#(it was 40% for chinese when i left home)

[booliuu]

★ Bloody painter headcanons!! ★

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : I did a pole couple of days ago and it looks like helen ( bloody painter ) has the most votes! dw though ^^ i’ll make sure to do hc’s for the other characters..it’ll quite a bit for me to get all the characters done but ill try to post as frequent as i can. aside from that, i don’t have much to say except TvT anyways enjoy reading my favorite pookie.

➣ btw most of hc’s are based on his recent dating sim that recently came out ( you should totally check it out! it’s so so good..!!) and his updated wiki page! also added my personal takes on him as well … so yea if your wondering lol.

my inbox is open for asks & requests!! if you like my content don’t forget to like , comment , & reblog ❤️.

pictures i’m using: pinterest 💙

🩸. . . He’s known as the bloody painter in his crime documents but real his name is Helen Otis.

🩸. . . doesn’t like be called his first name he prefers Otis or bp.

🩸. . . he’s called bloody painter because when the police caught him and were searching his home for his crimes, they found many painting that contains his victims blood . ppl who’ve been missing hanged on the walls particularly blooding out, numerous human limbs scattered around his house that resembles sculptures in a way. <— (this all took place in 2003^^ after he left the psychiatric hospital ).

🩸. . . His birthday: October 1st , 1980 ( canonly he’s around his 40’s by now.. but i believe in the dating sim game he’s 26 ( i could be wrong ToT ) .

🩸. . . he goes by any pronouns. will straight up tell you he doesn’t care about which pronouns you addressed by. sticks with anything because he likes freedom and flexibility.

🩸. . . He’s a libra ♎️ .

🩸. . . korean and a quarter chinese. his parents are korean. both sides have chinese roots. ^^

🩸. . . Height: 178 cm ( 5 ‘ 10 i think) .

🩸. . . favorite color: blue💙.

🩸. . . his main catch phrase is : “ No need to excite yourself over tomorrow anymore… “

🩸. . . i’d say his build is lean but has hints of muscles on him. he’s VERY PALE since he stays indoors most of the time , unbrushed short black hair ( has a little curls ) , long thin hands from painting all day & to add to that his arms has some visible vains . lastly his gorgeous bright blue eyes that could honestly hypnotize anybody if your asking me .

🩸. . . it’s canon that he’s agender! which means he doesn’t identify with himself with a specific gender.

🩸. . . this is just my personal hc of mine …. i think he’s pansexual, he really doesn’t gaf who he dates.

🩸. . . has sexual feelings mostly reserved it , because it scares him to be close to anybody emotionally speaking… it’s hard for him to even think about a relationship with someone.

🩸. . . personality wise though, he’s awkward , shy , closed off ( not cute shy but he growing up he didn’t have the nicest people surrounding him so he has many walls builded up over the years. not to mention he lacks social skills and he’s not very good with his words… ) .

🩸. . . to add on to that he’s an introvert. polite mannerisms ; speaks when he wants to prefers to listen anyway. ( when he does speak he’s very soft spoken and his grammer is always on point!) he’s has calm and quiet exterior … but might i mention he has a REALLY bad rbf 😭.

🩸. . . his flaws are being that he’s very petty and selfish. has a very BIG ego and thinks he’s above people a lot of the time. however secretly lives for ppl’s praising his art work…

🩸. . . he’s very intelligent. knows endless knowledge about almost anything not just art.

🩸. . . be careful though! just because he keeps a calm composure doesn’t mean has a violent mind.

🩸. . . known to be the quiet artist in the mansion. but sometimes ppl will pick up a fight with him. he may look weak but he has some strength in him and knows how to use it. lets just say they take a quick visit to ej’s office from how brutal the fight was …

🩸. . . i think he’s also the type of person where he’s unintentionally funny. he could say something in a serious tone, and other creep’s will laugh or chuckle on how he phrases his sentences . he’s very confused af by it.

🩸. . . doesn’t care for the other ppl living in the mansion but very few creeps manage to become his friend or acquaintance. i’d say he don’t mind creeps such as ej , liu, toby , dina ( hc they never dated but rlly close friends! ) , nina , and puppeteer.

