rambling about my current wip + a random scene :))

i’m kinda nervous about posting this for absolutely no reason. like i literally do not know why. but enjoy. ;))

here’s kinda how I imagine them???????? kind of???


sasha my beloved



rory my beloved

the only problem is they look like children with these picrews… and they’re not children.


anyway sasha’s a tailor and rory’s training to be a doctor and they live in a small cottagey town.

rory’s very confident and Tall.

and sasha’s confident (but in a lesser way?? idk what im saying) and he’s short. like. short. incredibly short. tiny. idk why it just is.

Rory’s going through some turmoil because she LIKES SASHA like, SO MUCH but she doesn’t want to compromise…. and so she overthinks and jumps to conclusions. as we all do <33

Sasha tugs off his gloves, revealing slender brown hands. He puts them at his side, and their fingers ever-so-slightly brush together. Ever-so-slightly.

Why do you wear gloves?” she murmurs.

“They make me feel safe. When I’m anxious.”

“Are you always anxious?”

“Not always,” he replies, glancing down at her hands. “But I like keeping them on. As a precaution.”

Gingerly, his fingertips land on her knuckles. She breathes a little faster.

It’s just a simple touch.

But oh dear she’s so absolutely in love.

She watches his lips, wondering if she might kiss them.

He traces her forearm. “I don’t wear them at home, usually, unless I’m doing something with an anxiety-triggering texture. Textures really get to me. Either they feel nice or they make me want to scratch my eyes out.”

Each insufferably gentle stroke gives her heavy butterflies in her stomach and lungs. It’s a condition. “Okay,” she breathes, not daring to look him in the eyes. 

“I really do okay now.” Straying to her face, he strokes her cheek absentmindedly. She nearly explodes. How is he doing this so nonchalantly?!  “But I like choosing which textures to experience. I’d rather touch the petals of a silkbloom than the clammy metal of a grocery refrigerator. Sometimes things overwhelm me, and I like how the gloves feel, so I keep them on. Even if I get a little sweaty.”

“I was just curious. You don’t need to… justify anything. I think it’s neat.”

His fingertips rest at the edge of her mouth.

She’s never wanted to kiss anyone this desperately.

He seems so calm.

He must be just as trembly as she is.

He must.

His eyes trail over her face, leaving a blush in wake.

He balances on the bench edge, bringing a whisper to her ear

so maddingly close

but they’re interrupted, by Sasha, who, startled, drops his hands. He doesn’t look at her, tugging on gloves. “I’m feeling much better. We can return to the party. Thank you for staying out with me.”

“It was a pleasure.”

Their interaction leaves her scrambling for an answer. Maybe they’re not casually dating. Maybe they’re not just really really good friends who went on two dates. Maybe Sasha legitimately wants… more.


What kind of more?

More as in, “I want to kiss you and be in a serious relationship.”

Or as in “I like you and I want sex with you.”

Rory’s heart pounds.


Oh dear.

He wants sex.

Doesn’t he?

That’s what all this is about.

She glances over at him. He sits at the counter, catches her staring, and offers a little wave. She gives him a slow grin, heart aflutter, and continues dancing with Chatana.

 But he’s just so… cute.

Cute or not, there’s still the likability he’s going to want sex.

The possibility he’d find her sexually appealing…

It makes her shudder.

“Sexually appealing.”

No, thank you.

Sex isn’t something she strives for.

Sex should be a once-in-a-while activity, if anything.

She just wants someone who, to them, sex is… it’s not something they think about.

She has no sexual desire towards Sasha. All she really wants is to kiss him. Maybe read together on the couch. Or perhaps fall asleep in his arms.

There’s more than one kind of intimacy, and perhaps she has the audacity to prefer one over the other.

Romantic intimacy over sexual intimacy.

But she’d be fooling herself if she thought anyone felt the same.

She’s tried explaining this to friends or family, but to no avail. They give her the same dead look. As if she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

She knows she makes sense. She knows she’s right! So why don’t people understand?!

She sneaks one more glance at Sasha.

She wants to be his partner so bad.

But is it… worth it.

It sounds terrible. But she’d never undermine herself for a man.

Is it worth it?

