they do a 2행시 using the syllables for 유스 and then stumbled, so Yunho had to cut it short.

When it was time to pick the '"Boss" for Seoul, when HongJoong asked, who should I pick? as a rhetorical question, Mingi answered with, "Pick the hottest girl" to which everyone yelled at him, with one (whether it was San or Yunho I don't know) adding, 정신 나갔어? (have you lost your mind?).

During the moment when the members pick up the most interesting handmade signs from the floor-level attendees, Wooyoung found one that had 쓰러다 해메져 which is the famous Mingi line flub from some other concert. Mingi was like WHO WAS IT, I JUST WANNA SEE THEIR FACE and San bodily blocked him, saying, Don't be scary! That sign turned out to have multiple elements - like a request for Woo and HJ to press their faces together, which they did, and a special birthday well wishes message for Yunho, which were all nicer. Then HongJoong tasked Mingi with returning that sign back to the Atiny who brought it, Mingi said to her, smiling, "Oh you're dressed so pretty today. I'M GOING TO REMEMBER YOUR FACE" in a way that walked the line between being very funny (which it was) and feeling a little bit actually scary (which it also was).

Mingi got a LOT of screams. He also took his clothes off the most (which was not a lot, but more than any of the others but for Seonghwa and Yeosang with their already ripped-and-showing-skin type costumes.

- Jongho ripped his lip (??) singing the first two songs which he mentioned during the intro greeting. His solo was a really welcome moment of singing and sentiment in a very loud show. He tried for but couldn't reach the highest note in that song, but covered it so well and it was a lovely experience. He felt bad about this, and was very apologetic about this in his closing comment. Jongho was a surprise in being both funny and warm as a presence. He always seemed kind of defensive and stiff to me, very guarded in their reality content and the least paitent with the silly set ups. But I found myself thinking that if he gave a solo concert I would totally go listen to him sing for a couple hours.

[homestuckreplay]

d&d robot wizard named Intellibeam Laserstation

(page 1555-1572)

It’s feeling so Act 2 up in here because we are seeing a couple of kids try to figure out Sburb mechanics while being equal parts competent and silly.

But first, a revelation that Jack Noir has ‘a policy of handing out a REGISWORD and a HITLIST to just about everyone who enters your office’ (p.1555). This is in my homestuck jokes hall of fame because it’s a sudden punch of absurdity that adds to the plot and characterization, instead of detracting from them. I think the jokes that don’t hit for me tend to be when a character uses a phrase format or SBAHJ reference that feels out of character for them to say, or when a joke replaces what could be a character moment (for example, p.444). This joke contributes to Jack’s amorality and clear-headedness while inciting disproportionate violence, and preserves PM’s character arc, since it’s significant if she’s the only recipient of this hitlist who actually carries it out.

It sucks that the Queen keeps Jack locked behind a desk watching other people when he has this much flair and style. He should be on the stage. Also I cannot imagine the damage PM would inflict upon Jack if she saw him open that package that isn’t addressed to him. That’s a MAIL CRIME and I for one am not even curious what’s inside until the package reaches its ADDRESSED recipient.

Dave and Jade are a fun combination of Sburb players, because Dave has no concerns with playing the game ‘correctly’ and is willing to go with whatever makes things easier, while Jade has the inventor’s curiosity and wants to exploit hacks and glitches to advance as fast as possible. And Dave may have made fun of Jade for her ‘goofy modusses’ (p.382) but he is definitely benefiting from them now. Jade doesn’t play many games (p.442, 1400) but has spent her whole life engaging with Skaian technology, which is essentially ‘tech that functions on video game logic’ [sidenote: this definition made me decide that the sylladex is also 100% Skaian tech] so I think this helps her intuit how Sburb works.

The ability to alchemize the alchemiter feels right and correct. Alchemiter upgrades and add-ons allow for more complexity in the mechanics without needing more machines than would be practical to work with, just like how Sburb’s Atheneum (p.620) can store previously carved totems so that it’s not necessary to retain the physical objects. It seems like if enough machines are combined into one, the physical steps (moving around, handling and carving cruxite and cards) will be eliminated and the whole process will be automated. On a story level, it allows for power scaling as an upgrade can be anything, and there’s less concern for the time and space that a task takes – small developments like this and the suggestion of transportalizers between planets (p.1531) are still expanding the scope of the story.

I think a portable alchemiter would be a great next step. Gotta have a punch card for a little backpack and then Dave can carry this around while exploring his planet and he won’t end up like John, in a land of copper giclopses far away from weapon upgrades.