🩸. . . typically wears his usual blue suit jacket attached it’s has his signature smiley face pin , black shirt, black trousers and black dress shoes. from time to time wears black turtle neck ^^. he will which to more casual clothing but that happens once in a blue moon …

🩸. . . smells like cheap cologne. hiding the fact he’s dealing with dead b*odies all day.

🩸. . . he’s a clean freak. perhaps to get rid of evidence ... or just a habit from his childhood.

🩸. . . walks very slowly and silently. calculating each of his footsteps. almost like a cat you could say! like ppl dont know when he’s approaching and has spooked numerous residents in the mansion lmaoooo

🩸. . . Has a sweet tooth! absolutely loves chocolate or anything chocolate flavored. makes BOMB hot chocolate! ( Spoiliers of the dating sim if you haven’t played it yet! ) fun fact 🤯!! in the dating sim while he’s talking you, he’s sitting on the couch and there’s a beverage on the table near him , you thinks coffee but it’s actually hot cocoa ☕️🍫 .. c:

🩸. . . if he’s drinking coffee though , hates the bitter taste of it so he’s the type of person that will add TONS of sugar , syrup , milk/or creamer to hide the flavor. probably prefers lattes just bc it’s just milk.

🩸. . . didn’t have the greatest childhood. his parents were expecting a girl but it’s turns out to be a boy. kept his feminine name and dress him as one as well. during his school years they had to dress him more masculine because they didn’t want him to get bullied.

🩸. . . he has a great passion for arts at a young age but his parents were really against him from doing that so quite frankly forced him to participate in masculine activities for there own benefit. :(

➯ approaching heavier topics … mostly talking about his past . ( tw‼�� bullying, sh, and m*rder . )

🩸. . . heavily bullied because of his feminine name, he got really depressed. he didn’t have an outlet from his torment so he would (TW!) self harm. will come home pretty beaten up from his bullies, and his parents grown concerned yet he didn’t speak up about the harassment.

🩸. . . the bullying gotten pretty bad when he entered high school.

🩸. . . made just one friend from all the years of school . it was Tom. they were inseparable. pretty much talk every single day.

🩸. . . one day, tom put a girls watch in his bag. left and people suspected helen did it. of course helen was confused by this action because he doesn’t remember do that at all. nevertheless he gotten pretty beaten up from something he didn’t cause.

🩸. . . tom couldn’t stay silent forever obviously . so when helen approached him that day he gave in and admitted everything. this riled up helen pretty badly. it resulted into a argument. got really physical to the point tom fell from the school roof.

🩸. . . police didn’t to much about it since there wasn’t to much evidence to prove anything.

🩸. . . the bullying continued, hates to admit it but under all the hatred he felt at that time .. he’s secretly sadden over his best friend death. tom was the only person that understood him. now.. he’s alone again.

🩸. . . before a halloween party , he snapped tired from his classmates mistreating him. and a massive massacre took place at his school’s dormitory . arrested the morning after at his home .

🩸. . . the judge blamed it on “ poor mental heath” and send him to a psychiatric hospital.

🩸. . . stayed at a mental hospital for treatment for a long while. until he was released and had to find jobs to earn a living.

🩸. . . through out the time he was back in society , heavily resents his mother so much. as well as his father too, he pretty much not even there during his youth . basically absent . now that he’s an adult he detests being controlled and manipulated . probably has a huge inferiority complex too.

🩸. . . he learned his parents cut contact with him. and for the first time he felt… happy and free. being away from his parents mental shackles felt like breath of fresh air…

🩸. . . after his release he did k*lled and k*dnapped more people after that he left no traces and his whereabouts are a mystery. you could have guessed that slender took him in a matter of time…

🩸. . . has faded scars.. from his childhood.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

🩸. . . while he’s painting he listens to mostly classical music. but i think he’s pretty open to any kind of genre. he gives me nirvana , mitski , and radiohead type of vibe idk.

🩸. . . i feel like he owns a record player. likes having music in background while he’s painting. owns so manyyyy vinyls that are neatly stored in shelves.

