#How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice
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Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]
The cotton in your mind protects you.
Ao3
word count: 10.5k
TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated
Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍
(Written before 2.1)
The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink.
(And it reminds you of his eyes)
Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you hear the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.
But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.
You shiver a bit, and he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.
You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time.
But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity.
Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.
“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?”
Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”
He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to this man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.
Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.”
You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination.
“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” that word is heavy on his tongue. He shifts, dropping you on the bed and if this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes and you tense a bit out of instinct—you make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering it away—Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. Your heart feels like it will burst. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection, “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark. He drew blood when making it, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening before moving his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. An empty apology made after the fact. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Though, maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but it’s You becoming that; and that, that, You hate.
You hum because you do enjoy being close like this. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication was important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—crumble? Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.
“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”
“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.”
Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.
“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.
His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver.
“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.
He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”
You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton.
You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself its because you need to appease him, and easy on the eyes to boot. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest.
It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.
His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.
As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.
—
This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized.
You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay.
But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it).
Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to when this crossed your mind. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.
The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress.
Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire someone actually knowledgeable in it AND hot. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself?
So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have?
…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey.
He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.
You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes.
You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back going on a complete breakdown. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be.
Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s still dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love, and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed. Aren’t I a lucky man?”
You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, and you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.”
He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?”
“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.”
He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lost your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be, “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.
You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.
The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you remember that he’s wearing his shoes. And you thought he was monstrous enough.
But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead.
“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” He’s playing with his food. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness.
“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”
“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. To his credit, it works.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”
His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?”
He’s right. “Yes.”
“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”
“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”
Interest ignites, the blue of his eye burning hot with intrigue.
“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”
You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?”
You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”
“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”
“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals anyway. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.
He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”
You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the package to unpack is bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion.
Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.
Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, when you tell a joke to yourself. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.
He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But your anxiety has spiked, and you want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.
He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.
A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. You do not breathe, and something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, and you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat.
“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. “Aw…” he coos, and begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.”
You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”
He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” the gun is lodged away from your chin, and despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”
You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?”
“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them.
It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He begins to grip it, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—
Ah.
Good.
You won’t lose your nerve then.
“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough that Aventurine pauses. He’s given you the inch, and you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.
You’ve forced the gun against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”
A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories about Aventurine doing this—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch.
And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you.
You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. So obviously it doesn’t need to be dissected.
You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, you’re sure. Surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? Surely, he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?
But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, and you want to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold.
“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.
He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push it when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”
Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.
Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”
No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!
“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.
His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”
“W-wha?”
He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”
You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?”
“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”
“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”
The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking at malice and…something that plunges you in ice. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”
You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.
You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.
But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.
“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood.
You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast.
“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you.
You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet. He still lets you look away.
He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—
You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.
“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.
It scares you.
But.
There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you, hums through your veins, thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.
You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you.
The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart.
“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear. Though a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you get full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?
Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately.
You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea.
Click. His lips are against yours.
Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant.
He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.
But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil. The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn.
You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now.
Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment.
“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.”
You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.”
“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?”
“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.”
“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.”
You decide to play along, because banter is banter and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, and you’re still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then.
You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax.
You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying.
“Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Or are you finally losing it?
“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”
He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.”
You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.”
There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.
Click.
You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood?
“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
You’re still here.
It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped.
“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you.”
You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future which awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.
When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is.
You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation, and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.”
The world spins. You’re laying, and he’s on top of you.
Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, cry, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—
“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.”
He bites into your neck, and you scream.
The fox swallows you whole.
—
He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled about it was putting it lightly, and you refrained from taking advantage of it in fear he had something up his sleeve. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sight or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.
But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and then caused your cake to burn. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light so you guys could kiss. How romantic, kissing someone with half-chewed food in their mouth, you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough. You couldn’t keep up, which was how you ended up with pasta sauce in your eye. And there were pepperoncinis in there.
Yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks you mentally and literally. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with.
“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation. The few risks you have taken never pay off. And you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laughed. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.”
You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.”
You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this.
Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.
“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”
You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.”
“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” the other cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, and you’d dance in the blood shower. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you—
Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.
You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”
He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”
“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “And I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”
He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably my least favorite part about you. Can’t say I really understand.”
Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.
“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.”
“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”
Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?”
Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers are snaking to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out, you scoff.
“Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”
“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—he’s so good at this! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “you haven’t been that bad.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. And against your wishes, you’ve cried. Aventurine lunges on the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. “You really are a crybaby…” his voice is like crawling spiders in your ear.
You desperately rub them away with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.
“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. He doesn’t want others to see, but in private he can’t keep his hands off.
“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you.
You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”
“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, see?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.
“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”
“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”
“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”
He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”
“You’re doing it again.”
You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him.
He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog.”
He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”
As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation.
“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not necessary.”
…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization.
You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.
—
What does your face look like, right now? But for once, you think it might be bestial. You know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.
In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely alive.
“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily.
He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”
You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”
The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind.
That could’ve been his body.
His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”
“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”
“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”
He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.
That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”
For a moment, cotton has come. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold.
Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.
You begin to unravel.
“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit, maddeningly and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer, your breaths fanning on each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”
The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you.
It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection.
You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,
“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you.” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—
His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You stumble, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. He sits up, shifting so you’re straddling him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, holding back all he wants to do, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”
As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.
He wanted someone just as desperate as him.
The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. And now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them. That all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but it. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”
Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.
You're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.
Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,
And bite.
#yandere#Yandere aventurine#yandere hsr#yandere hsr x reader#yandere aventurine x reader#aventurine x reader#yandere honkai star rail#Yandere x you#tw noncon#if you’re this far into the tags then hello welcome to hell#How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice#Dreading the day I must finally become a proper tool in capitalism (re: get an actual job so I do not starve to death and deprived of—#—basic human necessities. Like nestle water)#Ha didn’t expect capitalism depression in the tags of a yandere work didja well to that I say SIKE BITCH I’ve got you#But also every other post has espresso depresso abt capitalism so it’s kinda the norm at this point#Marx is rolling in his grave#Anyway go get a drink of water it’s very very important to be hydrated#Also you do not know how hard it is to not write good girl/boy in this FR—#Destroyed Onset
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we better make a start (older!modern!eddie)
continuation of orange colored skyorange colored sky setlist
inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i go to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series.
tw: outside of an age gap, not much. super fluffy it borders on gross. eddie is in his late 30s/early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s.
music inspo: everywhere - fleetwood mac
Wednesdays at two…
You wished you’d met this guy in the fall when you still felt cute getting off the train. It was like being in a sous vide every time you got on and off, walking back out into the hot sun of the city. Would your hair frizz? Was your makeup melting? You were at least smart enough to wear bike shorts under your skirt to avoid the rubbing of your thighs – hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Your feet hurt in your 90s looking wicker sandals but at a passing glance in a store window you figure you don’t look half bad. You look infinitely better than when he first saw you in your ‘errands ugly’ clothes. Maybe he’d even think you look cute.
Y’know – if he’s even there. Why’re you meeting up with some random stranger anyway? A sick flare of nervous embarrassment slides through your chest like a snake – this is stupid. He probably forgot about it. Whatever, you wanted to pick up a couple things anyway – it’s totally fine – this isn’t weird at all – and if he’s not there? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? You’ll be fine. You’ll go home and sift through a never ending collection of left swipes and ‘haha not much, just chillin naked. wbu?’ messages on whatever dating app you feel like opening that day.
A block and an escalator later, you’re in the depths of the shopping center where Trader’s is. You swallow the sick creeping up in your belly — this is so stupid — but it doesn’t take long for you to spot him at a small table near the coffee stand across from the store. His hair sits in a low bun this time, most of his wavy curls spilling over and framing his face. He looks nice, black tee shirt that he might’ve pressed, smarter looking black chinos with a belt he likely got at a vintage store. The silver buckle looks pretty and polished, shining like the rings on his fingers and the rim of the wire glasses he had perched on his nose. He’s typing away on a laptop, black iced coffee melting next to it that he occasionally reaches to sip.
“Um…You’re Eddie, right?” you stammer out as you walk toward the table. He looks up from his laptop, the glow of this screen reflecting back in his glasses. He stops to look you over, straw still in his mouth.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins, a breath of relief puffing out of his nose, “Didn’t actually think you were gonna show up — was sort of a shot in the dark.”
He stands up, hand outstretched for yours to shake, “I never caught your name.”
You take it, his handshake is firm and you can make out some of the tattoos on his fingers and hands. You introduce yourself and he mumbles a ‘nice to meet you’, your name sounds nice coming out of his mouth.
“This feels like a business meeting,” you laugh, “Like I’m here for an interview.”
He laughs back, “I did just come here from a meeting so I might still be in work mode, sorry.” He takes off his glasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He packs up his bag, a well worn Jansport backpack covered in patches like the vest he had on the last time you saw him. You could tell it was old since there was a patch right at the center that read ‘METALLICA 1997 - Poor Touring Me’. A few other concert patches with ranging dates, 2003, 2009, 1998 littered the black canvas, you smile at it.
“1997?” you ask, “Metallica concert at what – nine? Your parents were cool with that?”
He looks down at it and his cheeks go pink, letting a breath puff out of his lips that makes them push out and motorboat, “What year were you born?”
“‘92,” you answer, “Why?”
“Jesus,” he mumbles, rubbing his face with a tight smile, “You’re a young thing, aren’t you?”
“How old were you in ‘97?” you ask while you both make it through the double doors of the grocery store. He grabs a basket and raises his brows with another big breath.
“Seventeen,” he says, “Got this backpack two days before that show actually.”
“You still have it?” you ask, trying to do the math in your head of how old he is and how long he’s had it.
“Jansport has a lifetime warranty,” Eddie smirks, “I’ve been putting it to good use.”
“So why’re you back here,” you ask, following him to the back aisle where the bread is, “You just went food shopping a few days ago.”
“I went for my neighbor,” he explains, grabbing two baguettes, “He fractured his foot and hasn’t been able to get up and down the stairs. Been running errands for ‘im in the meantime.”
“Oh,” you smile, “That’s nice of you.”
“Thanks,” he says, “You like bruschetta?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well,” he starts, “I didn’t really think that Trader Joe’s was an ideal date so I thought I could ask you out here and also get some stuff for it ahead of time.”
“Oh,” you repeat, heat creeping up on your cheeks, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well if you’re free tomorrow afternoon…” he begins, but gets sidetracked. He sneaks behind you to grab some yogurt covered pretzels, “I saw you grab these the other day and got some too, they’re fuckin’ delicious.”
The spicy suede scent he had last time is replaced with a bright citrusy cedar, it matches his overall disposition. Your mouth waters when you inhale.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” he starts again, “If you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to treat you to a little something cute in the park. It’s supposed to be not so swampy.”
“Like a picnic?” you ask with a hint of a tease.
“Yeah,” he says, a glow of pink perking up on his ears hidden by his hair, “Something like that. If you’re into that – like – if you even want to go on a date with me.”
“I showed up here. I feel like that’s answer enough, right?”
“Right, right.”
The conversation quiets while he tosses a few more things in his basket.
“So what was your meeting for?” you ask, watching him look over the cold cuts and cured meats in the open refrigerated section. He was one of those, a ‘stand-and-starer’ instead of just knowing what to get. You try not to grind your teeth.
“Oh, new client meeting,” he says, like you know exactly what he’s referencing.
“For what? If you don’t mind me asking.”
He reaches for a package of salami and prosciutto before turning to you, “Do you eat meat?”
You nod while he continues to pick up and compare products, “New client for my side gig.”
“Which,” he says, tossing his selections in the basket, “If you can believe it, pays a shit ton more than my main gig.”
“What’s your big money side gig?” you laugh, following him to the next aisle.
“I’m a web developer,” he says, squatting down to look at granola. He hopes you don’t hear the way his knees crack, the way his face winces at the slight tightness in his joints. In Eddie’s defense, he didn’t get a chance to stretch this morning – normally he’s much more limber – he promises.
“Like making websites and stuff?” you squat next to him, your own knees cracking. You hope he doesn’t hear it.
“Just like that,” he says. He reaches in front of you, grabbing your arm to steady you as you wobble to move out of his way. His grip is gentle but firm, the spots beneath his fingertips buzzing with electricity, “Careful there, sugar.”
A smile spreads deep across your face while your eyes make friends with the floor under you, both of you rising back to your feet. His keys jingle on the same carabiner from before, clinking against a silver chain that you’re pretty sure connects to a wallet in his back pocket. He has Nike Killshots on today, the white with a black check instead of the navy. Everyone and their father has the white and navy.
“Do you like it?” you ask, holding in a giggle while he grunts getting up.
“Writing code and doing graphic design? Sure,” he shrugs, “Got into it really ahead of the game. You were probably still in grade school.”
You roll your eyes and he snickers, “But mostly, I make websites for trust fund kids who use daddy’s money to start new businesses. So it’s sort of like my side gig is uh…”
“Exploiting the rich?” you grin, he grins too, “Super punk.”
He shakes his head while you both walk out into the produce section, “No, no, super metal.”
“What’s your main gig?”
“Oh, come on – don’t break my heart,” Eddie’s dramatic flare shines through when he leans up against the flat edge of the pillar holding up the bananas. He holds his free hand to his chest, looking at you with a faux forlorn face that makes his brown eyes shine. Now that you’re really taking stock, you see the thin silver hoop hugging his right nostril – something about it makes your heart thump harder in your chest.