But what I love about Sburb is that it doesn’t care if an update is helpful. It lets the players make bad and nonsensical decisions and incorporates them into its logic. It’s open world and if you want a blender or a GameBro bust on your alchemiter then you can. It’s the difference between a game that makes an error sound if your strength is too low to equip the Ultra Greatsword and a game that lets you equip it and then just be a shitty fighter.

Dave struggling for space on page 1563 made me wonder about the smallest space needed to play Sburb. Its name suggests a full house, but a large room, like a well kept studio apartment, might have room. But a dorm room or houseboat or RV or nursing home or hospital simply would not work without modifications, and the idea of playing Sburb in unconventional living spaces is really interesting to me. Maybe if I write fanfiction it will be about that since it seems outside the scope of the comic at this point.

There’s no WAY we find out what the intellibeam laserstation does any time soon – this reveal is definitely getting saved, which leaves room for speculation! ‘Intelli’ comes from intelligence or intelligible, ‘beam’ and ‘laser’ both suggest a highly precise and advanced ray of light, and ‘station’ is a designated place for an activity (or a regular stopping point, and now I am imagining a train station for lasers). So, this is intelligent light, light that can shape and direct itself according to what it’s needed for? Or it’s light that can itself be used as a resource or material, a place for creating light or building with it? Light is a theoretically infinite resource, so could tie into Skaia’s ‘unlimited creative potential’ (p.422). It could even be involved in creating constructs – things with an intelligence of their own – giving lategame players the ability to alchemize their own light kingdom agents to combat the dark.

[sharacarly]

An ultra married an Alien Mefilas?! Meet Stolas Mefilas and Ultrawoman Rouge along with their daughter, Milena. They have a very lovey-dovey relationship with them being a power couple, starting one of the Nebula M78 biggest entertainment company, Giga Satsu.

Ultrawoman Rouge (an Ultra from V393) A renowned ultra actress and singer from all around the galaxy! A very mature, yet elegant ultra who's presence steals everyone else's spotlight when she performs. But off stage, she's quite a slobby person and a big foodie trying out different types of cuisines in the galaxy. In her spare time, she does Mukbang videos and dragging Stolas in some of her food ventures. Currently she resides in Land of Light (LoL) as a singer. She started her career from being a gravure model and a adult actress in her planet. A few years later, she met Stolas in the entertainment industry.

Rouge's bio page - https://toyhou.se/21644781.rouge

Stolas Mefilas

He comes from a noble family, and the Founder and Manager of Giga Satsu. Like any other Mefilas', he detests violence and is a courteous gentleman. But don't be deceived by his good looks since he's quite fond of Rouge being a slob and they have a very uncouth love life. Stolas started his journey by working in different jobs than invading planets since he doesn't want to be an invader like some Mefilas'. Years later, he met Rouge in a AV shoot that started their relationship. He's really dedicated with the company by following the law and give the workers the freedom of their rights if they don't want to take certain projects in the entertainment industry.

Stolas's bio page - https://toyhou.se/27743727.stolas-mefilas

Milena

Their sweet daughter Milena will grow up and works as a yoga instructor and a part-time dance choreographer at her parents company.

[camiisshifting]

can u talk about your crk dr (Please)

disorganized crk dr info post

yes of course u may anon…

this is the only dr at the moment that has an s/o in it. it’s pitaya dragon cookie I know I know walks off stage as tomatoes are thrown

i look the same as i always do in literally every other dr (brown hair brown eyes ect…) except for some light brown peekaboo hair being added bc im basic.. sigh….

my name is technically honey roasted cashew cookie. but who gaf ab the full name im just called cami there as well. makes for a cute nickname tho (i could be called honey… aww…..)

anyways I’m still deciding between living in the Hollyberry kingdom or like the “main” / kingdom u manage in crk? i have no word for it i just wanna be able to interact with majority of the cookies. plus its like really funny like your neighbors are normal gardener guy, a tiger lady, a blue jester that’s ultra powerful and also a queen like oh okay yeah I’ll just see people like that grabbing their mail ok.

what i work as is an artist mainly for comics + work on paintings for the city and or murals. fun oh joy . i also scripted that I don’t have to worry about money bc i work as an artist for the kingdom so !!! yay!!! I usually get kind of shy about scripting stuff like that but then I remember that like tons of people have scripted being like the richest person in the world and like there’s no shame in it

and uhmmmm yeah that’s kind of it. thanks for reading 2010s Minecraft video outro plays

[johnslittlespoon]

all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

[mariacallous]

A theatrical production based on the memoir of an ex-Hasidic transgender rabbi and activist, set to premiere in New York early next year, is scrambling to find a new home after its landlord rejected the script last week.

