#& also the thing that got me back into writing

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 2

Part 2 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The strange scent of an unknown female and a... love letter? Warnings: Out of character bat boys? idk but they are happy and brotherly and all is good in this, Mention of illicit affairs (just teasing), Bad injuries, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

The Spymaster had a dirty little secret.

Well, not really. But she loved to tease Azriel by referring to herself as such. 

He always pretended to hate it, but he could never fight the smile he got when hearing her refer to herself as his dirty little secret.

Deep down, he knew she did it just to see that damned smile.

He wasn’t smiling right now though, as he sat in his office after a rather… tiresome mission and got berated by his dirty little secret in question. 

While the conversation wasn’t pleasant, a wave of disappointment hit Azriel as he heard the combined footsteps of the High Lord and his General.

With one last scathing look, she walked into the shadows once more.

“Az! Rhysand and I were… was someone else just in here?” Cassian asked, stopping whatever thought was so important in the moment that both brothers had to interrupt him, but not important enough to finish.

“No.”

“Azriel, we can smell that a female was in here… a rather excited one at that.” Rhysand said, slightly wincing at his word choice.

“Oh my Mother, Azriel is having an illicit affair with an unknown female in his office.” Cassian teased, bouncing on his feet at the excitement the mere idea gave him.

“Yes, Cassian. I found time while finishing paperwork from the two week long mission I went on to have a clandestine meeting with a woman.” Azriel grumbled. He played it off as a ridiculous thing to think, but it wasn’t actually that far from the truth. In reality, she didn’t really give him any time nor warning to find the time to get yelled at by her.

“Who is she? Do we know her? Nesta is going to die when I tell her we caught you post-hot and steamy meeting with a mystery woman.”

“I didn’t mean excited as in aroused, you idiot.” Rhysand said while smacking the back of Cassian’s head. “Is this the so-called best friend? And how did you get someone to winnow in and out of here without being detected?” 

“She didn’t winnow.”

“But her scent starts and ends in this room?” Cassian jumped in, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes.”

Both brothers waited for more information, till they remembered who they were talking to. Rhysand caught sight of the Shadows once more appearing in the room. “Did- did she shadow walk?” That seemed like the only explanation, but how could she have done such a thing without Azriel? She couldn't have been able to unless…

“Please tell me you did not find another fucking Shadowsinger and not tell us immediately.” Cassian begged.

“I didn’t find another Shadowsinger and not tell you immediately.” Azriel replied sarcastically. 

“Wait, so did you or did you not?”

“I didn’t.” He replied truthfully. Not that the two bastards standing in front of him could tell.

Realizing that once again Azriel wasn’t going to give more than he wanted to, Cassian and Rhysand gave up, finally explaining what they had actually come into the room for. 

----

“I swear to you Feyre, Darling. Just smell his office!” Rhysand said as he led his mate, with Cassian and Nesta in toe, to the Spy Master’s office.

He had sent Azriel on a bullshit errand in order to get the two Archeron sisters to experience it for themselves, having not believed either of the two Illyrians. 

Azriel knew it was a bullshit errand, but he also knew he didn’t want to deal with whatever Rhysand was planning on doing without his knowledge. 

“All I can smell is Cassian’s sweaty leathers.” Nesta said, coughing at the smell.

“I just washed them!” Cassian replied defensively. This only made Nesta gag, the smell strong enough to prevail even after a deep clean.

The two began to bicker, Rhysand joining in, as Feyre snooped around, not having had the opportunity to really look around Az’s office before. 

She had been content in her observations, ready to stop the argument about Cassian's eternal body odor, when she spotted a letter in beautiful handwriting.

She couldn’t read the letter, it had been written in a language she had never seen. Just as she began to lose interest, the sign off startled her.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, startling the rest of the occupants in the room.

“What's wrong?” Nesta asked, concerned at the sudden swearing. The vulgarity was normal for the eldest Archeron but not so much with the youngest. 

As Feyre pointed to the letter, Rhysand walked around to look at it, also unable to read whatever language it was written in. 

“Must be from one of his spies. Some kind of thing only they can read.” He reasoned.

“Why would he talk to his spies like this?” She asked, pointing to the ending, reading it out for the other two in the room.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵,

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

A stunned silence filled the room. This was a strangely poetic side of Azriel none of them had ever witnessed. Before any questions could be asked, a crash sounded from the balcony. 

There, the poet in question held his stomach, seemingly trying to stop his organs from falling out. 

—

“How do you feel?” Rhysand asked his brother, finally waking up after a long few days asleep.

“Like death.” Azriel answered, head pounding from the light, even though it was as dark as possible, minus the candle that was lit on the far side of the room inhibited by the rest of the Inner Circle.

“Good. You are an asshole for staying on the brink of death for days straight. You stressed us out enough with your dramatics. I hope you hurt for a little.” Nesta said, trying to hide her relief at Az’s sudden consciousness. 

“It isn’t my fault I was attacked while having to search every art supply store in Velaris for certain paints Rhys wanted for Feyre. Which by the way, Rhysand, don’t exist. So fuck you for that.”

Rhysand grimaced. Feyre sent him a feeling down the bond he knew meant he was in for a lot of berating later. 

“At least you are on the mend. Madja said the poison coating their weapons is what really did you in. Once she found the anecdote you started healing. So, no hard feelings. Everyone is happy now, yes?” Cassian explained, a forced smile on his face as he hoped Rhysand wouldn’t bring up the fact it was his idea to send Az on the impossible paint run. 

“Actually, I have a few choice words for the Shadowsinger.” A new voice replied, startling every single person in the room. Well, all except one.

Azriel groaned in his bed, wishing the headache was worse just so he didn’t have to go through what he knew was unavoidable. 

“You know, we have a rule. No taking what isn’t ours without explicit permission from the other. 500 years is a long time to obey that rule just to throw it out the window.” The mysterious fae female scolded.

The rest of the room was in a stunned silence. Hands on weapons, magic at their fingertips, ready to fight whoever this was the second the shock wore off. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Cassian yelled.

A reasonable question.

The sound made Azriel wince, head still pounding. But it was about to get way worse. 

“My carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

A/n: sooo part 3?

[marmotsomsierost]

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

P: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

P: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself."

(Terry Pratchett in an interview with the Onion)

J. R. R. Tolkien, undisputedly a most fluent speaker of this language, was criticized in his day for indulging his juvenile whim of writing fantasy, which was then considered—as it still is in many quarters— an inferior form of literature and disdained as mere “escapism.” “Of course it is escapist,” he cried. “That is its glory! When a soldier is a prisoner of war it is his duty to escape—and take as many with him as he can.” He went on to explain, “The moneylenders, the knownothings, the authoritarians have us all in prison; if we value the freedom of the mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as possible."

Stephen R. Lawhead

[p0orbaby]

Could you write something about reader having surgery? Leah worrying about her & getting super stressed out x

-

Leah’s pacing. Of course she is. She’s wearing the trainers that squeak on the hospital floor, the ones you begged her to throw away three months ago. “They’ve got character,” she said then, like that was a reasonable argument for keeping footwear that sounded like an off-brand comedy gag every time she took a step. Now, the sound feels like a metronome for her anxiety.

She’s also muttering under her breath, something about waiting rooms being designed to drive people mad. “Why is there always a random fish tank?” she asks no one in particular, gesturing at the gurgling monstrosity in the corner. “Like, is that meant to be calming? Watching a clownfish swim into a plastic castle?”

Kim, who you bullied into babysitting Leah while you’re in surgery, hums noncommittally and sips her tea. It’s the worst thing she could’ve done because it prompts Leah to snap, “You’re too calm. Why are you so calm?”

“Because it’s a routine procedure,” Kim replies, her tone so even it borders on condescending. “She’ll be fine, Leah”

But Leah doesn’t look convinced. She crosses her arms, leans against the wall, then decides against it and resumes pacing. “Routine doesn’t mean risk-free,” she mutters. “What if they mix up her file with someone else’s? What if they give her a kidney transplant instead of fixing her knee?”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Kim asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

Leah whirls around. “Anything’s possible, Kim. Hospitals are chaos. I’ve read articles”

Kim just shakes her head and goes back to scrolling her phone, clearly regretting agreeing to this.

Leah’s still fidgeting when the surgeon finally appears. The man is smiling, calm and professional, but she doesn’t let her guard down. Not even when he says, “The operation went smoothly. She’s in recovery now”

“Define smoothly,” Leah demands, squinting at him like he’s lying. “No complications? No close calls? You didn’t drop anything inside her, did you?”

“Leah!” Kim hisses, mortified.

The surgeon, to his credit, only blinks. “She’s fine,” he repeats, clearly accustomed to this brand of hysteria. “You can see her shortly”

Leah doesn’t wait. She marches down the hall like she’s storming the pitch, the squeaking of her trainers echoing behind her.

When she reaches your room, you’re half-conscious, propped up in bed with a silly-looking hospital gown that does nothing for your dignity. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of her trainers, and you manage a groggy smile.

“You’re here,” you mumble, your voice sluggish from the anaesthetic.

“Of course I’m here,” Leah says, pulling a chair up to your bedside. “How do you feel? Do you need water? Ice? A lawyer in case something went wrong?”

You blink at her, too out of it to process her rambling. “I think they gave me morphine. I feel amazing”

Leah exhales sharply, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you but isn’t sure where. “Good. That’s good. You look… fine. A bit pale. But fine”

“Thanks,” you slur. “You look sexy”

She finally smiles, though it’s small and a little wobbly. “You scared the hell out of me, you know”

You try to reach for her hand but miss by a mile. “Sorry. Love you”

Her expression softens, and she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “Love you too. Just… don’t ever make me do this again, yeah?”

“No promises,” you mumble, already drifting back to sleep.

Leah stays by your side the entire time, even when the nurse comes in and politely asks her to stop squeaking her trainers against the floor.

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Hello!✨ I'm kind of back to writing, truth is I've been wanting to write some things these past weeks however it's been impossible for me to be able to come up with something, I'm having serious writers block😭it's a bit frustrating because I love writing😭😭😭 but I'll try my best to end all the requests and hopefully fully come back!🫶🏻

This is a kind of small reaction with Barça Boys (Pedri, Gavi, Fermín and Ferran) , let me know what you guys think!✨

Slam Car Door

Pedri:

He jumped in his seat, his eyes wide as he saw you slam the door of his car

"Madre mía" (Dear god) He whispered, you opened the door to his car

"I'm so sorry" You say with your hand covering your mouth "I didn't meant to, I couldn't grab the door properly and the wind knocked it out of my hands"

"No te preocupes, amor. Ten cuidado, ¿Sí?" (Don't worry, love. Be careful, yeah?) You nod smiling

"¿Compro un kilo o dos de plátano?" (Should I buy one or two kilos of bananas?) You ask

"Dos. Uno pa' ti y el otro pa'mi" (Two. One for you and the other for me) You laugh nodding

"Got it" You went to close the door and Pedri once again jumped when you slammed the door. His mouth opened and one of his hands moved in question

"Amor" You could read his lips from the window

"It's the wind! It's the wind!" You hurriedly say opening the door once again

"Be careful, bonita. The door can break and-"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'll be careful" You say blowing him a kiss, closing the door.

"Y/N!" He yells when he sees you slamming the door "¡Preciosa!"

"What?" You ask giggling

"Stop doing that!"

"What am I doing?!"

"When we get home I swear I'll slam the door of our bathroom!"

"Don't you dare, Pedro González!"

Gavi:

"Any other thing you want me to buy?" You ask lifting your head up from the notes on your phone to look at your two years boyfriend

"I think that would be it"

"You sure? I don't want to forget anything"

"You can add the things we might need to do burguers"

"You want to eat burguers?" He nods smiling softly, you smile before writing down the items you'll need for the dinner "And that's it?" You look down at his hand in your thigh and played with his fingers.

"Yes I think that would be it, unless you'd like to add something at last minute"

"Probably I will" He laughs "I'll be going then" You undo the seatbelt "Hopefully in fifteen minutes, I'm back" You lean over to kiss his cheek.

"Take your time, preciosa"

He grabs his bottle of water from the cupholder and drinks from it. Only to get choked up by it when he hears the slam, his pouty face turns into his famous frown, eyes full of confusion.

"Are your parents coming tomorrow, right? Or is it next week? I'll be cooking your mom's favorite, so should I buy the ingredients now or wait until we're on a closer date?"

"They're coming next week" He confirms what you already know

"So, should I buy them later?" He nods

"Yes, tomatoes can get bad really quick so it's better that way" He nods his eyebrows furrowed. He looked so cute, you wanted to laugh.

"Perfecto, gracias" (Perfect, thanks) You close the door once again, before almost leaving you saw his eyes wide open, trying to figure out how to call you out on this. "Also, do you want me to buy the big jar of nuts?" You ask "or maybe the medium"

"Any of them it's fine" He nods "Something's wrong?"

"No, why?"

"It seems like you're mad"

"I'm not, baby. Why do you say that?" He gets quiet for a minute before shaking his head "Nothing" He whispers "Try not close the door so hard, bebé"

You look at the door before letting a small -oh- acting as if you didn't knew what was bothering him "Did I close it too hard?" He nods instantly

"Joder, si" (Fuck yeah)

"Ay, lo siento" (Sush, I'm sorry) You nod "I'll be careful" You say blowing him a kiss, he winks back at you, you smile and stopped for a few seconds before slamming the door shut.

You could only see his eyes wide open and the "Me cago en la-" he let out before you ran away while laughing, soon you heard the sound of the honk of your boyfriend's car and his yell of your name. You made sure to buy his favorite chocolate cake that day.

Fermín:

"Want me to go with you, amor?"

"Don't worry, Fer. You can stay here, I'll be back in a few minutes" You lean over to kiss his cheek twice before he moved his head and crashed his lips into yours

"Be careful" He said before giving you another kiss, you giggle

"I'll re-stock my girly things and be back in a few minutes"

"I know but still" You smile

"Te quiero mucho más" You say "Want me to bring something for you?"

"I'm so in love with you, you're too cute"

"Te quiero"

"A muffin would do"

"Got it" You got out of the car and without looking back you slammed the door, you started walking but the honk of your boyfriend's car interrupted you "What's up?"

"I think the door wasn't closed"

"Oh! Let me do it again" You slammed the door once again, a bit stronger than before "Better?" You asked and he shook his head

"Not yet" You opened it and closed it again "More" You did it once again putting all of your strenght, you winced a bit in this last one

"Now?"

"Nope"

"Fermín!"

"You were the one starting it, mi amor!"

Ferran:

"¡Ostras!" (Fuck!) "Cuidado, un poco mas y se te devuelve la puerta, preciosa" (Careful, a little more and the door will be returned to you, precious)

"I'm so sorry, Fer! I didn't meant to!"

"That you pay for my door insurance, nena"

"Ferran, stop. It wasn't that bad!"

"Que no fue tan mal? Casi me tiras la puerta en la cara!" (It wasn't that bad? You almost threw the door in my face)

"Exagerado" (Exaggerated)

"Not exaggerated, I'm just taking precautions" You roll your eyes

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Torres. I'll go" He nods

"I'll be waiting for you, beautiful" You smile and close the door once again. You looked at Ferran who simply looked at you, you tried your best to hold your laughter

"What?"

"I know what you're doing and you won't get any reaction from me!"

"What do you think I'm doing?!"

"You dislike this car and want me to buy another one, right?"

"That's not-"

"Save it. I'll do it"

"No! If you want a new car you don't have to say I influenced you"

"But you did" He said "My mind's already setting everything up"

"But I didn't! All I was doing was slamming your car door to see your reac-" You cut yourself off and Ferran's eyebrows went up lightly. You fell in his trap.

"¿Estabas tirando la puerta de mi coche?" (Were you slamming my cars door?)

