#im not gonna post the other one merely because of how bad i feel for my followers

[thatdeadaquarius]

About language brainrot. Imagine writer creator reader who finally learns how to write in Teyvat's weird symbols and they want to publish their book. They decided to do it anonymously to avoid the "aaaaaah our creator wrote the holy scripture" sort of situation. Except it didn't work. The reader's style is too different from the rest of the world, so even if they tried to simulate the flowery speech it wasn't effective.

Another thing. Reader who decided to read some local books to practice their reading. They asked for something simple and similar to their speech. But the only books merely similar to it are 2000 and more years old. It's funny how the older text is the more you can understand it. On this note. If reader write something i feel like it would be hard to understand for Teyvat's people.

Imagine a reader who is autistic or has any other NDs imparing their communication skills. They practically trained themselves to say sertain phrases in sertain situation. But it doesn't work in Teyvat. And everything just stacks at each other. Difference in speech, being a God (so people react weirdly to you), bad communication skills, not understanding nonverbal cues and so on. There's gonna be a lot of misunderstanding. I imagine how followers would walk on the eggshells not to upset and angry their God and reader who does the same not to say something people will get wrong. Again.

Reader who regained all their memories of creating Teyvat, they're super powerful and stuff. But they still struggle with the modern language. Because all the memories are like millions years old.

✨️NEXYLAZA UR SO FUCKING SMART AND CREATIVE✨️ UR BRAIN>>>>>> EVERYTHING

GIF Akashi (black hair) is all the people who read the Sagau/Isekai Genshin tag and Bokuto (silver) is STILL ME RANTING ABOUT LANGUAGE IN TEYVAT LMAO

They cant escape me, sorry people who just wanted to read SAGAU normal things, im filling up the tag💀

I HAD OTHER ASKS BEFORE THIS ONE AND AS I GOT THRU EM I WAS "OMMGGGG WE'RE GETTIN CLOSER TO NEXY'SSSS ASSSKKKK EEEEEEE"

YOU ARE A GODDAMN GENIUS

DHALALWKDHDHS

ME ABOUT THIS ASK:

(^ lol biblically accurate deadaquarius)

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGINNNN

BRAINROTTING OVER UR ENTIRE ASK!!

♡

Also, its getting kinda old now, so here is the blunt language v. Teyvat's flowery language post for reference! :)

Hhhhhhhhhhh

IF U WRITE STUFF

AND UR IN WORDY TEYVAT LAND

AINT NO WAY,👏

U COULD EVEN, 👏👏

GET CLOSE👏👏👏

TO THESE BITCHES SPEECH👏👏👏👏

◇

Like,, imagine right now if i told you to write me 4 pages of an essay in entirely early 18th century vernacular.

(For reference: when the story Pride & Prejudice takes place)

... like??

Bitch aint no way u can do that and actually show that to a historian or an actual living person from that time period

and them actually say "wow! An excellently worded 18th century essay!"

💀.

◇

So tying into that whole, "the only simple texts are like literal cunnieform clay tablets or sm shit"

Your writing to them just sounds like if a scribe just copied off what one of those tablets said just onto paper HAHA

And like, if u try and dress it up, it just ends up sounding like its from a slightly later time period

Like if ur casual writing sounds like 1 million years ago, u being flowery sounds like 8-7 thousand years ago u cant win LMAO

◇

Omg ur trying to go to that-

wait whats it called,,fuck i dont know Sumeru good enough yet

The.. HOUSE OF DAENA GOT IT

Yeah so ur thinking "Oh what better way to learn a dialect?/vernacular than reading books by them!"

And u basically snatch Alhaitham at the soonest possible chance to take you there

(Bc when i went in, it was just random lore books everywhere so)

Needless to say you have no clue how this place is organized, so u convince him to direct you to books u can easily read first

Like as close to your speech as possible!! U tell him :)

.

..

...lol

It literally takes like 3 hours to get something readable LMAO

Bc when the poor feeble scribe initially brought you smth he thought was pretty old and close to ur speech, like just first thought,

... It sounded like it was from the middle of the 18th century to you lol

So, with a "hmm" and a squint at the dusty book you'd already given up on

Alhaitham slowly went around the library making a stack of books, dropped them off in front of you... not a single sentence.

...then he made a stack of scrolls...

..nope..

...a stack of stone tablets...

.....getting closer?? it was really weird seeing Shakespearean language carved into stone....

...and then, with a conversation to a second library secretary deeper in the library, past a caged area of shelves to protect them...

...he escorts you behind the restricted section towards the back filled with glass display cases.

(Several of which contain the most ancient looking sets of artifacts you've ever seen)

...Finally, u arrive at a long glass case of several clay tablets.

Half of which sound like they're from the 1910s-20s, and the other, even older half, sounding straight out of the 2000s..

..

....

......

...Good god.

(Good..you??)

These crazy speaking bastard-previously-video-game-characters were right.

...

You are suddenly, viscerally hit with the image of Zhongli's idle, "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, but where are those who share the memory?" 💀

◇

Alhaitham side eyes you,, (he looks,, very interested, yet also kinda concerned??? HIM, CONCERNED????!!!)

"Ahem, the texts before thy Greatest Lord art the eldest- well, perhaps, more appropriately, the eldest and most intact, pieces of written language known to our humankind."

...

....aYOO MAN 😭😭

...Ur just staring at these half cracked, baked clay tablet thingys, full of slang from like 2003-

Alhaitham coughs.

"Uh, thanks. ...Sorry about all the.. trouble with this..."

BRO HOW OLD DOES HE THINK U ARE NOW-

"This task assigned to mine own person was of no trouble to my mind or spirit, Greatest Lord, fret not about it any longer."

And with a sort of shell-shocked atmosphere surrounding both of you, Alhaitham walks off to check out some other restricted books, hovering nearby yet also trying to give u space LOL

Top 10 cursed images: Seeing "Chillax, bro, dude, and weeb" carved into ancient clay tablets that look like they would be part of the Egyptian exhibit back in ur world 💀

◇

You eventually just kind of end up writing a couple pages after studying the writings, going younger and younger (nothing has ever made u feel more powerful...yet also more old..)

You stretch, just as Alhaitham finally has made his own little stack of creaky old books

He seems very curious to read what u wrote, peaking a glance over the top of his book every so often (lol nerd, cute nerd... but NERDDD)

You just offer the academic lunatic what he wants 🙄

"Haha, wanna take a look? Some drafts are... closer than others..."

The scribe immediately puts his book down, not even saving his page,

"I would be honored, Greatest Lord."

Is he excited?? 💀 omfg

U very slowly hand ur most recent practice pages over, he curls his hand under his chin "hmm" ing

...Alhaitham shakes his head

"My..deepest apologizes My Creator, but this still seems, at the earliest, from when papyrus was invented, and not yet even into scrolls..."

OK BUT ALHAITHAM WOULD GENUINELY GIVE NO FUCKS ABT CRITIQING YOU, HE MAY BE MORE POLITE ABT IT BUT EVEN IF U DID MAKE THE WORLD HES GOING FOR IT

KAVEH HAS A HEART ATTACK BC HIS ROOMMATE GOT ONTO GOD LMAO

U let ur head plop on ur pile of papers, srry babe youll never be as fancy as Mr. Darcy 😕

And as ur resting there, contemplating just walking out and finding smth to eat instead- same

Alhaitham picks up another draft.

Except it's your first attempt.

As in, you didn't even try, first attempt.

You just made some bullet point notes or some Bs, in ur regular. modern. language.

Alhaitham knocks his chair over standing up so fast-

(HE GETS SHUSHED BY THE RESTRICTED LIBRARIAN LOL, also another person unafraid to scold God lol)

...he says its a perfect example of the oldest records they've found of writing on the continent, most of which they haven't even translated yet

He asks u to teach him how to read this/speak like this lol

♧

(^^^not my best work but hope yall got smth outta it💀)

I WAS LITERALLY GONNA MAKE A WHOLE POST ON THE NEURODIVERGENT EXPERIENCE OF BEING A GOD IN TEYVAT

ESPECIALLY OF THE LANGUAGE BARRIER VARIETY!!!

THERES JUST

ACK

aCK HDHAKD

SO MUCH

TO SAY

!!!

AHHHHH

OK BUT LIKE

IF WE ACTUALLY TOOK THIS TO THE EXTREME IM IMPLYING IT WOULD BE

LIKE TEYVAT SPEAKS SEVERAL DECADES BEHIND U- MAYBE EVEN ACTUALLY

CLOSE TO PRIDE AND PREJUDICE TIMES SPEECH

THEY WOULD LITERALLY BARELY COMPHREHEND YOU

IMAGINE TRYING TO TALK TO MR. DARCY 😭

THATS LITERALLY ALL OF TEYVAT

JUST

???¿¿?????!!! <- THEM ALL THE TIME

ESP IF UR NEURODIVERGENT

I THINK IT WOULD BE EVEN MORE PROOF FOR THEM TO THINK UR GOD

BC UR BEHAVIOR WOULD BE "OFF" TO THEIR NEUROTYPICAL ASSES,

YOUR FACIAL EXPRESSIONS,

LIKE UR MASKING MAYBE BUT

U CANT KEEP THAT SHIT UP ALL THE TIME-

ESP IN CRAZY ISEKAI CIRCUMSTANCES

AND LIKE-

(ok ill tone it down before i also get shushed)

U used to be a player!!

Which would maybe mean u got rlly comfy playing Genshin all the time!

...like i know im kinda stimming when im gaming (and my natural stim is rocking so yeah no way they wouldnt notice that 💀)

So, since u may be still yknow unconsciously wanting to be comfy (esp around ur mains/team/favs)

U probably have stimmed a little around them, which, not that neurotypicals dont stim, but like

They would notice after awhile

And esp people like Alhaitham, Zhongli, Ningguang, Xiao, Ei, Aether/Lumine, Kaeya, Diluc, Kazuha, Heizou, Shenhe, Kokomi, Sara, Albedo, Dainsleif- !! GASP- !! <- my bbygirl omg i forgot abt u before now im so sorry </3

(once again i have not checked a character list, forgive my sins my readers)

^^^ Are like pretty focused on you/observant, so they'd eventually pick up on it first probably

..

...

....which allsssooo means they're like, collecting all ur neurodivergent thingys lol to compile as EVIDENCE AGAINST YOU AS TO WHY THEY KNOW UR THE CREATOR LMAO

◇

Honestly the biggest factor against u is definitely social interaction,, srry love :/

(if it helps, its bc i know itd be my downfall too thats why thats there ^ 😔)

Mostly bc i have this idea/theory? obervation? that when I especially met Adepti for the first time

Esp ones that werent as close to human society for as long as some others (like think Xiao vs. Ganyu)

And for literally every other non-human people we've met so far in Genshin-

They kinda- they kinda, radiate neurodivergent energy??

Like, they're not adherring to social norms, and not in like a bad way,

But its still rlly obvious (i mean also its probably exaggerated for us as an audience) that theyre not human pretty quickly

coughzhonglicough

COUGHVENTICOUGH-

oh geez wow excuse me, cold weather must be gettin to me- ahem hem-

Anyway, like what Nexy said in the ask,

...