“The tattoos don’t give it away, huh?” he asks, passing the basket to the other arm, both biceps flexing against the well tailored t-shirt’s sleeves.
“A tattoo artist?” you wager a guess with a grimace and half shrug.
“No,” he says, the word covered in a soft laugh, “But I’ve been in my artist's shop enough that I might as well get paid to be there.”
“I can see that,” you nod, pulling a bunch of bananas from behind him and cradling them in your arm, “So what is it then?”
“C’mon, it’s obvious,” he smiles, “I’m a rockstar.”
“Are you?” you ask, your laugh bubbles out of you and it makes the back of his neck get hot. You’re too pretty to be flirting with him in Trader Joe’s but he can’t stop trying to make you laugh and smile.
“Well,” he shrugs, kicking off the wall, “Sort of.”
“Sort of a rockstar?” your brow lifts while you scan some of the fruits, hand reaching down to a display in front of you, “If you’re doing food food, how about I do dessert?”
“Peaches, huh?” he asks with a smirk, wrinkling his nose, “A little messy, don’tcha think?”
“They’re nectarines,” you correct, putting a few in one of the produce bags, “They’re not the same.”
“Hm,” he shrugs, letting his finger trail over the smooth waxy skin of one of the nectarines in the display, “Whatever you say, Peach.”
“Pfft,” you shake your head the same way he did to you, tying off the bag while you try to ignore how the butterflies in your stomach multiply at him calling you Peach.
“So if you’re doing dessert that means you’re free tomorrow, then?” he raises his brows, waiting for your answer while you both walk to the checkout line, “You never said if you were.”
“Yes I did,” you protest. His tattooed hand reaches out for the nectarines and bunch of bananas you’re holding. You look down at them and then back up at him, Eddie gives you a look, encouraging you to hand them over.
“No, you said you’d go on a date with me – gimme these, I got ‘em–” he beckons you with his hand to take them until you relent, putting them both in his basket, “And trust me, I’m glad you’re down to go on a date with me. But I just wanna make sure you’re around tomorrow so I know to turn on my charm in the morning.”
“Oh, it’s not on right now?” you flirt. Eddie’s smile gets boyish and shy, tucking a loose salt and pepper collection of strands behind his ear. He’s too blushy to respond, thankful that the Trader Joe’s worker directs you both for the next cashier. He hands you your bananas and nectarines and you plop them into your canvas bag while he finishes up, walking together out of the double doors.
“Um, could I - uh – damn why am I so nervous to ask you this? What am I, sixteen?” he thinks out loud to himself, furrowing his brow at his own ridiculousness, “Fuck, could I um – get your number?”
“You already asked me on a date and you’re nervous to get my number?” you tease, “For real?”
“Long story, I’ll tell you one day,” he says, handing you his phone. He tucks in his lips while you take it, watching eagerly while you put in your information. You save it under ‘Peach 🍑’ with your real name in the second line.
“Oh what, did it happen all the way back in the 70s or something? Hard to remember?” Your mean girl tone of voice has a hold on him that thrums in his chest.
“So you’re one of those girls, huh?” he releases his lips, tip of his tongue pressing against one of his canines, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes his phone back when you offer it to him, taking a quick second to shoot you a text that just says ‘eddie m.’ Your phone dings in your hand, going to save his number while he watches.
“M’gonna put it in as ‘Sort of Rockstar’,” you giggle to yourself.
“Please don’t.”
“Too late.”
You drop your phone into your canvas bag, giving him a final once over. He does the same and his stare almost makes you nervous with the way his brown eyes soften when they find your face. Not one for awkward silence you reach your hand out like he did when you met outside of the store.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie,” you say, a lightness to your voice that has him swooning. His hand takes yours, big and slightly rough, calloused fingertips slightly brushing your wrist.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, giving you a firm shake, “Same time tomorrow? At the park?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll um, I’ll text you. I’ll drop a pin,” he offers.
You’re both quiet for a moment, anxious with anticipation for tomorrow – for a real date. You say your goodbyes, your ‘see you tomorrows’.
Only to both start walking the same direction towards Target.
“Oh,” you laugh, “Are you going to Target, too?”
He laughs back, slightly hoarse and rough, smokey sounding, “I am. Should I wait a little? Don’t wanna cramp your style or anything. I know we just said goodbye.”
“No, no, we can go together,” you smile, big and bright, “We can both decide on what I’m making for dessert.”
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#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#rockstar!eddie#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fluff#older!eddie#older!eddie munson#modern!eddie#modern!eddie munson#stranger things
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Heyyy how yall doin! Me? im just chillin thinkin about how onyankopon loves carribean girls
(im literally saying this because im jamaican but anyway)
N/N MEANS NICK NAME BTW!
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
You whined your hips as your favorite song came on, touching your waist and breasts all while making eye contact with the tall darkskin boy through the crowd. Your best friend Mikasa always hosted the best parties, and always had the best playlists. Fever by Vybez Cartel rung through the speakers as you straightened yourself up and walked towards the figure across from you. You felt his dark lustful eyes burning through you and it turned you on but continued to ignore the the wetness and the butterflies in between your thighs.
You met the tall boy with a simple smile, well aware of how intimidating he looked while towering over you, but still managed to hold eye contact which caught his attention. He knew he looked intimidating, but it was always a nice surprise when a bold girl made the first move.He was practically eye fucking you. Your tight black dress held together by crisscross strings emphasized the curve in your torso ,while the dress flattered the mounds on your chest and made your ass nearly pour out of the bottom of your outfit. The red tattoo on your side barley showing but just enough to show the vine and hibiscus flowers which wrapped around to your lower back. Leaning over you to get a better view of your tattoo, he focused on your back dimples and couldnt help but smile to himself.
“Where u from pretty girl?” he questioned as he placed his drink down, leaning up against the wall behind him. Although the music blared, his deep voice felt like it penetrated every sound in the house, making his words clear, sharp, and only for your ears. You smiled as you flipped your hair over your shoulder revealing a gold chain in the shape of your homeland. “Born and raised” you replied as he smiled. “Ouu you Caribbean girls are dangerous, i hear yall cheat a lot, Im Ony by the way.” His smile was perfect, the pool in your underwear felt like it soaked through your short black dress, shiittt if he was thirsty you had a perfect beverage for him but i digress. “I’m y/n and you can come find out yourself, i meann i wont cheat unless you give me a reason too” ..your confidence could easily make a man’s dick wet,and if ony didnt have on them ksubi jeans the pre cum in his boxers would be visible.
“n/n you is a trip, can i call you n/n? imma call you n/n and if i hear anybody else calling you that imma kill them” he said as he faked a deadpan face. He was funny, he actually made you laugh, he was the first dude you met who wasnt the actual joke in your life. “boy bye everyone calls me that, you finna have a long ass hitlist then hun” you said as you rested your hand on your waist. He looked you up and down again and laughed “stop eye fucking me” you said cockily. Now to be fair, you were doing it first, thats why he stared back at you while you were dancing, and you did want to get to know him more. So, you grabbed his hand, as walked backwards slowly through the crowd. You knew you looked good and fucked good so your confidence was on one hundred tonight
“Hey, lets go back to my place and get to know eachother more..I mean you look all lonely standing here in the corner by yourself sooo we can def be friends” you couldnt resist his ass, and its obvious that he was feelin you too, but you wanted to get to know him more for real, i mean its not like fuckin him till your jaw locked didnt cross your mind once or twice but your intentions werent JUST to use him for his body, sexual thoughts are part of human nature and you just so happened to have some about the fine black man in the room! honest! He did look like he could be some good entertainment for however long he planned on staying in your life, there’s nothing wrong with a boy toy or two.. “Ony baby do you got a girl? i dont wanna be playin in nobody face looking dumb now..” You aren’t insecure, but everybody and they momma cheats in new york.. so theres nothing wrong with asking. “absolutely not..i gotta stay loyal to my girl” he said as he stopped you and gave you a twirl as he held your hand. hm, bold..
Turning back around while he opened the front door for you, it was already set in Onyankopon’s mind that you two would be more than friends..more than bestfriends at that, and he would know all about your favorite things, and your favorite parts. And if you were sure about one thing in your life, it would be that he would be yours by the end of the night, and he knew which set of girls did it the best. Walking off of the front lawn he opened the passenger door for you and quickly ran to the drivers side.
“manner-able too” you thought to yourself looking pleased. “So Ms.Y/n,” he said taking a sigh and turning the ac on low, causing the pine tree air freshener to dance around the rear-view mirror. “Who taught you how to whine like that? Im a visual learner by the way..” he said as he licked his lips and smiled, looking even finer in the low car light which illuminated his grills and nose piercing, rubbing his hands together showing his gold watch which sat pretty, almost as pretty as you on his wrist, accenting his thick veiny hands. Polished fingers looking so delicate and so clean, so glossy yet so rough. Everything about him was fine, and looked expensive.
His clean white shirt didnt have to be name brand to make his outfit hard.. damn was he good at existing, everything about him was so clean and polished. He is aesthetically pleasing to the eye which not a lot of people are. You couldnt stop looking at him in this lighting.. the low dim lights of the party didnt bring out all of his features as well as the car light did. Around his eyebrow rested a small but noticeable scar and a double slit eyebrow made his sharp features even more attractive.
“Lemme take a picture of your fine ass to make this view last longer” you said while grabbing your phone to snap a quick pic, quickly opening snap since their camera was the best. “i would send it to you but i dont have your number, here put it in” he laughed at your demand for his number. “You want me to drop you home? and you still aint answer my question mama” he added on determined.
“I’ll answer it when i get home, its still early so you can come up with me till youre ready to leave, but until then..” you said as you pulled him close and pecked him on his lips, “whats your favorite color?”
Boy are you in for the RIDE of your life..
guysss i hope you enjoyed this i feel like im getting back in the groove with this writing thing this was also long as fuck😭 so please give me any tips and tell me if you liked it! Big up my carribean people and give me some scenario ideas!😋~ ℒℯ𝓁ℯ<3
#attack on titan#onyankopon x black y/n#black women#black reader#black coded reader#fem reader#party#onyankopon x reader#ony x black reader#aot onyankopon#onyankopon smut#iwanty0uu
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On Tilt, Part 1 | KNJ
On Tilt, Part 1
Definition: a poker term for a state of mental or emotional confusion or frustration in which a player adopts a suboptimal strategy, usually resulting in the player becoming overly aggressive.
On Tilt Masterlist
Pairing: Namjoon x Fem!Reader
Rating: M 🔞; NSFW
Genre: idol!AU; angst; fluff; smut
Warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; dirty talk; clit play; heavy petting; oral sex (F-receiving); intercourse; orgasm denial; fingering; masturbation (mutual); exhibitionism; stamina!; multiple orgasms; pining; unrequited love; miscommunication
Word count: 4.5K words
Summary: You’ve said time and time again that you wouldn’t lose yourself to him. You were in control now. You were going to make better choices. For a minute there, you were able to keep up with it. It wasn’t ‘til Namjoon’s extended break that you found yourself falling into old habits. Will you ever learn to quit Kim Namjoon?
A/N: First off—boop! Title change! This was going to be called something else but decided to switch it up last-minute. I've had this sitting in my WIPs for a while. So long that ago that this was was actually drafted before the first hiatus announcement in June. This is the first time I am writing an idol!AU (please be kind)! I’m not sure how many chapters this will be yet…could be two, could be three. For now, please enjoy and let me know what you think! Now, excuse me while I get side-eyed by my WIPs.
You are jolted awake by your phone blaring loudly. What time was it? It was still dark out.
“Hello?” You croaked out drowsily–your eyelids fighting to stay closed.
“Hey.” You’d recognize that rich baritone anywhere.
“Uh…hi.” Your eyes flickered, pulling the phone away from your ear to figure out what time it was. Too early.
“Remember that dark blue strappy dress that you had?”
“W-what?” You responded after a beat once your brain lurched forward. “Where are you?”
“Los Angeles. Just chillin’ at the hotel,” he rasped. “Were you sleeping?”
“I was,” you answer dryly.
He chuckled into the phone. “You never used to need that much sleep.”
“Well…I’ve changed. And you have, too,” you point out while rubbing your eye, mid-yawn. “We’ve already had this discussion.”
“I know, I know,” he relents, effectively dropping that subject. You fall silent on the other line. A few beats later, he asks, “Are you alone?”
You scoffed. “Namjoon, who else would I be with?”
He laughed from deep within his chest and it tickled your ear. “So–can we keep talking about that dress?”
After rolling your eyes, you try to wrack your brain for any memories of whichever dress he was referring to. You owned so many over the years. “I don’t know…I’m kind of drawing a blank–”
“Whenever I pushed one strap off, the other would fall, too.”
As soon as he said it, that certainly narrowed it down. You zero-in on the dress and the memories came rushing back, hitting you like a tidal wave. You hummed at the nostalgia. The dress used to be one of your favorites–and clearly, it was his too.
“Now I remember.” It was a navy-blue, silky, cowl-neckline dress with spaghetti straps. It had an asymmetrical hemline–the longest falling right above your ankle but it had a pretty high slit that went up your thigh. If you picked your feet up too high while climbing some stairs, people would get an eyeful. Luckily, back then, you and Namjoon always took elevators. Except that one time when you both snuck into the emergency exit where you had a little private moment by the stairs.