🩸. . . Loves cats! pets them whenever he sees them.

🩸. . . in his youth he had a hand full of artist he looked up too.

🩸. . . mostly paints that consist of themes being harsh and disarranged. knows how to make it beautiful and eye catching though. from time to time he’ll create renaissance paintings. or portraits of various creeps in the mansion.

- “ there isn’t a perfect shade of red… except bl*od..” - helen otis

( not sure if i remember that from a previous fanart i saw or if he actually said that lol. )

🩸. . . his art inspiration perhaps came from underground artist that barely has attention. he really admires there work so much. tries to mimic there brush strokes or there style there going for. adores renaissance paintings as well.

🩸. . . god forbid he visits a art museum, if something catches his eye could get lost in his own thoughts for a long period of time. will stand there with arms behind his back and tilting his head up to admiring a painting from a artist long ago.

- until someone walks up to him and gently pokes his shoulder saying there about to close soon. -

🩸. . . or perhaps he’s been through so much trauma through out his life, it’s a coping mechanisms. turns c*rspes into sculptures , using there bl*od as paint . basically trying to show everyone what he’s been through without saying much.

🩸. . . doesn’t really like popular modern artist that much. keeps a lot of his opinions to himself, cause he knows his reasonings are quite harsh.

🩸. . . it’s not just paintings that he’s passionate about. but also hobbies such as sculpturing , reading and photography he takes part in.

🩸. . . keeps all his art works in his bedroom/art studio.

🩸. . . he’s really good at cooking! saves a lot of money to make gourmet dishes . will make something for you if he likes you, he a picky eater too.

🩸. . . that or … he forgets to eat because how hyper focused he is.

🩸. . . i have a feeling he’s really good with money and by that i mean he doesn’t spend willy nilly mostly saves them for important stuff. such as art supplies-

🩸. . . as much as he wants to hang out at the mansion. he hangs out sometimes at local parks, art stores or museums . this is after the police stop focusing on his case …

🩸. . . loves horror movies to the max . secretly every time he watches a film he takes note how the antagonist k*lls victims … perhaps will use them next time he stalks somebody.🤔

🩸. . . hangs out in his room/art studio majority of the time. he doesn’t care what’s happening in the mansion . there could be a massive fight somewhere and he wouldn’t budge from his stool . his main focus is his canvas duh. won’t think nothing of the commotion happening , will just continue working on art piece he yet to finish.

🩸. . . when he doesn’t ask people to look at his work or ask what there opinions are , hates with when people bother him. likes to left alone in his own space unless asked .

🩸. . . if they don’t go away he will push them away a few times , mumble under his breath he wants them away. his last straw is literally give them a death blank glare. his patience runs thin as you can tell …

🩸. . . his room i suppose is a organized mess :,D.

🩸. . . art supplies messy piled in corner. while the other spaces are occupied with already finished art work , wip’s, empty canvas, untouched sketchbooks, empty paint bottles scattered , expensive unopened art materials… ect .. ect.

🩸. . . hates harsh lighting from his large bedroom window so he covers it up with large beige blank tapestry. so candles and lamps will do.

🩸. . . loves candles scents such as floral ( rose , jasmine , stuff like that..) , chocolate, vanilla, citrus.

🩸. . . he loves tiramisu. this guy can finish it in one sitting .

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜: @/ thecutestgrotto .

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : to be honest i’m so glad he got the most votes from the pole because 1# he’s like one my favorite pasta’s and i’m so glad he getting more attention now!! he’s such a underrated pasta😔. 2# i’ve been obsessed with silly guy since high school or even.. middle school idkkk☠️ it’s hard to keep track.

this man has been rattling in my head rent free ever since i got my hands on the dating sim game. played it until i got all of the endings😭. i want his merch so BAD but gurl is so broke . there’s even a petition for a bp doll…. guys plsss sign it i need the doll so bad bsfrrr .

btw next hc’s will be homicidal liu!

oh and also how could i forget —

yeah.

feedback is always welcome. if you like my content please don’t forget to like , reblog , and comment ^^.

liuuboo2025 ♡ﾟ

[accio-victuuri]

LRLG 1/28/25 candies

source

first of all, it’s posted 23:28! yaaaassss!!!!! happy new year! i’m so happy they shared today. 💕

it starts with yibo talking to his staff and the subject is strawberry.