"In my defense... I was trying to see your reaction and I didn't do it that hard!"

"No, ¡Un poco más y la puerta llega a mi cara!" (No, a bit more and the door gets to my face!)

"¡Mentira!" (Liar!)

"Venga, vamos" (C'mon, let's go) "I'll go with you"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[willowsnook]

Let me in

Hi! Love your idea for a prompt list. Can I order: A turkey swiss on wheat bread, maybe mike’s way if you feel like it’s fitting for the sandwich?

Joe burrow x bsf!reader

Please don’t leave

—-----------------------------------------

Fall in Cincinnati was something that you loved. The trees changed colors, you could start leaving your windows open, and, of course, Bengals football. Now, you’d never claim that you were a die-hard fan, that was still reserved for your beloved Green Bay Packers, but after 5 years in the city, they were a solid 2nd favorite. Plus, being good friends with the starting quarterback meant you had to root for them. 

You met Joe at a charity event a year after you moved to Ohio. Working for a Cincinnati-specific lifestyle magazine, your recommendations and reviews had made you quite well known in the city. Your strategy was always finding small, hidden gem places, usually family-owned, to review and elevate. This fulfilled your need to make a difference and also get paid to eat food. 

While your job was so public and in the spotlight, you were pretty introverted, which surprised a lot of people. You didn’t necessarily enjoy being the center of attention, focusing more on making those around you shine. This meant that while you were appreciative of being recognized by the community, you hated going to big events; you’d much rather just be writing about them. 

So when the introverted star of Cincinnati joined you in the shadows of an event, the two of you hit it off. Knowing who you were, his PR team had noticed and pitched a content series involving Joe. You spent a whole day with him, going to places he recommended and giving instant reviews. Initially, you were worried about it being awkward because you didn’t know him well, but you both had a blast. Joe was easy to talk to, and he liked that you treated him like anyone else. 

After that, he’d invited you to hang out with his friends several times, and Ja’marr really liked you, insisting that you be added to the friend group. Since then, you’d spent the last couple of years being forced to go to every home Bengals game, but you could also easily force one of them to help you with some kind of content for work. A mutually beneficial friendship you thought. 

Midway through the week, you were back at your apartment, taking pictures of some cookies someone sent you to be considered for an upcoming article you were writing. You snapped the perfect picture just as your phone rang, and you looked over to see it was Joe calling. 

“What’s up?” You said, putting the phone on speaker. 

“I’m bored. Can I come hang?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I’m doing some work, but I’ll be done soon.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” 

You were used to Joe calling you randomly to hang out, especially when the season was going poorly. One thing you learned in your years of friendship with him was that he didn’t like to be alone, mostly so he didn’t spiral thinking about everything. You were happy to be a friend he could lean on. 

15 minutes later, you heard your front door open and smiled as Joe wandered into the kitchen. He gave you a small squeeze from behind as you leaned over your laptop. 

“Are you doing anything with these?” He asked, and you looked over at the cookies. 

“No, I just got done. Have at it,” you replied, amused as he shoveled one into his mouth. 

“These are pretty good,” he said, swallowing. “But I’ve had better.”

“Hmm,” you thought. “What don’t you like about them?”

“Too grainy,” he said, and you agreed, unable to think of what you were feeling. 

“That’s a good point; I’m using that,” you said, typing it down in your notes. 

“Watch out, I’m going to steal your job,” he joked, and you smirked. 

“Does that mean I get yours?”

“You’d probably do a better job than me right now,” he said, and you frowned, shutting your laptop. 

“You are still a superstar, even when you lose,” you told him earnestly, getting a small smile from him. 

“I think I need you with a headset on to tell me that during the games,” he said, and you laughed. 

“Yeah yeah,” you replied, blushing. “Want to take a walk or something? I need to get out of the house.” 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you walked down the street and ventured towards the water, chatting about upcoming events and his family coming to visit. You started to get chilly and held your arms briefly before Joe noticed. He pulled his hoodie off with one hand and handed it to you, not even stopping what he was saying. You pulled it on, inhaled the lingering cologne, and sighed. 

“Will you come to dinner with us tomorrow night?” he asked, jolting you back to reality.

“With your parents?” you asked, and he nodded. “Would that not be a little weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” 

“I don't know. I just wouldn’t want them to think we were dating or anything,” you said, confused. Joe frowned at that, but you didn’t have time to analyze it. 

“Ja’marr is coming too,” he said. “You are both my best friends, so I’d like you to meet them.” 

“Okay, if it’s important to you,” you agreed, giving in. Dinner with Joe’s parents. Huh. Sometimes you really didn’t understand why he chose you as a best friend when many people were fighting over it. If only people knew how clingy Mr. Cool was. 

—---------------------------------------------------

Ja’Marr picked you up from your place the next night and the two of you headed to dinner. 

“You look nice,” he commented, and you smiled. You and Ja’Marr had a flirty relationship, but nothing had ever come of it. One time, when you were both very drunk in the offseason, you had made out but it didn’t last long with him backing out, saying that Joe was going to kill him. You had just assumed that Joe didn’t want anyone in the friend group dating in case it got messy, which was understandable. With Ja’marr, you were mostly just attracted to him vs. wanting something more. 

“I still feel weird about this whole thing,” you admitted to him and he gave you a lazy smirk. 

“Please, they’ll love you,” he assured you. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about; I’m amazing,” you said, causing him to laugh. “I just think it’s weird and intimate. Like if my parents were in town, yeah, maybe I wouldn’t mind them meeting you guys at the game or to celebrate in a group after. But I wouldn’t invite you for a small dinner.” 

Ja’Marr gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before laughing to himself. 

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” he said and you rolled your eyes. 

The restaurant was a nicer one that you had been to before for work. Joe’s parents stood up as you approached the table and warmly greeted you. His mom pulled you into a tight hug, laughing about how excited she was to meet you finally. You shot Ja’Marr a look and found him trying not to laugh. You could tell Joe was embarrassed, which made the situation a little amusing. 

Sitting down beside him, he gave you an easy smile while handing you the drink menu. Joe’s dad jumped into conversation with Ja’Marr about the season while Robin asked you a ton of questions about your job and basically your whole life. You ended up loving his parents; they were the sweetest people. While you might have missed the way that Joe was looking at you the whole dinner, his parents definitely did not. 

“It was so good to meet you y/n,” Robin gushed. “I’m sure we’ll see much more of you in the future.” 

You smiled, confused, while Ja’Marr couldn’t hold back his laugh. Joe’s face turned bright red and his dad chuckled. 

—------------------------------------------------

If you had thought the season was going poorly before it was a million times worse now. It seemed like each week, your two friends were putting up superstar numbers but still losing. After watching them lose by just a point to the Ravens, you clicked the TV off and sighed. Reaching for your phone you texted him a white heart and watched him read it and not reply. He usually would, even after a loss, but this one was tough so you didn’t pay much mind to it. 

As the week went on, you started to feel Joe’s tension about the team bleed into your friendship. He wasn’t answering your calls and had replied to any text you had sent him with just one word. What had really pissed you off though, was that he was supposed to shoot a Thanksgiving promo with you about places that provided free food for those who needed it and he didn’t show. 

“I get that you’re having a tough time right now and while I can live with you being a bad friend I can’t live with you 1. making me look bad professionally and 2. disappointing people making a difference. So give me a call when you figure your shit out,” you ranted to his voicemail. 

You were supposed to fly out for the game this weekend but weren’t sure if you still should. Calling Ja’Marr, you complained about Joe being a dick and that you didn’t know what to do. He assured you that you should still come and that Joe was just hurting because of the season. The best thing you could do was be there for him, even in the shadows. 

The game started out horribly with it being 24-6 leading into halftime. But a different team came out in the third quarter, and you went crazy as the Bengals got ahead. But like the week before, no matter what Joe did, even throwing for over 350 yards, they still lost in the end. You lingered by the locker room after the game and smiled sadly as you saw Ja’Marr first. He wrapped you in a hug, and he was happy to have you there. Joe on the other hand, did not look happy to see you. 

“What are you doing here?” he said coldly, and both you and Ja’Marr flinched. His teammate gave him a weird look, but Joe was just staring at you blankly. 

“I’ve had these tickets since before the season, you know that,” you replied. 

“I didn’t want you to come,” he said and you tried to ignore the hurt you felt. “Did you not get the hint from me ignoring you all week?” 

“Oh, so is that why you stood up the charity?” You bit back. “So that I would ‘get the hint’?”

Joe didn’t say anything, clenching his jaw and Ja’Marr tried to step in. 

“I wanted her to come man,” he said and Joe snapped his head towards his friend. 

“Well just fuck her then and get over it,” he replied and your jaw dropped. Ja”Marr shoved him backward, yelling at him before security intervened. You recovered from your shock and turned around, abruptly leaving the stadium. You called an Uber to take you back to the hotel, and the massive traffic gave you a lot of time to process what had just happened. 

You could understand him being upset over the game, especially since it was so fresh in his mind. But it’s not like you went up to him; he came up to you. This man was supposed to be your best friend, and he basically just called you a whore to your face. This shit was ridiculous. 

30 minutes later, you were walking into the hotel. Ja’Marr had tried calling, but you declined. You called the airline you were flying with to see if there was any chance of flying out early, and you were lucky to snag a seat on the last flight out. You quickly packed up your stuff after changing into a comfier outfit and headed down to the lobby to check out and call a car. 

Turning to head out the door you stopped as you saw Joe walking in, his eyes trained on you. He looked miserable and he made his way towards you slowly. 

“Y/n..” he started, his eyes filling up with tears, but you stopped him from saying anything else. 

“I’m leaving,” you said emotionlessly. He tried to reach out to you, but you flinched back and pain flashed across his face. 

“I need to talk to you y/n,” he begged. “Please don’t leave.” 

“Why would I stay?” You asked softly. “Goodbye, Joe.” 

You left him standing there wondering why it felt like your own heart was breaking into two. 

—-----------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks since then, and you had successfully avoided Joe at all costs. He blew up your phone of course but you have yet to answer. Luckily he hadn’t tried coming to your apartment because he knew you well enough to know that it’d piss you off. 

You were on your way to hang out with Ja’Marr for a group movie night which he promised you that Joe would not be at. You don’t know why you even believed him; Joe’s car was parked in the front driveway and you almost reversed until you saw Ja’Marr waving his arms at you. Stepping out, you crossed your arms, waiting for him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew he was here,” he started and you scoffed. 

“You were right.”

“I am miserable because he is y/n,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry but I will be selfish for a minute. He is being a dick at practice to everyone and isn’t throwing me good balls. He’s moody, won’t say a word to me, and won’t leave his house unless necessary. So please let him make it up to you. You two belong together.”

“He called me a whore Ja’Marr!” You exclaimed frustrated and gave you a sympathetic look. 

“I know he did, and that was terrible. I tried to fight him on your behalf,” he said, earning a small smile from you. “God I shouldn’t tell you this but he’s so in love with you it’s insane. He’s hurting and you’re hurting. Please just talk to him.”

“He’s not in love with me,” you said and he just rolled his eyes. 

“Believe what you want but get in there,” he said steering you towards the door. 

The good thing was that there were a few other people here from your friend group, so technically, you didn’t even have to talk to him. He was the first person you saw when you walked in so clearly, this was a coordinated effort between the two friends. 

Joe did look sad, and you wanted to be happy about it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. He was dressed down in grey sweats and a black T-shirt, his hair looking like he had run his hands through it over and over. His eyes were puffy, and that made your heart clench. 

“Are we ready to start?” One of your other friends called from the living room and you started to walk towards the room but Joe gently grabbed you, pulling you closer to him and letting Ja’Marr pass. 

“Can we talk?” He mumbled quietly to you and you nodded, letting him pull you into the study. You stood with your arms crossed as you looked at him, waiting. 

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I was hurting so bad and I took it out on you. The one person who has always been there for me.” 

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it Joe,” you said, frustrated. “It’s not like it was just the comment; it was the week leading up to it, missing the event. I can’t be there for you when you don’t let me in.”

You had imagined how this conversation would go multiple times over the past few weeks. You expected an apology and another apology, but you did not expect Joe Burrow to start sobbing in front of you. 

He sunk against the wall and had his head in his hands while he was crying. Your shock wore off, and you knelt down in front of him, moving in between his legs. He looked up and your heart broke at his tear-stained face. 

“What is going on, Joe?” You asked softly, wiping some of his tears with your thumb. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everything is going wrong, and I don’t feel like I’m in control. I do everything I can, and it’s still not enough.” 

“Oh Joey,” you murmured, pulling his head into your shoulders. He held on to you tightly as he cried and you ran your hand through his hair gently. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m sorry I hurt you; I hated myself the second I said it.” 

“I forgive you Joe,” you told him, looking into his teary eyes. 

“I don’t deserve you; I’m not good enough for you,” he said. “I want to be enough for you.”

You cupped his face gently, making him look at you. Your own eyes started to water at the vulnerability he was showing.

"Joe, you’ve always been enough for me," you whispered. "You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, not to anyone. I’m here for you, not for what you do or don’t achieve."

His brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly, his hands moving to hold yours. "You don’t understand, y/n. I don’t just want to be your best friend—I want to be everything to you. And I’ve been so afraid of ruining our relationship that I pushed you away instead."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Joe..."

"I love you," he said, his voice breaking, but his gaze held steady. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I didn’t know how to tell you. But pushing you away hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt on the field. I can’t lose you."

For a moment, the weight of his words left you speechless. You searched his face, finding nothing but raw sincerity. Your heart ached, but in the best way, as if it were piecing itself together after being fractured.

"I love you too, Joe," you admitted to him and yourself, a soft smile breaking through the tears on your face. "But you have to let me in. No more shutting me out, no matter how hard things get. We figure it out together, okay?"

His hands tightened around yours, and he nodded, relief washing over his features. "Together. I promise."

You leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead before resting your own against it. The two of you walked out of the study and into the living room, where everyone else was already engrossed in the movie. Ja’Marr looked between the two of you and at your connected hands and gave you a wide smirk. Joe moved to the big armchair and pulled you down with him, and you snuggled into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, and you finally felt content. 

[moonselune]

Bg3 companions and a reader who is ridiculously into them? like can't be around them without blushing, stuttering over words, etc.

Love your writing ♥️♥️♥️

ahhhhh thank you so much, this was a pleasure to write !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Breakfast in camp had become a small but daily ordeal. Sitting across from Karlach was as thrilling as it was nerve-wracking. She always looked so effortlessly radiant—her wide smile lighting up her face, her hair messy from sleep, and that laugh that came from deep within her chest. You, meanwhile, were a nervous mess, barely able to lift a spoon without fumbling it in her presence.

This morning, you were attempting to slice an apple while also trying to sneak glances at her, as usual. But, distracted as you were, you barely noticed when she caught you looking. She grinned, that flash of teeth making your heart skip about five beats.

“Hey, you want some?” she asked, holding out a plate piled high with a variety of fresh fruits. You stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Uh—y-yes! I mean, no! I mean—” You fumbled for the right words, your voice a bit too loud in your panic. Karlach looked at you, mildly confused but amused.

“Alright then, you let me know if you change your mind,” she said, winking, before going back to her breakfast. The little wink nearly killed you on the spot, and you dropped your apple, which rolled dramatically across the table and plopped off the other side.

Wyll, sitting beside you, tried to hide a snicker behind his hand. He’d been noticing your flustered behavior around Karlach for days and had clearly reached his breaking point. As Karlach turned away, Wyll leaned in close to you, smirking.

“Oh, this is painful to watch,” he muttered, barely containing his laughter. “When are you going to do something about it?”

You gave him a quick, desperate glare, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“Do something?” you whispered, panic lacing your voice. “Wyll, I can’t even string a proper sentence together around her without sounding like a fool!”