You blink the memory away. “That was a nice dress,” you say leisurely, trying to fight off the drowsiness. Maybe he wasn’t even thinking about that scandalous-looking slit…or that night by the steps.
“And I also remember that it had that sexy slit that went all the way up your left thigh…” he drawled. “That came in handy that one time by the steps? You know, the emergency exit?”
Fuck. He could read minds now, too? You were wide awake now. “Uh huh…” you drew out while your eyebrows furrowed. What was he up to?
“Mmm…you had great legs.”
You sat up on your bed. “‘Have’.”
“Sorry, say that again?”
“I have great legs. Present tense,” you corrected.
He gave another deep, throaty laugh. “I will not object to that. I love your legs. I love having them wrapped around my neck—like that time I came home to you after that show?”
Your mouth went dry. That was the night he made you cum so hard that you bit him so deep on his shoulder that you drew blood.
“Joon…” you rasped.
******
“So, did either of you do anything fun last night,” Lani asked while she perused the brunch menu. You’re not sure why since she ordered the same thing every time.
“Happy hour with a couple of coworkers. We went to a bar that had an indoor bocce ball court. I’d never been but it was pretty chill. Also, everyone should try playing drunk bocce ball,” Jia giggled.
“What about you, YN?”
“Oh, you know—not much. I had a quiet night, after work; turned in early and then…had- accidental-phone-sex-with-Namjoon,” you say in rapid-fire succession.
“Sorry, w-what?” Jia chokes out as her eyes bulged out of their sockets. But before she gets another word out the server stops at your table to take your order.
After they walk away, Jia picks up on your last comment. “Now hold on a second–you can’t just drop ‘Namjoon’ and ‘phone sex’ in the same sentence and expect us to just take it in stride!”
“I didn’t know that you and Namjoon were into phone sex,” Lani says, waggling her eyebrows teasingly as she turned in her seat to face you.
“We weren’t. But their break is coming up and he’s been calling me for the past couple weeks–”
Jia sighed and admonished you. “YN, you shouldn’t be having phone sex with your ex.”
“Okay well, let me correct that–it was technically not phone sex but more of a…a trip down memory lane,” you clarified. “Also, he’s not my ex. We never really defined—whatever this is. So, how can you be ‘ex-whatever’ if you never really ‘were’ in the first place?”
“Fucking without labels. I like it!” Lani winked at you.
“What-everrr,” Jia says, annoyed. “He’s in and out of the country. When he’s here, he’s usually in the studio. You guys barely see each other but as soon as he calls, you come running.”
“Excuse me but I do not come running, Jia,” you argued.
“You just come,” Lani snorted.
You give Lani a deadpan look before turning to Jia again. “For real, though. I think that I’ve actually gotten better with this whole Namjoon business! Would it kill you to give me a little credit?”
Jia softens her expression at you. “Sorry, YN. It’s just that I really care about you and…when he left for that one tour then went straight back into recording the new album without seeing you–I saw how much it tore you apart." She reaches across the table to rest her on yours. "There are other guys out there. Other guys who can be present…who can love you and argue with you, in person. None of this complicated idol-bullshit.”
You tried. You really did. You put yourself out there, met other people…none of them lasted. Namjoon was always there for you. And you were there for him. You were familiar with each other. Neither of you needed a manual to navigate each other.
With Namjoon, it was just like stepping into that navy-blue dress. Easy, comfortable…and you always felt sexy.
It was just too much work dating–trying to get to know someone new and getting used to them. You had grown too impatient for that.
Or maybe you just had to admit that you didn’t want to find someone new…because all you really wanted was him.
******
After playing the last night of the band’s stadium tour, Namjoon picks you up from your place so you could head on over to another hotel, only to switch cars, to drive off to another hotel. It was like a shell game. He needed to play it safe because he never knew who’d be watching or following him. It all came with the territory.
It was just before midnight. You paused before sliding into the backseat next to him. “I’ll need you to take me back home tonight.”
Namjoon cocked his head to the side, looking slightly disappointed. “You won’t stay the night with me?”
You paused, leaning on the open car door–fully intent on standing your ground.
“I’d really like you to stay,” he added with a flash of his dimple.
The truth was, you really wanted to. And once, back in the day, you would drop whatever you were doing whenever he was back in town for his visits until you ended up resenting him for it. You may not have learned to stay away from him, but you’d picked up a thing or two about having a healthier relationship–more for your sanity. “Look, let’s just keep things simple, okay?”
His chest lifted and fell on a deep breath. “As you wish.” With that, you climbed into the backseat of the SUV with him, shutting the passenger door.
“Can I schedule time for you to spend with me?” He asks softly.
You sat so close to each other, thighs and elbows pressed together…but there was an unspoken distance between you. Even though you enforced it, you still wished it didn’t have to be there.
“When?” You ask him with a hint of exasperation.
“I was hoping for one more night this week and all of next weekend for sure.” They were on an extended break. The other guys would disperse and travel back to their own hometowns after a publicly-announced hiatus by the record label. He’s decided to spend the next three weeks in your area.
You nodded then glanced sideways out the window. He vaguely mentions that it was another 10 minute drive to the next hotel–giving you time to think about how the rest of tonight could go. More sex? More Namjoon? You craved both–more than you’d like to admit…and it would’ve been much nicer without so many doubts and reservations.
You missed how carefree you both used to be. When you first met, there was no sense of time or what day it was. You’d go whenever and wherever you pleased. His schedule was packed but he always, always made time for you.
Sometimes, he’d go as far as clear out a whole place for both of you. Once or twice, he paid to access some museums after-hours. You’d stare at sculptures and paintings. He’d wax poetic about each piece while you hung on to every word he said. Afterwards, he’d take you back to the dorms and fuck you into the morning.
And then…the schedules just got more complicated. International attention heightened. Next thing you knew, he was on planes more often than he was on your bed.
“Listen,” he began, “You should know this is hard for me, too.”
“At least you have a clue about what’s going on,” you argued softly, turning away from him to look out the window while the car zoomed past your quiet neighborhood and into the city.
The announcement of the extended break was a surprise to you but he’d vaguely hinted at it several times during one of your clandestine meetings. What he hasn’t disclosed were his plans during this break.
Namjoon turned in his seat and reached for you, catching you by the nape and pulling you in. You closed your eyes, anticipating the moment when his parted lips would touch yours. His tongue caressed the curve of your mouth…the feeling had you leaning closer for more.
“Can we worry about the rest on a different day? I just want tonight to be about…us.”
Us.
Even though you went months without seeing or talking to each other, he always spoke of you collectively–never individually…never apart.
You nodded and gave him a small smile. The subtle gesture lit a flame. You stared at each other in the dark–only catching flickers of your features as you passed the staggered illumination of dim street lamps and tunnel lights. You saw him moisten his lips with his tongue and in a matter of seconds–the flame had escalated into a raging fire.
“Always so sweet,” he murmurs while you feel his finger brush the shell of your ear. The darkness combined with his deep, silky voice sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m going to spread you across my bed and lick you from head to toe.”
You hummed. “You’re good at that.” You were needy in an instant.
He pulled back, as if to look away, then surged forward again, catching your lips in a heated, hungry kiss. His mouth devoured yours, his tongue stroking, exploring. You were just as greedy for him, your hand sliding into his hair, seizing the roots while you had your fill of him. He cupped your breast in his hand, massaging it, his thumb and forefinger capturing your aching nipple and tugging rhythmically. You moaned, turned on to the point of no return.
“Fuck, YN,” he groaned, releasing you and falling back against the seat. “I want you. Right here. Now.”
Truth be told, you were incredibly tempted to demand that he raise the partition so you could climb him right then.
“Tell your man to drive faster,” you said in a rush as you pressed your thighs together–as if that would stop your juices from flowing.
He threw his head back, his laugh booming through his chest. Moments later, he turned his head, leaning against the headrest to look at you. “Fine. But when we get to bed, I’m taking it real slow.”
******
And boy, did he take it really slow..
“Namjooooon,” you dragged out. Fisting at the sheets, your body arched off the mattress, lifting yourself greedily to the torture of his mouth. You’d almost forgotten what he could do to you, how he could penetrate your skin to get into the very heart of you.
He held you pinned at the thighs, his mouth on your throbbing center, his tongue licking leisurely. The slow rhythmic strokes over your clit had you gasping. The need for an orgasm was so fierce, you were drenched in sweat, legs practically burning from the strain while he held you wide open.
“My god, your tongue…” you whined.
“Yeah? Did you miss it while I was gone?” He gives your sopping core a quick flick of his tongue.
“Ahhh! Yes…Oh my god, yes,” you groaned.
He slowly pushed two fingers into you, making you gasp softly. After a few slow pumps, he paused to turn his wrist so his palm was facing upwards. His thumb was now circling around your clit while his two other fingers, still buried in you, curled and stroked at the bundle of sensitive nerves.
The sensation made your whole body clench tightly–it won’t be long now before you’d start to fall apart.
“Yeah? Did you touch yourself?”
“Yes,” you distractedly admitted. Your mind, clearly elsewhere while he dangled you over the precipice of your climax.
And then you felt empty. Having withdrawn his hand, you saw him sitting up, gazing down at you. “Show me?”
“Show you what?” You asked, trying to regain focus.
“Show me how you touch yourself.”
You roll your eyes at him. “You’ve seen me touch myself.” You referred to previous nights when you’d call each other over video while he was away. “Now come on, please,” you begged. “Make me cum,” you almost whine.
“No, I want to see it in person,” he says.
“But you’re right here, how come I need to do it?” you argued. Any longer and you’d lose your lady-boner and call it a night.
“I’ll do it with you,” he answers. With a flash of his dimple, he sat back on his heels, dropping his hand to fist his cock.
Your eyebrows quirk, suddenly intrigued. You’d never touched yourself while he was in the same room with you. You shifted restlessly, your attention fixed on his long, nimble fingers.
“Come on,” he coaxes you while he stroked himself, squeezing right when he reached the tip, bringing a flush to his face.
Your core began to ache at the sight. Your fingers move of their own volition, sliding between your legs to rub your aching bud.
“Fuck, this looks so much hotter in person.” He was watching you closely, his gaze was hot and hungry. His tongue slid slowly along his lips, as if he was tasting you. When his teeth caught the fullest curve of his lower lip, you could have sworn you felt it.
You knew that look well. And you knew what came after it.
******
He thrusted hard, sinking deep in one lunge, wrenching a cry from you as you fell hard into orgasm. Neck arched and eyes squeezed shut, you laid on the bed as the pleasure pulsed through you, your core tightening around his cock as he kept his rhythmic ministrations.
He groaned, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets and pumping himself into you. The climax grew once more, spurred by the steady lunges of his hips...the feel of his cock fucking into you relentlessly.
You writhed helplessly, lost to him, desperately hanging on to the part of your soul that wanted to surrender. You gripped at the back of his broad shoulders tightly, your nails leaving marks and scratches at his repeated assault on you.
Namjoon’s lips were in your ear, his breath hot and needy as he growled after every thrust.
You felt the muscles flex as his body worked to give you another orgasm. You’d lost count after the second one.
His teeth sank into your earlobe, groaning in pleasure while his abdomen contracted against your stomach, his sweat and yours mixing together.
“You won’t believe how much I thought about you this whole time,” he gasped.
So he has thought about you. In what way? Thought about fucking you? Or thought about you just because? As much as you wanted to unpack that, you brush the thought aside. Right now, he was dicking you down real good–and that needed 100% of your attention.
“So g-good.” You swallowed past a dry throat.
He drove the point home with every thrust, fucking you so thoroughly you couldn’t think beyond the need to cum again.
Your body was not your own as he had come to fully possess your whole being.
Namjoon was the only one who could do this to you...make you mindless...drive you crazy. When you were in bed with him, you were his. Ready and willing to do whatever he wanted, to take whatever he chose to give you, knowing he would make you orgasm over and over...
You whined, feeling his grip tighten on you, every muscle on his body gathering as his own climax brewed.
You realized then that he was hanging onto you as desperately as you were to him, you felt that urgency in every breath, every touch.
Your eyes stung with tears when your orgasm hit, sucking the air out of your lungs, causing spots in your eyes. A long, drawn out moan escaped from your mouth–a mix of pleasure and relief.
“Ah, baby.” He kissed you, absorbing the sound, slowing until he was just circling his hips, feeling every hard inch of him inside you. “I love that sound you make when you cum. It tells me how good I make you feel…how much you love me touching you…being inside you…”
How much you loved being serviced by him. How much you loved—
He rips the thoughts away from you when he takes your mouth, kissing you deeply. His hips circled again, making you feel every inch of him. The slow, purposeful stroking over your nerves kept you hot and on-edge.
“I missed you so much, YN,” he whispered into the kiss. “Did you miss me, too?” He asks in a soft, almost pleading tone.
When you didn’t reply, he brushed the sweat-slicked hair strands away from your face and searched for the answer in your eyes.
You stared back at him wordlessly, your jaw slackened while your core rippled along his length. His eyes clenched shut and his lips parted, his body tightening along with yours. “No, no. Not yet. I don’t want to cum yet.”
“Please..come on, Joon….” You were begging and didn’t care. You just wanted him to come. You wanted it more than your next breath.