Staff: “Strawberries are more expensive than cherries this year”

🟢: Come on, I can’t even eat strawberries.”

and he said that he will be giving out strawberries by the end of the year. but his staff is saying something about it being cheaper as the months go by so it seems like an unnecessary expense.

some random convo and then a part where one staff said that she has 3 day approved vacation leave and yibo said that’s too short. he is such a good boss!!!!!

next is WYB talking to someone over the phone possibly.

🟢 “Is it enough?”

🟢 “Don’t gift boxes make people look good?”

🟢 “XX bought it and I haven’t paid for it yet.”

🟢 "It's cheap there. Do you know which one is delicious?"

🟢 "Thank me"

🟢 "Just give it up. I'm angry."

🟢 "goodbye"

i wanna know what gift boxes this couple is giving out!!!!!

🔴"What class should I take?"

🔴 “Let’s go tie-dye.”

🟢 "How do you have time?"

🔴 “I’ll go there if I have time.”

🟢 "You want to make your debut"

🔴 "No matter how weird you are"

🔴 "I came to see you. I came wearing slippers."

🔴 "It won't be too embarrassing for you."

🟢 “can’t wear it normally”

🔴 "No, I don't have the freedom to dress.

🟢 "I'm talking about shoes"

…

🟢 "Wow, come and train me."

🔴 "Who started it first?"

🟢 "Wow"

🔴 "Wah wow wow again"

🟢 "I don't have the freedom to speak?"

🔴 “Still 40 minutes left”

Staff: "Ah? Won't we have dinner together at noon?"

🔴 "The plan has changed. I can't eat anymore. I'll come back next week to eat."

..

🟢 "So you didn't sleep"

🔴 "Why do you want to see if you can't do it?"

🔴 "I bought a tree and you can find someone to pick it up at home."

🟢 "When"

🔴 "Wouldn't it be better to sleep a little longer?"

🟢 “Bring something with you”

🟢 "Maybe tomorrow afternoon he said to tell me an hour in advance."

🔴 "You drove me away as soon as I arrived, look at it"

🟢 👊🏻

Staff "If you don't want to eat, just eat fruit. That's enough."

🔴 "good"

🔴 "I brought everything. I even brought you something."

🟢 "You won't talk about yourself anymore, will you?"

🔴 "Okay, I'll leave now"

🟢 “Just kidding”

🔴 "There's no need to set off firecrackers during the Chinese New Year. I see you've eaten explosives."

🟢 "No"

🔴 I'll get in the car and sleep in a while

🟢 Don’t endure it

🟢 "Let brother x drive out to buy what you want to eat

🔴 “I don’t want to eat anything”

🔴 “Are you there yet?”

🟢 "You haven't been lying down for ten minutes."

🔴 “wyb I was always sleepy in the car when I came here but I didn’t fall asleep.”

🔴 "My eyelids are clenching now"

🟢 "Come and hug me ge"

🔴 "gun"

🟢 "Ge, please close your eyes for a while."

🔴 "Come and sit"

🟢 “You gotta ask for three wybs.

🟢 "One for the head, one for the feet, and one for the waist."

🔴 "One is here and the other is going to work with me."

🟢 "Just work two jobs."

🔴 "gege will give you a salary"

🟢 "good"

🔴 "Tell me, did brother x add fermented bean curd to the sauce he prepared last time for barbecue?"

🟢 "No, go to sleep quickly"

🔴 “I feel better”

🟢 "I'll follow you in a while and let Brother X drive to follow me. We'll come back later.

🔴 "Then I'll sleep"

🟢 "Go to sleep"

Another year has come! Have a happy New Year!”

I hope you can do what you like and love who you want to love! Be happy!!!

Good luck, peace and boundless joy

-END

[mostlygibberish]

The purple has Spokane:

"What is the charge? Eating a meal? A succulent chinese meal?"