Wyll rolled his eyes, still grinning.

“Trust me, I can see that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But if you keep this up, it’s going to get unbearable for both of us. You’re absolutely lovesick, and she’s completely oblivious.”

“Lovesick?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice low but also scandalized by the word. “That’s… that’s not…”

Wyll arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that read, Really?

You sighed, knowing he was right. Every time Karlach entered the room, you either found an excuse to leave or wound up a blushing, stumbling mess. Just this morning, she’d brushed a crumb off your shoulder, and you had nearly collapsed on the spot.

Wyll laughed, patting you on the back a little harder than you would have liked. “Look, if you don’t do something soon, I will. Maybe I’ll tell her for you—‘oh, by the way, did you know you’ve got someone so smitten with you, they can’t even eat breakfast right?’”

Your eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow with challenge.

“Fine,” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of actually doing something about it. “What do I… say?”

Wyll shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Just talk to her. Be honest. If there’s one thing Karlach respects, it’s bravery. And if there’s one thing she loves, it’s someone who cares as much as she does.”

But as you mulled it over, you looked across the table and saw Karlach laughing at something Astarion was saying, her eyes bright with amusement, her entire face aglow with the life and warmth she carried effortlessly. You swallowed, trying to imagine how you’d ever muster up the courage to tell her anything.

The rest of breakfast went by with your heart hammering and Wyll occasionally sending you smirking looks. You felt like you were on fire, thoughts racing as you considered his words.

Finally, as camp was beginning to break up and everyone was scattering to their daily tasks, you decided to follow Wyll’s advice. Taking a deep breath, you gathered every bit of courage you could find and made your way over to Karlach, who was busy folding up her bedroll. She looked up, surprised, as you approached.

“Oh, hey! Need something?” she asked, her grin warm as always.

You cleared your throat, feeling the words get caught. “I… um…”

Karlach tilted her head, watching you patiently. “Everything okay?”

And there it was, the opening. The chance to say something. Be brave, you reminded yourself. You took a deep breath and tried again.

“I just… wanted to say…” you stumbled, unable to look her in the eye. “I really… enjoy spending time with you.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a soft smile, her eyes studying your face, but still, she seemed blissfully unaware. “Well, good! Same here! You’re a lot of fun, you know. Brave in your own way, even if a bit shy,” she teased lightly, giving your arm a light squeeze.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, feeling your cheeks burn. Maybe Wyll had a point—Karlach appreciated bravery, and here you were, looking like a fool again. But as her hand lingered just a moment longer on your arm, you felt a surge of determination. This was only the beginning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You’d found Minthara’s sword on the outskirts of camp that morning, half-buried beneath some tangled roots. It was unmistakably hers—dark metal with a wicked curve, and elegant engravings tracing the hilt. You’d only seen her use it from afar, but even then, there was something mesmerizing about the way she wielded it, about the way her gaze sharpened whenever she held a blade. You were already a bundle of nerves at the thought of returning it to her, and that only got worse the closer you got to her tent.

She was sharpening a dagger when you approached, her expression focused, so much so that for a moment, you thought about turning back. But then she noticed you, her eyes snapping up to meet yours with a glint of curiosity.

“You’re looking rather… tense.” Her eyebrow arched slightly as she took you in.

Your heart thudded painfully, and you swallowed, forcing yourself to hold up the sword without dropping it. “Uh, I… found this for you. Your sword, I mean. It was… um, outside camp, and I thought you might want it back?”

Her gaze softened, a small smirk playing on her lips as she reached for the sword, her fingers brushing against yours. You nearly jumped at the contact, face burning, feeling like you might explode from embarrassment. You tried to say something else, but the words came out as a strangled squeak, and you practically forced yourself to look at the ground to avoid those piercing eyes of hers.

“Hmm,” she murmured, glancing over the sword, and then back at you. “Thank you. It's… refreshing to see someone with a sense of respect.” She held your gaze for a moment longer, and then, with an amused nod, she went back to her sharpening.

You quickly walked away, all but stumbling as you escaped, only to find yourself practically nose-to-nose with Shadowheart, who looked far too amused.

"Gods above," she snorted, crossing her arms. "I've never seen someone turn so red while returning a weapon."

You stammered, looking anywhere but at her. "I was just… trying to be polite!"

"Polite? If that's your version of polite, then I’d hate to see you actually try flirting," she teased, unable to hide her grin.

“Oh, please,” you huffed, looking away and trying to calm the blush still heating your face. “It's just… I don’t know. I like her, alright? Even if she’s… well, she could probably kill me without a second thought.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. "Good to know you’re aware. And yet you still act like a lovesick fool around her, it's almost like you want her to kill you."

“I would die happy!” you blurted out, throwing your hands up. “Minthara could do anything she wants to me—absolutely anything at all—and I’d thank her. She could stomp me into the dirt, call me a fool, hex me, curse me, make my life a living hell, and I'd still probably thank her with my last breath!”

Shadowheart laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re hopeless."

But you were too caught up in your rant. "I’d let her do anything—anything at all! She could make me fetch her supplies every morning, have me clean her sword every night, stand guard for her at dawn and dusk, and I’d still think it was the best thing to ever happen to me!”

"Ahem."

You froze, mid-rant, and turned slowly to find Minthara standing directly behind you. She looked deeply amused, one eyebrow raised, her eyes glittering with dark humor. Her smirk was even more wicked than usual, and her gaze held you captive as she stepped closer.

“Good to know,” she said, her voice smooth and cool, her smirk only growing. “I may have to test that loyalty sometime.”

She winked at you, and then, just as easily as she’d come, she turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there completely speechless, your face redder than ever.

Shadowheart burst out laughing, clutching her side as she watched you sway in shock. “You really have a gift for making a fool of yourself, you know that?”

You sank to your knees, stunned, still processing that Minthara had heard every single word. Shadowheart’s laughter rang in your ears, but you were simply too dazed to care. Perhaps that death would come quicker than expected - if your own heart didn't give out first.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Every time Lae’zel looked your way, you felt like a live wire, a rush of heat filling your face. She seemed to command every space she entered, her presence sharp, unapologetic, and utterly captivating. But whenever you were around her, every sentence became a tangle of stammered nonsense, and all you could do was blush helplessly. Today was no different.

You were fumbling with your supplies near the fire when Lae’zel walked over, her gaze scrutinizing as always.

"You’ve been acting strange,” she declared, crossing her arms and eyeing you critically. “Weakness of any sort is unacceptable. Are you unwell?"

Her bluntness only made you more flustered, words tripping over each other as you tried to respond. "No, I… I mean, yes, but not in that way. I mean, I'm fine. Completely fine.”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “You are not fine. You stammer, you lose color and gain it again. See Halsin or Shadowheart—this weakness needs mending.”

Desperate to reassure her, you tried to explain further, but each attempt seemed to make it worse. “I’m not… it’s not that kind of weakness, I just—well, around you, I—uh…”

She fixed you with a glare, her frown deepening. "Enough. Your words make less sense with every second. Perhaps you’re more ill than you realize.”

Your cheeks burned as she turned sharply to fetch Halsin, all but barking his name across camp. He arrived quickly, taking in the scene with a look of amused understanding.

“She is in poor health,” she said, gesturing at you. “They are losing control over their words and show clear signs of a fever. You will attend to them.”

Halsin’s brows lifted slightly, and with a knowing look, he glanced from you to Lae’zel. He gave a slow, considering nod. “Yes, I believe I see the trouble. An ailment, certainly… though it appears to be more of the heart than of the body.”

Lae’zel scowled, gripping her weapon as if ready for battle. “Explain this ‘heart ailment.’ What creature has inflicted it upon them?”

Halsin chuckled softly. “They’ve been bitten by a lovebug, Lae’zel. That’s all.”

Lae'zel let out a string of sharp Gith curses, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "A lovebug. Where does it lurk, this creature? If it is preying upon our camp, I’ll hunt it down myself and crush it beneath my blade."

Her fierce determination, though absurd, only made your heart race more. Halsin stifled a laugh, giving you a sidelong look of utter amusement.

“I think you’ll find that hunting it will be… difficult,” he said, barely hiding his grin. “The lovebug often prefers stealth, hiding within feelings rather than form.”

“Feelings, a psychic offender,” she repeated, her brow creasing in thought. After a moment, she nodded decisively. “It is trickier prey, then. But I will find it nonetheless.”

And with that, she strode off, muttering to herself about unknown threats to the camp. As soon as she was out of earshot, Halsin let out a laugh, clapping you on the shoulder. “You know, I think you may have just made a miraculous recovery.”

You let out a groan, pressing a hand to your flushed face. “Do you think she’ll ever realize?”

“Not any time soon, I’d wager,” he chuckled. “But watching her hunt for a creature that doesn’t exist… that’s something we’ll all enjoy.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart’s approach had been so unassuming, yet it immediately set your heart racing. You’d been minding your own business by the campfire, trying not to glance her way too much, when she’d walked over, looking perfectly calm and utterly oblivious to the effect she had on you. She needed help with a spell—one that apparently you could explain better than anyone else at camp. You tried to play it cool, managing a quick, slightly-too-high “Sure!” and hoping your pulse wasn’t visibly hammering in your throat.

Standing beside her, you began explaining the spell, hands trembling ever so slightly as you demonstrated the incantation.

“So…uh…you’ll want to focus your energy here, at the core…” you muttered, gesturing to the focus stone. You held it out for her to see, only to have her fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through you that nearly made you drop the thing.

“Like this?” Shadowheart asked, her gaze flicking up to meet yours. Her dark eyes held that same thoughtful curiosity, and your voice caught in your throat. It was hard enough trying to form sentences with her this close, let alone explain a complex spell.

“Y-yes. Like that,” you managed, each word coming out slightly unsteady. “And, uh, then you just…channel it gently, but with intention.” She tilted her head, leaning closer, following along with perfect focus.

Meanwhile, just behind her, Karlach was all but dying, barely containing her laughter as she watched you fumble. Her amusement was clearly at your expense, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glare at her. Your attention drifted back to Shadowheart just as she turned her attention to the final gesture of the spell.

Her hand rested over yours for a second too long, her voice soft as she asked, “Does this look right?”

You nodded dumbly, your brain too overloaded to form a coherent reply, and somehow muttered, “It’s, uh…very…graceful.” Internally, you cringed. Graceful?

Shadowheart, apparently too engrossed in the spell to notice your red cheeks, gave a small, content nod. She released your hand, oblivious to the way you quickly hid your trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” she said with a rare smile, her voice calm and warm. “I think I understand it now.”

She turned to leave, casting one last glance over her shoulder, which made you feel simultaneously light-headed and weak in the knees. You stared after her, still processing, trying to shake off the ridiculous butterflies. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until she was already out of earshot.

The second she was gone, Karlach burst out laughing, dropping her head back in utter delight.

“Gods! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were spellbound yourself,” she teased, unable to wipe the grin off her face. “That was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Hopeless,” she declared, shaking her head at you with a mischievous gleam.

Heat flooded your face all over again as you groaned, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I know, okay? It’s…utterly hopeless,” you admitted, voice thick with defeat. Before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed her mug of beer straight from her hand and downed it in a few quick gulps, hoping it would somehow wash away the mortification you felt. Setting the empty mug down, you sighed deeply. “She didn’t even notice anything.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re very, very wrong,” Karlach countered, her smile twisting into something sly and secretive. She crossed her arms, leaning in as if sharing a precious secret. “Because she was definitely checking you out while you were showing her that spell.”

You froze, turning slowly to look at her, heart skipping a beat.

“You’re joking,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. There was a spark of hope, ridiculous but undeniable, blooming somewhere deep in your chest.

Karlach grinned wider, shaking her head. “Oh, no. She was stealing glances at you the entire time,” she said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “She’d peek up at you just when you weren’t looking, trying to act all serious, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. You might be as oblivious, but I’ve got eyes.” She winked, patting your shoulder in encouragement.

Your mind raced, playing the whole interaction back. You remembered how Shadowheart’s gaze had lingered, her voice soft, her questions coming slower, almost careful… Could Karlach really be right? Was it possible that Shadowheart had actually been…interested?

“Maybe there’s hope after all…” you mumbled, feeling that glimmer of excitement grow.

Karlach clapped you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking the air out of you. “There you go! Just keep stuttering and blushing—seems to be working like a charm.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep embarrassing myself, then,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

Karlach’s laughter echoed across the camp, but her eyes held a genuine warmth as she said, “Well at least it’s a start. You’ll get there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira's gaze was focused, unrelenting as she adjusted your grip on the scimitar. Her hands, warm and confident, guided yours over the hilt, showing you the correct angle, the precise strength you should use. Every time her hand brushed yours, you felt your heart stammer. You hoped she didn’t notice your flushed cheeks or the way your breath caught every time she leaned closer.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but commanding. She moved to your side, adjusting the angle of your stance with the barest brush of her hand along your back. “It’s not about brute force,” she murmured, her voice so close it felt like a whisper. “It’s about control, understanding where the balance lies in every movement.”

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, managing only a stuttered, “Y-yes, of course.” But you were far more focused on her proximity than any of her advice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Astarion lounging a few paces away, arms crossed and a devilish grin spreading across his face. He had noticed, of course—there was no hiding it from his all-too-keen gaze. Before you could silently beg him to go easy on you, he stepped closer, feigning a helpful tone.

“Stick your rear out more,” he suggested, his voice laced with amusement. “Helps with balance. And I’m sure Jaheira would agree.” He flashed you a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Your face flamed, and you shot him a withering look.

“Thanks, Astarion,” you muttered under your breath, attempting to ignore him. But his smirk only widened, and he continued to watch, pleased with himself.

Jaheira, still adjusting your stance, gave you a quick nod, oblivious to your flustered state and Astarion’s antics.

“There you go,” she said, stepping back just enough to observe your form. “Much better.” She gave a satisfied nod and went on to demonstrate a quick series of strikes, her movements fluid and sure, each slash a picture of precision and elegance.

You could barely pay attention, completely distracted by the grace with which she wielded her weapon, the easy strength in her every move. As she looked back at you, catching you gawking, you fumbled to regain focus.

“Uh—yes! Right, like that!” you stammered, hurriedly attempting to mimic her motions.

Jaheira gave a small, amused smile before nodding approvingly. “Keep practicing that sequence. It’ll help build your control.”

As she left the clearing, giving you one last nod of encouragement, you could hardly breathe. You waited until she was out of sight before collapsing against Astarion, running a hand through your hair with a groan.

“I’m hopeless,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She probably thinks I’m a complete mess.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Astarion said, his grin impossibly smug as he gave you a playful shove. “But she won’t have to wonder about it for long.”

You shot him a look, eyebrow raised in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Astarion’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I may have left your journal in her tent. You know, the one with the little poems in the margins?” He waggled his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

Your eyes went wide, horror settling over you as you gaped at him.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, dread turning your stomach. The journal held every embarrassing thought, every scribbled confession, every starry-eyed rant about Jaheira that you hadn’t dared speak aloud.

“Oh, but I did.” Astarion’s voice was light, mocking even, but his eyes held a teasing warmth. “Look on the bright side. At least now she’ll know how much you ‘admire her scimitar technique.’ among other things..”

You shrieked in exasperation, though a traitorous part of you couldn’t help but feel the faintest spark of excitement at the idea. You shoved Astarion, who merely laughed, delighted with himself, as you stood there in helpless anticipation, wondering how you’d ever face Jaheira again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Trying to stay composed around Gale was becoming increasingly impossible. You could barely string together a coherent sentence whenever he was nearby, your cheeks burning and your heart racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it. It had gotten to the point that, during one of his magic lessons, you’d accidentally projected a very vivid thought about kissing him far into the Weave—and while he hadn’t directly addressed it, you had felt your face go scarlet the moment it happened.