...Yall are all just tiptoing around each other 😭😭

Bc these ppl arent from Earth countries,

All their behavior is weird to you 😭

U dont know how to mask with them yet 😭😭

THE UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF MISCOMMUNICATION THAT HAPPENS ALREADY WHEN UR NEUROSPICY VS. NEUROBLAND PPL

IS LIKE, ALMOST WORSE??

Bc they cant even understand ur phrasing bc its so simple 😭😭😭

◇

Tldr: "Being Neurodivergent means ur a god, confirmed." - says all of Teyvat's denizens

◇

NEXYLAZA.

MY BELOVED.

I AM IN LOVE WITH UR BRAIN.

IF I COULD GIVE IT A HUG I WOULD🫂✨️👏👏👏👏

BC I WAS ALREADY LIKE IN THE BACK OF MY MIND LIKE-

*rubs my little rat gremlin hands together*

"hmHmHMMMM BuT wHaT iF mAYbE yOU reMeMbeREd cReATinG TeyVAT, hmHMHMMMMM"

AND FOR VERBALIZING IT WITHIN BLUNT LANGUAGE AU- !!!!!!!

(one of my favs, if u cant tell)

I would (platonically) kiss you right now dude.

Instead I give this:

♡ ily

And also, I AM GOING TO MAKE A WHOLE POST ABOUT THIS-

MAYBE EVEN A FANFIC, OR ONE SHOT AHDHAKFHSKLAAL-

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY BELOVED PARTNER IN CRIME <333

PSPSPSPSsppspspspssss Last Time! CLOSES TOMORROW @1pm CST: VOTE on my 100+ followers celebration POLL :)

Tell me what u wanna see me write about! PSPSPSPSpspspspssss

(U can vote even if ur new! :] )

THANK YOU FOR SUBMITTING THIS ASK

THIS IS A TREASURE OF MINE NOW

GONNA HIDE IT IN MY LITTLE CAVE OF SCREENSHOTTED SAGAU POSTS <333 hehehehehehehehehehe

THIS IS LIKE PT2 TO MY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE POST AHHHHH

NEXY BIG BRAIN ILYSM <3

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza lol ur own ask im a menace sorry

[visionthefox]

I know the April Fools episodes are jokes but it's kinda funny to analyze them Earth's nightmare seemed to be her fearing that she's a terrible person that everyone hates, dislikes, or avoids, her forgetting everything again, people not telling her things or keeping secrets from or about her, feeling powerless even to herself, losing Lunar(except for that last bit), being generally confused... And then Sun's, Sun's was all their enemies apologizing for everything they did, fixing whatever they screwed up, and disappearing, or in the case of the Creator dealing with Fazbear since Sun hates that company, and then Moon leaving after being weirded out, even Sun pointed out the sheer absurdity early on, maybe all of these incidents affect him subconsciously even more than he realizes, poor guy just wants some catharsis Earth and Sun telling one another about their weird dreams after the fact is something I could see happening too

ANON WE THINK THE SAME I WAS GONNA START THINKING TOO DEEP but I felt soo stupid but AA IM NOT ALONE!! for Earth- I guess is a mix of feeling guilty she "failed" Lunar- and fears she may be too focus on her family life she may not pay attention to Monty- also something about fearing you "did a terrible thing" and just feeling gaslited even when you know you didnt hits home.. her fear of maybe "being forgetfull and controled" may be the most obvious, yet is still interesting.. as.. for me, she gives me "hero complex" at times, thinking she is meant to be the one fixing ppl (even when I see ppl saying she never asked for this role) maybe because when made, she was mentioned as "the better version" so she goes by that.. ending up feeling both fake, try hard, yet afraid to fail and emotionally stressed out trying to be what ppl expected of her. so then- we see her fears, being seen as a bother, seen as someone to deal with rather than work with.. also, maybe is me, but she does kinda takes too hard her "brother" not wanting her in his date/celebration.. also going on over Solar "hating her" when the dude seems to be neutral with her.. that got me feeling odd, she takes simple soft push as "you hate me" .. no? they dont want you there, yet they still care to ask if you are ok.. what is she on about? (I know, is a nightmare, she is not meant to make much sense, specially as the emotional one she is.. I cant blame her too hard ) NOW SUN~ OHOHOHOHOHHHHHHH oh HE HE DOES SHOW SOO MUCH~ isnt it.. curious? of all the jokes they can make.. is ppl saying sorry ! what they show us? again, I expected actors or bloopers like other channel did! but.. now.. isnt it curous, right after he tells Eclipse to kill himself, he dreams of him saying sorry, sure, is clear Eclipse is not happy nor all sappy. not even wanting to be there with them any longer than BM did.. not saying "I hope im welcome back"-- nothing! Eclipse showed up, say his words, and choose to walk away, Sun is clearly weird out .. yet- clearly hoping to see the lie,, he doesnt, Eclipse lose more than he wins.. so Sun is left to wonder- was it true? he means it? we know Sun feared him. then hated him- has every reason to- yeeeet.. Sun has to know.. he is mad at the shell of how was a enemy. maybe having Eclipse saying sorry is the thing he needs to let go of this anger , just like Lunar did Lunar faced the big bad wolf- only to see a mere AI, broken and lost, lying to itself hoping to gain some sense of control over a life he cant even run away from.. Sun maybe needed to tell itself, via Moon "thats not the man that hurted you, thats the ghost of the past.. let it go" Moon is that side of him telling him to let go, and when things got too wild, his "reason" just had to leave- I feel thats when Sun stayed to yell, feeling too much stress confusion and cringe even (I have more to say but may do a post later on. idk) last joke video was not canon at all, yet this one is clearly tied to canon.. soo.. this has to mean something!! IM NOT LOOKING TOO DEEP YOU ARE ANON!

I hope my ramble isnt too long! but yea. I may explin myself better later on. just- I feel the fact this is DREAM and not an AU means a lot..

[platonic-qpr-selfshipping]

don't mind me just leaving more random writing around here to have it all in the same place. I have my last exam tomorrow so I thought about posting it for luck and confidence boost of some sort lmao, l i need a proper break but self-indulgent fanfiction can do a lot in the meantime

Sethos idea based on something @infernal-selfships mentioned while talking about him, Im so grateful for all your support bro

this was just to experiment i have no idea of how I actually feel about Sethos lmao JHSBDS I just enjoyed wondering about it but I'll hopefully meet him this week!!

Sethos felt N's head against his back for a moment, a mere second that proved to him that he wasn't imagining things when he first felt it. There was only one lantern guiding their way through the desert at those hours of the night, and N's body, right behind him on that camel, had started to feel warmer and closer than any light.

Perhaps he was, in fact, making up allegories he shouldn't have.

"Are you falling asleep?" Sethos asked, smiling to himself.

"Just a little. I'm not used to staying up this late, I'm sorry."

By Sethos' command, the camel began to slow down its pace. N was so sleepy it took them a whole moment to actually notice it and, when it practically stopped, Sethos turned to them in his seat:

"C'mon, get down. You're gonna fall down if you fall asleep back there."

"Huh?"

The thought of Sethos leaving them in the middle of the desert crossed their mind. N looked around. Sand, dunes and more mountains of sand. Was he really going to...?

"Do you need help?" the young man asked, slightly confused at his companion's silence. 

"No, I— Are you gonna leave me here?"

It could have been the question, perhaps the serious tone of it, what made a chuckle grow in him. Sethos tried not to laugh, but his entertained expression was unmatchable.

"Pft— N, please, why would I? I just want you to sit in front of me."

"Oh," they answered, their sleepy eyes letting surprise slip through. And so they held onto the chair once more and jumped down the camel in a few seconds. After petting their animal friend, who had turned to greet them, N stared at the new spot Sethos had just made space for. "I think I need help to get up there, though."

"No problem, I can always lend you a hand."

One moment and their hands were one. Another and a pull gave them momentum to get on the seat again. From that position at the front of it, it was now them who felt the other by their back. 

And ahead of them, the hidden desert and its silence felt both peaceful and scary.

"Hey there, I actually meant the other way around," Sethos teased. "You should face me so you don't fall to the front, am I right?"

"Oh, right."

N struggled a bit to change their position up there, but did so either way. Sethos' suggestion seemed logical, so why wouldn't they? Despite the sleepiness, their movements were so precise that Sethos couldn't find a chance to explain the meaning behind his words. Next thing he knew, N's nose seemed to be centimetres from his and they were trying to figure out where to put their arms without clinging to the guy. He wondered if his ears had ignored some words due to his heartbeat suddenly getting louder.

"Like this?" N asked, still avoiding his eyes. "You sure you're gonna be comfortable with me here?"

Sethos swallowed saliva. "Yeah, just— As long as you're comfortable. Feel free to fall asleep."

"I don't intend to use you as a pillow," they chuckled.

"Too bad, then," he answered with a playful tone. Next, he pulled the rope to continue marching.

But the sudden shift because of the movement made N, who unconsciously feared for their balance, hold onto him with one of their arms. "Uh, sorry."

"Shh, it's alright. You can hold onto me, we're closer than that, won't you agree?"

Their eyes met for the first time since N had sat down. Then silence, and a reassuring smile from Sethos. He was becoming a bit fed up with the way his brain had decided to overthink the littlest actions for the past few days, making him now fear that he would lose control of the rope and camel just to continue staring at N. Yet he managed to keep his usual smile, trusting that would be enough realness on his part— also not too much.

"...I suppose I'll take you up on that," N finally answered, softly smiling back. "But please, do tell me if you get uncomfortable. Wake me up if needed, I won't mind."

"Suuure."

N's arms relaxed as they gently wrapped Sethos in them. Some fingers had a stronger grip on his clothes, but the embrace was tender overall. Seeing they got no complaints, they let drowsiness take over and slowly rested their head against his shoulder. In the middle of that night, Sethos appeared like the source of warmth they could cling to, and their body made sure not to draw away. Not when it was him, not when he was there.

However, relaxing had suddenly become a hard task for Sethos.

It was silly, he thought. The way his thoughts seemed to suddenly stop, how his body reacted at the touch of the other, at some of their words too, even. Archons, perhaps even at their sight, at least lately. Having his outgoing thoughts clash with unexpected feelings like those wasn't something he knew how to deal with.

He had suspected they would get along, sure, but he feared he had started to like them so much that the sole reason his heart beated faster was to try keep up with it all. It seemed absurd, but also so, so unlike him to fight against it. So, whatever. He might just really feel a lot towards his new friend. The friend who currently slept while embracing him under that starry sky that seemed to exist only for them.

Sethos sighed, as if letting the air out into that desert was the sign that he accepted how things were. Then, just slowly, as if fearing they were awake, raised one of his hands until it reached N's head. He caressed their hair with his thumb before trying to look at them.

Soft eyelids, closed. Brown waves cradled by his hand. Their chests connected as if, for a moment, they were all they had. Sethos breathed in.

Friends, huh?

[ode2rin]

ISAGI DEBUT, ISAGI DEBUT ON ODE2RIN! THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS ONES FOR THE ISAGI KISSERS (me).

isagi is the cutest in my opinion, he remains my lover no matter what other characters are introduced. everyone else is my side chick. but isagi definitely gives sun after the rain energy. you’ll fall on your face a few times and he’ll be there to help put you back. which is why him hanging out with people who’ve been stood up sounds like a canonical event in my mind. the small conversation about coffee, yeah he gonna do his best to engage someone. this plays well with his soft personality to the other boys of blue lock when he’s off field. that episode of additional time where barou, nagi, and chigiri realized how much they rely on isagi for help on basic tasks. yeah he’s got a good heart in my mind and is just a helpful guy who wants everyone to feel good.