[macfrog]

ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[shadowuserannie]

playing a notes game for motivation. to write my Nezha older brother to MK AU for Chinese/Lunar New Year. :D

Context; I celebrate Chinese/Lunar New Year. I want to write/kick crying out into the world my Nezha older brother to MK AU on AO3 for the occasion, which is as said. It's an AU in which Tang and Pigsy pray to the protector deity of children, after finding a random child left on the doorstep. Nezha hears the prayer and, throughout the years, finds he cannot leave MK alone and accidentally becomes something of an older brother figure.

This was previously named Accidental Brother-Sorry Babysitter-Acquisition, which when I came to my senses has now been deleted and changed to...idk actually but I can have fun with it--

anyway go check out the teasers still under that name on here. Just search #accidental brother sorry babysitter acquisition au on my blog ig?

Edit; for teaser one and teaser two

Hey so how are you doing? mentally and physically? Is there anything affecting you rn? And if you don't want to say publicly, my DMs/anon asks are open if you want to vent.

what's the weather? It's raining constantly for me here, thanks to monsoon season.

(limit to 5 notes per user)

10 notes; prologue/chapter one (Nezha first meets MK)

20 notes; chapter two (Nezha helps MK home when he gets lost)

30 notes; chapter 3 (Nezha beats up a full child trafficking ring)

40 notes; chapter 4 (Nezha starts actually babysitting and Pigsy begins the process of mental adoption)

60 notes; chapter 5 (MK starting school and the trials and tribulations and Tang signing Nezha up for a rollerskating competition.)

80 notes; chapter 6 (Wukong bugs Nezha into letting him meet the kid that he's gotten newly attached to, Nezha meets Mei and gains the heart attacks that come with it)

100 notes; chapter 7 (MK's crisis, realization he's trans, further troubles and Nezha kicking more ass as a result.)

120 notes; chapter 8 (MK and Mei and romance, and Nezha trying not to murder mandatory heterosexuality-obsessed idiots.)

140 notes; chapter 9 (MK graduates, Nezha gets guilt tripped by Red Son)

160 notes; chapter 10 (Nezha dodges canon like it's a speeding bullet, Lunar New Year slash Spider Queen slash Wukong finally doing the smart thing and telling at least one person, aka Nezha, about LBD's return.)

180 notes; chapter 11 (Nezha gets chewed out by Wukong for taking the full brunt of a self-destruct seal he made for the Samadhi Fire map himself, the reveal of godhood proper to Nezha's found family)

200 notes; chapter 12 (intermediary before diving into season 4.)

I'm not ending at season 4 beginning/end. There's more after that, I'm just physically incapable of that much cramming.

....now--

@cer-rata @crippling-pages @ohmygoly @kotlcpuppetshow @thelasttaleofthepari @telugu-girl-13 @solangelo-taylors-version @fantasygeek-134 @theaspengrove @sabrine-bree-the-bravery @emmlivia @floofeeeeee

[freakbobcult]

You Were Always There

Summary: Out in the small town of Mount Shasta, the Winchester brothers meet a young coroner. This coroner has abilities and traits she did not know until now. How will these new details affect her current love life? How will they affect her life in general?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None other than some gorey descriptions. Or trying to have gorey descriptions

Pairings: Crowley x my OC, Jennifer

Word Count: 1795 words

A/N: ok, so this story is on so many flipping things but I really liked this idea. I hope you all will too. I want to start a request series soon, and I'll probably put out a list of things I will do requests for soon. A couple other stories are coming out soon; a Psych one, a Wings one (for those of you who know what Wings is), a Wheel of Time one (again for those who know to the book and not the show because I have been DYING to write one), and one other one. Thanks and hope you enjoy. p.s. I hope that I can soon become completely unhinged.

      Jennifer, called Jenny by her closest friends, washed her hands slowly in the large metal sink. She stared off, thinking about the autopsy she had just finished. On the cold metal table lay a woman, aged 35 to 40. Around 5 feet 6 inches and 145 pounds, the woman had blond hair and green eyes.  She seemed mainly European, though she showed some Native American features. When first delivered to the office, she wore tan capries and a gray tank top; A hiker. 