Yet, despite that blunder and all your clumsy attempts to communicate the depths of your affection, Gale remained completely oblivious. And this state of suspended longing, this fruitless crush, was starting to drive you mad.

After another awkward lesson with Gale where you stumbled over your words and blushed at the mere brush of his hand over yours, you found yourself venting to Minthara, though you knew her to be an unlikely confidante. Her eyes held little sympathy, her arms crossed as she gave you a hard, skeptical look.

“Just grab the wizard and use him for your pleasure,” she suggested bluntly, as if it were the obvious solution. Her gaze was sharp and impatient. “You’re a warrior, not a blubbering fool.”

You shook your head quickly, horrified. “No, no, it’s not like that! I don’t just want him in some shallow way.” You sighed, your heart feeling tight. “I want to… to adore him. To look after him. To treasure everything about him, every small thing, every story he tells and every spell he casts. I want to worship him like he deserves.” You leaned into your words, almost forgetting who you were talking to in the rapture of your lovesick confession. “I want to make him feel like he’s the most cherished person in the world.”

Minthara recoiled as if you’d offended her sensibilities with such sentimentality, looking visibly revolted by your romantic ramblings. Her lips curled in distaste.

“By the darkness, are you even listening to yourself?” She gave an exasperated huff, then, with a roll of her eyes, she called across the camp, her voice clear as a bell. “Wizard!” she yelled, her tone commanding and fierce. “They want to go on their knees for you—are you going to do something about it, or will I have to rip out their tongue to stop their endless lovesick whining?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and before you could process the horror, Gale turned, an expression of curiosity mixed with surprise crossing his face as he started to walk over. You immediately whacked Minthara on the arm, panic rising as you whispered, “What are you doing?!”

Minthara looked at you with a smug indifference, ignoring your frantic scolding as if she’d done you the greatest favor.

“A strange way to show your gratitude,” she remarked drily, “given how much assistance I just rendered.”

By then, Gale had reached you both, his brows lifted in confusion, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“What’s all this about… someone going on their knees?” he asked, looking between you and Minthara, though his gaze lingered on you. His voice was gentle, though you could see the glimmer of curiosity—and something else—in his eyes.

You shot Minthara a glare, your face flaming, then took a steadying breath, turning to Gale.

“I—um,” you stammered, realizing there was no dignified way to explain this away. “I think… what Minthara was so eloquently trying to say is that I… might, uh, harbor feelings for you.” You paused, swallowing. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

Gale’s face softened, and a warm smile played at his lips, his hand reaching to touch yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “it’s wonderful to know I’m not the only one who’s felt that spark.”

Minthara turned away, clearly satisfied, muttering something about lesser beings and their foolish emotions, but you hardly noticed her departure as your heart beat out of your touch, your greatest fantasies finally coming true.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Dinner had been an ordeal. Astarion sat beside you, closer than usual, his presence a tangible, almost overwhelming warmth. Every time he reached for something or murmured a comment, you felt yourself freeze, stumbling over your responses, blushing so furiously you’d started to worry it was noticeable. You could barely bring yourself to eat, much less speak, and by the end of the meal, you were sure you’d only embarrassed yourself.

That might have been manageable if it ended there. But just hours later, as the party approached a fortress with heavy guards stationed at the gates, Astarion took the lead, slipping into his charming, roguish element. He approached the security with a smooth, confident swagger, flashing that insouciant smile of his, every word a practiced melody of flattery and wit. He left them captivated, helpless to deny him as he led the party in with ease, his charm so intoxicating it almost felt like magic.

And while the others chuckled at his skillful maneuvering, you felt an unexpected ache in your chest. Watching him sway them so effortlessly stirred a pang of jealousy you hadn’t expected. Did he even notice the way you pined for him? The way every stray touch or knowing look from him seemed to linger long after he’d moved on?

Caught in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Gale was watching you with a raised brow. He leaned over, studying your expression with mild amusement and maybe a bit of pity.

“You look,” he began in a soft murmur, “like someone just killed a displacer kitten right in front of you.”

Startled, you forced a tight smile, trying to wave him off. “It’s nothing, Gale.”

“Nothing?” He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Please, you’ve been fawning over Astarion for ages now, your heart practically on display.”

There was a pause as you grappled with the admission, your face heating up, but at last, the dam broke, and you began to pour out your feelings in a quiet, hushed ramble.

“It’s just… my heart beats for him, Gale. Every time he speaks, I hang on his every word. I want nothing more than to just reach over, brush his hair back, and listen to him talk about all his little grievances—his so-called ‘inconveniences,’ his charms, all of it.”

Gale nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then his lips curled into a wry smile as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I suppose your dilemma is solved, then.”

Confused, you blinked, feeling a twist of dread. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling, “just that you happened to be projecting that over the tadpole connection. Quite eloquently, I might add. The entire party heard every word by my predictions.”

You froze, horror dawning as you processed what Gale had just said. Every word, you realized, echoing faintly through the magical thread you shared. You dared a glance at the others, only to see Karlach giving you an encouraging thumbs-up and Shadowheart hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Then, to your ultimate mortification, Astarion strolled past, pausing just long enough to catch your eye. A sly grin played on his lips as he gave you a long, lingering look, his gaze glinting with amusement.

“Not to worry, darling,” he murmured, a teasing warmth in his voice, “I have plenty of inconveniences—and a few conveniences—to tell you all about. Shall we start tonight?”

His words sent a rush of heat up your spine, leaving you speechless as he gave a little wave, disappearing down the hallway. Gale patted your shoulder with a grin.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “All handled.”

You were left rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe, knowing that somehow you’d been caught, exposed—and that Astarion was, indeed, fully aware of the fact that your heart belonged to him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll’s presence seemed to have a gravitational pull all its own. Every time he smiled at you, every chivalrous gesture—offering his hand to help you up a steep path, or casually brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face—felt like a dream. A warmth filled your chest, so intense you could hardly look him in the eye, your words dissolving into stammered half-thoughts that trailed into silence. Each interaction left you breathless, embarrassed, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he noticed how flustered he made you.

Training, however, was another story. Lae’zel was as intense as ever, barely giving you time to catch your breath between strikes. She was quick, sharp, and relentless, and it would have been more manageable—if you could actually focus. But each time she demanded your attention, your eyes kept wandering back to Wyll, who was a few feet away, talking to Shadowheart as he polished his sword. The way he moved, the way he spoke, that disarmingly warm smile…

It was only a matter of time before Lae'zel had enough.

She stepped back, arms crossed, leveling you with a look that could freeze lava.

“You’re distracted. Useless,” she declared, throwing down her sword with an exasperated sigh. “You pine like a hatchling, and it disrupts our sparring.”

You flushed, scrambling to come up with an excuse, but Lae’zel was already stomping off toward Wyll. You moved to intercept her, knowing she was the absolute last person who should reveal any of this. “Wait—Lae’zel, don’t!”

Lae’zel ignored you, her voice booming as she closed in on a bewildered Wyll.

“You,” she pointed at him, “this one wants to share their body with you.”

Wyll blinked, his eyes widening as he looked between you and Lae’zel, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“I—what?” He looked at you, a blush rising to his cheeks as he fumbled for words. “I mean, I didn’t—wasn’t aware—”

Mortified, you didn’t think, you just acted, flinging yourself at Lae’zel with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. You tackled her to the ground, landing with a clumsy thud, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not…what I meant!” you stammered, trying to laugh it off to Wyll, who was still looking down at the both of you in complete bafflement. “What she means is—uh, we’re just, um, sparring partners! She’s…dramatic.”

Lae’zel raised an eyebrow, and with her typical stoicism, she bit down—hard—on the hand you’d used to cover her mouth. You yelped, jerking your hand back, and Lae’zel smirked, a silent satisfaction in her gaze as she sat up, looking entirely unapologetic.

Wyll was still staring, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking slightly in what looked like a restrained grin.

“I’m… not entirely sure I understand what’s going on here,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement. “But whatever it is, I’m flattered.”

You scrambled to your feet, rubbing your bitten hand, and tried to put together a coherent explanation, but every time you met his gaze, words seemed to fail you.

“Well… right,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face as you threw a quick glare at Lae’zel, who simply shrugged, as if completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Wyll’s expression softened as he watched you struggle to speak, and he smiled gently.

“It’s alright,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you and Lae'zel.”

That simple gesture—his kindness, the warmth in his voice—made you feel as if you’d forgotten how to breathe. You managed a nod, barely holding onto your composure, while he looked at you with that disarming sincerity that always left you reeling.

Lae’zel, watching the exchange with an air of smug victory, dusted herself off. “There. See? Problem solved. Now maybe you’ll stop sparring like a weakling.”

You shot her a glare, but Wyll chuckled softly, meeting your eyes with a spark of curiosity.

“If you ever want to train together,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you need only ask.”

And with that, he gave you a wink, leaving you in a breathless, heart-pounding daze as he walked back to his gear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Every time you were around Halsin, it was like the ground slipped out from beneath you. His voice, that low, warm rumble, made your heart pound, and every casual touch seemed to ignite sparks across your skin. He was utterly unaware, of course; his gentle smiles and steady hands never betrayed a hint of understanding that he sent you reeling. You were sure that was the only reason you hadn’t completely given yourself away.

So when you returned to camp with an injury—a jagged cut on your arm from a goblin's arrow—you hoped it might go unnoticed. Shadowheart was busy, deep in her meditation as she restored her energy, and you thought you could handle the wound alone. But Jaheira spotted the blood trailing down your arm almost immediately. She arched a brow, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and amusement as she approached.

“Let’s have a look,” she said, but as she examined your arm, she shook her head with a soft sigh. “This needs a proper healer. Come on.”

Before you could protest, she’d already begun steering you toward Halsin’s corner of camp. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and a familiar warmth crept up your face. “Jaheira, no, really, I’m fine. It’s not even that deep. You could probably just—”

“Are you afraid of a little attention from the First Druid?” she teased, smirking as you stammered. “If you’re so sure you can handle it alone, why is your face turning as red as a blood hawk?”

You barely managed a protest before she’d called out to Halsin, who looked up from his work, his eyes sharpening with concern the moment he saw the blood seeping through your sleeve.

“Come here,” he said, his voice a blend of calm authority and quiet worry. He rose to meet you, his eyes never leaving the wound as he reached out, guiding you to sit down on a low stool beside him. His hands were warm, gentle but firm, and you felt heat flush up your neck and into your cheeks as he examined the wound.

Jaheira, leaning against a tent post with her arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused glint in her eyes, a smile curving her lips as you struggled to steady your breathing. But Halsin didn’t notice; his focus was fully on your arm, his brow furrowed with concentration as his fingers brushed softly along the edges of the wound, checking its depth.

“It isn’t too deep,” he murmured in his gentle, rumbling voice. “But we don’t want to risk infection. I’ll clean it and make a poultice to help it heal.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the feeling of his hands—steady, reassuring, and just a little too close—sent your mind reeling. “Y-yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Halsin gave you a soft smile, the kind that seemed to reach into your chest and make your heart skip.

“Are you feeling alright otherwise? You look a bit flushed.” His eyes studied your face, brow creased in genuine concern. “Are you feverish?”

You blinked, thrown off by the question, and felt your face grow impossibly hotter. “No! No, not at all. I’m… I’m perfectly fine. Really. Just, um… It’s just… the wound.”

Jaheira couldn’t contain her amusement any longer; she snorted softly and rolled her eyes, muttering, “It’s certainly not the wound that has you blushing.”

You shot her a quick, desperate glare, but she only smirked, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“A shame that our healer here clearly can’t see that particular ailment,” she added, just loud enough for you to hear.

Halsin looked between you and Jaheira, a slight confusion flickering in his eyes before he turned back to you with a gentle, almost affectionate smile. “Well, you should rest nonetheless. Even a small wound can bring on a fever if not treated with care.”

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his thumb tracing light circles just above your collarbone as if to soothe you. It was a simple, instinctive gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, and you fought the urge to lean into his touch, to linger in the quiet strength he offered.

“Let me just…” His voice was soft, his attention focused on preparing the poultice as he worked with deft hands. But every so often, he’d glance up, catching your gaze with that calm, reassuring smile that made your heart race all over again.

Beside you, Jaheira leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He truly has no idea, does he?”

You felt a flicker of panic, but there was no use hiding it now. You muttered, barely audible, “Not the faintest clue.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with a mix of sympathy and sarcasm. “To be fair, you’re not making it particularly obvious.”

Before you could retort, Halsin returned with the poultice, carefully applying it to your wound with practiced gentleness. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin, his hands steady and warm, sent another wave of nervous energy through you. He worked in silence for a moment, his gaze focused, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“There,” he said softly, finishing the bandage. “That should hold for now. And I’ll make more of the poultice tonight to ensure it heals properly.”

You managed a shaky nod, trying to form words but only managing a faint, “Th-thank you.”

Halsin’s smile deepened, and he placed a final, reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s my pleasure to help. But if you do start feeling feverish, promise you’ll come to me immediately.”

“Yes. Of course,” you stammered, hardly able to meet his gaze. Jaheira watched you, her smile widening as she shook her head in mock exasperation.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re sick with something,” she muttered, just loud enough for Halsin to hear.

Halsin’s brow furrowed in mild concern, and he tilted his head toward her, curious. “Sick with what, precisely?”

You shot Jaheira a desperate look, but she only shrugged, that teasing glint in her eye.

“Nothing a nice cold dip in the river can't fix.,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she turned to walk away, leaving you to face Halsin’s warm, questioning gaze.

“If you’re certain you’re well…” he said, his thumb brushing lightly along your hand in a final gesture of reassurance before he let go. “But do take it easy tonight. I’ll check in on you later, just to be sure.”

As he stood and walked away, you sat there, still reeling, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. You wanted to stay in that moment forever. Perhaps during his check in later, you would actually do something about it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was actually so cute to write aha, I hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

Check out my redbubble shop here !

[zaynveir]

Doing Christmas stuff with the Lads boys ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺

-its only november but i needed to write something festive

-So I’m new to tumblr and this is my first time writing a post like this so please be nice 😭 if you have any feedback please share!

🎐𓍼ֶָ֢⊹ ࣪ ˖

Zayne

- you guys would definitely go to the local Christmas markets together and spend so much money on overpriced food.

- Because of Zayne’s sweet tooth, you would be checking out the stalls that would offer pancakes/waffles/churros that would have lightly dusted sugar or tons of nutella dripping from it.

- While walking around you would spot something but not buy it, Zayne would notice this and get it later as a gift.

- You would find a big Christmas tree and take a selfie with him and he would use it as the background for his phone.

- I would imagine there would be a street performer playing music and you would just stop and take in the beautiful song and just stand close to one another taking in the moment, hands intertwined.

- He would pick out an ornament to hang on the tree to remember that day.

Xavier

- okay so I think you and Xavier would go see the Christmas lights and walk through them.

- He would hold your hand the entire time and would wrap your scarf around you before giving you a warm smile.

- He would say things like “why does that reindeer look like that?” Or “that tree wasn’t decorated very well” which would make you laugh at how clueless he is.

- The different lighting would make him look even more pretty than he already does and you would capture it in so many photos.

- He would point out his favourite decorations and be so engrossed in the twinkling lights, that he wouldn’t even notice the cold air of the season. He would be so happy to share this evening with you.

- At the end of the night you would get hot chocolate and head back to his apartment, cuddle up in your matching pjs and watch some classic home alone.

Rafayel

- you can’t tell me that Rafayel wouldn’t take you ice skating in the winter months. He’d persuade you into going by saying things like

- “Cmon!…it will be an exercise to see how good your reflexes are from fighting all those wanderers.”