“No. I’m not rushing this.” He reached behind him to grab your wrist, bringing your right arm up and over your head. His other hand pushed beneath your bottom, lifting you into a smooth, easy thrust. “Hmm...so good. So perfect for me. Always.”
You wanted to tease him with your own little naughty comeback, to play the game just as he was, but you couldn’t think of anything. You were at a loss for words.
“Stop thinking and just feel it…feel me,” he murmured, nibbling on the corner of your mouth, dragging his lips across your jawline. “Let me make you feel good, baby. That’s all I want. To make you feel good.”
Turning your head, you caught his lower lip with your teeth and let him.
******
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His thumb brushed the corner of your brow and drifted down to your cheek, tucking stray strands behind your ear.
Your lips twisted wryly while you laid in bed, cocooned in him. You glanced up at him. “How sexy you are. It’s embarrassing how often I think about that. I need to get over it already.”
He cupped the back of your thigh and urged you tighter against him, teasing you with an expert roll of his hips. It was sickening how much he knew his way around your body. “As if I’d allow you to do that.”
You scoffed, pushing off him slightly. “Huh. ‘Allow me?’ A little cocky there, aren't we?” Deep down, heat slid through your bloodstream…your body becoming way too greedy for him.
“Don’t tell me you don’t prefer a fan who’s more starry-eyed and would easily drop their panties for you, Mr. Kim.”
He ignored your jab. “What I want,” he purred, cupping your jaw and rubbing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “...Is you being too busy thinking about me to think about anyone else.”
You pulled in a slow and shaky breath. You were completely captivated by the smoldering look in his eyes, his sexy-as-hell voice, his body, and the mouthwatering scent of his skin. He was your drug, and there were no signs of you kicking the habit.
“Namjoon,” you breathed, completely entranced.
With a soft groan, he sealed his mouth over yours, stealing away thoughts of what time it was with a lush, deep kiss…a kiss that almost succeeded in distracting you from seeing the slightest hint of insecurity he’d just revealed.
You pushed your fingers into his hair to hold him still and kissed him back, your tongue sliding along his.
His arms banded around you and tightened possessively. “I want to spend the weekend with you down by the coast—naked.”
He had a little known vacation property by the beach. There were suspicions from gossip sites but nobody could ever confirm. He had taken you there a few times. It had its own private beach access and was remote enough so nobody would randomly come snooping.
You giggled. “Sounds like every guy’s wet dream.” As big of a kick as you got out of Namjoon in a bespoke suit, you much preferred him stripped down.
“Is that all we’re going to do?” You wondered. “You want me laying there, all ready and splayed for you?”
He let out a deep, sexy chuckle. “We could go on a hike. Maybe swim? Watch the stars. We’ll have some food to eat…and then I’ll eat you out,” He traced vague shapes on your hip bone with his pointer finger, making you squirm.
“Haven’t you had your fill?” You ask him.
“Of you?” He laughed. “Can you fit the ocean into a cup?”
You scrunch your face in confusion. He was always good with his metaphors, which flowed easily into his lyrics.
“You and your damn hyperboles.” You remarked with a laugh.
“I don’t exaggerate. It’s just a fact,” he answers frankly. For a moment, your head floats up into the clouds again. You feel a light, warm fluttering within your chest.
“So–would you be okay with that plan? You, me–alone in a beach house…clothing completely optional?”
With a sigh, you acquiesced.
******
Lani eyed you as you slid onto a bar stool at her breakfast nook the next morning. She knew when she saw your makeup-free state, which betrayed the shower you’d taken just a half hour before. She quietly poured you a cup of coffee, sliding it towards you. She opens the fridge and puts the creamer next to you.
“I forgot how much I like Namjoon,” she said casually as she looked out her kitchen window, watching his black car with heavily tinted windows drive off.
You nodded while stirring in the creamer in your coffee. You liked Namjoon, too. Thing was, in his line of work, the way the band was just starting to hit their stride globally–it made things…painfully uncertain.
“You two gonna work it out or what?”
“I don’t know,” you say vaguely, taking a long sip of your coffee…as if it held the answers to all of your questions about him. “At least this time, I know the rules.”
“Okay so maybe I don’t like him so much anymore.” Lani poured herself another cup and took a sip and sighed. “I always had a feeling that he was in love with you,” she says unceremoniously.
“He’s in lust,” You countered dryly. “And…whatever, I can live with that. It’s the other stuff—the way he talks to me sometimes, as if there’s more. I keep running all of these scenarios in my head, about why he keeps coming back to me—that part is hard for me to deal with. It’s kind of a mind-fuck.”
“You know that I know some people who can knock some sense into him,” she deadpans as she peered at you above her coffee mug.
You smiled. “I think it would be better if those people knocked some sense into me instead.”
“We can do that, too. It’ll be like a two-for-one deal.” She tapped her mug against yours. “But you’ve got plenty of sense. You know what you’re doing. You just wished you weren’t doing it,” she chuckled. “And he obviously doesn’t have a clue or else he wouldn’t risk letting you get away. He’ll never find anyone better, you know. Someone who knows him inside and out.”
You snorted at her. “Don’t get all sappy on me now, Leilani. I might have to kick your ass.” She laughed at the way you invoked her full name. You were only half-joking. In reality, you felt emotional and…attached. Sex with Namjoon did that.
“Fine, if you want to skip the sappy shit, let’s just eat. Get off your ass and help me make breakfast.”
With a groan, you slid off the bar stool. You weren’t much for cooking–more about eating. “Damn. Can we get back to being sappy instead?”
Before you round the counter to head into the kitchen, your phone pings. It was a text from Namjoon, saying that he just got a last-minute individual schedule and that next weekend might be up in the air.
You scoffed after you read it, and practically flung your phone against the counter, where it lands with a heavy clack, startling Lani. “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah,” you answer instantaneously, swallowing your irritation, hoping it would pass.
Did you really expect anything less? The company liked to keep them busy even with scheduled breaks. Just because he wasn’t traveling, did you actually think you’d get some quality time with him? It was easier said than done.
Lani stands there eyeing you suspiciously. But before she picks up on your sudden contemplative vibe, you distract her.
“What do you need help with? Do you want me to cut up stuff? Mix? Beat anything?”
She laughs and goes on asking you to take some scallions and eggs out of the fridge to make pajeon.
“Did you want anything else in it? Ham? Kimchi?” She asks you.
You sighed. “I’m cool with whatever,” you say, noncommittally.
She tells you to chop up the scallions, showing you the right way to position your fingers and hold the knife. You mimic her actions thinking that it wasn’t that difficult to learn.
Now, if only Namjoon were just as easy to figure out.
Next◥ | Main Fic Masterlist
Thank you so much for reading!
If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜
Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @yu-justme
#bts fan fiction#namjoon#namjoon x reader#kim namjoon#bangtanbathhouse#btswritingcafe#btshoneyhive#btscarnivalnet#namjoon smut#bts smut#bts kim namjoon#bts namjoon#bts rm#knj smut#knj angst#knj fluff#namjoon angst#bts angst#bts fluff#namjoon fluff#on tilt x knj
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Crossdresser x Bllk pt2
notes: no bc I’m pissed- how tf did I hit the word limit?? That’s not alotta words
warnings: Y/N is female, cursing, cringe lol
Pt1 Pt2 Pt3
(Yk how everyone calls Chigiri ‘princess’ or ‘missy’? well! Lucky Y/N also has a special nickname of her own! She was called ‘girly’ every now and then, but the favored nickname was ‘mini’. It was for 2 reasons: 1, y/n were shorter than almost everyone there(even though she could be considered tall for a girl). 2, in their eyes, she was really weird when it came to changing and bathing. They all assumed that she was insecure and they all came to the fact that y/n was embarrassed that ‘he’ had a ‘mini’ peni- also the fact that she had a missing bulge when she wore clothes. Her teammates and Opponents milked that nickname like no tomorrow💀)((also also, when Y/N finally gets to show off her amaaazing weapon, she gains the nn ‘the contortionist’))
The next match rolled around Against team Y(Niko).
she mainly just passed to Isagi or Bachira the whole match.
The win of 1-2 for Y/N and the team, she was satisfied that she helped the game more than the last one.
She was soooo excited for the victory meal. She was so ready for different varieties of food.
She was pretty ‘used’ to living with 11 dudes, and pretending to be one for this long.
She felt the ‘closest’ to Kunigami, Isagi, Bachira, Kuon and Lemon. Chigiri was so-so, he was either sassy+snarky or nice+good company. Igaguri and Naruhaya were just annoying. Raichi was a pain in the ass 24/7 and Gagamaru was… Gagamaru..
Bachira liked to practice his dribbling tricks on her to see if he could get past her, 50/50 chance of winning or loosing.
Kunigami was just a reliable friend, he was really good at pep talks and gave really good tips for lifting weights.
Isagi was normal, yet interesting. He could read the field and Y/N couldn’t understand how, to be honest she was kinda jealous. She enjoyed his company and opinions on things.
About bathing! That was quite difficult for Y/N in the beginning, and in general.
She couldn’t just strip with 11 dudes. And the bathroom always seemed to be occupied, someone on the toilet or showering. She’s seen more naked boys than she would’ve liked.
Y/N took her baths at night, when she knew everyone was asleep. She’d dip her feet in and let the steaming water solve her problems. The wonders warm water does for tense muscles.
Though, one night, Y/N got up to shower but she accidentally woke up kunigami by kicking his arm with her foot. He couldn’t go back to sleep for some reason and noticed that the bathroom light was on.
A warm bath did kinda sound nice… a dip wouldn’t hurt. Kunigami got up and headed to the bathroom. But Kunigami has really heavy footsteps and woke up Gagamaru and Bachira-
Y/N was chillin in the tub when Kunigami is suddenly staring at her asking ‘couldn’t sleep huh? Me neither, mind if I join?’
To Y/Ns absolute horror, Kunigami is, naked, in the same bath as her, who is also naked, just chilling in the bath together, naked.
He sat on the other side of the bath, letting his head fall back. Meanwhile, Y/N is fully emerged in the water only showing her eyes, doing everything in her power not to drown herself there and now.
To make things better, Gagamaru and Bachira come shuffling in to see what’s going on.
Bachira whines saying ‘you’re showerin’ at night without me? Ruuude!’ And quickly strips waddling into the Bath with a naked Gagamaru following behind.
Gagamaru sat on the stairs gurgling the bath water, while Bachira sat right next to Y/N
‘Say (short version of y/n)-chan~ whya always shower at nightime?’ Bachira asked peering closer.
she forced out a ‘less crowded’ and just let Bachira chat her ear off about fun facts about dolphins.
Ruffly 15 minutes later Kunigami got out and Bachira followed him back to bed.
Gagamaru stared at her.
‘I know your secret’ he stated
Y/Ns heart stopped for second. she murmured ‘..you do?’
….
‘You have a girl butt.’ Gagamaru says straight faced.
…huh?..
‘That’s why you bathe at night. I always knew you had a girl butt though.’
She just stared at him. She had no words. Absolutely flabbergasted.
‘..haaaah… you knew huh..?’ Y/N huffed.
Gagamaru nodded and left the tub.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone’ He shushed with a finger over his lips.
That probably was the most uncomfortable, horrific 20 minutes of Y/Ns life.
The next game was against Team W(Wanima twins).
Kuon made 3 goals in the first half. Everyone was pumped that the match seemed to be in their favor.
Team W quickly made a turn around and was now a tie of 3-3. Kuon was always there when the goal was about to happen. Isagi was the first to notice something weird going on with Kuon.
Apparently Kuon made a deal with Team W, planning to let everyone in Team Z fail.
Everyone was pissed.
The game was now officially 12vs10, this sucked.
To everyone’s surprise, Chigiri ran. He scored a goal with his speed and the score was now at 4-4 and the match was over.
After the match, Y/N and the team caught Kuon trying to make a deal with their next opponents.
They turned his offer down and left.
Apparently the next team was quite strong. Team V has won all of 3 their games.
The night before the match, nobody could sleep. It was nerve racking thinking about going against Team V. Y/N was nervous, but confident it’d go in her favor.
Ok well my tumblr is fked up. I HIT THE WORD LIMIT AGAIN???? PART 3
#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#blue lock x you#blue lock scenarios#blue lock#isagi yoichi#blue lock imagines
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& another 🤒
Okay so idk why but I just 100% get the vibes that Angel keeps….her 😻 clean shaven almost 100% of the time like that’s just how she feels comfortable and it makes her feel pretty tbh. But like imagine if she’s just had like a busy week or two, just like working and with school and stuff. And one night she was just chillin with Harry and things start to get 🥸 and they’re like kissing and breathing heavy ya know and Harry tries to move things further along until she stops him even tho she reallyyyyyy really really wants him, like she wants him badddd she can’t remember the last time she’s wanted him this much but she’s kinda a little embarrassed because she has been busy so she hasn’t really had time to groom down there. like she’s clean obvi just not shaved. So she’d just stop it, just like “not tonight h I’m kinda tired” cus she’s embarrassed to tell him the real reason but like i said she’s soooooo so so needy word for him so she’d keep kissing kissing kissing him until she’s soooooooo whiney, in tears almost and “want you so bad h, need you so bad” and he’s like “you can have me angel, I just thought you said you were tired” and finally she’d admit to him the real reason why she stoped him the first time, what do you think his reaction would be?