MOVING ON, the descriptions in this piece? yeah mimi, i might need to live in your brain for a minute.

your descriptions of readers bad experiences with love hits home to all hopeless romantics who just get met with a wall of disappointment.

“and coming from someone who has been gravely hurt in the name of so-called love, it’s impossible not to wonder if such love even exists in this world or if it's merely a figment of your imagination born from those contemporary romance books you read on your lonely nights.”

yeah i’m in this, and i don’t know if i like it or i feel seen.

ALSO, how you describe isagi? im in your walls??

“it's an understatement, as a matter of fact. the guy before you is downright mesmerizing. if you could gaze at his face for more than two seconds without being called weird, you could map the entirety of how blessed this man’s face is — the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he speaks, the subtle strength in his jawline, and the way his hair falls in a perfectly disheveled manner”

AND

“amidst the lively exchange, you catch glimpses of isagi's gentle nature, his ability to make you feel at ease, and his genuine curiosity about your thoughts and experiences. it's a refreshing change from the superficial interactions you've had in the past, and you're left wondering if the man in front of you is even real.”

delicious, delectable, i love him desperately. i don’t know if anyone has mentioned this but your writing has definitely made large amounts of improvement in the short time you’ve been active. it’s honestly fun to see you become more detailed in descriptions and conveying deep insights about the reader through words. in a post you mentioned that in something you were writing that the reader was feeling to similar to you and i’m going to guess that this one might be the one in particular due to how vivid you describe their feelings and thoughts. i’ve been reading your posts since sometime in may and i absolutely adore anything you write or post. so i will fight all your mean and nasty anons for you! we will box them deadass!

have a great day mimi! xoxoxoxoxoxo (extra today)

(🏹 anon)

sorry for the extra long wall of text, i hope this reaches you well! i gave myself an emoji i hope it’s not taken yet. love you mimi, mwah!

[sorry this took a while i was really like this 🥺 the whole time i was reading thru it ]

you don't know how much this means to me. i often joke about not needing any attention for my writing because i write for myself and for my silly pookies. but at the end of the day, i am still a human sitting through hours of pouring my heart out and translating my thoughts into words. and as much as one might try to deny it, knowing that someone enjoyed the piece of writing i put out here can really make a difference, especially when you're someone who receives 'flop' in your asks like me lmao (enough negativity, shoo shoo shoo!). i love hearing your thoughts, 🏹 anon (ps. i actually call you paragraph anon in my mind XD). 

no, but you're so right about isagi giving off 'sun after the rain' energy. if you haven't seen it, i actually mentioned in a previous ask how isagi is the guy who comes after heartbreaks (if you want to read it, here!). i wanted to portray him as someone who naturally exudes comfort in his presence, to the point where you can't help but lower your guard and let him in, if that makes any sense. that's just the vibe i got from him, especially in the first few episodes when chigiri was struggling to free himself.

you wouldn't want to live in my mind, even for a minute, i assure you 😭 and not at you pulling out these sentences jsaksklajs

i'm glad to know that my intention in writing the reader's background has reached the right audience. i was contemplating the direction i took with how i wrote the reader's experiences. i wondered if it would still be relatable or if i made them a bit too sappy (which i did, but it was for the plot T^T). and yes, you're right!! i was referring to this fic when i said that the reader is a little bit too 'me' XD. and now, reading your thoughts, i guess it's you and me hehe. don't worry, if you feel seen by the reader, i'm happy to let you know that i was attacked (and it kind of felt like i was oversharing as a writer, by the way T^T).

“i don't know if anyone has mentioned this, but your writing has definitely shown significant improvement in the short time you've been active” stop ✋🏻 you're making me cry ✋🏻 as someone who goes into hiding after posting because she doesn't have a good relationship with her works, this means so much to me, you don't understand :( i'm actually trying to focus more on writing the reader better. my past works were heavy on the characters' thoughts because i wanted to characterize them properly (i hope i did, oh my god), but in “just maybe”, i wanted to try writing solely from the reader's point of view.

thank you so much, anon! i'll be printing this out, and it will replace my awards on our walls.

i hope you're well and having the time of your life! love you lots <3

(don't worry, the emoji is not taken hehe. i'll go and search for your other asks to tag them properly so i can come back to it 🫵🏻)

[fragmented-light-sys]

I know this can be a difficult question to answer and not everyone is comfortable with it, so please don’t feel pressured to share more than you’re comfortable with. But how did you come to find out you were a system? What was it like? We’re there any signs before, or was it a total shock? How old was the body?

Asking because my friends are all convinced I have DID and I just can’t accept it and i don’t know what to do if they’re right so I’m looking for comfort in other peoples’ stories.

-a very confused and scared college student

this is gonna be a long post lol im sorry.

excuse the switching between we and i, we're kinda blurry and switchy idk.

before i say anything, i do have to say that we're undiagnosed so we dont have 100% proof but we are fairly certain in our suspicion and have done research before saying anything about this (which i recommend to you too; there's blogs on here that have plenty of papers on DID/OSDD research).

ive always felt like there was something going on that i couldnt explain with other mental health stuff (the dissociation, the missing trauma memories, the feeling that youre seperate people, the emotions that dont fit to how you would react, etc) but the only image i had of DID was what the media told me, so losing time n all that.

i did actually start researching DID/OSDD at one point in our life but that resulted in them trying to talk to me and me being completely overwhelmed by everything which lead to a severe shut down that i still cant quite fully understand.

the body is 24 and thats also the age that i started to explore this somehow. theres definitely systems that know way before that but theres really no age limit to discovering that youre a system.

coming to terms with being a system is a hard thing to do so when i did finally start looking into it and asking myself these questions, i was met with a huge amount of denial and the typical "but i cant be a system, i dont have the symptoms!" while being oblivious to the symptoms i did have that hinted towards it. i wasnt "shocked" persé, i was shocked in the way that i knew i had symptoms but still denied myself the chance of saying "maybe what happened to me really was that bad", if that makes sense.

i am by no means far in this. ive just started therapy and i have been trying to figure things out for a mere 5 months now and i am by no means close to understanding everything. so do take this with a grain of salt. and we have actually had to accept things for like 3 times now because everytime we got overwhelmed, someone came and made us forget things again.

please dont pressure yourself in having to discover this and dont let your friends pressure you either! something like this needs time and you have lots of time and its better to come to an informed and calm decision than doing harm with a rushed decision. just try to research for now and keep an open mind!

also id advice you to look for a professional if you really think this could be a possibility.

i hope i could somehow answer your questions, if you have any more questions, please ask, we're a little "out of it" today so it could be that i forgot to answer something.

[pinkseas]

[parasocial bestie] boutta send another ask before you can answer the previous ones.... bro girl (gnc) do you ever think about xiao post-teyvat... after lumine leaves..... like ive took an entire night just hours laying on bed once just to rot my brain on what's gonna happen after all that stuff i told u abt his ideal endinfg and shit i dont remember hhUEHAHAHAHGH BUT LIKE, THE CORE OF IT ALL that he learns and remembers lumine's words to heart; and there's the extra bit i said perhaps, on that time he won't have someone who had made his life a little better, no longer by his side, he would try to delve in a curiosity he had thrown away before. the desire to seek something new, something he used to have, put aside in priority for duty, and that he's not meant to indulge things like other living things do.

i love the thought that xiao takes the step of being in lumine's shoes, not entirely, but the mere concept of being a traveler. a wanderer. someone who's simply curious, who wants to explore what they've never seen. this is a life lumine is at her finest, other than the responsibilities she's weighed to. xiao would just want to Try and feel her experience. he'd leave liyue if only for a few days, still clinging to the thought of,... home? liyue finally felt like home than a place he's obligated to protect. and that's thanks to lumine too. his travels progress with ease with his own form of teleportation through the permit of wind, and he settles to visit,.. places. landscapes, nature,- to meet the people can wait later. for now, he's only here to explore and just... be.

it latches at the very center of my brain for weeks about post-traveler concepts like this like i DONT dig and do not like just outright Despise a xiao that misses lumine to the Extreme, someone to cling onto, because it defeats the purpose of him who's meant to be free and being able to choose. it doesnt mean anything about him forming attachments and loyalty, although hes still loyal to lumine in regards he sees her as a dear friend who taught him so much about life, the life he has and that he should cherish it. and he does, and will try, with all these little steps of moving forward without the hand that pulls you along. the people who cared for him who had been the hand that pushes along, will still push, but now all of his actions are made on his own volition. i just love that. i love that after lumine, he starts to live again. he slowly, but surely, know how to live.

so first of all "bro girl (gnc)" fucking SENT me im gonna cry why is that so funny to me i love that so bad

and second of all okay ngl i dont think about it OFTEN but i do. think about it. i Absolutely Do Think About It. and the way you've described it is flawless i have nothing to expand upon nothing to add no little comment to make im just. speechless. delving into the curiosity he had thrown away before. becoming a traveler, a wanderer. meeting people coming later, for now focusing on exploring, on seeing all that the world has to offer. still regarding lumine as such a dear friend. his actions being his own. learning how to live again. im going to lose my MINDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD.

not getting too close to mortals at least for a while at first, too wary of the pain he's caused them before, too aware of the degree to which he will outlive them (those from the chasm are exceptions, and he'll remember them for centuries after they're gone, even if only in fleeting thoughts). but meeting some of the other archons. becoming closer with other adepti. a small circle, but a circle nonetheless. <- cannot stop thinking about xiao and nahida eventually becoming friends dorry i had to say SOMETHING. its hard to imagine him and the wanderer as Friend friends, but i can see them crossing paths sometimes if they hadn't already met through lumine, realizing fairly early on that neither of them are human, working together pretty well whether in fighting or simple exploration. sharing a sort of wonder at the world, a deep will to be better, knowing what its like to exist solely for one purpose and knowing more still of what it's like for that purpose to leave them, to be taught how to exist without it, to further learn themselves how to exist without it. idk. very different people but a solid few similarities in their lives. xiao albedo friendship i hope i pray at least eventually idk i think they'd just Vibe.

still thinking about xiao and nahida as friends. xiao knowing a lot about various plant life and taking care of it, nahida teaching him the rest and filling in the gaps when he asks. learning how to sew. learning how to best care for the wildlife. learning how to use his hands gently. they're rough and calloused and for so long they existed to wield his weapon, nothing more, but now they make messy stitches and pat down the dirt around freshly planted flowers and ever so carefully pet the stray cats he sees in different cities. xiao is not a weapon. maybe he never was.

idont even know where my train of thought is anymore im just. im just. im just. o(-(

[polaroidpascal]

hi lyss!!!