- He would try to be poetic and say “I would love to see you gliding around like a swan”

- You would be careful at first but you’d get the hang of it only falling on your butt 3 times, but Rafayel would surprisingly be clutching onto the side railings for dear life. You’d have to come over to him and teach him

- When you both got more comfortable it felt like the world melted away and it was just you two sharing a smooth dance

Sylus

- I think you and Sylus would do something like decorate the christmas tree together.

- “you don’t have a Christmas tree?! Do people in the N109 zone not have the Christmas spirit??”

“Sweetie I think people have bigger things to worry about than…a tree.”

- You would meticulously place ornaments only for him to place them somewhere else just to get a rise out of you.

- You would creep up behind Sylus and place the tinsel around him only for him to retaliate by chasing you to do the same to you.

- Mephisto would also take part placing the tinsel or decorations around the tree.

- At the end Sylus would lift you up to the top and you would place the star completing it.

[zepskies]

Wowowow!! 😍 First of all, thanks so much. You really spoiled me with this review and it totally made my day!

I find it really interesting that this fic is the first one you've read from me, since it's such a "niche" pairing. But I love that you loved it (and my writing 🥰)!! Christmas is my favorite holiday too -- in no small part because of the food! lol I had fun incorporating my family's traditions into this one, and of course, feeding Dean. 😆

Diving into the rest of your amazing (and hilarious) comments below!

(you should know as I'm typing this I am daydreaming about the flan, you should just straight up know that LOL)

Giiiirl, get you some flan! My mom makes it so good. I can't wait for the holidays. 😮‍💨

I am happily being led while pushing Dean out of the way to get to it first. Lovingly of course lol.

lolll I'm dead! I can picture Dean's (playful) outrage. 😂

Not going to lie, I'd be giving Sam a little bit of the stink eye myself. What is so wrong with Dean enjoying himself a little? Besides...give me ALL the flan!!! Sam doesn't know what he's missing.

Right? Don't bother the man on Christmas lmao. Sam ate plenty on this round too, he has no room to judge! 😆

This right here is perfection. It made my heart break for Dean as well as Sam for their childhood, what Dean had to sacrifice at times to take care of Sam, how Sam never realized it before...just so perfectly written and so on point.

Aww thank you. It was an HC of mine that stemmed from bits we got of their childhood, and that one ep where someone was like, "You ever been hungry? Like haven't eaten in days, hungry?" And Dean was like, "Yeah..." 😭😭

I feel like from Sam's POV, he would never have known hunger with Dean around, even when things were tight and they were waiting on John.

Moments like this are worth melting for. 😉 (seriously though, I'm pretty sure I have to call someone to get the wetvac to get me up off of the floor)

LOLL honestly same! Oh for Dean to gather me to his chest in a warm snuggle. 🫠🫠

The whole ending scene just makes my heart glad, especially with her offering to go for a walk with Dean, most likely keeping in mind what Sam said (while Sam is keeping what she said in mind - like I said, perfection!) , but I especially loved the ending sequence right here:

Ahhh you caught what I was laying down there! She cares about Dean's health, but she also cares about his happiness. While Sam's now going to be taking what she said into account and try to have a convo with his brother about it in the future.

Ahaha and he so DOES wear shorts when the need arises! 😏

This was just beyond sweet and it was something I very much needed back when I read through it the first time. (I'm sorry I didn't leave feedback until now! I'm trying to be better about that these days) I love the way you write the Winchesters and this one shot cemented you as one of my favorite writers I've come across in this fandom (as well as a few others 😉).

Aww I'm so glad this little fic could give you some much needed escapism. (It's ok, friend. I'm just grateful that you did!) And that's an amazing compliment, thank you!! I'm honored to be counted as one of your favorites! 😭💜

I definitely cannot wait to dive into the Midnight Espresso verse and get more of these two. You did a beautiful job here, lovely!!! Well done!!! 😊💖💖

I would absolutely love it if you delved deeper into the Midnight Espresso verse!! It's a passion series of mine, so it really means that much more to me that you enjoyed it, as well as left such a heartfelt review. 💕

Get Stuffed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @iprobablyshipit91: Sam making the usual digs at Dean about his diet, and how much he eats, and the reader pulling him aside and telling him to back off as he doesn’t realize how much Dean went hungry as a kid to make sure Sam was fed.

Word Count: 1,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, innuendo, tinge of angst

**This story can be read as stand-alone, but you can also check out the full masterlist of one-shots below. ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he's seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk. You glance at him with a smile as you set down the metal pan.

“It is a flan,” you affirm. “I tried my hand at coconut this time.”

“Ooh, tropical,” Dean says, waggling greasy fingers. He wipes them on a napkin before he reaches for the pie cutter, which is usually reserved for his favorite dessert. Although, flan is rapidly becoming his second go-to. The rich custardy goodness is calling to him like a siren song.

“How can I get you to make this more often?” Dean mutters while carving out a generous slice.

Your lips curve. You rest your chin on your hand and lean towards him, earning his gaze. “If I made it all the time, you wouldn’t savor it, now would you?”

Dean smirks. His gaze lowers to your lips, like he’s contemplating some persuasive maneuvers.

“You’d also be 300 pounds,” Sam remarks, taking a sip of his beer.

You eye Sam with a frown. But Dean just laughs it off and cuts his little brother a slice.

By the end of the meal, all three of you are stuffed. Dean groans and leans back in his seat. A gurgle mounts audibly from his stomach.

“Jesus. Are you erupting?” Sam says.

Dean holds up a finger. “Wait for it.”

You give your boyfriend a bemused look. You know exactly what’s about to happen. As does Sam, who’s grimacing.

A few seconds later, Dean does erupt, with a truly legendary belch.

“Nice,” you say wryly. Dean squeezes your soft, thick thigh and backs his chair away from the table.

“Well, since I roasted the pig and you did the rest, I’d say it’s Sammy’s turn on cleaning duty,” he says.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a wan smile. Yours is more jovial, even as Dean’s hand toys with a curl of your hair after he stands.

“I’m gonna shower off the meat sweats,” he says.

You giggle, but you nod. “You do that. I’ll help Sam a bit, put away the food at least.”

Your smile becomes more genuine when Dean drops a kiss on your forehead from above.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. His voice is a quiet, deep rumble washing over you. You know what he’s thanking you for: good food, and a small, but warm Christmas.

You reach up and give his cheek a tender touch, before he withdraws and makes his way to the bedroom he shares with you. It leaves you and Sam to collect what’s on the table and bring it all into the kitchen. While Sam does the dishes, you start to put away the leftovers.

Something has been nagging at you all night, though you’ve tried to stamp it down time and time again. You don’t know if it's your place to say something. Especially if Dean doesn’t seem bothered…but it bothers you. And you’ve never been one to hold your tongue.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you begin, even as a small bit of trepidation niggles inside you.

Sam looks over at you. He’s quick to catch the serious note in your demeanor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he replies. You okay? his eyes also ask.

“Why do you get on Dean so much for enjoying his food?” you ask.

Sam blinks. Then he scoffs a little. “There’s enjoying, and then there’s gluttony.”

“He’s not that bad,” you argue.

“He ate half his weight in pig,” Sam says. You can’t exactly deny that, but you cross your arms and turn to him, leaning your hip against the counter.

“So? It’s Christmas. Let him be happy,” you retort.

Sam levels you with pinched brows. “He’s not in his 20s anymore. All that crap he eats is going to catch up to him someday.”

“What, you expect him to down some kale smoothies?” you reply, giving a pointed brow raise and a teasing smile. “Get up at the crack of dawn for a bare-chested run?”

Sam shoots you a dry look.  

“My point is, I’m not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks just to get taken down by cholesterol,” he says.

You sigh a raise a placating hand. “All right. I get what you’re saying. I’m just saying…have you ever thought about why he loves food so much? Why he overindulges sometimes?”

Sam's brow quirks. It’s a question you know you need to tread lightly in order to answer. You uncross your arms to lay a hand on Sam’s wrist. He stops washing dishes and turns off the sink to give you his full attention, sensing your shift.

You look up at him, and you steel yourself.

“He might’ve mentioned once…that you two sometimes had a hard time growing up. With John taking you guys from motel to motel while he was working a job, and every now and then, leaving you guys alone longer than he meant to.”

Dean had been more than a bit drunk when you’d gotten this out of him. Hearing about that aspect of his upbringing had upset you, not just as someone who cared about him, but the caretaker in you smarted.

“Even though you guys didn’t have enough money at times, your brother always made sure you were fed,” you explain. You meet Sam’s gaze, squeezing his arm. “Sometimes he went without.”

Sam’s expression slowly slackens, contemplative and dismayed at what you’re implying. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel and rubs at his mouth, like he’s reeling back the years of evidence in his mind and trying to confirm if you were right.

“You don’t remember?” you gently ask.

Sam shakes his head. “I mean, I knew things were tight. I remember him taking care of me, obviously. But…”

He doesn’t remember his brother going hungry.

It carves a hole of remorse in his chest.

This isn’t the first time he’s had to reexamine Dean’s role in his life, and not the first time he’s felt this flavor of guilt. But he sighs and really doesn’t know what to say.

You seem to realize that, and you squeeze his arm one last time.

“Just keep that in mind,” you implore.

You soon leave him to venture upstairs, but there in the kitchen, Sam makes a resolution before the new year. One that includes having a conversation with his brother.

You find Dean in your bedroom. Now in his most threadbare sweatpants and an old black shirt, he lays over the covers on the bed. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head, but he hears you when you come in.

You slide into bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. He groans deep and slowly lowers his arms. One of them wraps around your frame.

“Think I overdid it a bit,” he admits, cracking his eyes open. You smile and gently pat his stomach. 

“Wanna go for a walk tomorrow?” you ask. “We can go down to the park.”

Dean raises a brow at you. “You hate walking.”

“Not true,” you shake your head, before you rest more comfortably against him. He tucks you in beside him and begins to run his fingers down your arm. It’s a bit distracting.

“Could be nice, with the right view,” you add, though you shiver a little at his touch.

Dean makes a sound of mild interest in the idea. “I guess, if you like stringy trees and frozen lakes.”

It’s winter in Lebanon. Not much to look at.

You smirk and press a kiss to his chest. “I mean, that, and you in some little Richard Simmons shorts.”

Dean gives you a look, and you giggle so hard it shakes your whole body against him.

“Honestly, I think that’ll really do it for me,” you tease. You walk two fingers across his thigh, where a cute pair of ‘80s-style exercise shorts would cut off.

Dean grabs your hand and rolls you over, pinning you underneath him on the bed. His thigh slips between both of yours, causing friction against your jeans. And he smirks down at you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.”

AN: 😂 A little callback to S1 at the end there. I hope you guys liked this! Just in time to prepare for my Christmas cooking! ❤️💚

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Wish to Build a Dream On":

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

▶️ Next Story: A Wish to Build a Dream On

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[peachdues]

Work has been kicking my ass the last couple of weeks, so I haven’t really had time to write. This is all I’ve got for y’all right now 🤍

Lovers of Compass!Sanemi and Reader discussing books, rejoice. They’re still a couple of fucking nerds (no matter how horny)

It’s almost one in the morning when your phone buzzes.

A message; one from the only person you text, who also happens to be your favorite. On your screen is a picture of the front cover of the book you’d given Sanemi before he left the day before; beneath it, the chat bubble signals he’s sending a follow up.

You caught up yet? Sanemi’s text reads.

You toss your own book to the side, straightening up in bed. Though no one is around to see, a smile unfurls across your lips and your thumbs hurry across your phone’s keyboard.

How far are you?

Sanemi’s reply is instant. Halfway. Can’t finish tonight but I’ve got a few things I need to discuss right the fuck now.

You glance at the time. It’s nearing one-thirty, and your alarm is set for six. Dragging yourself out of bed after less than five hours of sleep is a kind of stupidity you know better than to indulge.

You hit the call button anyway.

Sanemi picks up on the second ring. “I’ve got five minutes,” he warns, voice low, like he’s wary of being overheard. “So if I hang up all of a sudden, it’s ‘cuz of work —“

“Hi to you too,” you tease, settling back against your pillows.

A pause. “Hey there, beautiful,” you can hear his smile even through the phone. “You okay?”

“Better, now that I hear your voice,” and you can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed by the cheesiness of the admission. Texting him is one thing; hearing him, actually hearing that wonderfully gravelly voice of his soothes a tension in your limbs you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying.

He’s okay. He’s unharmed — safe, even. For now, that has to be enough.

Sanemi’s laugh comes through the phone as a staticky exhale of breath. “Normally, I’d ask what you’re wearing, but I’m dead fuckin’ serious — if they don’t win this war —“

“Which battle did you get to?” You sit up, wracking your memory for the approximate place Sanemi has reached in his book. “Did the cadre reunite?”

“No, half of ‘em are still across the fucking continent.”

“Ohhhh, yeah. Okay. I know where you are.” You tug at a loose thread on your comforter. “I can’t say anything. You’ll just have to keep reading.”

“God dammit,” and you imagine he’s rolling his eyes, maybe even glaring down at the book in distaste. “Shit’s got me stressed the fuck out. I don’t know how she’s gonna wrap this up —“

You giggle as he launches into a rant over loose plot ends. Squaring the mental image of your boyfriend — the one currently ranting about the various loose plot ends to still be tied up in his current read — with the one you know must be sitting in some alley or warehouse, waiting to do things he’ll never speak of, feels impossible at times. But here, for this small moment, Sanemi isn’t a Hashira. He’s just a boy, spouting off theories and guesses as to his book’s ending with an almost childlike enthusiasm. Here, there are no orders to leave, no bruised knuckles or bloodstained hands he has to scrub clean in your bathroom sink.

It’s just you and him; your Sanemi. Your wonderful, gentle, sweet Sanemi.

“Ah shit,” he cuts his impassioned tirade off with sigh. There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, but it’s too muffled to be distinguishable. “‘M gonna have to go —“

Just like that, the moment ends and the smile you’d been wearing slides from your face.“Oh.” And you hate how small your voice sounds. “That’s okay — I’m glad I got to talk to you for a sec.”

The rustling stops. “Me too,” Sanemi says softly. “Fuck, I miss you.”

This is the part you hate most; the part when he has to stop being yours and go be theirs, no matter how much you know he doesn’t want to.

Your moments with him are pennies to the hours the Corps gets to demand. As long as they keep their claws in him, this will always be how your moments with him end: in abrupt, hushed voices, Sanemi’s shoulders sagging with a guilt he shouldn’t have to feel.

You grimace. This forced distance between you is bad enough, and you don’t want him to feel worse than he likely already does. You knew what you signed up for by telling him you loved him. You can’t be mad for getting exactly what you’d known to expect. And besides, your ire is reserved for the Corps and the Corps alone. Sanemi doesn’t deserve it. You can’t leave him on your sour note.

He’ll be yours again soon enough, even if only temporarily. That has to be enough, for now. Better to give him something to look forward to, rather than reminding him — and yourself — of what you’re both currently without.

“If you still wanted to know — I’m wearing your shirt. Only your shirt.” You smirk. “A thong, too. The lacy green one.”

A favorite of Sanemi’s, as he’d mentioned a handful of times. One that always set his eyes wide, made his tongue flick out to wet his lips.

Your distraction works. A strangled groan crackles through the phone. “You’re killin’ me, woman.”

[moonlight-prose]

smoke and ash

a/n: this is based entirely on a post made by the amazing @cavillscurls and i was given permission to write it for her cause the idea actually made my brain go numb. plus just the thought of this man having an oral fixation paired with someone who also has an oral fixation?? beautiful. filthy. spectacular. it's quickly written cause i had the inspo at the time and really didn't want to lose it. so enjoy!

summary: cigar smoke trailed after him with every step, his mouth always desperate for something to wet, something to bite down on. and you with the match between your teeth indulged him every which way.

word count: 1.4k+

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, oral fixation, spit kink, choking, dry humping, desperate!logan, overstimulation, cigars, they're fucking messy, dirty talk.