I usually try not to like post stuff like this that has some of these kind of descriptors in it but...I will say...I get the same vibe from her I just think it makes her feel nice and I think it could go along w her like learning about herself and like her Body after she moved out of her parents house and all of that but ANYWAYYYYYYYYY you know he'd be so :( over it bc like he always does his best to try and make sure that she feels loved all the time and that he loves her and thinks shes the most gorgeous always so it would make him feel bad knowing that she would be too insecure to let him see her like that you know :( so ofc he'd be so gentle w her and like baby you know I don't care about that I love your body:( always is pretty bc its you:( and telling her he just wants her to be happy and feel good and he would do that for her no matter what:( def would end in a night w him eating her out for HOURSSSSSSS so she knows he doesn't mind and loves her all the time :(
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TMM TOUR SPOILERS BELOW BUT I NEED TO SCREAM ABOUT THIS
OH MY GOD YOU GUYS DURING SGTL AND WSV THEY SAT IN MY SECTION I GOT A VIDEO BUT ITS KINDA SHIT 😭😭😭😭 BUT LIKE AT ONE POINT I WAS LEGIT TEN FEET AWAY FROM JACK OMG IM GONNA REMEMBER IT FOREVER HE WAS RIGHT FUCKING THERE
ALSO DTOML OMG SO GOOD IM STILL GOING INSANE LIKE WHAT
I traded SO MANY BRACELETS with people the AJR fans are SO NICE I LOVED IT
Before the concert even started we were chillin in the stands messing around waving flashlights and bright colors on our phones to people on the OTHER SIDE KF THE STADUIM omg it was so fun
They never played the dumb song or hole in the bottom of my brain tho💔💔💔💔💔
And 2085 STILL absolutely slaughtered me bc honestly how could it NOT
Also I kinda got a PHOTO OF THE BOW ⁉️⁉️
(Technically a screen cap from a video but STILL)
Unrelated but I GOT THE INERTIA SHIRT AND THE PURPLE TOUR SHIRT OH MY GOD THEYRE SO PRETTY IM OBSESSED MY FRIEND GOT THE PURPLE AND THE GREEN SHIRT AND RHE GREEN ONE JS SO SO SO DAMN COOL
Also I’m PROUD to say I got the song breakdown right AGES before my friend did (AND I got dtoml by the first NOTE)
BANG MADE ME LOOSE MY FUCKING SHIT IR WAS SO GOOD AND FUN AND RARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH
INERTIA DAMN NEAR MADE ME COLLAPSE ON THE SPOT IT WAS MAGNIFICENT GRAND BEAUTIFUL AWESOME EVERY POSITIVE DESCRIPTION POSSIBLE
Also the turning out trilogy WAS PLAYED OMFG
Anyways I am not the same person I was on Friday and I need to see that concert like five more times
#ajr#ajr brothers#TMM spoilers#TMM tour spoilers#actually never going to be the same again#it was SO much better than the last concert I went to omg#the last one was a music festival so not a whole lotta people were truly vibing#but here everyone was awesome and SO nice it was an amazing experience
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Explicit Pt. 3
Summary: Jack learns of your profession
Content Warning: 17+ Sexual Themes and Topics
A/N: Sorry for the wait, I swear the next part won’t be take that long again. I always promise shit will be more entertaining with the next parts. I hope it was worth it tho
“So what do you do for a living?” Your eyes widened and a cough escaped from your throat.
“Um, I’m a accountant.” Jack’s eyes squinted.
“A… accountant?”
“Mhm.” He took in the sudden change in atmosphere, it was obvious what was going on here.
“How’s that?”
“It’s ehh, not something I really want to do but…”
“Good money?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe… but anyways, how’s your life? What’s it like being The Jack Harlow?” He snickered.
“I mean shit, I be chillin. We just got off tour and we sold out every building.”
Your eyes widened and you leaned in close with intrigue.
“You probably had hella bitches on you.”
“Not really.”
“Boy stop lying.” He smiled brightly.
“You silly.”
“I’m just saying, you travel all over. You have endless options but…” He took notice of that.
“But what?”
“But you’re out with me.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
That was a good question. Why was he drawn to you?
“I just wanna spend some time on you, pretty girl. Something about you intrigues me.” The two of you held intense eye contact which caused your cheeks to flush. But the moment was interrupted by the waitress.
“Are you two ready to order?”
“Get whatever you want, it’s on me.”
“You really do like paying for stuff, don’t you?” His eyes scanned you.
“When it’s something I like, yes.”
The rest of the date was filled with flirting and sarcasm. And when it was over you were head over heels. The two of you stood outside the restaurant.
“Thank you, I had a great time.”
“The pleasures all mine.” He looked down at you with his shaded eyes and smiled as his hand gently rubbed yours. You looked up at him.
“As much as I wish the night could continue, I have some work things I gotta catch up on.”
“I see, duty calls.” He looked around at the dark environment. “Let me take you back home, just so I know you’re safe.”
You sighed, wanting to protest but your best friend dropped you off and you really didn’t want to walk home.
“Only cause you want to.” He snickered and led you to his car, careful to avoid any unnecessary attention.
He went to open the passenger which allowed some quick eye contact mixed with tension. You reached in your purse for your chapstick but dropped it when the sound of his driver door closing startled you.
After turning on the car, he looked at you with one hand on the wheel.
“So where am I taking you pretty girl?”
The drive back to your apartment allowed you to take in the glowing lights of ATL, with Jack stealing quick glances. Soon enough he pulled up to your apartment and you looked at him before getting out.
“Thank you, again. I had a really nice time.” His smile was bright.
“No problem, would you be willing to let me take you out again?”
“Hm, we’ll see.” You placed a quick kiss on his cheek before exiting the vehicle.
Jack watched you enter the building to make sure you were safe then pulled off. His thoughts immediately took over and his mind wandered.
“An accountant?” He leaned against his palm while his other hand was on the steering wheel.
You sighed after entering your apartment, that was the best date you’ve been on in years. Just the thought of Jack and his smile lit a fire inside of you. And you for sure would use it tonight.
You walked into your bedroom and picked out your set for tonight’s show. Tonight would be a good one, but first a shower.
“Hey there he is, Mr. Bigshot. How was your date?” Urban sat on the couch and watched as Jack entered the house.
“It was really nice for real, but…”
“But what?”
“I think she’s a sex worker.”
Urban coughed out with wide eyes.
“What makes you think that?” Jack walked up to the couch.
“ I don’t know man, she said she was an account.”
“Yeah so what?” Jack looked at Urban with squinted eyes.
“She’s a young, good looking girl. And she’s an accountant? Now adays most girls aren’t actually accountants, that’s just a code for sex worker.” Urban took a hit from his blunt.
“So you’re basing this off speculation?”
“Bro it’s not just that. Her body language changed when I asked her occupation. Almost like she was thinking of something to say.”
“I don’t know man…”
Your fingers reached out to start the live as the iridescent light glowed against your skin. Immediately the people started pouring in making you giggle.
Jack’s phone went off with the notification that you went live. He sighed and left the living room.
“Down Horrendous!” Urban chuckled.
Jack fell back against his bed while watching the live. His eyes took in your baby blue, lacy lingerie. The live had just started so you were waiting for more traction.
“ I got some big plans for you guys tonight.” Jack immediately sat up with his eyes wide.
“No fucking way.” Clearly he was hearing things right? There’s no way it’s been you this whole time. He shook his head and waited for you to speak.
“I’ll do a special request for the highest tipper tonight.”
He didn’t need to hear anymore, his theory was right. You were a cam girl. Not only that, you were the cam girl he jerked off to damn near every night. He snickered to himself.
“Accountant my ass.”
No wonder he was so intrigued upon meeting you, you were the one he was fantasizing about daily. His guilty pleasure. Now he had to see you again, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. And with that, a plan popped into his head.
Your giggles could be heard from his phone as you slipped your bra strap off your shoulder.
“Let’s have some fun.” His hand traveled to unbuckle his jeans.
“Shit might as well.”
The next morning you were awoken by your best friend jumping on you.
“Jesus!”
“Get up bitch and tell me about your date with Jack.” You sighed and fell back on your bed.
“So that was it? Nothing else happened?” She leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Girl no, it was the first date. What kind of lady do you take me for?”
“The kind that has a only fans and is a cam girl.” You stared at her with a plain face.
“Alright bitch.”
“I kid, I kid.” Suddenly a ding from your phone cause your attention.
“Let me guess, it’s Jack.”
“Actually it is. He said I left my chapstick in his car then asked if I wanted to meet up to get it.” You turned back to look at your friend, a smirk was evident in her face.
“You clever bitch. You left that shit on purpose didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Mhm.”
“Anyways he’s gonna stop by in a hour.”
“And I’ll be here to watch you two love birds.”
You walked downstairs to meet Jack at his car. He leaned against it with his hands in pockets, looking fine per usual.
“If you wanted to see me again you could have just asked, didn’t need to leave your chapstick pretty girl.” He held it out to you.
“Ha ha.” You took it from his hand and your finger tips brushed against his skin.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. So, what’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being a cam girl?”
To Be Continued…
#jack harlow#jack harlow concepts#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow imagine#jack harlow x you#jack harlow x y/n#jackman thomas harlow#jack harlow smut
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Wishing day
Aether:*holding primos* Please be nice to me. *throws so primos*
Golden Meteor
Aether:Please please please please please- *gets tapped on shoulder* Hmm?
Jean:….Hehehe, *holds constellation* My apologies.
Aether:Ya know what, it’s fine. Literally prepared. *keeps pouring primos*
Barbara:*holding starglitter* Wanna use these instead?
Aether:You’re a genius. Toss them.
Barbara turns all the starglitter into intertwined fates and then wishes until another Golden Meteor appears. Aether lays all the materials in a circle and stands in the middle of it with his arms out, catching Nilou.
Nilou:I’m here! *hugs him* How are
Level 90 obtained
Nilou:Oh you were not playing around in the slightest.
Aether:Absolutely not. Now then…
Keqing:*walks up* It is time for the hard part.
The weapon banner appears
Aether:*inhales* This is how this is going to work. After one of the premiere swords lands, no more spending.
Keqing:Sounds fair.
Nilou:Understood.
Aether:*pours primos*
Two Xiphos’ moonlight drops.
Kazuha and Kuki in the back: Let’s Fuckin Goooo!
Golden Meteor
Aether:Please be kind to me
Aquila Favonia falls
Aether:JEAN!!!!
Jean:I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! *grabs sword*
Aether:Well I guess I’m spending more than I would’ve liked. *keeps pouring primos.*
Nahida in the distance:Noooooo!
Six Wandering Evenstar fall to the ground.
Nahida:Yeeeeeessssss!
Golden Meteor
Keqing:*sweating*
Nilou:*crossing fingers*
A golden impact pierces the ground. As it looses its shine, only shimmering jade remains.
Keqing:FINALLY!!!!!!! *grabs sword* THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!
Nilou:(She seems pretty happy. Well I just got here. I can wait for my day in the sunlight.)
Keqing:Hey, Nilou, was it?
Nilou:Yes.
Keqing:When it’s possible, I don’t see why you can’t use this. I wouldn’t mind.
Nilou:….*tearing up* Thank you so much.
Keqing:No need to cry.
Aether:You’re crying.
Keqing:*sobbing* It’s a really good day okay!?
xxxxx
Yoimiya, relaxing: 83/235
Keqing, chillin: 80 (95) /210
Ganyu, sleeping: 67 (87) /246
Hu Tao:I am not fan this perfect crit rate club with a 5 star that’s slowly growing.
Chongyun:What are you going to do about it?
Hu Tao:*sniffles* Cross my fingers for a goblet! 64/244
#genshin impact#keqing#gi aether#gi nilou#barbara gunnhildr#jean gunnhildr#aether x nilou#kaedehara kazuha#kuki shinobu#nahida#hu tao#chongyun
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On and on It Goes
When Chai comes down with a nasty stomach bug, the gang does their best to take care of him.
read it on ao3
When Peppermint opens the door to the hideout, the first thing she notices is that Chai looks like he wants to die.
She’d been out helping to clear Kale’s corruption. It’s essentially her job. For now, anyway. Eventually, she’ll take over the company. Hopefully, that won’t be for a while. Peppermint isn’t sure she’s really ready for it yet. It’s a huge undertaking. So was taking down Kale and the other company heads, but…that’s different.
Today, it was mostly just meetings. Lots of interviews to get new heads of production, marketing, and finance. They had some solid candidates lined up. The issue is that it’s a whole process. They can’t just hire them. They have to figure out how to get them to the island, get them set up with living quarters, make sure they get everything explained to them properly, shown around so they don’t get lost (even with all the arrows around)…
It’s a pain in the ass.
Peppermint is exhausted. She was hoping to get back and sleep for the next 12 hours.
But Chai is on the couch, curled up and clutching his stomach. He looks uncomfortable. 808 is on the floor looking up at him. She keeps meowing.
Macaron and Korsica must still be at work. CNMN is most likely with Macaron. So that just leaves Peppermint to deal with…whatever this is.
Chai must’ve finally noticed her standing in the door, because he sits up and smiles at her. 808 hops into his lap.
“Hey, Peppermint! How’d the meetings go?”
She narrows her eyes, but plays along. “Eh. We’re getting closer to having new people hired. Shouldn’t be too much longer now…hopefully.”
“What’s going on with you?” she asks.
