#idolkilling

[g0dfaking]

oc toxic traits bingo w my favies! by @idolkilling

[uncomfortable-bodies]

They’re about to make you an offer you should probably refuse….

Quick drawing of @idolkilling ‘s Ouroboros and Zeta from their outfit swap where they do look like they’ve embezzled millions and I love them for that.

EDIT: Oops Zeta is @ramsauced ‘s. Sorry stranger- um hope you like it- Zeta is cool

[mihlen-rp]

(CSH) Hey, Minkyu, aren't you worried you'll get hurt if you keep bothering people?

Back in their cabin, Minkyu pauses at this specific comment on one of his videos. He's in his loungewear, sprawled across the bedcover, phone in a precarious grip high above his face.

"<Hey, Dima>," he calls in Korean, and when he hears his boyfriend look up, he cranes his neck and stretches out his arm so Dimitri can read his phone.

Dimitri's expressions can be subtle, but Minkyu can read the mild curiosity in his features. It's less subtle, however, when Dimitri lights up like a Christmas tree and barks a laugh.

He expected the response, but Minkyu lets himself feel offended anyway. "What!" he protests, fighting the corners of his mouth.

"<Oh, nothing>," Dimitri replies in his native Russian, tone as facetious as it is fluid. Minkyu can hear the breadth of Dimitri's grin in his words. "<It's good you have caring fans that put your priorities first>!"

"Hey, now—that makes it sound like I want to get hurt," Minkyu says, drawing back his phone to type a response (and hide his own smile behind his screen).

"<No, no! It would be fucking fucked up if you got hurt, wouldn't it>," he adds, and Minkyu doesn't think he's seen Dimitri laugh this hard in weeks. Minkyu gets why, of course. He imagines anyone who really knew him would have a similar reaction. Isn't he worried he'll get hurt, ha!—it's uproariously funny.

Still, he tries to force his own grin into a scowl (fails), and scoffs, "Keep laughing like that and I'll say I'm used to it because my boyfriend already does." Hurt him, that is. He could imagine the hashtags now.

Minkyu hears the scrape of Dimitri's chair. "<You should throw in that I'm an alcoholic criminal, too, then>," he says, coming closer. "<Really play into stereotypes>."

"Oh, good idea, 땡큐~" Minkyu says, singsong, then twists away as his boyfriend's hand comes into view, reaching for his phone. When Dimitri makes another grab, Minkyu slaps the hand away. "<Hey!>"

It's a tussle then, Minkyu twisting on the bed to defend his phone, only succeeding because Dimitri's going easy on him, until Minkyu sits up and Dimitri shoves him down, pinning his phone hand down to the bed.

"Tsk. <Shame the camera's finally off this time. Could have proved the allegations>," he says in easy, preordained triumph, and Minkyu grins up at him, face slightly flushed from the exertion.

"<Hey, it's not too late>," he offers in accented but adequate Russian as Dimitri finally pries his phone from his hand. Minkyu lets him, because Dimitri vying for his attention is to be savored. "<We could still turn it on>."

———

He decides to make his reply a video instead:

'Aren't I worried I'll get hurt if I keep bothering people?' I really, really appreciate the concern! So first, thank you for that.

To answer though, I'm not too worried about it. I know I can seem pushy in some of my videos, but the last thing I want to do is actually bother someone, so when they want me to back off, I back off, and I don't approach them again. That tends to cool things down pretty well.

And I've said this a few times over the years, but I'm a really good judge of character -wink- I don't really want to get hurt either, and I know how to stay clear, so rest easy and just have fun with my videos! Worry not required.

But hey, again, thanks for caring. Love you all!

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.14)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 13, 2025. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.

When Kieran fell, he fell hard. He’ll admit that. Not often, mind you—he’s not a teenager anymore, thank god for that—but fact of the matter was, some people get grazed by cupid’s arrow, and Kieran got shot through the heart. The last time had been in undergrad, when the pretty girl sat next to him in econ 101. This time it was Kee Parilla Tran. Parilla. That was Spanish, wasn’t it? He wonders if she’s half Hispanic. That could have been an icebreaker, if so. Then again, did he really need an icebreaker? He’s not some kid anymore. He’s a working adult, and in adult society, sometimes all that’s needed is to go— “Hi,” Kieran says, approaching the young woman in the company lobby with a smile only half as nervous as he felt. He tried to look charming and keep his tail still. “You work in the stats department, right?”

(This excerpt features idolkilling’s OC Kee.)

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.10)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 2, 2025. These uploads are unedited and do not represent polished work.