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. (if you feel like it, no pressure.) spread the self-love 💞

hi em!!! 💜

this is so cute and sweet 😭 i won’t lie, it feels kinda weird to like… brag on myself… but i think that’s just a personal problem 🙃 this idea is so precious, thank you for including me!!! ilysm!!! 🫶

in no particular order…

valentine’s day : i think i just love how sweet this ended up being, and i kinda need it really really bad 🙃 if it’s one thing about me, im gonna make frankie the sweetest sweetheart the world has ever seen 🫡

let me : i didn’t really think too much of this one before i posted it, i just really needed some pure frankie fluff at the time but people still share it and say they love it and all the kind words really mean a lot 🥺💜

the best critic : this one was so self indulgent when i wrote it and it still is tbh AJDHSJBD and i think i have a fondness for it bc there aren’t a whole lot of javi g fics out there (in comparison to other characters) and my husband deserves better than that 🥺

paradise city : this one was a monster. it overtook my brain for weeks. i would drive in my car listening to rock music and daydreaming just because it was so 😵‍💫 and i even went so far as to make a playlist likeee 🙃 anyways…

morning brew : the frankie/joel/reader brainrot is still in full swing. this is merely a fraction of a fraction of what goes on in my head thinking about them. i love how silly this one came out and it’s both of my babies so yeah 🤭

this was such a sweet ask to see in my inbox, so thanks sm again em 💜🫶🥺 ANYWAY I’LL STOP TALKING ABOUT MYSELF BEFORE I GIVE MYSELF THE BIGGEST ICK 🥰

[iamyelling]

today was a hard day. feeling overhelmed. tired, stressed. dissociated a bit. feeling something else that i don't have a word for.

started out feeling weird this morning. i made a bowl of rice crispies but i had a mere thimbleful of almond milk so used annah's (old) soy milk but it was so sweet and gross i had to throw the whole bowl out i couldn’t stomach it. it might be so old it's gone bad idk. so i only had my tea this morning.

then i left to go get my booster, and pick up my prescription that was ready but when they asked for my covid vaccine card i realized i forgot it at home. so i drove back home, picked it up, drove back. then i could get it. and i haven't gotten the flu shot yet so they did that too. boom boom one in each arm. then i went grocery shopping. then put the groceries away, then took sol to pee. then i was gonna eat something but my body was feeling too stressed to eat, so i brushed sol, to calm down. but then found i found 2 fleas on her and oh then it was flea crisis time

i texted annah and figured out what i needed to buy. texted our friends to let them know for their dogs and since we're seeing them this weekend going camping. and for advice from one friend who is an animal expert. and then another friend is texting me to invite me to go accompany them to bellingham next week for them to get a tattoo. and im receiving texts from this person i went on a weird date with on sunday about what theyre interested in. not gonna talk about that right now that's a whole other thing but yeah. ive been posting horni stuff on lex and i know it's always overwhelming getting the responses but the thing i posted yesterday or whenever it was, is particularly overwhelming and aghghg i feel weird

so i make myself some food at it's like probably 2 or 3 by now, eating some yogurt and granola. then i pack my stuff back up and go to the pet store and get flea meds for the animals which is like $140 bc flea meds are fuckin expensive. then i go to qfc and i can't fucking find the baking soda which annah asked for and i'm going up and down the aisles and no workers are around to ask for help and i just fucking give up and check out and i ask the lady at the register if they have it and she's like yup it's just hard to see and i'm like mhm well i really looked but ok. anyways i just fuckin leave im like trying not to just have a mental breakdown in the fucking baking aisle of qfc and annah can go find it on her way home from work. so i finally get home. then i need to medicate all the animals, and i do that. it's topical and i need to make sure nobody ingests any of it so fingers crossed yall.

finally that's done and i can just relax until annah gets home which is honestly at that point pretty soon.

when annah gets home it's immediately chaos energy of course right. she's all like saying she's itchy because of the fleas just hearing about it while she's at work so lord you know it's going off when shes here. so she had ordered something from amazon and it was supposed to get here but it didn't and it said delivered but it's not here or in the mail room and she was very rightly mad about that. it's happened to her multiple times now that it'll say it'll be here rush prime shipping or whatever and it says its delivered and it's uh nowhere to be found. anyways

then begins her cleaning. she pours this huge box of baking soda all over the carpets everywhere. leaves that to like .. soak in? idk how powder works but it's there. she cuts up the lemon and rosemary she requested i buy for her, puts that in a pot of water to boil with peppermint essential oil. which does admittedly smell nice. then she sprays that all over the house, on the carpets on the blankets on the animals (they were very confused and did not appreciate being misted). oh and at this point i remember that the old comforter my parents gave us that we use as an extra dog bed, which i'm washing for obvious flea reasons, (oh yeah i put that in the wash before getting the flea meds) which did one round in the dryer needs another go on the dryer so that's going and loud and overstimulating of course. then begins the vacuuming. so now annah's vacuuming and needs me there to help move things for her. oh also her thumb is flaring up lately and she has been texting me today that it's super painful. but she needs to do the vacuum, not me. ok so we're doing this, we can't hear each other, its stressful. eventually we finish vacuuming. the vacuum needs to be emptied frequently i think due to all the damn powder clogging our very fancy vacuum up. anyways. for the record i did vacuum almost the whole apartment on sunday because annahs sister is in town from nyc! she took the train all the way here! so i was trying to help get things in order and tidy so annah doesn't feel worried about anyone showing up.

but we get through it. and the dryer is still going and annahs putting the instant pot in a cupboard and i keep hearing this beeping! annah is hard of hearing so can't hear it, it's this inconveniently high pitch tone and she is no help in locating it because she can't hear it. and so i'm going CRAZY trying to find it. i think it might be the dryer ? no. it sounds like its coming from the instant pot but that doesn't make sense because it's not plugged in. i check outside if it's maybe a neighbor and i'm hearing it through the walls, nope its louder inside. i give up and accept that i'm going crazy. i sit down and see on my phone a notification from this app from a company our landlord company hired to give us these sensors for leaks and apparently a leak is detected under our sink. wait no this was before we started vacuuming. anyways. so i am trying to mark it as a false alaarm but it keeps going off! so i just accept that this is gonna go off. whatever. it's not going off anymore but idk it doesn't make sense. maybe some maintenance guy will show up tomorrow to deal with it

finally i am resting now. and i'm hungry but i don't even want to make food im just. ugh

[cheese-greater-official]

The Great Gatsby .. I think antibucci Summary: Literally just the great Gatsby. Nothing else here. Absolutely no changes. Definitely use this for class, or reference. The Great Gatsby is public domain now after all. Anyways here's the totally unaltered and complete book of the Great Gatsby. I swear nothing was changed, most definitely. Of course credit to F Scott Fitzgerald for writing this commentary on both his life and the world he was in. A lot of this can still relate today, so keep an open mind when reading. Notes: I'd like to preface this by saying... This is really I mean REALLY just the Great Gatsby. I swear. There is nothing going here that is out of the ordinary! Nothing at all! Chapter 1 Chapter Text Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, I must have you!” - Thomas Parke D'Invilliers. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth. And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the

wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day. I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him — with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe — so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why — ye — es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two. The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog — at least I had him for a few days until he ran away — and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove. It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road. “How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly. I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood. And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the "Yale News"—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the "well-rounded man." This isn't just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all. It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size. I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented

rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby's mansion. Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor's lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month. Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I'd known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago. Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he'd left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he'd brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that. Why they came east I don't know. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it—I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game. And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red and white Georgian Colonial mansion overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch. He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts. "Now, don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say, "just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch. "I've got a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly. Turning me around by one arm

he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore. "It belonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. "We'll go inside." We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea. The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor. The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in. The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room. "I'm p-paralyzed with happiness." She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.) At any rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me. I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth—but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour. I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how a dozen people had sent their love through me. "Do they miss me?" she cried ecstatically. "The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the North Shore." "How gorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly, "You ought to see the baby." "I'd like to." "She's asleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?" "Never." "Well, you ought to see her. She's—" Tom Buchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder. "What you doing, Nick

?" "I'm a bond man." "Who with?" I told him. "Never heard of them," he remarked decisively. This annoyed me. "You will," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East." "Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. "I'd be a God Damned fool to live anywhere else." At this point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room. "I'm stiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember." "Don't look at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon." "No, thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, "I'm absolutely in training." Her host looked at her incredulously. "You are!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me." I looked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before. "You live in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebody there." "I don't know a single—" "You must know Gatsby." "Gatsby?" demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?" Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square. Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind. "Why candles?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. "In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year." She looked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it." "We ought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed. "All right," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to me helplessly. "What do people plan?" Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger. "Look!" she complained. "I hurt it." We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue. "You did it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but you did do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulking physical specimen of a—" "I hate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even in kidding." "Hulking," insisted Daisy. Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here—and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself. "You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops or something?" I meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way. "Civilization's going to pieces," broke out Tom violently. "I've gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The

Rise of the Coloured Empires' by this man Goddard?" "Why, no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone. "Well, it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It's all scientific stuff; it's been proved." "Tom's getting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—" "Well, these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to us who are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have control of things." "We've got to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun. "You ought to live in California—" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair. "This idea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and—" After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winked at me again. "—and we've produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?" There was something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me. "I'll tell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It's about the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?" "That's why I came over tonight." "Well, he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect his nose—" "Things went from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker. "Yes. Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up his position." For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk. The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing. "I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation. "An absolute rose?" This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but a stirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house. Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leaned forward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether. "This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor—" I said. "Don't talk. I want to hear what happens." "Is something happening?" I inquired innocently. "You mean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. "I thought everybody knew." "I don't." "Why—" she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York." "Got some woman?" I repeated blankly. Miss Baker nodded. "She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't you think?" Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table. "It couldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety. She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued: "I looked

outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He's singing away—" her voice sang "—It's romantic, isn't it, Tom?" "Very romantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enough after dinner I want to take you down to the stables." The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. Daisy took her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl. "We don't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly. "Even if we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding." "I wasn't back from the war." "That's true." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'm pretty cynical about everything." Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter. "I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything." "Oh, yes." She looked at me absently. "Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?" "Very much." "It'll show you how I've gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool." "You see I think everything's terrible anyhow," she went on in a convinced way. "Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything." Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom's, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated—God, I'm sophisticated!" The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged. Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the "Saturday Evening Post"—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms. When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand. "To be continued," she said, tossing the magazine on the table,