“Just chillin’,” is his breezy reply.
“Really? Then why were you clutching at your stomach?”
“Whaddya mean?”
Peppermint scowls at him. “Don’t play dumb. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! I promise!” Chai tries to soothe her.
Her scowl somehow gets angrier looking.
His smile turns strained. “My stomach just hurts. That’s all. No biggie.”
“Have you been fighting the SBR units again?”
“No, actually,” he says. “And, for your information, that only happened the other day because they asked me to fight them. So.”
She rolls her eyes.
“It just…kinda started hurting a few hours ago.”
“Huh.” Peppermint pauses to think. “Did you forget to eat?”"
“Mmm, maybe. I don’t remember when I last did.”
“Alright,” she says as she pulls out her phone. “What do you want?”
“Uh…do they deliver chicken noodle soup?” he asks.
“They can deliver pretty much anything, Chai.”
“Then soup.” He yawns. “I’m gonna take a nap.”
Peppermint merely nods in acknowledgement as she orders some food for them. Once that’s done, she sits down at her desk. If she can’t rest until the food gets here, might as well work on uncovering more of those SPECTRA signals around the campus.
Every so often, Peppermint will glance over at Chai. He never fell asleep, though he’s clearly trying to. He keeps tossing and turning. The uncomfortable expression from earlier is back on his face. 808 hopped up and curled up next to him at some point. Slowly, she’s been moving towards the end of the couch, away from him.
Peppermint can’t blame her. It’s hard to rest next to someone who won’t stop moving.
She hopes that it really is just because he’s hungry. He’s had a couple of medical scares the past few weeks.
First, his player stopped functioning correctly for a bit. He kept passing out and getting hurt because of it. They had to make him a new one. It took a little while, but thankfully that got sorted. Chai even got to keep the old one.
But then, not long after, his under the hood implants finally broke down from the constant stress. That was far less terrifying, but it was still a big issue. The nice thing was that it took only about a day to fix. Then everything was back to normal.
Still. The last thing they need is Chai getting sick. Especially because he’ll act like everything’s fine. That’s the worst part.
It would be easier if he took it more seriously. Instead, he jokes around and tries to pretend everything is okay. He’ll ignore his injuries, and sometimes even hide them.
Honestly, Peppermint isn’t sure which is worse.
Korsica, Macaron, and CNMN arrive shortly after their food does. They each have their own moments of checking in with Chai, but he waves them off much like he did with Peppermint.
They eventually gave up on pestering him and settled in. If Chai doesn’t want to talk, there’s no use in trying to force him. He’s as stubborn as a mule sometimes.
With everyone in the hideout, Peppermint feels a bit better. If something goes wrong, it won’t just be up to her. More eyes to see problems, more hands to help.
After eating, she regained some energy, which she used on trying to figure out these stray SPECTRA signals. She thinks she’s got the next one nailed down. Looking at all of the data is starting to give her a headache, though. Time for a break.
Peppermint turns away from her desk with a sigh. She looks around the room to see what everyone else is up to.
Macaron is tinkering with something. CNMN is organizing the clothes hanging up on the racks in the far corner. Korsica is on her laptop, probably answering emails. Chai is lying on the couch reading one of his music books. 808 is curled up near his head.
His soup is sitting on the ground near the couch growing cold. It probably already is.
It bothers her.
Normally, Chai eats his food in a matter of seconds as soon as it’s placed in front of him. He’s like a vacuum. It was a bit unnerving at first, but they all got used to it eventually. Just another quirk of his.
Earlier, he’d been eating it at a glacial pace. Like swallowing was a chore.
At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. She was too exhausted and caught up in her own food. Now that it’s on her mind, though, it won’t stop bugging her.
Peppermint can’t be completely sure from where she’s sitting at her desk, but it looks like only about half of it is gone.
That part is pretty par for the course. Chai may eat quickly, but he never eats much.
The problem is that it means his stomach doesn’t hurt because he’s hungry. It’s difficult to tell, but she’s pretty sure it’s still bugging him. He looks fine on the surface. There’s an underlying discomfort in his expression and the way he’s lying, though. But maybe she’s just looking for things that aren’t there.
“You good, Chai?” she calls."
He hums in response, flipping to the next page of his book.
With a sigh, Peppermint turns away. That’s about as good as she’s gonna get from him.
It’s when they all finally head to bed that the trouble really starts.
Peppermint wakes up to the sound of retching from the bathroom. So does everyone else, from the way Macaron sits up and Korsica makes a sympathetic noise.
CNMN is the first to move. “Mr. Chai, are you alright?”
"The only response they get is a groan.
The others stay where they are. Peppermint is unsure what to do.
She has foggy memories of Kale being sick when they were kids, but she never helped out or anything. Mom always took care of it. And whenever she’s sick, she just...takes care of herself.
After a while, CNMN and Chai leave the bathroom. They lead him to the couch, where they help him lie back down.
“I’ll go get a bucket,” Macaron says, before he gets up to do just that.
808 hops up onto Chai, landing on his abdomen. He jolts, quickly picking her up. After taking a deep breath, he shakily sets her down higher up, over his arm’s power unit.
“Next time, throw up in the toilet, please, Mr. Chai,” CNMN says once he’s settled. “You’ll clog up the sink, which would be very bad.”
Peppermint doesn’t even want to think about having to fix and clean that.
“Sorry,” Chai mumbles. “Didn’t think…and then…”
“It is alright. You should try to rest.”
When Macaron finally gets back, a small bucket in tow, Chai seems to be asleep.
“Poor little guy,” Macaron says as he places the bucket near the couch. “Hope it was just a one time thing.”
“Me too,” Peppermint whispers.
And, of course, it wasn’t.
Chai throws up about every twenty minutes. Sometimes, he does it in the bucket. Other times, he heads for the bathroom, presumably because it isn’t just vomiting going on.
Each and every time, the others get up to help however they can. They rotate out comforting him. Only CNMN goes with him into the bathroom, though.
Peppermint is never sure what to do. Holding his hand seems to help, though. It hurts her heart seeing him like this. It hurts even more when he mumbles an apology every time.
“Sorry for keeping you up…”
“Sorry about this…”
Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.
“Stop apologizing,” she told him at one point. “You don’t need to.”
He only murmured another one in response.
It’s exhausting. But Peppermint doesn’t think any of them would be able to sleep through this, anyways.
As the night wears on, the more exhausted and downright awful Chai looks.
At around 4 AM is when he looks his worst.
His hair is a disaster. He’s white as a sheet, his eyes almost looking hollow. And he won’t stop shaking like a leaf.
“Are you cold, Mr. Chai?” CNMN asks as they help him lie down for the thousandth time.
“N-No-No,” he stutters out. He pauses, licks his lips and swallows. “Just…tired.”
“It has been quite some time now since this began. The worst of it should be over. Which means you will be able to get some proper rest!”
Chai laughs. It’s an empty sound.
“That’d be nice.”
He throws up again at 6 AM.
2 hours of peace. 2 hours of sleep.
Peppermint isn’t sure whose turn it is. She decides it’ll just be hers.
That, apparently, was the correct call, because no one else gets up. Not even CNMN, and they don’t really have to sleep. Their exhaustion must’ve finally knocked them out cold.
She sits down on the ground next to him, holding her hand out. After a moment, he shakily takes it with his robotic one. The metal is warm.
At this point, Chai isn’t really throwing up. It’s mostly just dry heaving.
In Peppermint’s experience, that’s far worse than puking.
When he finally stops, it’s quiet for a while. For a moment, she thinks he fell back asleep.
But then he whispers, “Will it be over soon?”
He sounds so small. His voice almost dies halfway through the sentence.
She doesn’t want to lie. Doesn’t want to give him false hope. So Peppermint doesn’t.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Sor—”
“Chai.”
Silence.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says with a soft sigh. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Feels like it,” he mutters.
She turns her head to look at him. “What do you mean?”
He stares at her. His eyes gleam faintly in the light cast by the night light they plugged in hours ago. It was better than turning on the lights. Easier to sleep that way.
After a moment, he reaches for a water bottle on the floor. Opening it one-handed, he takes a few sips, before setting it back down. Then he looks at her again.
“I don’t know. I feel like you’re all mad at me.”
Peppermint’s brow furrows. “Why would we be mad?”
“Because I’m keeping you up,” Chai replies with a shrug.
“Not on purpose. Your stomach is all fucked up.”
“Yeah…I guess so.”
808 nudges the side of his face. She’s been following him everywhere, never straying from his side. It’s cute. And it’s nice to know that if something happened, at least 808 would be here to wake them all up if Chai can’t.
“You should try and get some sleep,” Peppermint says.
“You too,” he says through a yawn.
“I will.”
She stays there, holding his hand, even after he drifts off. Eventually, she falls asleep, too. It’s a horrible idea, sleeping on the ground like this—it’ll hurt like a bitch when she wakes up—but she’ll get over it.
Chai has done a lot for her. This is the least she can do for him.
Waking up is painful, just like Peppermint knew it would be.
The good news is that Chai seems to feel better.
They all take the day off to hang out and keep an eye on him. Just in case.
It’s spent watching movies. They watch all of their favorites. And if any of them fall asleep during one, well, it’s not a big deal. They can always just rewind it or rewatch the whole thing.
At one point, Korsica leaves to check on some security things. She comes back with a box of pizza and a gift basket.
“It’s from Roxanne,” she explains as she gives the basket to Chai.
“When was someone gonna tell me that all I had to do to get one of these was get sick?”
Peppermint rolls her eyes at that.
“You don’t have to get sick to have someone send you one. Just…I don’t know…ask.”
“But that’s so awkward!” he whines.
“It really isn’t.”
As they eat their pizza and put on some really old movie Chai likes—simply titled ‘Robots’—Peppermint finds she doesn’t mind his joking attitude for once. Maybe it’s because this isn’t some sort of injury that could turn grave fast. Or maybe it’s because she thinks she understands now.
This is another thing Chai tries to do for them. To comfort them. To make them not worry about him. And as annoying as it can be, it does work in its own right.
So if humoring him will help make him feel better, why shouldn’t she?
It’s the least Peppermint can do.
#chai hi fi rush#peppermint hi fi rush#macaron hi fi rush#808 hi fi rush#korsica hi fi rush#cnmn hi fi rush#tw emetophobia#tw vomit#angelwrites.txt#hi fi rush
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YAKSHA LORE !!!
spoilers : 2.7 quest stuff in general
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In case anyone is wondering, my favorite part of genshin lore is mostly the Liyue related stuff, yakshas in particular. I love angst, it’s the first thing I look for in game storylines, books, fanfics, characters ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Gives me a nice fuzzy feeling lol The whole story of the yaksha and Xiao’s ✨traumatic✨ life draws me in so easily. I have a whole google doc that’s all just my yaksha theory stuff (a lot that was either confirmed or debunked(?) when I did the quest today lol) BUT that’s not the point! THIS EVENT FILLED SOMETHING IN MY HEART IVE BEEN WAITING SO LONG FOR AH I love the yakshas so this entire event has been a blast knowing what it’s about.
I very much so enjoyed each tiny cutscene, all the characters I never thought would interact interacting. I’m sad Itto and Xiao didn’t have a bigger interaction. I love Itto’s whole big brother vibe towards Xiao and I would enjoy a relationship with them where Itto kinda fills a bit of the hole that Xiao’s yaksha siblings left behind after they died.
I really felt like the whole time Xiao was kinda just over it. He wanted to either save or have closure with Bosacius leaving. He didn’t want his friends (a word I think he’s slowly getting comfortable with once again) to die, so he felt like the easiest solution was to sacrifice himself.
I feel like I shouldn’t be saying this because it’s literally Xiao contemplating death but uh he looks so fucking pretty at this part. The way he looks up, lowkey majestic, I love him.
That aside you can tell he thought for a quick moment, probably more “I wonder if I can do it.” rather than “I wonder if I should sacrifice myself to do it.” Mans do not care about himself and he makes it obvious to everyone.
I really enjoyed the moment when Yelan just went ham on him for even considering to sacrifice himself. She didn’t hold back and didn’t try the whole “bUt PeOpLe WiLL miSs YoU!” shit. She said it like a slap to the face and it clearly got through to him. Your sacrifice isn’t worth it if everybody can’t get out, including you. She even pointed out his whole tough exterior being a cover up. While it’s obvious Xiao is a strong much more elite being than others, despite not being a human, he’s still a person, someone with thoughts a feelings and Yelan indirectly pointing that out did make me appreciate her character a little more. She has an interesting approach with those she cares about and knows she can trust that I can somewhat respect.
For some context, I don’t enjoy Yelan’s attitude, her whole “I’m better than everyone because I have experience and trauma” vibes bothers me, but there are things here and there that make me appreciate the tiny details in her character. I’ve yet to do her story quest so mayhaps I will change my mind if it gives us a bit of a better glimpse into her character.