 The clothing was removed for the internal examination when Jennifer noticed something plainly obvious. A long incision, about 6 inches from the abdomen to the diaphragm, had been recently stitched up. She grabbed a scalpel and carefully followed the incision, opening it up again. She shook her head when she discovered a similar feature that she had found in 6 other bodies in the past month and a half. The heart, which would have been found in the upper left quadrant of the chest had been violently removed. Both pituitary vessels as well as the aorta and the vena cavas had been ripped in jagged tears. She finished the rest of the autopsy and went to remove the surgical clothing. She glanced at the pictures near her desk as she stripped the gloves off. After she finished washing her hands, she grabbed the camera off her desk and returned to the body. She snapped a few pictures of the body on the table and then turned back to the computer, printing them out. She grabbed a new thumb tack and pinned them next to the pictures already hanging. She studied them for a while. There was nothing related to the 7 people other than their hearts being removed. All had seemingly been alive during the extraction, some having bruises on their arms where they were likely held down. All had died minutes after the extraction. But nothing connected them. Some were hikers, some lived in the town. One had been a surveyor from San Fransisco. Jennifer had no idea who could have done this. It had to be a who though, by the perciste stitching.

She jumped when her phone started ringing. She saw the time and sighed as she picked it up.

"Are you going to be home soon?"

"Yeah, I just have to finish up here. I'm leaving soon."

"Ok. I might be out when you get home. We are having Chinese tonight." She started picking up all the things she had pulled out.

"Ok, love you."

"Love you," She hung up the phone and set it back on the desk, continuing to put things away. Damion and her had started dating back in high school. He was in a band with one of her friends' boyfriends and they had met at one of their concerts. She'd admit to anyone but him that she was paying him no attention, which was one of the reasons they had stayed together for so long. In the past, any time she had dated was merely out of boredom and she went after them. But when he walked up to her and introduced himself, she knew it was different. In the past, she could have said that she loved him but recently, she wasn't sure. Of course she loved him, but she didn't know if she was "in love" with him anymore. Now, they had been together for 10 years; And engaged for 4. Jennifer thought that the band would go far, but a year after she met them, they dissolved. Damion now worked in an auto body shop. He still occasionally played the guitar but had entirely forgotten that that was what he had wanted to do with his life.

Jennifer walked through the small police department, waving goodbye to the few people who were still there. She reached the entrance, heading to her car. She climbed inside, laying her head on the wheel for a second before turning the key. As she drove home, she watched the scenery pass by. She loved living in Mount Shasta. She would drive up at least once a year with her father and camp. Driving through the main part of town, she finally reaches the railroad. The area around her changes quickly, from small town to thin forest, which soon turned thick. The trees here were not as tall as the ones in the national park but they still held the small needles of pine. As the forests grew thicker, so did the widths of the trees. She rolled down the window, letting the wind and smell of pine hit her. She smiled as the cold air blew at her. There was little snow still on the ground as it was almost July. She chuckled at the group of deer prancing through the woods beside her.

"I'm glad to see you happy." Jennifer gasped and swerved when she heard the voice. She quickly straightened herself on the road and glared at the man who had appeared beside her.

"Gabe, I told you not to do that when I am driving." He smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry. You've just been busy all day. And you were upset. I could let."

"Were you watching me again when I specifically asked you not to pop in when I can't see you?" He shrugged. Gabriel... her guardian angel. Or at least that's what he said he was. She had first met him back in her junior year of high school. It was a Thursday. She never felt great on Thursdays, mentally. The year before she had lost two of her closest friends when they had started talking behind her and a friend's back about being in an orgy. She was furious and they didn't speak for a month. But the girl just continued to cause problems until one day, she apologized. Jennifer never forgave her. She could never bring herself to as much as she wanted to. One of those days during that month, she found her way to the school's "Jesus Club". She was not a religious person but it comforted her to think there might have been something or someone watching over her. So a year later, she continued to go.