"in our very next issue." Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up. "Ten o'clock," she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. "Time for this good girl to go to bed." "Jordan's going to play in the tournament tomorrow," explained Daisy, "over at Westchester." "Oh,—you're Jordan Baker." I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago. "Good night," she said softly. "Wake me at eight, won't you." "If you'll get up." "I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon." "Of course you will," confirmed Daisy. "In fact I think I'll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—" "Good night," called Miss Baker from the stairs. "I haven't heard a word." "She's a nice girl," said Tom after a moment. "They oughtn't to let her run around the country this way." "Who oughtn't to?" inquired Daisy coldly. "Her family." "Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick's going to look after her, aren't you, Nick? She's going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her." Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence. "Is she from New York?" I asked quickly. "From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white—" "Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?" demanded Tom suddenly. "Did I?" She looked at me. "I can't seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know—" "Don't believe everything you hear, Nick," he advised me. I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called "Wait! "I forgot to ask you something, and it's important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West." "That's right," corroborated Tom kindly. "We heard that you were engaged." "It's libel. I'm too poor." "But we heard it," insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. "We heard it from three people so it must be true." Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn't even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come east. You can't stop going with an old friend on account of rumors and on the other hand I had no intention of being rumored into marriage. Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he "had some woman in New York" was really less surprising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart. Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight and turning my head to watch it I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor's mansion and was standing with his hands in

his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens. I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn't call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness. Chapter 2 Summary: Just chapter 2 of the Great Gatsby Notes: (See the end of the chapter for notes.) Chapter Text About half way between West Egg and New York the motor-road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight. But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground. The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan's mistress. The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her I had no desire to meet her—but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and taking hold of my elbow literally forced me from the car. "We're getting off!" he insisted. "I want you to meet my girl." I think he'd tanked up a good deal at luncheon and his determination to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. I followed him over a low white-washed railroad fence and we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg's persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it and contiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage—Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars Bought and Sold—and I followed Tom inside. The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred

to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead when the proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blonde, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes. "Hello, Wilson, old man," said Tom, slapping him jovially on the shoulder. "How's business?" "I can't complain," answered Wilson unconvincingly. "When are you going to sell me that car?" "Next week; I've got my man working on it now." "Works pretty slow, don't he?" "No, he doesn't," said Tom coldly. "And if you feel that way about it, maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else after all." "I don't mean that," explained Wilson quickly. "I just meant—" His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs and in a moment the thickish figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and walking through her husband as if he were a ghost shook hands with Tom, looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips and without turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice: "Get some chairs, why don't you, so somebody can sit down." "Oh, sure," agreed Wilson hurriedly and went toward the little office, mingling immediately with the cement color of the walls. A white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled everything in the vicinity—except his wife, who moved close to Tom. "I want to see you," said Tom intently. "Get on the next train." "All right." "I'll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level." She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door. We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and a grey, scrawny Italian child was setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track. "Terrible place, isn't it," said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor Eckleburg. "Awful." "It does her good to get away." "Doesn't her husband object?" "Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive." So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York—or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train. She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin which stretched tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in New York. At the news-stand she bought a copy of "Town Tattle" and a moving-picture magazine and, in the station drug store, some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Upstairs, in the solemn echoing drive she let four taxi cabs drive away before she selected a new one, lavender-colored with grey upholstery, and in this we slid out from the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she turned sharply from the window and leaning forward tapped on the front glass. "I want to get one of those dogs," she said earnestly. "I want to get one for the apartment. They're nice to have—a dog." We backed up to a grey old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John D. Rockefeller. In a basket, swung from his neck, cowered a dozen very recent puppies of an indeterminate breed. "What kind are they?" asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly as he came to the taxi-window. "All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?" "I'd like to get one of those police dogs; I don't suppose you got that kind?" The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck. "That's no police dog," said Tom. "No, it's not exactly a police dog,"

" said the man with disappointment in his voice. "It's more of an airedale." He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag of a back. "Look at that coat. Some coat. That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold." "I think it's cute," said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. "How much is it?" "That dog?" He looked at it admiringly. "That dog will cost you ten dollars." The airedale—undoubtedly there was an airedale concerned in it somewhere though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture. "Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately. "That dog? That dog's a boy." "It's a bitch," said Tom decisively. "Here's your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it." We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner. "Hold on," I said, "I have to leave you here." "No, you don't," interposed Tom quickly. "Myrtle'll be hurt if you don't come up to the apartment. Won't you, Myrtle?" "Come on," she urged. "I'll telephone my sister Catherine. She's said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know." "Well, I'd like to, but—" We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases and went haughtily in. "I'm going to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in the elevator. "And of course I got to call up my sister, too." The apartment was on the top floor—a small living room, a small dining room, a small bedroom and a bath. The living room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for it so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance however the hen resolved itself into a bonnet and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of "Town Tattle" lay on the table together with a copy of "Simon Called Peter" and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large hard dog biscuits—one of which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door. I have been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon so everything that happened has a dim hazy cast over it although until after eight o'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes and I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner. When I came back they had disappeared so I sat down discreetly in the living room and read a chapter of "Simon Called Peter"—either it was terrible stuff or the whiskey distorted things because it didn't make any sense to me. Just as Tom and Myrtle—after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names—reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door. The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty with a solid sticky bob of red hair and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed i

Feel free to delete the first one. I would do anything for you if post this. The Great Gatsby in all it’s glory

im aware i was probably supposed to read the whole thing to find out if you changed anything and tnhen find out you hadnt and id wasted an hour of my life but i am way too lazy to do that

[prettyboykatsuki]

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into it | k. bakugou 

➳ tags ;; smut, praise kink (so much praise kink),d/s undertones, dumbification fem!reader, unprotected, mild dacryphilia (what else do we expect lol), pro-hero!katsuki

➳ wc ;; 1.5k

➳ a/n ;; my period came n it’s My Day so im posting this. sorry if i’m a little rusty! i haven’t written any nsfw since like? march.

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He know he’s spoiled you rotten. 

He knows this fact better than anyone else in the entire world. It didn’t matter how obvious it was to others, he knew it and he knew it well. The way Bakugou Katsuki finds himself stuck by your side leaves him with more questions and answers. He’s developed quite the habit of listening to your every word, clinging off your little attention and praise like it was more important than anything else. 

In a way, it was. That feeling he gets in his stomach, the pride in his chest when you bat long lashes at him and say “katsuki” the way only you ever could. You’ve got a grip on his being like nothing else. The world could be falling apart but he knows in his head he would be worrying about his baby. 

He knows he’s in love and he’s strong enough to admit it. But there’s a difference between being in loved and being whipped beyond belief or comparison. He’s indefinitely the latter.

He’s whipped out of his fucking mind. It’s ridiculous and gets more ridiculous as the days pass. The way he pours so much energy into leaving you spoiled and sated. He was always the asshole, the tough guy - but these days he questions himself for just how soft he’s gone. 

For you and only you. If anyone else had half the attitude you had with him, he’d probably rock their shit. With you, he merely sighs - grabs your face with strong hands and goes “why you bein so bratty huh?” until you’re confessing all your sins to him. It’s a religion of sorts, practice of worship. If you’re an altar, Katsuki feels like follower. Disobedience to your desires has always felt like sacrilege. 

Bakugou knows he spoils you too much. You’re not much for material but when it comes to time and attention, he’s always making room for you. Sits you in his lap while he works as long as you behave (lets you stay even if you don’t). Comes home to you. Doesn’t go out unless he’s sure you won’t be lonely. 

You didn’t particularly ask for any of it. You’re eager to let him be, but him? He seethes at the idea you’re getting your daily dose of love from anyone else. Turn his blood hot under his skin, makes his mind feel like it can’t sit still. 

So you’re spoiled rotten whether you like it or not. Bakugou would be damned if anyone came near you with the intentions of what he always intends too. 

You’re spoiled, to put it plainly. But Bakugou can’t say he hates it, no matter how much he tries 

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“Such a spoiled fuckin’ brat, huh?,” 

You shake your head, but your voice trembles in your throat when you try to reply. With the way Bakugos got your legs pinned, a hand resting on your navel with two fingers in your cunt, it’s hard to think at all. You squirm out of his reach, away from him. Everything in your body feels like it’s trembling and the pressure in your body has you dizzy and aching. 

Your clit is swollen from what feels like hours of stimulation. His mouth latches onto the swollen nerves, and goes and goes - matches the pace of his fingers fucking in and out of you. Every movement makes you twitch - an aching fever in your core. It’s almost painful - completely overwhelming. Bakugous determination leaves little room for error. 

“Ngh, I don’t ― aah, don’t mean to be” 

He chuckles a little at that. You can feel it reverberate against your body. When your eyes flutter open to see him between your legs, you’re sure you’re gonna cum again right away. Bakugou fucks you open with two fingers then three - stretches you out till your nice and soft. It makes you feel gooey, cum and saliva pooling onto once stain-less sheets. 

“Katsuki, ‘s enough, please - enough,” 

“Not enough baby,” he bites your thigh with sharp canines, red eyes boring into yours “Gotta be a good girl ‘n give one more. Spoiled fuckin’ brats gonna take all of it, aint she?” 

You let out something half-way between a whine and a whimper. The muscles in your thighs ache from holding still so long - from shaking. Your eyes roll up till there’s only white. Fuck you’re cumming again. How many times is it now? You can’t remember. 

It aches. Your cunt like a play-thing against the wet muscle, thick fingers that stretch you much wider than you thought possible before. He gives and gives and gives - and you take like the spoiled and greedy brat you are. When he ruins your pretty pussy into stuttered, breathless and raggedy orgasm - you take it all so greedily. 

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cream on my fingers, princess,” and he grunts, uses his free hand to jerk his cock. It’s stiff enough to hurt, the ache in his balls unbearable. But he’s gotta get you nice and sloppy - he likes to give it to you all in one go after all. 

Your brain feels like it’s melting, mouth dropped own and drooling. Katsuki is always so mean  but not with you. With you, he’s whispering sweet nothings into your sweaty skin and biting claim into the flesh. You let him melt you into whatever shape he likes with the promise he’ll hold you through it. 

“Gone and fucked you real stupid, huh?” 

There’s an unmistakable affection in his words that makes you screw your eyes tight enough it hurts. Tears prick your lashes as another orgasm rips through - shreds you to pieces. 

“Katsuki” 

You hold your arms out for him, needing to cling - and he lets you like he always does. You kiss him desperately, tongue searching for desperate reprieve as he drags sticky fingers up to your mouth. You can feel his cock slide between your folds, heady heavy and throbbing against your clit. 

It’s so, so hot. It’s molten, your brain and stomach turned to complete fucking mush. You whine again - loud into his mouth. 

“Clean ‘em good or you’re not getting my cock”

You nod dumbly. His fingers slide down your throat, touch your tongue and stretches your mouth out. 

“Haah,” he chuckles against your throat “So fuckin’ messy, huh? Your mouth and your pretty little pussy are so fuckin’ soaked for me, aint they?” 

“Yeah, yeah -��‘s f’r you” 

“All for me?” 

You nod with his fingers in your mouth, smiling like you’ve won the fucking lottery as you look him in the eyes. So obedient and pretty and good. His dick aches. 

“Mhm” 

He has you pinned so easily underneath, grunting as your knees are brought to your ears. You yelp as he bends over you, sliding his cock against your clit - fucking right between as he looks at your desperate face. Your eyes gone hazy as you watch his cock almost catch on your hole but never quite hitting. 

“’tsuki, hngh - please”

You’re distraught. So fucking spoiled - you’re in delirium begging for his dick. You need him so bad you don’t know anything other than digging your nails into his biceps and begging over and over and over. 

“Fuck  ― fuckin’ take this dick baby, shit” 

Your brain turns to static when you feel him fill you up in one fluid motion. Katsuki is thicker than he’s big, stretches you so good you scream silently. Strong hips that make you ricochet right into the bed with each thrust, you can feel yourself cream over him. It’s humiliating. 

He rolls your clit between his thumb and forefinger as he pistons you. Your body jerks so violently you almost lose hold - but Bakugou placates you with a tongue in your mouth. Kisses you messy with teeth and tongue - so salacious it has your cunt fluttering. His muscular body pins you to the bed, leaves you helpless and open wide for him to take.

 Bakugou’s spoiled you so he knows how you need, knows how to make you cum even when you’re so fucked out you can’t feel the air in your lungs. 

He french kisses you because he knows that’s how you like it - his spoiled, obsessive angel that can’t quite get enough of him. He knows just how your mouth likes to be occupied, knows just what nerves to hit. 

“C-Cumming!” 

Bakugou drops his forehead on your shoulder, mouth enveloping yours. He doesn’t say anything but his fingers grip into the fat of your thigh. You can feel him in your stomach, in your cevix 

Bakugou cums in you hot and heavy and thick. He groans into your mouth - jaw tense and brows taught when he fucks his load into until it’s all mixed together. 