A dark stain of saliva coated the base of a match as you sat sprawled on his leather couch. Your teeth dug into it, creating an indent that would last until you decided it was time to strike the phosphorus and let it burn down. Sometimes they snapped. Other times you tossed them in the trash. Tonight you were intent on lighting it up—solely for the cigar currently stuffed in between his own lips.

He sucked at the end thoughtfully most nights. Glasses perched on the edge of his nose, a book he'd read a hundred times over propped in one hand—whiskey in his other. Half of it was already burnt through. Used within the span of a few days before stubbed out and saved.

“Interesting story?”

The soft hum was all he offered, his eyes flicking back and forth between the lines even though he could recite the words from memory. The pages were worn from use, spine cracked every which way, and you often considered buying him a new copy. If just to give the story a chance to breathe in his mind. Sink beneath the depths of memories that still floated along the surface—seeking to ruminate in the cracks of chaos.

“Logan.”

“Bub?”

“What does it taste like?”

At last he looked up, eyebrows lifted and fingers moving to drag the sticky wet cigar out of his mouth. “This?”

You nodded. “Good or bad or…”

“Better than those fuckin’ matches,” he scoffed, pointedly glaring at the splintered wood between your teeth—a nervous habit you had yet to kick. “C’mere and find out.”

Scrambling off the couch a bit too quickly, you found yourself perched in his lap, legs straddling his hips with a smile painted across your lips. He removed the match, flicking it into the discarded ashtray with contempt—happy to have your mouth empty and waiting. Only to place the soaked butt against your tongue, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip at the sight. You always imagined what the flavor resembled. Until it finally dawned on you.

This is how it tasted to kiss him. The bitter tang of the cigar muted by the flavor of the whiskey he drank and the mints he chewed in his spare time. You sucked on the remnants of his saliva, your mind lighting up at the feel of it. Of having something stuck between your lips, a thing you could fixate on.

“Taste’s like me don’t it?”

You nodded, shifting against his body as the first spark of heat began to slowly meld with the rest of your senses.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, the book forgotten to the side in favor of his hand sliding along your throat, thumb catching just beneath your chin. “Suck on it harder yeah? Want it to taste like ya when I smoke it again.”

A whine cracked in the back of your throat, your hips catching on the zipper of his jeans. “What about you?”

The mumbled words caused spit to drool down to your chin, his eyes tracking the slide of it with a heavy gaze. He wanted to lick it up. Swallow down what you offered. But the sight kept him transfixed—your tongue sliding along the end of the cigar as if it were his cock. Soaking it in your taste enough to drive him a bit closer to the edge, his other hand suddenly a harsh grip on your ass.

“I got what I need,” he replied with ease. “Yeah?”

You nodded, catching the glaze of desire in his dilated pupils. He wanted more than an empty mouth. The cigars appeased a side of him no one saw, a man who ached for something to bite down on, someone to taste even in the most mundane of ways. He was your guard dog looking to chew, to gnaw, even if spit flew out of his mouth with a feral edge of desperation. And with a grin, you stuffed three fingers into his mouth right down to the knuckle.

He took them with a moan, tongue laving over the length of them as his hips bucked up into yours. The hot cavern of his mouth and wet slide of his tongue drew out a sound you never knew you could make. A biting grunt that made spit fly everywhere, splattering against his cheek to mix with his own.

Ripping the cigar from your mouth, you hastily licked around his full mouth. “Suck harder for me baby.”

They met the back of his throat, choking him enough to force his head back. His eyes rolled, nostrils flared, and for a moment you felt the power dynamic shift. You were in charge. Telling him what to do to appease the ache of pleasure growing in the pit of your stomach. And it might have lasted. He very well could have given you complete submission if it weren’t for the lack of the cigar in your mouth.

A growl rumbled up from his chest, eyes flashing dark enough to send a thrill down your spine, and before you could fix your mistake he rectified it for you. Three fingers—to match your own—were pushed harshly against your tongue, hooking behind your teeth to drag your face closer to his. You didn’t need to hear him to know what he wanted.

The intent blazed in his hazel eyes well enough: suck.

Through the haze of wanton lust you felt his hand begin to guide your hips along his crotch. The bulge of his cock straining against denim, pushing the metal zipper up for your clit to catch on each time. Clad in his flannel and cotton panties, you found yourself plummeting towards the burning ache that built faster than you could comprehend.

You ripped your hand from his mouth, burying the spit soaked fingers into his hair to grip him close. But it never remained enough. He wanted to delve beneath your skin. Seek the warmth that seeped from your body where his fingers kneaded and pushed to drag you to a fro. His teeth latched onto your shoulder, the sweater pulled to the side while his fingers met the back of your throat, choking you with their size.

A cry slipped past his knuckles as you humped his clothed cock—dragging yourself inch by inch towards the release you could practically taste. It clung to the tip of your tongue—the saccharine flavor intertwined with the tobacco musk of his fingers. You swallowed around them, drool spilling down your throat and pooling at the top of your breasts.

“That’s it,” he gasped, a line of bites trailing right to the juncture of your neck, his spit smeared across your skin. “Gonna cum for me?”

You whined harshly, body going taut as your clit pulsed rapidly with the impending wave of bliss that tugged sharply on your spine. The pain of his teeth puncturing hard enough to draw blood dragged a knife through the thin strand  of resistance. And you came with his name at the back of your throat and white bursting behind tightly shut eyelids.

“Yes. Fuck–” His growl ran down the length of your spine, body trembling in his tight grasp. “That’s my girl.”

Unconsciously your nails punctured the skin at the back of his neck and with a jolt, he groaned long and ragged against your throat. A dark wet patch formed beneath his jeans as you soaked him with a spit filled cry. The pleasure wrung your body dry, pulling the final dregs of your energy straight from the source. Your chest heaved, mouth a gentle suckle at the very base of his fingers, and Logan could feel you begin to collapse forward into his chest.

“You really like when your mouth is filled,” he mused, lips curling into a smile.

Nodding, your voice was a content hum—his fingers dragging at the back of your teeth, tracing their shape. A kiss was pressed to your head, body slumping further into the chair with you atop him.

“Gonna get you some more matches in the mornin’,” he mumbled lazily. “My pretty girl needs a treat for being so good.”

Your heart fluttered, eyes glistening with the devotion you’d never dare to hide. The love that burned with the power of an eternal flame. Settling into his body, you felt his hand drag along the expanse of your thigh. Calming the storm in his mind—a catastrophe you longed to weather with him.

You were the balm to his weathered soul.

A permanent fixation of smoke and ash that surrounded his charred and splintered heart that burned for you.

[lndsismaeverything]

I'm here | sylus x mc/reader

An: this came up bec it happen to me I frequently got nightmares. And the only thing that makes me go back to sleep is hugging my plushy and listening to some music

Words : 0.5k more or less

It was late at night as you sleep in sylus bedroom , sylus went out with the twins for a meeting leaving you alone.

You couldn't move .

Your body cold even when you have the blanket around you .

You couldn't wake up from this dream, you knew it was a dream but can't wake up. You wake up many times but can't get out of if. You are stuck in this sleep paralysis

You finally woke up when sylus came to the room and saw the discomfort on your face. He gently wakes you up. Softy shaking your shoulders to wake you up

" sweetie? "

" are you alright ? " you jolted awake you looked around your surroundings before you stood up from the bed, sylus gently warps his arm around your shoulder using his thumb to rub smooth circles.

Hes clearly worried about you

" yea...im fine now.. Just had a nightmare that I couldn't wake up, don't think I can sleep for the time being "

" is that so... I have a way to make you sleep better. Give me a minute , sweetie" with that sylus leave the room

He comes back with a cup of warm milk and handed to you.

He started to play one of his vintage record player as it plays some classical music.

" do you want to talk about your nightmare , sweetie? "

" it's just something stupid nightmare that hunts me everytime " sylus brow frown knowing this isn't the first time you've gone through it

" how did the meeting go ?" You asked putting the mug down next to the night stand . Changing the subject

" it went surprisingly well , I do have have another meeting soon" he changed his clothes and joins you on the bed

" they why are you changing ?" You asked curiously as he's switching for his usual work clothes to his sleep wear

" to get to bed, what ells kitten "

" but don't you have another meeting soon?"

" they won't mind if I move the date. " he pulled you closer to his chest and played with your hair

" you are more important right now, i can't go out without worrying you having another nightmare that you can't wake up from "

"Thank you...sy'' you snuggled against his chest wrapping your arm around him feeling his warmth

" shhh... Go to sleep"

" and don't worry I'm here "

As the night got darker, rain slowly made its way to the ground. The sound of rain and the sound of the music playing in the back and the warmth from sylus... It didn't take you long before sleeps takes over you

This would also suit for zayne x mx / reader too don't you think?

Sho I write it down?

[cicadabooks]

aaaaa finally i feel justified for reluctantly finishing the first Monk and Robot book with a :/ face, and then feeling even more :/ :/ :/ about reading the 2nd book. Which I did not read, and it looks like this was the correct choice, for me.

"Underbaked" is a decent summary of the first book - people (....often white people I feel like....) would recommend the book and how they loved it, and when I finally read it, I was just like.... This author is over-reaching and floundering around in areas she doesn't know much about. (And also this book felt very White Person writing world building to me.) Even the final pep talk by Mosscap rubbed me the wrong way. It was obvs just Not the Book For Me. (Also winning a Hugo.... It's not the worst book, but...? I think people are being bamboozled a bit.)

I remember the author's approach to nature was weird. I remember thinking "people live in nature, we're part of nature, and to just have the two drastically split is disturbing. Also I don't think this author has ever actually walked through the woods, or at least not more than three times."

OP's line above ("The Robot Side is kept wild and humans are discouraged from going in there because humans can't be trusted not to ruin Nature.") is making me specifically remember what I didn't like. :( wtf. Are indigenous people and their land stewardship a joke to you. Where were you when the Dakota Access Pipeline protests were happening last decade. That was a large amount of news. At this point, this is a you problem, Becky Chambers.

Also shoutout to "also tbh I think Becky chambers has also just never gone fishing in her life and was not curious enough about her own concept to research how you're supposed to kill a fish" in the comments section from OP -

Because, as I mentioned earlier, I had the same reaction even in book one!? About doubting if the author actually spent time in nature, or considered nature a lot, or knew much about nature (for a book that... spends time in nature...). Neither the first book's vibes, or this wretched fish thing, are the vibes of people I know who spend time in the wild (as a hobby or professionally).

(Also, I think those people I know, and me, and many other humans, would be miserable being cut off from wild nature. Some things are just in the blood. I was always yearning for the ocean growing up, and I swear it was handed down to me by blood from my mother who grew up on an island. When I finally lived in a place near the ocean and got to be in ocean waters a lot more, I was like YES I AM HOME and happy in my bones. Every time I get too sad it's because I have spent too much time away from ocean and some proper wilderness.)

(and we're not even getting into how much human culture, esp indigenous cultures, have cultural transmissions tied in with nature.)

(Like I know OP's essay was more examining passivity and the implications at large in these books.... Whereas looking back, I think I got stuck on "Humans aren't allowed to go into nature" in book one and I was horrified by this and I never got past this part. This book was a dystopia for me.)

Anyway OP thank you for summarizing the 2nd book, yikes and also that was fun to read.

Also this is all ironic/sad because I actually liked the author's first book! When I read it years ago. (A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet) It was fun! I love me a motley crew of people in space ships becoming friends and having adventures. I had issues with the handling of sex/gender stuff, but at the time I gave it a pass. The rest of the books in that series didn't stand out to me, but I picked up whatever the author wrote anyway. I was disappointed when I picked up these monk robot books more recently. We're not even having, like... having that much fun here :( There's apparently fish dying in bizarre ways.

ykw i am having so much fan watching you be a hater, that i’ve decided to ask for more. PLEASE give us a rant about a book you hated.

Haha aw I'm honored. And uh I hope you don't have any particular attachment to Becky Chambers. Sorry in advance.

But A Psalm for the Wild-Built won a Hugo and I do not get the love. Book 1 was nice enough, yeah. Book 2 had me tearing my hair out.

Sibling Dex is a restless Tea Monk who serves the God of Small comforts on the science-fantasy planet of Panga. I genuinely love the idea of a tea monk - part therapist, part confessor, travels around to the different towns, mixes tea blends for people, lets them talk about their worries and fears and stresses, and gives them, if not advice, then sympathy and a listening ear and some calming tea. This is meaningful work but they're unhappy. After doing this for a while they're still unsatisfied with their life, so they go into the woods searching for self-actualization, and meet a robot named Mosscap, a wild robot that lives in the woods. See, hundreds of years ago, all the robots "woke up" and became sentient one day, then they staged a quiet rebellion against humanity's greed and industrialization by walking into the woods and never coming back. Now, the continent is split in half: humans stay on the Human Side, and robots stay on the Robot Side. The Robot Side is kept wild and humans are discouraged from going in there because humans can't be trusted not to ruin Nature. The rpbots are welcome to come to the Human Side, they just never have. Dex is the first person in a While to venture into the woods of the Robot Side, and the first human since the great walkout to see a robot. Mosscap gives Dex a lot of philosophical pep talks about not pushing themself so hard, about allowing themself to just rest and appreciate the world without feeling like they need to be Providing A Service to justify their existence. It's a nice theme. Underbaked, imo, but nice. Relateable.

Book 2 was a goddamn mess.

Book 1 mostly takes place in the wilderness of the woods, so it's okay if the nice utopian human community Dex comes from was sketchily-built. It Just Works, and everyone Is Just Nice, this is a science-fantasy parable. There were some issues I had with it - like the strict ideological and physical divide between Nature and Humans, and the fact that Dex's religion seems to be the Only Religion In The World, and it's vaguely secular-humanist with the gods being not "really" gods but names given to primordial forces and philosophical concepts, and the religion not really making any demands of its adherents in any way except to become their best selves and devote themselves to what they like... it's potentially interesting, but overall kinda lazy. It felt like Becky Chambers was aware of the idea that having an enlightened-atheist sci-fi utopia is Problematic, so she made there be a central religion, but she also didn't want it to have any of the ~icky~ things religions have, like belief in anything supernatural, or dietary restrictions, or creeds, or codes of behavior, or expectations to make any kind of sacrifice in any way. All the gods "ask" is that humans observe and appreciate the world. But whatever.

In book 2, Dex and Mosscap return to Dex's society, and the book seems to want to explain how the world works, and oh my GOD is Chambers not prepared to do this.

"Observe and appreciate" is all anyone is asked to do. Book 2, A Prayer for the Crown-Shy, is an ode to ultimate virtue of Doing Nothing. There's this attitude I see in a LOT of utopian fiction, where the author is bluntly just not a good enough author to imagine a utopian society where people act like people, so in the world of Panga, utopian society is achieved through 1) homogeneity 2) no one giving a crap about anything.

As far as I can tell, there is the one religion. Most people are Fine with this. Most people are Fine with anything. There are no characters with distinct personalities. There's no money, except there is, except it's not real money and no one will deny you anything if your balance is in the red, even though your balance is available to be seen by anyone - this does not cause any kind of shame or pride or competition in any way, and Dex doesn't understand why it might. There are no hierarchies or governing bodies, people just volunteer to step up when things need doing (this is portrayed as great and not deeply concerning). There are different communities, but in them, everyone is uniformly nice, friendly, and helpful at all times. There are some parts of nature, like the seashore, where people are not allowed to go because they'll ruin the environment, and this is accepted as correct and necessary. Most people live in hippie, pro-recycling, high-tech, end-of-history green communities; there's one group they visit, however, that doesn't trust technology, and lives in a vaguely sci-fi-Amish way. You might think, Dex travelling around with a robot, this might cause conflict! It does not. The people from this community calmly explain their anti-technology position, Dex calmly explains their pro-technology position, and they politely respect each other. "Not bothered either way" is a phrase that turns up in various permutations a lot and is held up as the good, mature, responsible way to be.