To be in a relationship

with a man

who wants


than she’s willing to give.

yeah so i’ve been working on that and eventually there’s gonna be a ghost involved and I’m still not sure what’s gonna happen to Rory but she’s not really in the *reality* of the plot? Idk like this scene is from the past and she’s doing doctor stuff overseas or something.

i might post the scene following this one at some point?? idk. maybe?? idk. perhaps?? who knows (not me).


also if this post randomly disappears that was on purpose

poor unfortunate kruge



Um, actually it’s not. It’s a Saturday. But that’s fine.

I’m doing this thing with Ahaana and Becky… so basically I write things. I know how to do that. I think.

I also posted this on my fanfiction account btw I think I still have it listed in my contact page, but if not, um… it’s probably for the best you never find it.

poor unfortunate kruge

Another day. Being tossed around like I’m nothing. I’m worth a lot, actually. About 1-2 US dollars? I don’t know. US is a fictional country, anyway. (Probably for the best. It doesn’t sound like the best place to be right now). But I’m at least worth a crumb of respect, right?

Apparently not.

Jesper, a boy creepily obsessed with pistols —and my current owner– presses his lips all over me. Ugh, I think, wishing I had bones and muscles and a brain capable enough of GETTING OUT OF HEREwould it kill you to brush your teeth once in a lifetime?

“Sweet, sweet kruge,” he says. I roll my stationary eyes.

Wylan, a slightly younger boy creepily obsessed with bombs –and the only person Jesper will listen to– chucks a book at his head. “Stop making love to a piece of paper!”


“No, but your pistols are.”

Jesper gasps, drops me, and cradles his guns to his chest. Wylan sighs and continues creating an atomic bomb. Jesper croons to his weapons like one does to a particularly adorable kitten.

My brethren offer their condolences and I attempt to erase all memories. Why can’t I have a responsible owner?! Like, maybe Scrooge McDuck?! At least I’d have some alone time in his vault!

Suddenly, I and a handful of my other comrades are snatched away by Inej, a girl creepily obsessed with knives –and she listens to absolutely no one. “I need this to buy waffles for Nina see you later crap-butts!” She always speaks this way– in a hurry. And then she leaps out the window, swears as she tries to extricate herself from a rosebush, and yoinks down the path.

Thankfully, the trip was uneventful and dull. I had a nice conversation with my brothers and sisters in our Lord Jesus Christ amen, and they also expressed their relief from leaving Jesper behind.

We arrive at the waffle shop. Nina and Inej chat about knives and books and shoes (I almost join in, but I realize that my sentience would make things awkward).

Then Inej fishes me out of her pocket and hands me and a few of my blood relatives to Nina. “Go order some waffles.”

Nina uncrumples me with a gentle hand and walks inside. She orders two waffles and pays with all of my family tree, leaving only me behind. So back into Inej’s pocket I go. But, due to my super-kruge abilities, I can still see what’s happening. They sit on a bench and enjoy their waffles in peace. Sometimes, the stray old man will glare at them and Nina’s not-at-all poggers fishnet socks and recently blued hair.


A ghost appears.

Nina stumbles on with her rant, angry tears in her eyes, and shouts, “CURSE YOU MATTHIAS!”

The ghost freezes. I get second-hand embarrassment when I realize the ghost was the aforementioned Matthias.

“Stop saying I’m gone!” he whispers.

“Sometimes I still hear his voice,” she mumbles, throwing waffle crumbs at a rat. I stare at the rat for a moment. It has a weird haircut and a miniature crow-topped cane.

I’m sure it means nothing.

But then the rat scutters onto the bench, reaches into Inej’s pocket, and tugs me free. I find myself in a dank sewer, in the teeth of a rat.

“What do you want?!” I squeak.

“Pekkrat Rollins’ head on my table. But you’ll suffice for now.”


The rat huffs. “I’m Brekker. Kaz Brekker. K- kool. A- as frick. Z- zRat.”

“Oh, thanks for clarifying. I’m kruge. The currency.”

“How would you like to join the Gregs?”


Kaz opens the door. A semi-circle of rats turn away from the giant screen. Danny Gonzales talks about Ratatong, a widely acclaimed movie.

“Kaz!” Her rattail (both the hairstyle and the body part) whips behind her as she hurries over to punch him in the face. “Wassup?”

All eyes turn to me, the kruge.

“Finally,” the bleached-blonde says. “We can buy greg merch.”

Then the chanting begins.





I never see the light of day again.

are you doing after the story? how’s it going? yes?

the name's