His eyes open to check on you, his baby. Your eyes are red and puffy with tears - but you’re smiling lazily. Scheming. He squints

“What the fuck is it, brat?”

“.. You’re only gonna give me one?” 

Goddamn it. 

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[soulwillower]

semi-charming •  bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested:  Do you have any bill denbrough x reader’s that you have finished that can be posted? I really love your work I re read it like everyday lol :)    +      AKANSHAKAKMA U SHOULD POST THE BILL DENBROUGH HATE SMUT AHHHH     +     don’t be shy post the b.d hate smut 😀🔫🥰🌝

i haven’t posted a fic in well over several months but i hope u guys like it :) im here and around still so send me something if u wanna chat <3 i also have re opened my requests lkajsdlkaj

also - i gained a lot of new followers while i was gone and im sure some ppl want to be removed from my taglist SO: i am gonna start a new taglist!!! pls send me a message and let me know if you want to be on it bc after this post im starting fresh  !!!!!!!!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of weed, dorm living, almost-strangers hooking up, smut, choking (light), light spitting, a tiny bit of dirty talk, switch!bill, its kinda fluffy smut tbh, enemies-to-lovers but its so lowkey, kinda cute guys, neighbor-ish au, 

(losers + reader are 19+.)

4.1k words

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the first time it happened, you wrote it off as unintentional. 

it's happened to everyone: you're joking around with your roommate, or reaching over to grab your laptop, and you fall off your bed to the floor. you knock over your lamp or someone knocks over the handle that was sitting half-empty on the mini-fridge. the tile on the ground of the dorm rooms are hard and cold and don't do much to quiet the noise of anything, so you get that. 

but whatever the hell was going on in the room above you was not that. it was three in the morning, and your head was spinning in that sickening way that only happens when you take too many drinks in a short time and find your way to bed for a few hours before being startled awake. 

a loud thump made you jump in your bed, heart racing as you woke in surprise. 

it was around twenty more loud thuds from your ceiling (in a span of barely two minutes) that you gathered the energy to slide out of your bed, sliding on your dorm slides and throwing on a shirt to cover your near naked body before storming into the hallway to climb the most challenging single story of stairs in your life, right to your upstairs neighbors' door. 

your hand was banging on the door for a mere five seconds before the door swung open and a terribly confusing sight fell onto your eyes. 

three boys who you've only ever seen in passing before in your dorm, all shirtless and heaving breaths. the one who answered the door, possibly bill or mike (judging by the stupid name tags on their door), has bright eyes and dark auburn hair that reflects in the dim light of the hall, backlit by the neon purple from inside the room. his sweaty bare abdomen made your eyes twitch as you glared at him, suddenly more irritated because he's kind of really hot and stupid and annoying, and you needed to sleep.

"hi.” he said casually, and you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober, either. 

“so what is your fucking problem?" you said in lieu of a greeting, half-asleep and pissed beyond belief (also still drunk). the boy who answered the door raised his brows, head turning with a brow raised, as if to ask his buddies 'are they for real?' before turning back with a large, cocky smile, "pardon you? we already turned down the music." 

you blinked, knowing you must have seemed so rude and looked insane but it was a weeknight and you had class in the morning, "wh- what, no- i'm not here about music. it's like three, you're slamming on the floor and i can hear it like i'm in a fucking tornado in my room below you so you need to knock it off." 

then the other boy, further back with foggy glasses, started laughing. the other one laughed too, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still breathing heavy. "what the hell are you guys even doing in there?" you added, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. 

"they were trying to bench press me. but then bill decided to start doing squat jumps onto his bed." the boy with glasses explained as he rubbed his chest, still concealed by the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the stupid LED neon lights that every single person in the dorms had lining their rooms. that explained the thudding. 

"why." you'd deadpanned. you were too tired for this, but you'd wanted them to understand that it was keeping people up. "richie got us kicked out of Pike for stealing their doorknobs and pledge class photos." the third boy says, elbowing the boy, richie. "we felt like working out, but then richie said we couldnt press him, so..." he trails off at the look you give. 

"you want my workout routine or something?" richie asks you. you sharply inhale and bill smiles, "well, if that's all, we'll be going. i've got one more rep to get in." 

your eyes widened, jaw dropping at his words. he'd laughed, then, and your eyes couldn't stop as you stared at his sculpted abs flex in the light. god damn it. 

"chill out, neighbor. sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep." he said as he noticed your look, and you wanted to fucking hit him. 

you rolled your eyes, picking up on his facetious tone. "whatever. just knock it off. thanks," you'd griped, sarcastically smiling at them before trudging away towards the stairwell. and you'd caught it when bill muttered, "is now a bad time to assemble my ikea desk with my drill?" 

you'd run into bill once again a few days after when you'd gone to use the bathroom on the floor above you where your friend lived, washing out the bowl you'd used for lunch. a 'shh!' had made your brows furrow as you'd walked in, not paying attention as you'd heard a shower stop and a girl laugh from the other side of the bathrooms. 

but a deep voice grunting 'ow, fuck' made you freeze and then feel hot, wondering what kind of luck you have to be in the bathroom when some people were hooking up in the shower. but you're reminded that you had the worst luck when you go to leave the bathroom and two figures round the corner, hair soaking wet and hoods pulled over their heads. making eye contact with him, he must've seen how flustered and irritated you were, because he cracked a grin, "good to see you again, neighbor. you sleeping well these days?" 

that was only a few days ago. you'd seen him in passing at a party at one of the frats, but had avoided any interaction with him after you saw him and his friend with the glasses snickering to themselves after sneaking looks to you. god, you didn't want to face them again - they were so mocking, so cocky.... so rude, and they made you feel like you were being insane just for wanting to have peaceful sleep. bill was not your favorite person. 

but as bad as the first two experiences were, the third time you had the misfortune of interacting with bill, it was the worst. 

your roommate was out for the weekend, and you'd found yourself stuck with your leg and ankle pinned between your heavy file cabinet under your bed and your bedframe, unable to scoot it over on your own to free your leg. 

you were planning on relaxing tonight, after being stood up from a booty call hook up. you’re mad, frustrated, horny, and close to tears now that you’ve gotten yourself stuck pinned to your bed.

it’s nearly one in the morning, and nobody’s in the hall. 

but then, bill walked past your open door as you struggled, and desperately you called, "hey!" 

his double-take into your room, his head poking in, would have been charming if the face was anybody but him. 

"what?" he asks, suddenly noticing it’s you. his voice is not charming and calm as you've seen him be with other peers, but in your stubborn mind, you convince yourself it’s fine; you don’t like him, either. 

"i'm stuck, can you help?" you say despite your thoughts. 

he sighs, dropping his backpack next to your bed and then tugging to try and move the cabinet. 

"how did you do this?" he mutters as he pulls as hard as he can to pull it, but your shoe is too wedged diagonally against the floor, cabinet and frame. you sigh, "thought i could nudge it to the side with my toes, i dropped my dab through the crack." 

he chuckles, trying to instead shove it backwards instead; to no avail. "smart girl." he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes, trying to help him shove it. "what was the point of you keeping me up all fucking night if you aren't strong enough to move this shit?" you say, exasperated because it's starting to dig into your calf. 

he stops, rolling his eyes at you. "has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit rude?" he asks, moving closer to you to try and push it away. you look down at him from where you stand, elbows on your mattress. "no. you're just a dick. fight fire with fire, or whatever." you mutter, face feeling hot. 

you can't stop staring at his shoulders, his arms - they're so hot, the veins popping out of his hands and forearms, the smell of his aftershave wafting into your nose from where he kneels next to you. 

he just hums. "i'm going to try to push your leg forward and then push the cabinet away." he states, and you nod, just wanted this nightmare to be over. you're still terribly embarrassed and the proximity to such a hot and confusingly irritating boy is making you lose your grip. 

it takes a lot in you to not jolt when his warm hand wraps around your bare leg and starts to pull you, his strong hold on you making you tingle. "what's your name?" he asks, and you almost laugh as his grip on your thigh tightens, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your skin making you hot. this is insane.  "y/n." you struggle out, throat feeling dry - there's no reason his hand needs to be so high up on your leg, but some part of you really wants it. "it says that on my door." you say breathlessly. 

whatever he was going to reply with is cut off as he tries to readjust his grip on you and the cabinet, but his hand slides up and grazes the skin near the apex of your thigh, coaxing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth. 

he turns red, looking up at you, "god, sorry." he mutters, and you bite your lip, unable to look away. 

you kind of forget to say anything, stuck staring at him, heart thumping as wetness pools between your legs just from this boy's touch. god, you've got to get laid. 

his arm is wrapped around the onside of your leg, thumb reaching higher on your thigh than his other fingers, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding to go for it: you drop your hand hand to his hair, pulling lightly as you 'steady yourself,' smirking as you feel his shaky breath against your thigh. 

you don't even care about getting unstuck now, all you can think about is being fucked into the mattress by this asshole boy from the fourth floor. you’re not sure where this feeling came from. 

when he finally pushes the cabinet away, causing you to stumble to catch your ground. he helps you get the cart and then push the cabinet back, awkward small talk making you want to die. "why were you down here anyways?" you ask, rubbing your leg. "mike kicked me out to be with a girl and all my friends are out for tonight." he sighs, rubbing his neck. "i have to do homework tonight, just going to find somewhere quiet to get it done." 

"that's surprisingly responsible." you say, looking at him wearily. he gives you an annoyed look, "what's that supposed to mean?" you roll your eyes, "you don't seem particularly academically motivated." you state, unsure if you're coming across as flirtatious or just a dick. he gives you a look as he moves to grab his things from next to your bed. "you seem more pleasure motivated." 

you catch your mistake immediately - and he does, too, smirking. you stutter to fix it, "don't be gross." you defend weakly. 

he's biting his lip and something rumbles in your chest, flames in your abdomen. it's hard to gauge if you don't like him or if you do. maybe you're just horny.

"i thought you were cute, you know, until you showed up at three in the morning to chew me out." he mutters, eyebrows raised, "i get that that was annoying, but it was a saturday. everyone was drunk, i don't get why you are still being a bitch." his face drops when he says that, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but he doesn't take it back. you shrug, not too offended. he kind of has a point, "i don't get why you have to make everything so much harder than it has to be. doesn't matter how hot you are,  i don't have to like you, you know." you say, crossing your arms with a smirk. 

"believe me, i'd rather you not like me." he says, smile on his face troubling. you look at him, trying to gauge why you're feeling so flustered, why you want to jump his bones right now no matter how annoying he is. "then why haven't you left yet?" you challenge. you figure if you're reading his actions wrong, this gives him an out. 