Despite the cold buzz of fluorescents up above, in the exam room, the stress of a hundred-and-three students is almost tangible, coalescing into the damp reek of fear. Mirac despises it. He despises the proctor up front with the thinning hair and roving eyes, and he despises even more the anorexic girl to his left tap-tap-tapping the tip of her pencil on her desk. When she chips the tip once again and jams the pencil into her sharpener, Mirac imagines jamming it in her throat and watching the blood spill down her shirt. It was easier—and more cathartic—to do that, to blame the room, blame him, blame her, than confront the real source of his increasingly violent frustration right in front of him: A school district is forming a committee to discuss plans for the construction of a new high school. Of those invited to join the committee, 15% are parents of students, 45% are teachers from the current high school, 25% are school and district administrators, and the remaining 6 individuals are students. How many more teachers were invited to join the committee than school and district administrators? Just a year ago, he’d have said he wouldn't take the SATs. Despite his academic successes, hard-earned through glib charm and extortion, college was a card he’d tossed from his hand almost a decade ago. He was never supposed to be here, at this desk, in this room, in this school the next city over so that no one who knows him could see how he hunches or dents the metal ring of his No. 2 pencil with his teeth. He had managed fine in the calculator portion of the exam, but now without it, he finds himself unmoored. The numbers swim until he blinks and the paper turns as blank as his brain. Shit. Shit. The seconds tick by at a brutal pace, and Mirac squeezes his pencil until the bones bruise in his fingers. No, it would be alright. The joint studies may have been an excuse to hang out, but he must have gone over this with Junta at some point. This far along, it wouldn’t do to fail so early, and after this test, when his younger sister comes to pick him up, he has to greet her with a smile—and unlike others, she’s always had an uncanny sense for when he’s lying. ‘I have to go to college to take care of her,’ he reminds himself with a deep breath and begins to write again.

(This excerpt references idolkilling’s OCs Junta and Kee.)

[mihlen]

Happy Birthday to @idolkilling, ft. their OC Kee! May you have many wonderful years to come!

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.09.13)

An excerpt from a prompt fill for an ask about Bug!Demari. These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

Demari hadn’t seen the sun in four weeks—first, because the light was too bright for his new, multifaceted eyes, eventually because the UV rays were too harsh for his raw, weeping skin, where he’d pried off the chitin in a hailstorm of revulsion. The growing exoskeleton, still soft then, hadn’t come off clean, instead folding like an overchewed fingernail in sheets over his flesh. He had been handsome once. Now, he sits in the dark with his hood up indoors.  “Leave it off,” he drones, exhausted, when he senses his assistant go for the lights. He feels her sigh rather than hears it, the fine hairs along his neck snatching the reverberation from the air like glass in an ocean, to turn and turn again in his mind. He knows it’s unfair to resent her for that.  Still, he ignores her, yanking viciously at his hood with one hand too many as he scribbles furiously on paper with another before thrusting the note at Kee without looking at her. “Buy those. Be back within the hour,” he says. He hardly moves his jaw now, autoventriloquy. Even then, he feels the brittle corners of his mouth cracking when he speaks, where the mandibles have started to pick, pick, pick. She has to peel the paper from his fingers, grown pricklier in recent days. “A… All of these?” she asks, when she means, even the acid? “Yes, all of them,” he snaps. Especially the acid.

(This excerpt features idolkilling’s OC Kee.)

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.09.12)

An excerpt from "Hellevator: Dislocation" (working title). These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

Adrien doesn’t set his jaw, but he presses his tongue tight to the roof of his mouth, lips pulling back. There’s a scream building in his chest, but as he bows his head, all that squeezes past the tightness of his throat is a low groan of pain. Fuck, it really hurts. Fuck, fuck, does it have to be so slow? How isn’t it done? He wants to tell Tarou to just get it over with, but he isn’t confident he could do so quietly. Every fraction of a millimeter feels like it takes a minute. When fingers wrap around the base digit of his ring finger to guide it into its socket, there’s a fresh ache, in the flesh itself, that blooms through his nerves. His measured breathing falters, turning into shallow, scraping breaths, because if he gets too much air into his lungs, he can sense that he’s going to cry out. The room is too hot, the steam billowing through the air suddenly unbearably oppressive.  Then there’s a palpable pop as the bone enters its socket, and he knows that it’s done. He knows it immediately, before truly registering it, because there’s a sharp reprieve of right that washes through him like a cleansing balm—but that doesn’t do anything for the lingering pain, radiating from his joint. His instinct is to rip it away from Tarou’s hand, but he fights that, sagging his head back instead in relief, letting it rest against the railing. The whole process couldn’t have taken longer than thirty seconds at most, but he’s broken into a cold sweat. But hey, he didn’t scream. That’s one down.

(This excerpt features idolkilling's OC Tarou.)