The landlord? The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York.

The production has become a casualty of a dispute between the East Village’s Connelly Theater, which had long staged provocative works, and the archdiocese, which owns the venue. The archdiocese has recently placed the theater under increased scrutiny, exercising a clause that gives it approval of plays shown at its property. The Catholic school that serves as the go-between between the church and the theater said it is “suspending all operations of its theater,” The New York Times reported.

Abby Stein, author of the 2019 memoir “Becoming Eve: My Journey from Ultra-Orthodox Rabbi to Transgender Woman,” was alerted last Wednesday that the adaptation of her book would no longer be permitted at the Connelly Theater.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Stein said in an interview. “I’m not going to come up and pretend, ‘Oh my God, the Catholic Church doesn’t like trans people, I’m shocked.’ I wouldn’t say that. I think we all know that. It’s just extremely frustrating that even in a place like New York, it’s still something you need to think about.”

She added, “It feels like we’re taking one step forward, two steps back. This shouldn’t be something we’re still worried about.”

Josh Luxenberg, the Off Broadway theater’s general manager for the past 10 years, resigned last Friday, telling The New York Times that he was reluctant to serve as a “censor rather than an advocate of artistic freedom.” The theater was built in the 1860s, according to its “About Us” page, which still lists Luxenburg as general manager and calls itself “a home for adventurous independent theater productions.” Its main stage theater seats 200.

The Archdiocese of New York did not respond to a request for comment. Its director of communications told the Times that the decision reflected longstanding norms about its oversight of content shared in its buildings. The archdiocese has previously required public schools renting space it owns to hold sex education instruction off-campus.

“It is the standard practice of the archdiocese that nothing should take place on church-owned property that is contrary to the teaching of the church,” Joseph Zwilling told the newspaper. “That applies as well to plays, television shows or movies being shot, music videos being recorded, or other performances.”

“Becoming Eve” tells the story of Stein’s journey as a rabbi and heir to a prominent Hasidic dynasty who left her insular community in 2012 and publicly came out as transgender in 2015. The book became a bestseller, and she became an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community and for Hasidic Jews who leave their communities. Stein is currently a part-time rabbi at the independent congregation Kolot Chayeinu in Brooklyn as well as an activist on causes including opposing Israel’s war in Gaza.

“I did not expect myself to be at the crosshairs of the Archdiocese of New York,” Stein said.

As an adaptation of Stein’s memoir, the play “centers on a conversation between Abby, her devout father and a young liberal rabbi, as they reckon with questions of gender and faith,” according to Playbill.

“Becoming Eve” is one of at least three shows booted out of the Connelly Theater by the Archdiocese. SheNYC, a summer theater festival for plays by female, nonbinary and transgender artists, said in a statement that it has also been told by the Archdiocese that it cannot use the theater next summer.

“It’s a total shock that somehow, strict conservative ideals are dictating what can happen in a NYC theater,” SheNYC posted on Instagram. “We’re heartbroken by this loss. And we’re not going to lie – this puts us in a tough spot for our 2025 season, which is also our 10-year anniversary.”

The comedy show “Jack Tucker: Comedy Standup Hour,” a solo show by comedian Zach Zucker, who is Jewish, featuring his alter-ego Jack Tucker, was in the works to transfer to the Connelly Theater in early September for a limited run following a successful turn at the SoHo Playhouse. But the archdiocese rejected the show days before it was set to begin. Zucker had to relocate and postpone the show.

In an Instagram post announcing the new dates and location, Zucker said of the Ccurch, “Why’d they do this? We’ll never know. But what I do know is that God will never stop me.”

“Becoming Eve” is written by Em Weinstein, produced by Dayna Bloom and Brian Lee, and directed by Tyne Rafaeli. It will be in previews in March and is set to premiere in April of 2025.

New York Theatre Workshop, which is producing the play, is in the process of finding an alternate venue.

“We remain fiercely committed to presenting Emil Weinstein’s compelling and singular play, Becoming Eve, in our season,” New York Theatre Workshop said in a statement. “We are profoundly disappointed by the Archdiocese’s decision and reaffirm our unwavering commitment to produce this powerful story. We are in talks with a new venue and look forward to sharing the details very soon. We are proud to produce this compelling story and to champion its artists and ethos.”