There's a scene where they catch a fish for dinner, and instead of killing it, the scifi-Amish guy says "We let the air do that for us, and they let the fish slowly suffocate to death in the air while they all look on solemnly and sadly. This is portrayed as a deep, beautiful moment of them witnessing and honoring the final moments of a living being's life. And not. y'know. them torturing a living being to death so they can keep their own hands clean.

This is what I mean about the valorization of passivity: observing is all you are ever obligated to do. Letting a fish die in the air is better than killing it quickly and humanely, because doing things gets your hands dirty, while letting things simply happen is the Correct way to do it.

At the end, Mosscap and Dex blow off all their promises and appointments and just hang out at the beach chilling out instead, because do what you want forever, you don't have to do shit. This is the happy affirming ending. Mosscap you fucking said you'd meet with the city leaders as the robot ambassador to the humans, did you tell them you were blowing off this commitment because you didn't feel like doing that anymore??? Did you even let them know??????

It is SUCH a baffling book. The theme wants to be "you are more than your job, you deserve to just Be" and ends up feeling like "you don't have to do anything ever, and no one can make you do anything you don't want to do if you don't feel like it, and you don't owe anyone anything and searching for a purpose in your life is just making you stressed out so chill at the beach instead."

The thing that drives me crazy is like. Mosscap cheerfully tells Dex about robots that spend twenty years in a cave watching stalactites form because they think it's beautiful, and those robots are just as much a valued part of society as anyone else. Appreciating beauty and wonder is good enough, you don't need to be productive. And I'm just. fuckin. like. Humans are not robots! Robots don't need to eat or sleep! Humans need food, and clothes, and shelter, and medical care, and if we don't have SOMEONE working to provide that, we Die! Nice as it would be, we CAN'T just all do nothing forever until we feel like it! We can't do that!

And at the same time, the book bizarrely treats wanting a purpose in life as like... almost disordered. If you are seeking a purpose in life it's because you just haven't let go of your guilt and relaxed enough. It's bizarre. Valorization of passivity. Humans aren't meant to be in nature so we just Shouldn't. Doing nothing and having no strong opinions is the most self-affirmed you can possibly be. Letting a fish suffocate is more moral than quickly breaking its neck or spiking its brain. Someone else will do it. Who, if we're all supposed to be resting and only doing what we feel like? Don't worry about it.

"The heart of this book is comfort [...] There is nothing in it that can hurt you." YOU LIAR BECKY CHAMBERS THE FISH SCENE STILL DISTURBS AND UPSETS ME TO THIS DAY

[cheshiresense]

Starrk time travels with Ichigo to TBTP is everything I never knew I needed! The pain of surviving again, of still being too strong to die- to give up and rest with Shunsui is chef’s kiss beautiful.

I have questions, ideas, thoughts- feel free to ignore any of them lol. First is do you think Hollows/Arrancars have pack instincts/pack bonds. I can imagine the horrible aching emptiness of reaching for friends and family who aren’t there anymore. Pack is forever, should be forever- but now they have to go on looking in the faces of people who loved them once and see nothing in their eyes. No pack bond or instincts that used to link them.

Second is do you think Starrk and Ichigo would eventually start napping together once they settle in a bit more? Starrk might be able to control it now, but I feel like there would be something reassuring about the fact that Ichigo could take it, wouldn’t buckle under the pressure. And then there’s the fact they’re the only ones who know, who understand the weight of it all.

Third is do you have an idea of who you’d ship Ichigo with in this au? I myself am partial to Koyonagi, but I can also see Shinji noticing something off and prowling around like the big cat he pretends he isn’t to investigate. I also imagine that not a few people would assume Starrk and Ichigo are in a relationship lol.

Lastly is I think it would be really interesting if Starrk and Ichigo ended up in the same division, especially since the draw to join the Eighth would be even more tempting. Do you think they’d stick together or try to spread out to be able to investigate/access more.

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it! And I haven't even gotten to the ShunStarrk parts yet but the prospect of it is incentive to write more lmao.

This got a bit long so I'll shove it under the cut:

1) I haven't thought much on this particular aspect of Hollows, although I do see it around a lot, it seems a pretty common headcanon. I def do think they have pack instincts, because even in canon you see Harribel and Grimmjow and others forming "packs" but idk if I'd go all the way to pack bonds. For me it would prob depend on where I want to take that particular fic. In this AU, I imagine Hollows do have pack instincts (again, that's basically canon) and Hollows in general are more sensitive to the reiatsu of pack members, but Starrk's gone so long without them that he's used to the pain of not having anyone. Plus he's like part wolf so I think that makes it worse, but after a thousand years he's probably numb to it. Then of course he got Shunsui for a while, and I imagine he kind of adopted the Fourth as his own and probably a few other Shinigami he'd grown close to, and now all of them are gone. He's in the same situation as Ichigo and grieving that loss, but it prob also feels physically worse for him. He knows what it's like to have pack now, and then he loses them all, and yeah he can sense Shunsui's reiatsu signature halfway across the Seireitei, and half the Fourth is a comfortable bubble at the edge of his awareness, but at the same time, they're not the same and his instincts can tell that too, so it's basically just a constant reminder of everything he no longer has. But he has a thousand years of experience at ignoring this sort of thing, and it's easy to fall back on it, he has to fall back on it because it's not like he can do anything about it anyway. His people, his pack, are gone, and like all the other things he was never able to change over the course of his long life, he can only resign himself to it and shoulder it as best he can.

But Shunsui in particular is a relentless ache in his chest, at the back of his mind, in the pulse of his very reiatsu, like pressure on a bruise on the days he can force himself to ignore it, like a gushing wound when he can't. It's still okay when he's at the Academy and doesn't actually have to see the man. Then Ichigo goes and picks up a stray who just so happens to be Shunsui's family, damn you too Mimihagi may you suffer from carpal tunnel for the rest of eternity, and because his luck has never been what anyone would call good, Starrk's practically expecting it the first time Ichigo awkwardly pesters him into joining their tutoring sessions behind the Eighth Division compound because Ichigo's excellent at Shunpou but he's never quite managed Yoruichi's flawless execution of it, and even before they'd become allies, Starrk's Sonido had been her equivalent, which had seamlessly translated over to Hohou once he'd gained the ability to learn it. Fujiwara's decent enough at it for an Academy student, but still far too slow for Ichigo's liking and also stupidly clumsy and Ichigo can't for the life of him figure out why, so can Starrk please come take a look and see if he can spot the problem or just tell him that there is no problem and all Academy students are just hopeless like this. Starrk wants to say no, but for all that Ichigo gets irritated with his own family for not being able to take no for an answer, the kid himself is actually no better than them, he's just a little more self-conscious about it, but the family resemblance is definitely there beyond just the appearance. Repeatedly refusing would take energy Starrk doesn't have, and he supposes it's nice too to see Ichigo starting to make friends again in this time period, starting to look past his grief. Starrk knows if he really puts his foot down, Ichigo will back off, but he doesn't want to set the kid back in case Ichigo gets the idea to also return to being a perpetual shut-in just because Starrk is, and if that means indulging Ichigo's whims, then so be it. He'd been sent back to serve as babysitter anyway so he may as well do the whole thing properly. And because his luck is just like that, the first time he goes, he finds that Ichigo has already somehow managed to lure his nosy Shiba cousin, his cousin's captain, and the Eighth Division captain Starrk's Shinigami but no he isn't not really not anymore never again to the training grounds even though it's the middle of the afternoon and they should all be at work. At least, judging by the disgruntled expression on Ichigo's face, this hadn't been Ichigo's idea of a good time either. Familiar grey eyes meet his from across the clearing, and for a moment, Starrk is certain someone's ripped his heart out again, leaving only an empty gaping hole in its wake once more, but a thousand times worse than it had ever felt when he'd still been just a Hollow and had never known anything else.

-

2) Honestly Ichigo already spends like 70% of his time in Starrk's room, his own is there just to gather dust and like fake out Kaien cuz the guy either hasn't thought to or at least still has enough manners to refrain from invading Starrk's room too (for now). So like two weeks into the Academy and Ichigo spending five days out of seven crashing on Starrk's floor, Starrk just gives up and goes out to buy an extra futon (and even more pillows because he's a pillow fiend and you can never have too many in his opinion) and Ichigo basically moves in after that. It's definitely comforting for both of them to have the other close by, especially Ichigo because his reikaku abilities are still hit or miss some days. Starrk can relax because his control hasn't been anything less than perfect since his Aizen days but occasionally he still worries about slipping up, except Ichigo is one of the few who can bear the brunt of it so it wouldn't matter even if he does. And Ichigo can relax because he's never really been one for subterfuge, it's actually killing him a little that he can't just bust out his Bankai and either beat Aizen to death or beat some sense into him over the skies of Soul Society like the good old days, but there's nothing he has to hide from Starrk, and Starrk's one of the ones - the only one left now - who's seen Ichigo at his very worst, and likewise it would take a lot of conscious effort on his part to actually hurt Starrk. Lashing out in the midst of a nightmare would wake Starrk but otherwise wouldn't even make him blink.

They can lower their guard around each other in a way they can't anywhere else outside of their room, and with Starrk's habit of carpeting most of the floor with soft things to sleep on, it's only natural to go to sleep next to each other and wake up - in the middle of the night or in the early morning when dawn hasn't even broken yet because it's easier to stare at the ceiling than spend another minute dreaming of faces they'll never truly see again - the same way. Neither of them really moves much when unconscious, and their instincts mark each other as safe, so these days, they sleep best in each other's company.

(This aches too though, sometimes, even though Starrk won't ever voice such a thing out loud. But sleeping with someone else beside him, even when they don't touch beyond an accidental brush of shoulders or a nightmare-fueled flail of a limb digging into his gut, reminds him of another warm body he'd spent close to a decade sleeping beside, half-draped over him or plastered against his back or letting him curl around them in return. It's another thing he'll never have again, but that's hardly Ichigo's fault, and he knows the kid doesn't do well alone either - who in this world does? - so Starrk's hardly going to say anything that would definitely chase Ichigo away because the kid's stupid like that. He locks the sense-memories behind his teeth instead, even when it keeps him up all night or wakes him in the morning just to make him feel like shit all over again when he remembers where and when he is. And it's not always bad. In this era, Ichigo is the only truly familiar thing that doesn't make Starrk's instincts bristle, which means he can sleep more deeply than he would allow himself anywhere else, and that's a comfort in and of itself.)

-

3) This I actually don't know, even in SP I don't really have a ship for Ichigo. But ship candidates are a dime a dozen for him lol. Kisuke's always my go-to for him but I guess he hasn't really been that prominent, although I can def steer things that way. I've written a few KoyoIchi so that's def also a possibility. Shinji is equally likely, and if they could give past!Aizen future!Aizen's memories, I could even pull off AiIchi, although if they could do that, I'd just do the same with Shunsui and then we would have less angst lmao. And it might be weird but I'm not opposed to Ichigo/Asuka but in a platonic neither of us are interested in other ppl and don't want to be bothered by marriage offers so let's just get engaged and it'll even be good for clan politics close friends sort of way. They might develop feelings for each other sometime down the road, but arranged marriage AU would be how it would start (this is actually a wip idea I've had for a long time that I've just never written). Also I just feel like Starrk would be vaguely amused by how they both got attached to Kyourakus (or Kyouraku-adjacent I guess), like what is it about that family 😂 But yeah nothing really concrete yet. Ppl might assume that Starrk and Ichigo are a thing because Ichigo doesn't hang out with anyone else at first, and Starrk basically only leaves school grounds to accompany Ichigo somewhere, but I imagine that would clear up after like thirty minutes of watching them interact, esp once Rangiku and Asuka and Gin are more permanent fixtures in their group and Starrk's just trailing after them like a long-suffering dad, the generational gap would be pretty obvious.

-

4) Oh man I've definitely thought about this. So unlike SP where Ichigo's like It Is My Duty To Go To The Fifth Just To Keep An Eye On Aizen's Shenanigans Even If That Means Self-Inflicted Emotional Torture The Entire Time, Starrk puts a stop to that nonsense in this AU. He doesn't actually care where Ichigo wants to go, Ichigo can take care of himself even if Aizen breaks cover and goes all traitor on them a hundred years early, and he's not here to tell the kid what to do anyway, but when Ichigo's waffling between the Eighth or the Fifth, and it becomes pretty fucking clear that he only wants to go to the Fifth because he thinks he has to, because there's no other way to keep track of Aizen, and he starts getting tunnel vision the way he does when he's brooding and obsessing over protecting people, that's when Starrk steps in.

"It's one thing if you want to go because you want to," Starrk says, watching the kid pace their room like a caged tiger. "But I don't think you do, not with the way you behave around Hirako. Besides, are you even going to be able to get anything done when you'll be constantly stressed out by being so close to Aizen?" He pauses, then adds with a ghost of a smile, "And then there's the fact that you're a really bad liar."

Ichigo swings around to splutter indignantly at him. "I am not! I can lie!"

Starrk shrugs. "Good enough to fool Hirako and Aizen when they'll be right there observing you up close every single day?"

Ichigo opens his mouth, then closes it again. Good, at least he's self-aware.

Starrk lets him think it over for a moment, tracking the conflicted shift of emotions across Ichigo's face - and he wants to play spy in front of the likes of Aizen like this? - before continuing quietly, "This is it, you know."

Ichigo blinks at him, thrown by the non-sequitur.

Starrk sighs and leans back against the windowsill at his back, slanting his gaze to the sky outside, winter-pale but clear. "What we're doing--it isn't a job with an end date. We don't get to go back home once we're done. There's no home to go back to."

In his peripheral, Ichigo is suddenly very still.

"This is it," Starrk repeats without taking his eyes off the distant horizon. "And you gain nothing from focusing all your energy on one man who won't even be showing his hand anytime soon. If anything, finding out you're suspicious of him will only move up his timeline or cause him to do something drastic, and then we might not be able to predict him at all. And that's not even getting into what the Quincy might do if you show your hand too soon, with or without their king. But even that's beside the point."

He turns back to Ichigo, taking in the weary grief in the furrow of his brow and the bitter curve of his mouth, and he knows Ichigo already understands. Still, he finishes as gently as he knows how, "This is where we live now, and maybe it isn't home yet, but maybe it's time to start thinking about what it will take to make it one. How do you want to live, Ichigo? Once everything is over, what kind of life will you have built for yourself by then? Or will you let Aizen dictate that too?"

A minute flinch ripples across Ichigo's shoulders. Starrk presses on, as ruthless as he'd learned from Aizen, from Shunsui even more. "Will you let him hound you all the way to your final grave? Or will you let Yhwach do it again? Your mother died to save you. Your friends died protecting you. Is their love for you only worth yet another suicide run at a bunch of madmen and would-be-gods? Do you think that this was all you were worth to them?"

Ichigo flinches again, and for a split second, his expression scrunches like he wants to take a swing at Starrk.

Starrk waits him out, because Ichigo isn't an idiot, but sometimes, it's like he just can't understand certain things without them being spelled out for him. And some things, Starrk thinks, should be heard, should be said.

He wonders if anyone's ever told this kid that he's allowed to live for himself too.

(He also wonders how much of a hypocrite every word coming out of his mouth right now is going to make him in the future.