That also brings me to this. WHEN I TELL YOU I ALMOST SOBBED- Again, I don’t like Yelan, but this look on her face made me b r e a k- She barley knows Xiao, but the thought of losing an ally, someone she recognizes her friends value, makes her crumble. It felt very unusual to see her make that face, even though we the players also haven’t known her very long. Xiao u heart breaker smh
The entire cutscene was fucking gorgeous, I loved every moment (kind of, the red blobs were kinda confusing and I was like bro ok I get it they’re fighting while doing this, move on). Aether animated in cutscenes always makes me happy lol he’s so bouncy and excited, ready to fight. Paimon just chillin cause she don’t know wtf to do. Zhongli saving Xiao actually didn’t happen how I thought or wanted it to,,, I had it spoiled for me that he saved him but the way he saved him was kinda lackluster to me ig. While I do think it was really pretty and well done, still a great way for that scene to end, I was still kind of hoping for a lil more dramatics on Zhongli’s side. I suppose he’s not much of a show off anymore ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I think the whole Xiao’s father figure being Zhongli was in my head and I was like “What? No coming to his aid and heroically rescuing him in the same manner he saved us?
I do think it’s quite poetic to see the way he made no effort to prove it was him who helped other than looking down on Xiao before leaving. I bet he had a tiny smile on his face just as Xiao looked over at him. Xiao’s face looked so sweet. I can’t put a word to the face he made honestly. There was a hint of confusion, disbelief, surprise. Many emotions running thru his tiny little brain. I like seeing him properly animated, it’s nice to see actual expressions rather than the dull face he has as an npc most of the time. I hope we get some sort of scene where we (or even just Xiao) have another interaction about the whole event.
I want to say it’s my favorite part but it’s not lol The story of the yakshas just fueled my love for them though and it was so excited to actually get to learn more canon information about them. Watching theories get confirmed and sparking even more in the process was neat. I hope we eventually get to learn which yaksha is which other than Bosacius and Xiao of course. My favorite has to be the geo yaksha. Don’t know why ngl I actually thought he was quite ugly the first time I saw him and I was obsessed with the pyro one for the longest time but now he’s growing on me. I think he’s quite pretty and his voice is very calming (despite that we only got like a second of a voiceline from him, I tell you I overanalyze anything and this guys voice is included).
Tbh Bosacius ugliest sibling- no shame. The rest of them are so pretty and Bosacius....... pyro yaksha got me on my knees I swear. The hydro one is cute too I love her she sounds like a sweetheart.
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Alright I’m lowkey tired so that’s all I’ve got to say about the quest. I enjoyed it a lot and hope we get another yaksha centered quest to learn more!
#cryspygi#2.7 update#yaksha#yakshas#bosacius#xiao#alatus#yelan#yanfei#itto#aether#paimon#zhongli#genshin
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Dragon Ball GT 51
✨GT Stands For Gull Tactics✨
✨Positivity Page✨
Normally, I have a hard time coming up with something for GT to stand for with each episode, but this one has an embarrassment of riches. Gyre Turbulence, Girl Tornado, Gross Tentacle, Guzzling Tequila, Grabbing Trout... I can’t lose. So props to Episode 51 for satisfying a dumb bit I came up with 26 years after the show went off the air.
✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨
So it’s finally time for YOUR favorite Shadow Dragon. The people have spoken, and it’s Oceanus Shenron, also known as “Princess” and “the one that looks like a chick.”
In fact, Oceanus looks a lot like a slimmed down version of Haze, but he uses spinning powers to cast an illusion. This leads to the big issue I have with the episode’s plot, and Oceanus’ character. Let me back up and explain the setup to this.
So Giru has tracked the next Dragon Ball to a quaint fishing village, but he runs out of power before he can pinpoint its exact location. Before anyone can act on this, fish start dropping from the sky. Pan flips the fuck out and screams for like... a full minute? It felt like it anyway. Pan, you’ve been to space and you’ve seen your grandfather nude. Your parents got possessed by alien eggs and they tried to murder you. It’s just fish. Calm down.
Everyone in town rushes out to gather up the fish in wheelbarrows so they can make a quick profit selling them in town. But one local kid, Bish, isn’t so happy about the situation. Ever since “The Princess” started dumping free fish onto the village, the fishermen have stopped doing any work, and now they just drink all day and wait for more fish to fall from the sky.
Bish’s dad, however, disagrees with his son’s assessment. His counterargument: “Shaddup, you blasphemous ingrate, or I’ll throw my hip flask at you.” From what we see of Bish’s father, I’m pretty sure he’d be a surly drunk with or without this whole “free fish” deal.
Anyway, he throws the flask at Bish, and Goku catches it in his teeth because he won’t stand for child abuse. You can bring your grandkids along on dangerous martial arts adventures, sure, but don’t throw shit at ‘em. That’s where Goku draws the line.
Bish explains the whole bit to Pan while Goku cooks fish and then gives his frying pan to Giru. Aw, this is kind of nice. Everyone’s just chillin’ out, havin’ a fishfry. I’m not sure why Pan is so bummed out, but Bish is worried because he doesn’t know who Princess is or where she came from, but he doesn’t like what she’s done to his village, and also the seagull population has been terrorized lately. Bish has tended to their injuries, but they all hide inside a drydocked boat, because they’re too frightened to go out to sea.
Bish thinks there’s a connection, and he’s right. As soon as Giru recharges, he locates the Dragon Ball, and it’s on the forehead of the village’s Princess, who flies into dump more fish on them. Goku and Pan recognize her as a Shadow Dragon, and it’s clear that this is just part of their “destroy the world” agenda.
Here’s my question: How long has Oceanus been at this? I say this because the Shadow Dragons only came to be back in Episode 48, and Goku and Pan have been tracking them down ever since. They found Haze very quickly, and it seemed like they immediately went looking for Rage and found him without much delay. So I just assumed that Episodes 48-51 all take place in the same afternoon. Actually, if the entire Shadow Dragons Saga is just a single day, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.
And yet, everything about Oceanus implies a long con. Each Shadow Dragon seems to have picked out a “home base”, where they go to work ruining things. I almost get the sense that they’re competing with each other. Haze threatened to expand his territory until it covered the whole world, which would make it a paradise for himself. Rage claimed to have stolen the whole world’s electricity. Their individual goals don’t seem to mesh well, so I wonder if this is some deal where they’re all out to destroy the Earth, but only one of them gets to do it. And this is all some weird contest to see who gets to pull the trigger. By that logic, Oceanus seems to be doing her own thing her own way, but it feels like she’s been at it for a lot longer than the others.
Like, okay, the disguise is a neat bit. I just like her “Princess” design a lot better than her true form. I wish the other Dragons had similarly diverse looks to them. But why does Oceanus need a disguise at all? Apparently she’s been giving free fish to the villagers for a while now. They’re so used to it at this point that they call her a goddess and have given up working for a living. She warns Goku that no one has ever seen her true form and lived to tell about it, which is a cool line, but not for a villain who’s only a few hours old. Who else has seen her true form?
The premise for this story suggests that she’s been at this thing for weeks, or even longer, but that just doesn’t add up. Maybe Goku and Pan stopped at a Holiday Inn between Episode 50 and 51. So at most, Oceanus has been operating in Bish’s village for a full day. And yet the whole town has already gotten accustomed to her routine. It doesn’t add up.
And what’s the point of this whole charade? This is her only appearance, so she dies before we can find out her plan, but it seems like it would take forever to pull off. I mean, I guess her plan involves corrupting the village’s fishermen and damaging the local ecology, but wouldn’t it make more sense to just... I don’t know... use her wind powers to break stuff? That’s what the other dragons are up to. Haze was making land uninhabitable, Rage was forcing people to abandon cities, and when we get to Naturon we’ll find him digging tunnels and wrecking cities in the process.
Oceanus’ strange tactics might be explained by a quirky personality, which brings me to the Underwear Wish that created her. The Dragon Ball Wiki has a lot of words devoted to trying to connect each Shadow Dragon to the wish that birthed them, and while I respect the effort, it’s a lot of reaching. Someone might suggest that Oceanus uses the Princess disguise because Oolong’s wish was so frivolous and pervy. And maybe her weird plan is supposed to be tied to the nature of the wish. Like Ooong only asked for panties in order to stop Pilaf from wishing for world domination, so maybe that has something to do with it. There are people who spend a lot of time trying to connect these dots, but it just doesn’t make sense.
For example, Haze Shenron originated from the wish to revive Bora. What does any of that have to do with pollution? What does the wish to revive Goku have to do with electric slime? Nothing. These were just trivial matters that Toei slapped together. There is no underlying explanation for Oceanus Shenron. Someone wanted to write a morality tale about a fishing village corrupted by a false goddess, and so one of the Shadow Dragons was tailored to suit the role. It didn’t matter that the Shadow Dragons were only a few hours old, or that this one came from a wish for panties. It all just got slapped together.
✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨
All right, so how is the fight? Well, it’s a step up from Haze and Rage, but that’s not saying much.
Goku gets his clothes shredded by her initial attack, but Pan has a spare dogi in her backpack, so they’re back in business. Then Goku figures out that Oceanus just spins a lot, so he starts spinning too, and then they slam into each other really hard. It’s very dumb, but at least they’re hitting each other.
Oceanus still gets the upper hand, though, and manages to keep Goku pinned down. He just can’t get past the wind she creates. It blocks all his attacks, even the Kamehameha. You’d think Goku would try transforming to even the playing field, but maybe Rage Shenron spooked him out of that.
Anyway, all hope seems lost until the seagull Bish was carrying suddenly flies out of his hands and divebombs Oceanus from above. It can’t do a whole lot to her, but it does manage to get through her defenses, which gives Pan an idea. She flies directly over Oceanus and fires a Kamehameha straight down on her head. It’s like how there’s no wind in the eye of a hurricane. Oceanus is defenseless from that angle.
They make a lot out of this Kamehameha, like it’s Pan’s first, but I’m pretty sure she’s used it before in GT. This is the first time she’s used it to win a battle..... or it would have been, except Goku fires his own Kamehameha at Oceanus to finish her off. I don’t know if Pan’s was just meant as a diversion, or if the writers decided that Goku had to be involved in the finish because of Kozo Morishita’s rule against Pan actually getting to win fights or do anything cool.
The main point I want to make here is that none of this would be possible without the seagull literally showing our heroes where to shoot. As with the last two Shadow Dragons, Goku and Pan just sort of screw around the whole time, wondering why their attacks aren’t working, and then something else comes along to save them, like the underground spring Giru found, or the raincloud over Rage’s city, or this seagull.
After the fight, the fishermen thank Goku and Pan for showing them the error of their ways, and all the seagulls come out of that one boat. But they don’t have the budget for animating a flock of seagulls, so they use a bunch of still images instead. Hey, maybe don’t write stuff into the episode if you know you’re not going to be able to animate it.
Bish asks Pan to teach him how to fly next time, and Pan responds by inviting him to Mt. Paozu for lessons. Well that’s a brush-off if I’ve ever seen one. Why should he schlep all the way out to Mt. Paozu, Pan? You’re the one who can fly!
Then the episode ends with this shot of the four remaining Shadow Dragons. This is the first time we’ve seen them since the arc started. Episodes 48 and 49 had some shots of Rage and Oceanus, but the rest weren’t shown, which leads me to wonder if they hadn’t finalized their designs until this point. But that’s a problem for later.
Anyway, this episode is a lot better than the two that came before it, but that isn’t saying much. I’m still annoyed with the way they used a seagull to expose Oceanus’ weakness. Also, it’s kind of dumb that Oceanus’ weakness is just “attack from overhead”. Imagine if you could defeat Frieza that easily. But you can’t figure that out on your own, you need a seagull to demonstrate first.
✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨
Can Goku restore
The cracked Dragon Balls? Or will
They Break like the Wind?
#dragon ball#dragon ball gt#really sucks#2023dbapocryphaliveblog#*haiku does not come with crown as illustrated#goku#pan#giru#bish#oceanus shenron
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On my last day in Berlin went to a lake near Teufelsberg (Teufelssee, devil’s lake lol) where about a hundred people were bathing and sunning themselves in the buff. It’s kinda an institution around Europe. So I’m like cool and I join them, get nakey in nature and swim around in a nice cool lake. Definitely fewer full frontal women than men, and being young as well, felt very conscious of gaze, but also wanna get naked like everybody else and felt it was my right. Suss the towel spot for weird dudes, spot a few — just guys with gazes that aren’t quite right — but on second glance they’re, like, fine. Not actionable level creepy. There’s one man nearby who gives me some solace, an old-ish guy in cool glasses and long hair for whom it is just clearly nonsexual chillin’. Exchange a wordless hello.
Swim, come back, blah blah. I’m stoned and had spent the afternoon in the forest gazing at bloated Nazi oil tanks hidden off the main path. The tanks with which I’d had an almost religious interaction turned out to be American, supplying the spy station atop Teufelsberg during the Cold War. The Nazi part is the unfinished university underneath Teufelsberg, which is an artificial hill formed of rubble because the Americans found this strategy easier than using dynamite. Truth isn’t always stranger than fiction but it does have a way of being unsentimental. So I’m ready to go at this point, had had a nice time swimming, knock the kickstand to my Lime app bike, when I look up to see a sort of ageless nude man (young face, salt-pepper hair) has materialized among the the trees. Wasn’t the water really cold? He asks me.
I shrug. It was fine. He squats down next to me as I kneel to tie my shoes. His long, coltlike legs sort of cross over his penis. He has been watching me swim and sun, he says. He thought I was a refugee, a Syrian immigrant! Ha ha. He noticed I’m alone. Yes, I’m alone. Traveling alone! Wow!
Ah — I remember him. One of the guys scattered around my way when I put my towel down. A quick exchange of glances, not the best vibe, and then he made himself forgotten.