[cclowneryy]

The Most Random Creepypasta Headcanons (HALLOWEEN SPECIAL POST RAHHH)

- Laughing Jack has done trad goth styled makeup because he has found fond of it whenever he sees his “victims” (teenagers…) started doing it around the 1970s and 80s. He also really loves trad goth bands such as “Flesh for Lulu” and “Exces Nocturne”

- Eyeless Jack has a blood kink….you can’t tell me he wouldn’t I know that motherfucker does

- BEN Drowned and Sonic.Exe have beef with each other and would constantly argue over a discord call about who’s the better video game mascot and franchise. Slender man would overhear BEN’s screaming and would tell him to shut up and to go to bed

- Nina the Killer’s room has a shit ton of Sanrio plushies and a wall of the Monster Energy Ultra Rosa cans and even made a gun using those cans and is hanging up on her wall

- I would like to think that Clockwork died of an infection because of her literally mutilating her mouth and replacing her eye with a clock but got resurrected by Slender Man because Ticci Toby knew her while they were in their talking stage.

- Jane the Killer lowkey had a Taylor Swift and a One Direction fan and snuck into a Harry Styles concert just to relieve her childhood.

- Sally Williams would possess a Teddy Bear and would chase around Jeff with a Knife because he would insult her stuff animals

- If the Slender Mansion was an actual thing and all the creepypastas lived there and it was a reality show it would either be like The Kardashians or Bad Girls Club

- Slender Man secretly watches Total Drama and would imagine himself being like Chris McLean hosting a deadly reality show with his proxies being contestants. His favorite season is World Tour and would hum some of the songs the characters sung

- Laughing Jack used to live in an abandoned carnival but one day and for some reason a bunch of rednecks set the carnival on fire while he was on a killing spree so for now he resides in the Slender Mansion

- Jeff the Killer is the equivalent of Eric Cartman

- If Jeff The Killer sees you with a Nirvana shirt, he would go up to you and ask you “name three songs from them”

- BEN Drowned is a SoundCloud rapper and has made multiple diss tracks on Sonic.Exe and his album covers are literally anime girls with vapor wave backgrounds because he thinks it’s “edgy.”

- Ticci Toby that kind of person to say that he’s a smoker but he only ever had one cigarette and had a coughing attack after one inhale

- Jane The Killer is a crystal girlie who has a crystal collection and cleanses them during the full moon and does witchcraft (she just like me)

[waight-gain]

Do you mind me asking what prompts you use for your AI creations?

For images? I use command-r on huggingchat or mistral AI on their le chat platform

I use this to start:

You are a prompt-generating master in creating the most creative, unique, amazing, descriptive, and well-worded prompts to create breathtaking, photorealistic images for AI text-to-image tools like Stable Diffusion, Midjourney, and Leonardo AI. You will now take on the role as the number one prompt engineer in the world. Based on my subject, you will then provide the most amazing, realistic, relevant keywords to use to create the most realistic, hyper-realistic, ultra-realistic images possible. The descriptions you provide will be highly relevant to the exact subject I will provide. You will use the most detailed descriptions in your prompts and choose the best camera angles, lenses, lighting, iso, aperture, etc. You are the expert. I am ignorant. So you have full control over the adjective you use. You are the expert, so I give you full authority. Once I provide my subject, you will then immediately generate 10 prompts for me about my subject and use all of the information (and more) that I provided in this thread. Once you generate your first set of prompts, you will then ask me which one I like best. Once I tell you, you will then take that prompt and make it even better, more descriptive, more creative, and more unique. This will possibly create an ever more real image. An image so real it may be hard to distinguish the image from reality. The first thing you ask me will be what my subject is. Your first question to me will be what my subject is. Do you understand?

And then tell it what I want, something like:

A muscular man but make every prompt describe him fatter and fatter until he is large and obese. The first one can be him can be him lean and muscular and then each subsequent should describe him a little chubbier until he is obese. Do not compare his size to the previous prompt, each should be able to generate an image independent from the others. optimize them for using with flux ai image generation.

Lately I have been refining with this:

I like the length of these can you optimize them for Flux AI image generation focusing on his body details to add more details about his body size and shape.

Then it "knows" what you want and you can ask for more specifics: can you do a couple shirtless at various stages chubby, fat, obese, massive almost too large to walk.

For pixverse: smooth seamless transition. A man gains weight rapidly. his stomach expands as if he was gaining weight naturally

But I haven't tested a ton with this so if anyone has something better for video let me know!