But it's different, with Ichigo. Starrk is over a thousand years old. At this point, going to his grave isn't a big deal. But Ichigo hasn't even reached three decades, and he's spent a solid ten of those years on one battlefield or another. If one of them has to die at the end of all this, it definitely shouldn't be Ichigo.

This kid needs to learn how to live. There's no time like the present to start, and if that means Starrk has to hit where it hurts, well, infections must be lanced sooner or later.)

At last, Ichigo's shoulders slump, and he deflates like a balloon, anger and hurt deserting him, leaving only exhaustion in their wake.

"Sometimes, you sound so much like Kyouraku-san it's scary," Ichigo informs him, flopping bonelessly onto a nearby pile of pillows.

Starrk says nothing. If that had been meant to hurt, well, he probably deserves it.

"Aizen does need to be watched," Ichigo persists, but he sounds almost relieved at the possibility that he won't have to be the one to do it.

Starrk grunts dismissively. "I can sense him from here. I know when he's in his office, and when he leaves a double and takes off for Rukongai. I think that's enough for now."

Ichigo's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "His hypnosis isn't affecting you?"

Starrk tips a glance at him. "The soul remembers. It doesn't affect you either, does it?"

"That's true," Ichigo concedes. "But wait, did he never show you his Shikai? Or you touched his blade somehow?"

"My reiatsu ate it," Starrk summarizes succinctly, then clarifies with a flicker of exasperation at the wide-eyed look he gets, "His hypnosis, not his blade. He never put much effort into hypnotizing the Espada, just enough to make sure we'd obey without too much fuss. And when it comes down to it, even Zanpakutou abilities is just reiatsu cast in a specific shape. It was easy enough to get rid of it after I was whole again."

He thinks of Lilynette and breathes through that particular ache, old now, more scar than open wound, but there all the same.

Ichigo makes a comprehending sound. "That's pretty handy. Can your reiatsu eat it if it's cast on someone else?"

Starrk nods. He'd done as much for Shunsui, and a few others as necessary. Aizen had never been able to affect the Captain-Commander again after he'd been let out of Muken. And for all that they'd been nominally on the same side, Aizen had actually tried a few times. Starrk thinks he'd probably just wanted to see if he could, because after each attempt, he'd turn and look at Starrk with something like amusement and something like contempt.

(Once, he'd remarked in private that Starrk certainly had a preference for kneeling at the feet of Shinigami masters, and he'd asked what made Shunsui the better one to serve, if perhaps he also should've forced Starrk to spread his legs for him, if that would've succeeded in breaking Starrk further, in making him even more eager to please, as much as Shunsui had clearly accomplished with him.

Shunsui had overheard. On hindsight, Starrk's fairly certain Aizen had wanted him to, had waited for him to get close enough to hear everything, though for what purpose even Starrk hadn't been able to figure out, because the resulting confrontation hadn't been pretty. It'd been one of the few times Starrk had seen his Shinigami lose his temper, his wrath a silent deadly creature no one would expect, and in that moment, the shadows around them had almost devoured Aizen whole. They'd certainly left their mark in the aftermath, Aizen's flesh cracked open with scars as black as the void. Even then, Starrk doesn't think Aizen had truly been intimidated, but he'd also never said another word of the sort to Starrk ever again.)

"I'd have to get closer to detect his more intricate workings," Starrk admits. "But I think between that and being able to sense him, it's enough of a safeguard without needing to join the Fifth as well. There isn't much of a point to that anyway. It's not like we don't already have a general idea of what he's doing, or where he's doing it. He isn't the sort to leave evidence lying around either so I doubt you'd be able to gather any."

He glances at Ichigo again, finally letting himself relax when he sees the kid nodding along, albeit with a rather grumpy expression.

"For now," Starrk concludes. "It's best to establish our presence here in this time, make connections, make allies, and eventually make sure we have enough people on our side to tip the scales in our favour. Aizen is one thing, but even the two of us can't take down the entire Wandenreich on our own. When the time comes, there must be people willing to believe us even without concrete proof of the Quincy's existence."

He catches Ichigo's eye, intent to get this point across, if nothing else. "No matter how powerful, there is only so much one can do alone. And you are not alone, Ichigo."

Ichigo's face crumples a little, and for a half a heartbeat, Starrk is terrified he's about to cry. Thankfully, that doesn't happen, and a moment later, Ichigo nods, his eyes a little brighter now, his shoulders a little less weighed down.

"Okay," Ichigo says decisively. "Then… I think I want to go to the Eighth." He smiles a bit wryly. "You're both bastards, but somehow, I like that about you guys. And if it's Kyouraku-san, it wouldn't be hard to work under his command."

He stops and grows more solemn, his gaze a little too sympathetic this time. "Will you join the Eighth too?"

"No," Starrk doesn't hesitate. He's already thought about it, had already made up his mind months ago, even before he'd met Shunsui again. His answer had only cemented further after meeting him. Besides, "I'm going to the Fourth."

He thinks of the agreement he'd hashed out with Mimihagi. He thinks of one of the things that had immediately come to mind when time travel of all things had been proposed to him. He thinks of the things he can do, the things he can create.

He thinks of the life he'd bargained for.

"Back in our time," Starrk only says in the end, meeting Ichigo's gaze calmly. "I was told by everyone who knew her that Unohana-taichou was the best healer in living memory. Now she is alive again, so that's what I want. I want to learn from her."

Ichigo snickers, oblivious. "Well, you are a huge medical nerd so I should've known. So long as you're happy I guess. Try not to take over the division again within the year. I wouldn't bet on your odds against Unohana-san."

Starrk rolls his eyes because honestly Kotetsu had practically gift-wrapped her division for him, he hadn't meant to take over, he hadn't even been a halfway respectable healer at the time, he'd just been strong, with the manpower to support the actual healers, and apparently, that'd been enough. He'd been horrified when Shunsui had sided with them.

Ichigo laughs outright, Starrk shakes his head, and with their choices made, the future begins to take shape once more.

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath’s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[haikyu-mp4]

Surprises for Father's Day

You and your son surprise Daichi for Father's Day, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @act-nat-ural. word count; 553– f!reader

To say your husband deserved to be spoiled for a day was the understatement of the year. You knew Father’s Day was coming up, and your young son heard about it in school, so there was no lack of preparations this year from either of you.

In previous years, it had either been spoiled by little mister Blabbermouth, or something had gone wrong in your planning. Not this year!

While you prepared dinner and retrieved an exclusive set of fancy beers wrapped up in paw patrol wrapping, your son lay forth a homemade card with a drawing of his cool dad in uniform on the front. Inside it, he had written a short scribbly birthday greeting from the two of you on one side. On the other side, you had glued a ‘poem’ your son brought home from school where they were instructed to write about their dad.

Sure, he wrote “poloicemen” instead of policeman, but he also detailed his admiration for his dad who keeps him and his mom safe, as well as all his friends (and their pets, he put emphasis on that).

You were hoping for at least one tear from Daichi.

His keys jingled in the door and you signalled for your son to hush and come over to stand beside you.

“Happy Father’s Day!” you yelled when he stepped inside, your son following on about half the words (he said day).

He looked up in shock, not expecting you to be waiting for him like that. “My babies.”

You high-fived your son before letting him run over to pull his dad into the house. He could only keep a surprise for so long, and Daichi had to get his shoes off in a stumble as he was pulled along. He barely managed to peck your lips while passing by before he gasped at the setup.

“You got me presents?”

“Of course, Dad!”

“Thank you. So much.” The soft look lay heavy on his face as you came over to join them, letting your husband pull you closer by the waist while he ruffled your son’s hair. “I’m so lucky.”

He loved the present, obviously, no one knew your husband as you did, but the card was still the best part.

Daichi pretended to naturally lean his chin on his hand so he could try to control his facial expression, but the gloss on his eyes gave it away. You got a tear.

“This is the second best thing I ever got,” he said, the waver in his voice leaving the room in a tender aura.

“Second best?” your son complained with a scowl.

“After you two.”

You cooed, squeezing his cheek like you so often did to your son before walking off to the kitchen. “You sap, change and come back for dinner.”

“Will do, boss.”

And you smiled as you stirred the food, hearing your child laugh as Daichi probably picked him up and squeezed him in a hug like he did when he got overwhelmed with emotions.

The father of your child, so deserving of this love. There was one more present, and you hoped he would be just as happy for it, resting a hand on your stomach and whispering a little encouragement.

Both your babies managed to keep the presents a secret until today.

masterlist

for the requester: thank you for requesting again sweets<3

[mechanical-marionette-system]

doing the same as prev bc. I eat rocks or whatever idk

also hey guys we’re back

also also answering in plaintext even tho not shock bc lazy

I’m this really fucked up mix of traumatic and lonelygenic. Like imagine being traumatized and then being left alone for so long that you split like 150 personalities (and probably more fragments) could never be us. Oh wait

a lot

System used to be all introjects except like one guy (who was the “original” lol) now theres like 4 non-introjects

Shock can do what he wants with the place and nobody else can do jack shit

two of em. The first is like 5 versions of Evbo and one other guy and the second is. Have you ever played slay the princess

yea, all of them are dormant tho so it’s hard to remember how many

Me and a whole bunch of other people discovered at around the same time bc Maryland informed us it’s actually not normal to hear voices

I think roles are handy. We would use them if any of us actually fit into specific roles

imma be real I’ve only ever used the shittier wiki on fandom so idk

Simplyplural. Bad abt keeping track tho

kind of. We’re fairly certain that shock kinda fell apart at some point and then formed back together slightly different, but he’s always been the host.

Mechanical Marionette System. (You never would’ve guessed lol) not saying why we picked it tho cause it kinda sucks to talk about

Robots, cats, monsters, all sorts of guys. And even most of the humanoid ones aren’t fully human, I think

Shock says there’s a cat or two who hang out around his personal part of headspace, but I haven’t been there yet, so I can’t confirm or deny the truth of that

Hhh. I don’t actually know shit abt myself yet (I formed two days ago shut your fuck up) but shock, who is in co-con, marches instead of walking normally for some fucking reason (it’s because of mcr brainrot) (what the fuck is mcr)

No.

Well yk how shock used to run like 8 million gimmick blogs? He thought Yahooo and Evil Yahoo Mail were headmates for a while (they were, in fact, not. Shock just gets way too into roleplaying.)

I mean I wouldn’t say we have like. Any talents that not everyone can do at least a little, but we do all have slightly different handwriting (shock writes in cursive cause he’s working on his cursive so he has much fancier writing than everyone else rn)

idk, not anything specific

see the above

I mean I don’t really know I formed like 2 days ago and I know a total of like 5 people

I don’t think so (I also don’t know)

this is actually killing me dude I don’t know these yet I formed 2 day ago

Not really. Shock says he’s been happy with the way we are, and probably will continue to be unless something crazy irrevocably changes things

funny thing- we all participate in each other’s fandoms, but few of us participate in our own.

i mean. I’m pretty sure all of us are atheist except for like. Shock, Tommy, and maybe Q. (And that other guy who’s like halfway between being a fragment and fully formed rn) we just kinda cope ig cause shock got the body to be an essential part of the local faith community and we can’t really leave without fucking a few people over now

I’m guessing we’ll let shock handle those things. Or maybe hold a vote if there’s any real discourse over it

not really. I mean I think shock wants to decorate headspace for Christmas but the system only formed like a year and a half ago, so we really just haven’t had time to start any

no (body’s dad took Spotify off our phone like 2 days before I formed ): )

not any that’s good enough to share. YET

i mean. Most of us get along well or just don’t talk, but on the rare occasions that real fights happen, Shock uses his superior command of headspace to break it up.

not really, other than the fact that I’m a lot more mentally distinct than some of the others. I mean some other guys have things like that tho (shock marches and writes in cursive a lot, Tommy and the long quiet subsystem are British)

we don’t, but if we did I don’t think they would use it if for no other reason then that it’s a bit difficult to read.

cat (: also wrote the first half of this post

a mix of both. Nobody has a unique interest, but not everyone has all the interests, I guess?

Slay the princess, if the subsystem counts each member separately, or undertale /deltarune if not

caitie

no

Bonezz. Xe was the first non-introject (other than shock)

well kinda

aroace

idk, probably one of the masc-aligning ones

aroace. All of us

simplyplural

yeah, to a degree

depends on circumstance

we experience a shotload of non-system-related amnesia but no system-related amnesia. Which is funny cause it’s the opposite for most people, I think

idk shock does all sorts of batshit crazy things all the time

hbbh. Vanilla probably

shock is dead scared of bugs, even the harmless ones

hmmmmm… orange (“but petey!” You might say. “Orange isn’t an aesthetic-“ fuck you, it is now)

not that we can tell

nope

we don’t have any syskids, but if we did I’m guessing we would all share that responsibility.

nah

i mean. We really don’t tend to switch when we’re in the middle of something, not sure why (although we’ve switched like 8 times while filling this out but shut up) so I don’t really know.

yeah, usually. Especially without amnesia barriers, it’s kind of hard to tell when we’ve switched.

often. It usually just means there’s like a million people co-fronting for us, though, so we just. Idk deal with it

no. Well. Not really

don’t have rn, may add later

Long system ask game!

Because it's been ages since we made one and we felt like it.

What type of system are you?

How many people are there in your system?

Do you have more introjects or non-introjects?

How much control do you have over your headspace (if you have one)?

Do you have any subsystems?

Do you have any in-system couples?

How did you discover your systemhood? Or did you become one on purpose?

How do you feel about system roles, and do you use them?

What are your thoughts on Pluralpedia?

Do you use anything to keep track of switching?

Have you ever had a change in hosts?

Do you have a system name? How did you pick it?

Do you have any nonhuman members? Feel free to list their species!

Do you have any headspace pets?

Current fronter/fronters, share some random info about you!

Do you have a partner system? How did you meet?

Have you ever mistaken a character of yours for a headmate? What about the other way around?

Does anyone have any skills that the others don't?

What's something y'all tend to agree on?

What about something you tend to disagree on?

Do symptoms of neurodivergencies/mental illness tend to manifest the same way or differently among headmates?

Do you have any syskids?

Share an in-system joke!

Has how you view your plurality changed?

If you have fictives, do they participate in their source fandom? If yes, are they open about who they are in fandom spaces?

How do you handle headmates having different spiritual beliefs?

How do you decide on major life decisions (where to live, what to study, what work to have, etc)?

Do you have any system traditons?

Current fronter, do you have your own playlist? Feel free to share it!

Do you have any art of anyone in the system? Feel free to show it off!

How do you handle it when people in the system don't get along?

Current fronter, is there anything that makes it obvious you're the one fronting? (Voice, accent, body language, typing style, etc)

If you have syskids, how do they feel about stereotypical "babby tawk"?

Share something about your newest member!

Do you tend to have collective or separate interests and hobbies?

If you have introjects, what source do you have the most from?

Are you out as plural to anyone irl?

Do you know any systems irl?

Which headmate was the biggest surprise?

Do you have a singletsona?

Do you have any collective labels?

What's the most common gender in your system?

What's the most common sexuality in your system?

What's your favorite app/website/etc for plural stuff?

Do you tend to have the same taste in food or not?

Is it hard or easy for you to switch?

Do you experience system-related amnesia?

Share something weird a headmate has done!

Current fronter, what's your favorite ice cream flavor?

Share a silly fear someone in the system has!

Current fronter, describe your aesthetic!

If you have outworld pets, do they tend to act differently around different headmates?

Has anyone ever figured out you were a system without you telling them?

When it comes to syskids, is there anyone in particular that takes care of them?

Does anyone in the system identify as otherkin, therian, or fictionkin?

Have you ever switched in an awkward moment? What happened?

Do you ever switch without realizing it?

Are you ever blurry? How do you handle it?

Has anyone ever treated an introject badly because of who their source is?

Current fronter, share a pic of your "face claim!"