I ask him what he does for work. He says he’s an investor. Inexplicably the idea of him investing in my art flashes through my brain and I become so conscious of appearing opportunistic I almost knock over my bike. And me? Social media, I tell him. His brother has a media agency, he says. Mostly the money in Germany is shit, but it’s pretty good in media, advertising. Germany has a great train that goes unlimited over the summer for 50€. I can explore the Germanic countryside unhindered. His name is Mark. He would love if I might take down his contact info. It’s too bad he caught me right as I was about to go. I am about to ask him for his last name so I can, like, google him but something stops me. Why google?
It’s not until I leave it dawns on me how weird that was. Every day here, a new man wants to be friends. I tell them about my boyfriend. Doesn’t matter. Not necessarily weirdos — a married writer, an IT guy from Damascus, a ballroom dancer from Toulouse, a composer at the Louvre. A guy at an ambient show, a friend of a friend — could feel the energy running through his finger, his hand casually placed near mine. I’m practically folded into the corner seething, I think he’s flirting, but not sure if I’m making it up. I told him I had a boyfriend already. Later he says “not to be too forward but you can stay at my place if your hostel is too far.” I’m trying to think of what to say to this.“What do you mean by forward?” Beat. “but I told you I have a boyfriend.” “Oh, I didn’t know what that meant since you’re backpacking through Europe and all.” By the end I’m practically screaming at the IT guy. “I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. I AM NOT INTERESTED. WE ARE WALKING TO THE CLUB AS FRIENDS. PLEASE SIGN HERE.” Still, little things. Hearts. An offer to share a bed.
Women never approach me. I had felt men watching me, yes, when I had been swimming. But you couldn’t tell that I was naked. I’m a damn good swimmer! Ugh. Sometimes I pretend to be stupid.
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anon ask about negative body image and self-loathing
Hi! I hope it’s okay to rant…I’ve never expressed this about myself aloud and your blog seems like a judgement free space.
I genuinely hate myself. like a lot. From my appearance to my personality and the way I carry myself. I’m a straight cis female and I have a certain idea of what a women should look like… and I am the complete opposite. I have the inverted triangle body shape, so like really wide shoulders, narrow hips, large breasts… which also affects my posture pretty badly. I feel so grotesque. Most times when I look in the mirror I think I look okay but whenever I see myself in a photo or a video I am so disgusted, I feel sick. Like how can I even show myself in public.
There’s no other way to describe it other than that I look like an alien, like I’m not even human. I wouldn’t mind it if I was even average looking. Or at least had a cute face or nice body, by that I mean wider hips than shoulders. But I have neither. It doesn’t help that sometimes people stare at me too…and I just want to hide. Clothes never look right on me. There’s only so much I can do to try to make myself look more proportionate. It’s just not fair. I didn’t choose to look the way that I do. It doesn’t help that I have no friends or have never been in a relationship either. I genuinely don’t think anyone could ever be attracted to me or love me. I try to make friends but they never last, and are often one sided to begin with and fizzle out. No one cares about me the way I care about them. No one wants to talk to me, I have a boring personality and nothing to offer. I’m just so upset, tired and ashamed.
If you had all the things you're lacking, would you be satisfied and happy, or would you find something else wrong with you because this feeling was never about all the things you lacked but actually about something else?
You can change your entire body with cosmetic and other body-altering surgery to became that perfect ideal you're looking for. With will, determination, and money, yeah, anything is possible - but at the end of the day you are still gonna feel the same. Your "certain idea of what women should look like" will always change, you will keep putting yourself down despite everything you've done because you learned to hate yourself, because someone taught you to act this way, because moment after moment created a pattern and now you're here and this is what I'm going to say.
Your body is simply a body.
it's just chillin', cell by cell doing daily activities, the mitochondria bein' the powerhouse of the cell and all that. Hey, the cellular homies have no idea what's going on out there in human society. They have no clue that the "ideal feminine body shape" is arbitrarily and randomly decided by greedy af companies scheming about how shitty they can make you feel about yourself so that you buy their product. For example, compare the "desired female shape" from the 1990's and the 2020's. Completely different. Meanwhile, your poor lil ribosomes are just trying their best to do gene expression here. The DNA says what it says and it is about as helpful as an IKEA instruction manual (read: not very).
It's hard out here, being a cell of the human body. D:
You were born with what you were born with. It is not worse or better than anyone else's body. You've taken the polar opposite of your body type and weaponized it to tear down your self-confidence, because outside influences pressured you into thinking that you need to feel that way - words from people in your life, chance meetings with strangers, marketing and media, fucked-up society, all of it. But there is no particular the body shape you must have to be considered attractive, sexy, or worthy.
People have their own prerogatives. They do what they think is right for themselves. Including you in their lives is secondary to their personal interests. It doesn't make you good or bad if they stay or move on. It doesn't make them good or bad either - they're just doing what they think is right for them at the time. But you're taking their actions and twisting it into a weapon to attack yourself when it probably didn't have much to do with you in the first place.
Why?
It's good to be critical of yourself. It helps you grow and change the things you don't like. But you've hyper-fixated and taken it too far, forgetting about the things that are awesome about you, the interests you have, hobbies you are pursuing. It takes energy to constantly put yourself down. You're drained, abandoning the positives to the wayside. A human is both good and bad. Parts of you will suck, and parts of you don't, but you can't see them because you've buried them deep down and lost touch. It will take work. It might seem easy to constantly shit on yourself, but the reality is that you're actually working really hard to find all the worst angles, and you can redirect that energy to working out, to diving deeper into your interests, to picking up a new hobby, or even distraction. I'm sure that people would say having fun isn't productive, but it is, because it teaches your mind to enjoy something simply for the sake of enjoying it and not trying to get something out of it.
Having that skill is essential for cultivating passion - for others, for yourself, for life.
There are things you can do if you want to. Look for supportive bras and ways to improve posture. Budget for a breast reduction if your healthcare professional thinks it would greatly improve your overall general health. If you want to learn to pose for pictures and know your best angles, look up images of poses you like, copy them, practice on your own, take a class, work with a photographer. There are lots of YouTube videos that explain what looks good on camera - it's not the same as real life. You're taking something 3D and transforming into 2D. It takes a lot of practice. It takes time. It takes failure after failure of looking awkward af until you figure out what you want to look like. It is never the body that is the problem. It is never the clothes. It is figuring out how you want to be perceived at that moment in time and then learning to translate that to the camera, to others, to the world.
You would never say to a friend, you are the complete opposite of what your gender should look like. You're grotesque. Disgusting. Don't go out in public. You're boring. You have nothing to offer. If you're saying those things, you aren't friends anymore. You're being cruel and mean.
Why is it okay for you to say these things to yourself?
You say no one cares about you the way you care about them, but you aren't even giving yourself grace. The most important relationship you need to nurture is the one with you. Friendships come and go. Relationships with lifelong partners are developed later in life. But the constant that remains is you, the one who you will always sleep with is you, and to give love to someone else means you need to love the one and only - you.
Care for her.
Protect her.
Love her.
If it's easier for you to think of yourself as someone to care for, then do it. Make that vow and do for you what you would do for a friend, a lover, a forever partner. You are your forever partner, and she will always forgive you for your mistakes. It is never too late to change your mind. Difficult, yes. So fuckin' difficult. But not too late.
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Golf Rivalry Lesbians: The Outline
Claire Donovan comes from a very privileged background and her parents are super intense. She has a crushing fear of failure (stemming no doubt from a concern of disappointing her parents). Uptight AF. Needs a chill pill fr. Very successful youth(/college) career → decent pro career but struggling to maintain highest ranking (or w/e). Constantly pushing herself past her limits trying to be the best. Trying to recapture success of her youth(/college) career. Disappointed parents are v v harsh – not helpful. Has a boyfriend who is also a pro golfer. He is pretty good but never had her previous success so he “doesn’t understand” her constant intensity for improvement. He’s actually an okay dude but lawd he preppy and bland and for god’s sake her parents fucking love him >:(
~*Enter the eventual love interest*~
Lauren (“Lo”) Jennings is fucking great at golf. She came outta nowhere on the pro circuit and has had a bunch of success. She’s so fucking relaxed– she gets to play a game for a living and has a lot of fun with it. She came from a poor background, got into golf via scholarship or something idk. Turns out she’s great at it. She gets all the endorsements and wins a bunch of tournaments. She is also a very nice person. So naturally Claire fucking HATES her.
(this is borne of jealousy and resentment; however, it will take a while for her to realize and accept that).
Of course they keep meeting at tournaments and each do well. Lo has more wins though because though Claire does fairly well, she struggles to actually win tourneys. So of course Claire blames Lo for this and becomes crazed determined to beat her… at the next tourney, Claire actually does super badly bc she is so focused on beating Lo that she totally falls apart. She’s pissed, her parents are pissed, everybody’s god damn pissed. Except Lo, she’s just chillin’.
So then boyfriend is like, uh maybe Lo isn’t actually the devil incarnate? And so Claire is like stfu we’re over. And boyfriend is like yikes ok
So obviously Claire is spiraling and lashing out and placing blame on the wrong people. At the next tourney Lo is like hey and Claire is like I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you and Lo is like who uh good luck in the tourney you seem stressed. If you ever want to talk about the pressure of being a female pro athlete with someone who understands I’m here 4 u
And Claire is like wtf I hate you get out of my face but now Lo is seeped into her mind in a different fucking way.
Bc maybe she really isn’t the devil incarnate?
Fuck.
And maybe she’s really cute and kind?
FUCK.
Time to apologize for being a dickhead. Also maybe do some closer self-examination? Like why do I actually play golf? To make my parents happy? Because I had some previous success? Does it make me happy? It used to– when I had fun with it. Maybe I should try to chill and have fun playing. (Also am I gay what no never mind)
Well DUH she wins the next tournament bc she’s actually enjoying herself instead of just being super intense about everything.
So Lo is like hey congrats and Claire is like whoops I was an asshole bc I was jealous of how successful yet chill you are and Lo is like oh dude I’m not chill at all I just go to therapy so I can balance myself out and grow as a person and Claire is like damn heart eyes emoji
And anyways they fall in love and smooch bc of course they do
Happy endings only over here babey
Also worked somewhere in there, Claire confronts her parents because she’s like you pushed me too hard and they’re like sorry we just wanted you to success and maybe we messed up and she’s like it’s okay but let’s all chill a little
Also also, at some point before her breakthrough, Claire straight up quits a tourney in the middle of hole bc she’s so overwhelmed by stress and trying to be the best and trying to beat Lo and her parents like berate her but maybe that’s when she confronts them?
Also also also, Lo is Very Obviously Gay™ but Claire has genuinely *no idea* because she’s a sheltered WASPy princess with no awareness of any other type of person. This will make her all the more confused about her stirring feelings for Lo. Yet she is fortunate bc at least Lo is already comfortably out and thinks she’s hot.
#LILY ELLA H. this is exclusively for you to read and give me feedback on#wip#wip for my wap#what??#never mind
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Croke Park and the Guinness Storehouse!
Hey readers! I’m Aidan McKiernan, and I’m studying abroad in Ireland with the Big 10 STEM and Irish Studies program with UCD. Week 5 is just about done and dusted now, and I’ve must say-- time has been flying. At this point, physics is fully complete besides the exam, and history just has a couple of lectures and an exam remaining as well. It’s a little scary that I have only two weeks left here, but I’ve been having plenty of good experiences. I am definitely excited to see my people back home again once it's over.
Speaking of good experiences, this was a really fun week. UCD is by the coast, so on Monday I went with a group to the beach to hang out. The tide was low, so there was a massive expanse of sandy area to run around and play football on. After everyone tired out, we set up on the grass to play some cards and talk for a while. We stayed out really late, which has been a bit of a recurrence recently for me, but it was totally worth it.
The endless expanses of sand at the coast.
On Tuesday we had a field trip to Croke Park, a stadium for Gaelic sports. We had a guided tour which took us through the locker rooms, the stands, and the post-game lounge for the players-- I even got to hold a trophy!
Celebrating some kind of victory... for sure (photo by Dominick).
If you’ll recall a topic from 2016, Pokémon Go has made a resurgence in my group. The UCD campus is quite a hotspot for some crazy creatures, ranging from cute to ferocious-- I just managed to befriend a few!
Me and my dear buddy Gyarados (photo by Dominick).
Chillin with my Dubwool in the grass (photo by Noah).
Saturday was pretty relaxed, I went back to the bakery that I went to with Carson last week again, and we finally got his cupcakes. It was also near closing, and since bakeries have to throw out anything that doesn’t sell… the lady threw in some stuff for us for free!
A nice chocolate cupcake, graciously donated by Carson.
Just this Sunday, we finally elected to take a trip to the Guinness storehouse. It was a huge building where we followed a self-guided tour to see the whole process of how the beer gets from barley to the bar counter. There were cool attractions baked in all over, and even some included pints. Awesomely, the whole exhibit is built around the largest pint-glass-shaped structure in the world!
One of the attractions, getting your very own face printed on the foam of a pint.
A view from the rooftop Gravity Bar- you can see the whole city from up there!
It’s been a fun fifth week. There will be much more happening in the last two weeks-- I’m super excited to head to Belfast in Northern Ireland on Monday! Thanks for reading this week, I’ll keep writing about the happenings moving forward, so stay tuned.
Aidan McKiernan
Computer Science
University of Michigan
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