"because i kind of want to fuck you now." he says boldly. you just smirk, walking towards where he sits on your desk chair, lowering yourself to straddle him. he looks up at you, eyes large and mischievous as he pulls you down on him all the way, your hips grinding lightly. "i think you want to fuck me always." you whisper, lips hovering above his, teasing. you're eating up all his attention, soaking it up and savoring the way he watches you. 

you boldly snake your hand down between the two of you, lips still refusing to touch his, your hand starting to tease his clothed cock as it hardens under your palm. you stroke him as you lean, almost kissing him before pulling away. he glares at you. 

then you move your hips, the tension in your room killing you. he lets out a half-moan, causing you to buck your hips again, relishing in the pleasure it gives you. he leans forward, trying to catch your lips, but your hand catches his chest, your lips just centimeters from his own.  "fuck you, y/n." he says, fed up with your teasing as his hands squeeze your ass, moving to the bottom of your thighs and then rising with surprising ease, holding you against him and making your heart thump in shock. he takes four long strides towards your bed, tossing you on it. you grin, expecting for him to climb onto you, but instead he's walking towards your door, making your heart quicken. is he leaving? 

he slams your door shut, though, and it makes you smirk as he clicks the lock. you're on your back, the sight of him upside down making you bite your lip, eyes nearly even with the bulge in his sweatpants. 

he walks up to you, and you eye him as he bends forward, hand catching your chin, holding your head forward with a strength you didn't expect. "look at me." he says suddenly. you blink, feeling hot as you stare into his eyes. 

"don't tease me." he says, and you swallow, heart racing in excitement. "okay." you croak, and it seems to satisfy him because he tilts your neck from here he holds your neck and chin, kissing you soundly on your lips. you feel on fire at his touch, squirming as you slip your hands into his hair - it's making you so needy that he's holding you, almost trapped on the mattress, kissing him upside down. 

he pulls away and you flip around, allowing for him to climb onto the bed, barely enough time before you pull him in for another kiss, this one heated and desperate. 

he bites marks on your neck as your hands palm him, pushing your own thighs together in need. slowly, you push him down against your mattress and sling a leg over his hip, moving to straddle him. his hands find your hips easily, looking at you like you're the only thing ever worth looking at; your breath leaves your lungs and you steady yourself, the reality of how fucking beautiful bill is hitting you at once. 

you pull his shirt off, yours coming off, leaving you in just your shorts and underwear. he palms your tits, pinching your nipple as you grind down against his cock, whimpering at the feeling of his pants against your clothed clit. "if only you'd come up to my room like this." he says, and you snap your eyes to his, seeing the teasing grin but glaring at him. "maybe you would've been nicer to me if you knew how good i'd make you feel." he whispers as you resume your hip's movement, "shut up, bill." you hiss. he laughs, his thumb making contact with your clit takes you by surprise and you jump a bit, moaning quietly as your eyes close in pleasure. 

"take these off." he mutters into your mouth as you bite his bottom lip. you take off your shorts, quickly resuming your spot straddling him, his lips trailing from your breasts to your throat and then your mouth again, grinding against him in need. he toys with your slit over your panties before he pulls them slowly to the side, spreading your juices on his long fingers, humming as he brings his fingers to his lips, watching you as he licks his fingers. you nearly moan, impatient enough that you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips faintly; "do you want me?" you whisper against his lips.

"i wish i didn't," he says, "but yes. do you want to do this?" 

you're breathless, beside yourself with need, "yes." you say quickly, tugging his sweats off and tossing them to the floor. "fuck you, by the way." you spit, flipping him off. he grins and it's fucking beautiful, his smirk, his red cheeks, heaving chest. budding hickeys bloom over his neck and chest as he catches your hand, tugging you forward over him, whispering, "you're about to." 

you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your chest, hand falling over his as he pumps himself. your thumb swipes over his tip, spreading his precum before opening the condom he'd pulled out of his pocket (you don't even want to know why he brought one with him to study) and roll it onto his cock. 

and then you’re pushing aside your panties and stabilizing yourself on bill’s chest. you line yourself up on him and look to him for one last confirmation. he nods, “quick fucking around, babe.” he says, but his voice sounds desperate and his cheeks are flushed and you let out a strangled moan as you sink onto him, the nickname making your stomach flutter. you have to stay and give yourself time to adjust to his size, his moans swallowed by your own mouth as your tongue swipes his. his hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, your breasts and then rising to cup your neck and back. 

“shit, bill.” you whimper as you slowly start to move up and down. his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim, his hands falling to your hips. your eyes watch his thin necklace shine in the faint light from your lamp and he's filling you up perfectly. 

he looks like fucking heaven.

you kiss his neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers grip the sides of your thighs.

“fuck, y/n.” he whispers, staring at you with his lips caught between his teeth. the feeling of him stretching inside you and hitting the perfect spot has your legs shaking already, breathing heavily. he’s soon surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arms rising to your waist to hold you as you move.

"you're much better when you're not talking." you mutter as you fuck yourself on him, moving your hips as you bounce. he rolls his eyes, "i'd fuck you every day if it meant you wouldn't come ruin my fun every night." he quips back, eyes challenging. and your hand rises to squeeze around his throat, at first as a joke, but then he smiles brightly, a smirk that stirs something in you and you squeeze ever so slightly, the feeling of his pulse making you moan. 

his smirk sends butterflies through your stomach, pleasure swirling in your core. but then his own hand rises to your own throat, squeezing lightly.

you moan, unable to keep it together. "you think two can't play this game, y/n? it's like you don't know me." he tuts, seemingly pleased as you're flushing, gasping as your legs stutter, his hips moving up to meet yours, strokes hitting you deep. “i don’t,” you whisper, and he hums. 

your legs stutter after one particularly satisfying thrust and he grabs your hips, lifting slightly and biting his lip as he starts to thrust up into you. “oh, my god,” you moan as he hits your g spot and he curses under his breath.

your hand comes up to rest on the wall behind him as you meet each other half way, hitting a spot deep inside you that has you moaning his name loud enough for anyone to hear. you hope to god your next door neighbors are out. 

he presses his lips to yours and you know its to get you to stop being so loud - it makes your toes curl in pleasure. then his thumb snakes its way to your lips, his grin widening when your lips immediately part and suck on the finger, humming around it as your hand rests on his neck, the other over his abs as you bounce. 

"so pretty like this, y/n." he leans up, then, sitting up more and changing the angle, making you gasp with a moan as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his face with the hand on your face. he pulls his thumb from your mouth with a light pop, your legs barely riding him at your proximity, instead steady on his hips, his cock warm and stretching you. "do you think you'd look pretty under me?" he asks. you swallow, moving your hips again and sliding on his cock, movements making you stare at him, pleasure building. 

"i think you would." he whispers, hand still on your neck. you whimper a bit, sliding off of him, allowing him to climb over you, kissing you soundly before pulling you to the edge of your bed, legs hanging off as he stands in front of you. lifting one leg, he kisses your knee and holds it up as he teases your slit with his cock before sliding into you again, causing you to let out a loud moan, his own melding with yours. 

your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh. “wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down.

 "you think you're gonna make me cum?" you bite, knowing no man you've been with has been able to. 

you watch as his eyes admire the half-lids of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already. 

he says nothing in response to you, but pulls your leg further open, spitting down onto your cunt, making you moan lightly, the action being terribly sexy. his thumb finds your clit and starts to rub perfectly in counteraction to his thrusts, his lips finding your nipple. 

you gasp in pleasure, panting as you start to wonder if he really is going to make you cum. then his thumb rubs circles on your clit and as he presses lightly, you can’t hold off any longer. “fuck,” you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. you can’t help it, gasping and bucking your hips as you clench against his cock in bliss, your orgasm causing you to tug his hair in ecstasy. “so pretty.” he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back. "so good, cumming for me." he says cockily. you're panting as you whisper, "shut up," his hips still pounding into yours. 

“god, you're such a sweet talker.” he mutters sarcastically as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips, you can tell he's close. 

"and you're such a gentleman." you jest back, pulling him closer by his shoulders, eyes shutting in bliss. he hums, strokes getting sloppier, "i let you cum first, didn't i?" he counters. 

you huff a laugh, something in your heart twinging in affection. you kiss him so you don't say something stupid, moving your hips with his. a few strokes and he's pulling you closer to him by your back, whimpering into your mouth, “y/n, fuck.” beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he cums, and you just stare at him in awe, surprised by how hot it is as he says your name. he rides his high and then falls off of you, onto the mattress between you and the wall. 

"hey," he says after a few moments of you both catching your breaths, your hands overlapping on your stomach but not nearly holding hands. it makes you feel warm in a weird way. excited, nervous. 

"what?" you ask, turning to stare into his eyes. he smirks, "you think we woke up the downstairs neighbors?" he whispers, eyes alight with tease. 

you shove him, smothering him with a pillow while he laughs, pulling you onto him. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew

[lunar-wandering]

okay, alright, Shadow Mountain AU, where Macaque joins Wukong on the journey, im stealing this from @winterpower98 because she has more AU’s than hands so-

yeah. im pulling most of this just randomly out of a hat as i go so we’ll see what happens

Macaque literally crashes into Wukong like, mere minutes after Wukong has broken free from the mountain.

y’see. while Wukong was trapped under the mountain, Macaque had also been caught, and was given the punishment of being permanently trapped in the shadows

he could hear the mountain crumbling though, and then he was being literally thrown out of the shadows and into Wukong’s arms

Tripitaka reasonably panics because he doesn’t know if this is an attack or not, and the monkeys have started yelling at each other-

but he calms down once he realizes that this is a verbal fight more than a physical one

“why did you leave me?!” “why did you never come to the mountain if you knew where it was?!” “i literally couldn’t!”

Tripitaka manages to calm them both down and “speak about their problems reasonably” which is a concept they both hate but they do manage to hold a reasonably civil conversation as they follow behind Tripitaka

then the whole “Wukong gets mad and leaves” thing happens. and Macaque is just kinda. stuck there. with Tripitaka. who is panicking, worrying about what’s gonna happen now, and Macaque just. sits off to the side, silent.

Macaque: he will come back you know. he’s just impulsive like this. Tripitaka: but how can you be sure?

and thats the thing. Macaque can’t be sure.

then the whole circlet thing happens-

Macaque does nothing other than scowl at the situation. he himself is given a necklace-esque thing, which he can’t take off, and glows, removing his ability to use his shadows and glamours. he knows he got the better end of the stick in comparison to Wukong’s pain, but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

Macaque basically becomes the silent-trickster of the group. he and Bai Longma typically just stand off to the side, silently watching. sometimes Wujing joins them.

the amount of times Macaque uses his abilities to make Bajie trip is exactly as many as you think it is.

most of the time when Macaque speaks, it’s to either argue with Wukong, or to argue with Tripitaka

still though, Macaque does end up growing just as fond of the others as Wukong does. he can’t help it, monkeys form groups, he’d end up feeling close to them even if he really didn’t want to.

going to be honest. i did not actually plan much for the actual journey.

because the idea of skipping ahead to when MK shows up is so much fun.

MK doesn’t actually know about Macaque, because due to Macaque’s whole “silence and shadows” thing, he was noticed even less than Bai Longma. there’s occaisonally brief mentions of him,but none of them ever give him a name

so...imagine MK’s confusion when he arrives at Flower Fruit Mountain, fresh out of getting the staff stolen from him by PIF, looking for help, and instead of the Monkey King, he finds someone who claims to be “an old friend of the Great Sage”, who takes one look at him, tells him he can handle it on his own, gives him the barest bit of advice when MK nearly breaks down crying, and then vanishes.

MK goes back to the mountain the next day, and this time actually does find the Monkey King sitting there waiting for him.

MK: where were you yesterday???? Wukong, who was asleep: i was uh....busy with some thing a few of my friends needed help with!

here’s the funniest part of this AU to me: MK doesn’t know Macaque’s name. he sees him multiple more times (yknow that part of Bad Weather where a lamp post falls down in the background while MK stares at Wukong in disbelief?? yeah i need u to imagine that Macaque was just there, dangling from it before it collapsed) but nobody ever actually bothers to introduce Macaque to him (Wukong just assumed MK already knew)

MK scours his books and everything he can find about the myths but not a SINGLE one of them mention Macaque’s name and he is SO frustrated by it but he’s been kinda-hanging around Macaque for so long that he can’t just ASK.

yes i did decide this was a plot point because it makes episode 9 being just called “Macaque” ten times funnier.

...no i did not actually plan any AU plot points beyond this point have fun with what little ive given you *(drops microphone)*

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.  ҉   next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[angy-mouse]

your sloth george writing has me literally drooling jesus christ. im just imagining sloth demon george just absolutely ruining you slowly and taking you apart and when you think you can’t take anymore, he passes you over to greed/pride demon dream, and obviously dream has to one up whatever george did, and george is next to you petting you and whispering how good you are as dream wrecks you until you literally pass out, :))))) head so full -🍑

Demon dream team fic is in the works but probs not gonna post it because there is SO MUCH self-projecting 0.0 Also if anyone’s curious on demon dream’s dick: bad dragon’s Sleipnir (side note if anyone wants to buy me that or any of the others from my demon dick post for ‘research purposes’ hmu jk jk... unless-)

It wasn’t uncommon to wake up in the midst of your own orgasm- not when one of your lovers was a sloth demon. ‘I’m sorry, luv,’ he’d always mumble against you as he licked you clean of your own cum. ‘You just look so beautiful when you’re sleeping…’

Today wasn’t any different. You slowly woke up as George eagerly ate you out, all soft licks and wet kisses as he appreciated your body- even when you weren’t conscious to return the favor. He made the cutest happy little noises against you as you came, happily slurping it all down before going right back to work. Your hand found its way into his bedhead right between his horns and his eyes flickered to yours with a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Good morning, luv,” he purred. 

“Mmmm… Georgie…”

He chuckled at your sleepy voice and took it as permission to make you come at least once more. You relaxed into the sheets as his talented mouth worked at you, almost not hearing the scoff from the doorway.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be today, George?”

George gave a soft hum against your sensitive folds before pulling back a mere inch to answer. “Fuck off, Dream. Can’t you see I’m having breakfast in bed?” And there he goes, diving back in between your thighs.

Dream gave an annoyed huff, waltzing up to your bedside and cupping your face. You gave him a lazy smile that he returned with a wink before he looked back down at George. “It’s my day. Move it- I might’ve let you finish if I’d known what you were doing, but I can barely hear her so step aside and let someone who knows what he’s doing take over.”

George scoffed, lifting his head to look Dream in the eye as he lazily licked your juices off his lips. “Some of us don’t need to make her scream bloody murder to make her feel good.”

“Oh come on now, we both know who pleasures our sweetheart better.” George growled at the insinuation but his ego was quickly soothed when you came with a flick of his tongue. He looked up with a smug grin as you moaned softly, but Dream simply cupped your face and stroked your hair reassuringly. “Oh, you poor thing. He’s barely getting you there, huh? I’ve never heard you so quiet while you came, baby- don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you once he leaves.”

You were too sleepy and cum-lax to try to stop their petty argument- or do anything other than whine weakly when George moved from between your legs to lay next to you in bed. “Oh, I’d love to see you do better.” 

“I will, thank you,” Dream threw back and before you knew it your knees were pushed to your chest and Dream was eating you out like an animal. You shrieked in pleasure and your hands flew out for something to anchor yourself, landing on his horns. He growled against you and added his fingers to the mix, curling two of them inside you just right to have you tipping over the edge yet again.

George toyed with your hair and stroked your cheeks as you cried out when Dream refused to let up. “Oh, I know, darling, he’s so rough with you, isn’t he? He’s so mean- I’ll take care of you, it’s okay. You’ve been so good all morning, luv.”

Dream growled at the passive-aggressive comments and pulled back, wiping his mouth and sucking his fingers clean. “How many did you get from her?”

You whined as George lazily pinched at your nipples over your shirt. “...four? I wasn’t counting…”

“Easy,” he purred, taking his dick in his hand and rubbing the blunt tip up and down your folds. “Don’t worry, baby, unlike some people, I know my needy little toy can only go so long before you need a nice cock to split you open.”

“Don’t listen to him, darling. You deserve to get fucked good, you’ve been doing so well-”

Dream growled and you had just enough time to remember the first thing you learned about hanging out with this crew (NEVER IGNORE A PRIDE DEMON) before he bottomed out in one thrust. Your moans as you instantly came around him were only drowned out by his own growls. His ragged wings spread out over the bed like he was shielding the three of you as your weak orgasm made your hole squeeze him even tighter than before, wrapping around every ridge and bump he had on his godly- rather, hellish cock. 

“Do I have your full attention now?” You barely heard George giggling into your neck mischievously as you hurried to assure yes, yes, yes! 

George peered up at Dream as his hand slipped under your shirt to play with your nipples. “I bet she’ll scream my name when she comes next.”

Dream grinned, all fangs as he secured his grip on your hips. “You’re on.”

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah

[cryingoverkanej]

the crows in rollerskates:

(this is so long but its worth reading i promise)

anytime all six crows are in ketterdam they have an unspoken rule that they must congregate at the van eck mansion for dinner.

even kaz shows up. every time without fail. he says inej threatens him into it but really he just loves seeing his friends. matthias is alive idc

he’d never tell anyone that but they all know.

so one day after getting an invite from wylans very exhausted runner kaz locks up his office and makes his way through the sunday afternoon crowds.

jesper is buzzing.

wylan sighs at him but cant wipe the grin off his face at his husband’s happiness theyre married now because i said so

jesper has been gliding around the halls for the better part of a week testing out his new rollerskates.

he picked it up suprisingly quickly and was doing jumps and spins within the first day, far too close to the expensive vases for wylans liking.

wylan had had a go too, slipping and sliding, his face twisting into varying levels of uncertainty, falling with every step.

jesper was too busy laughing to catch him every time and so he ended up on the floor more often than not.

the next morning wylan had woken up early with a sore back, jesper was still fast asleep and one glance at the clock told him it would be at least three hours before his husband actually got up.

so out of determination but mostly spite, wylan crept out of bed, got washed and dressed and ventured downstairs to find the skates where jesper had left them in the corridor.

he had given his staff the day off in preparation for the crows dinner that evening so, without the risk of embarrassing himself further infront of a servant, wylan had slipped on the skates.

by the time jesper came downstairs four-and-a-half hours later wylan was skating around the ground floor with confidence much to jespers astonishment and delight.

nina and matthias had shown up not long after that and jes had taken the skates back to show off his moves.

“pleaseeee jes!”

“five more minutes nina!”

nina groaned. matthias grinned, she had wanted a go for the past hour but jesper was somehow still full of energy.

eventually he pulled to a dramatic stop and took a bow before untying the laces and handing them to nina.

she wasnt as smooth as jesper to say the least.

thud. “OW-” and a wide range of swearwords seemed to be her preferred reactions.

matthias got repeatedly swatted and hit away whenever he tried to help her.

“well don’t complain to me when you’re covered in bruises tomorrow”

“you can cover me in bruises later if you like” she winked.

matthias rolled his eyes but went bright red earning a satisfied chuckle from nina.

inej walked over and helped nina to her feet, slipping off her shoes and sliding over the floor in her socks to show nina the correct techniques.

nina copied somewhat successfully, only falling over half as much after that.

then jesper had had a brilliant idea and the five of them spent the next hour gathering every single cushion in the van eck mansion and piling them at the end of its longest corridor.

nina cried and skated towards the pile at full speed, landing in them and bursting into a fit of giggles as jesper jumped ontop of her.

wylan and matthias shared a glance that said ‘i-cannot-believe-we-married-these-literal-children’ before joining in their laughter along with inej.

“no no no no no.” matthias repeated as nina slipped off his shoes.

“yes yes yes yes yes.” she retorted.

matthias suprisingly wasn’t awful.

“it just feels like walking on ice” he’d said.

nina had been positively annoyed at how good matthias was and stuck her foot out when he sped past, her annoyance was replaced with disbelief when he jumped and swirled gracefully to avoid it before plummeting into the mountain of cushions.

inej was next, the shoes were far too big for her and jesper had to lend her two pairs of his fluffiest socks to make sure they didn’t slip off.

but still she skated perfectly, smoothly spinning like she was born to do so.

when they heard a knock at the door she glided eagerly over to let kaz in.

“hello kaz” she grinned.

“hello wraith” he replied fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, she’d missed that smile.

he tilted his head, she was suspiciously tall, before glancing down at her feet.

“jes got rollerskates.” she said.

“poor wylan.” he said stepping inside.

“hey! im rather good at it actually.” jesper said defensively.

“good at being annoying” wylan added.

inej kept the skates on throughout dinner, mostly because they could see she was happy with them on. and also because everyone had noticed how kaz was mesmerised by her as she slid round the mansion.

“kaz you should have a go!” said jesper when the group had settled by the fire and opened a box of chocolates.

kaz merely raised an eyebrow and waited for the sharpshooter to realise why that would be impossible.

“oh.” jesper said looking to kaz’ cane and bad leg resting on a pile of cushions.

“sorry” jesper gulped, embarrassed at how long it had taken him to remember that his best-friend-of-many-years was disabled.

then his face lit up.

“oh no,” said matthias.

wylan had a similar look of concern “jesper whetever you’re thinking-”

“-is a brilliant idea!” said nina, clearly catching onto his train of thought.

they both stood up and left the room clearly in search of something.

it wasn’t until ten minutes later they reappeared at the doorway slightly out of breath but faces both plastered with mischievous grins.

soon the six of them stood in the corridor and kaz realised what the two of them had planned. his eyes widened.

“absolutely not.” he said.

they had pulled out one of wylans best chairs, some expensive ravkan design that was supposed to be worth half a million kruge.

and it had wheels.

kaz turned around and started to make his way grumpily back to the living room when inej stepped in his way.

“you sit your ass down on that chair kaz or i will steal all coffee and everyone knows without it you’d just wither and die.”

the others laughed but inej was only half joking. kaz knew that and reluctantly set aside his cane and sat down.

“what now?” he said with a scowl.

“you know what.” replied inej.

and with that she grabbed the back of the chair and started pushing him towards the cushions. she still had the rollerskates on as the two of them hurtled along the floor.

inej screamed excitedly and kaz let out a muffled cry as he practically flew out of the chair landing face first in the cushions.

she jumped in a few feet away from him grinning wildly at the look on his face.

he looked… happy.

hair messy, shaking his head and failing to hide a smile. then he started giggling, like a child.

from behind they heard four other sets of running footsteps followed by a clash of thuds and laughs as wylan, jesper, nina and matthias joined them.

none of them made it a big deal that kaz seemed so relaxed, he wouldn’t want the attention. and none of them got too close so they might accidentally touch.

so they stayed, sprawled across the cushions laughing, for what must have been hours.

then as the sun set and they grew more and more drowsy they drifted to sleep.

even kaz brekker, dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel, dozed off in the company of his friends.

(ig - pcttigrws if someone does fanart of this i’ll love you forever. also gonna post it on ao3 [pcttigrwsfics] )