There was a new preacher in that day's sermon. She watched as he constantly looked over his shoulder to something behind. Occasionally, he would nod. She went home that day and that was the first time that Gabriel had "popped" in. He had been with her ever since, comforting her in her hardest time. Damion learned about Gabe toward the end of their senior year, though not about what he was.

"Did you have anything interesting today?" 

"Just the same old things" Jennifer sighed. They passed the resort and she smiled at the group of people celebrating outside. 

"Another one?" Gabe looked shocked. She nodded slowly. Gabe looked out the window as they passed the lake. That was one of the first places that they had all visited when they first moved to Mount Shasta. They spent 3 days at the lake from dusk to dawn, fishing, swimming, and having picnics. They hadn't spent a day there since.

The forest returned to thick as they occasionally passed a dirt road. They passed no cars along the road. Jennifer glanced at the tall mountain off in the distance. She turned onto the one-car road which led to her home. She parked in her normal spot just beside the house and climbed out. As she walked to the front door, she admired her home. It was a dark wood cabin, vines crawling up the sides. A small dark picket fence stood around it, connecting pots holding pink and white flowers. She opened the door and stepped inside with Gabe following just behind.

"Dame, we're here!" she shouted into the house. She slipped off the black ballet flats she wore and placed them in the shoe holder by the door, gesturing for Gabe to do the same. The two walked into the living room, Gabe flopping onto the couch and Jennifer heading to the kitchen. 

"Please don't do that. You are going to make a dent." She opened the cabinet and grabbed a shot glass. "I don't put your feet on the table."

"Sorry," Gabe said, taking his feet off the coffee table and turning to her. "Where's Damien?" She shrugged as she poured the cheap vodka into the glass. Gabe watched her, his eyebrows rising. "Are you going to drink that by itself?" She gave him a blank look before downing the drink and placing the glass in the cup. Walking back to the living room, she grabbed the TV remote, turned it on, and sat next to him. They flipped through channels for a few minutes before Jennifer stopped on the shopping channel which was selling a disco mirror ball. They watched for an hour as they sold different things, from IT Cosmetics to stainless steel frying pans, when they heard the door open and Damien walked in. 

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Something was going on in town. A lot of traffic. Foods still warm though," he held up the plastic bag holding the Chinese food. "Oh, hey Gabe. I didn't know you were coming over. I would have gotten you something." Gabe shook his head.

"No, it's alright." Damien set the bag down on the counter and went to the drawer looking for chopsticks. Jennifer pushed herself up off the couch to help when Damien waved at her to sit down. 

"No, I've got it. Just find something better than the shopping channel. It's so boring." She grabbed the remote again and started looking for something she knew Damien would like. He carried the food and two pairs of chopsticks out and sat next to Jennifer. "So Gabe, when did you get back? We haven't seen you for at least a month."

"Just today." He reached over and grabbed a noodle from Jennifer's box, which caused her to hit him on the hand with the sticks.

"Where were you?"

"Florida. Broward County. It's a nice spot." Gabe stood and walked to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water, and handing Jennifer one before sitting back down. Jennifer shook her head.

"What were you doing in Florida?" she asked. Gabe shrugged.

"Just visiting some friends." Jennifer scrunched her nose, looking at her food. She stood and handed Gabe the box and the chopsticks. 

"I'm going to bed." She kissed Damien on the cheek and hugged Gabe quickly. "I want to have lunch tomorrow," she said softly to him. He nodded and watched as she walked down the hallway. She changed into small shorts and a tank top and crawled under the covers. She fell asleep quickly, not hearing when Gabe left or when Damien snuck in and climbed into bed beside her. 

[tewwor]

STATS .

name: kong siwoo

age: late 30s / early 40s

height: 6'2'' ????

gender & sexuality: cis man ; he/him & bisexual

occupation: retired detective ; middleman

fc: woo doh.wan / son suk.ku

STRENGTHS.

proficient in hand-to-hand combat

decent marksman

peak detective soft & hard skills

HISTORY .

tw: adultery, mentions of domestic abuse & negligence

general reason why siwoo became a detective in the first place. if, perhaps, he was only raised by his mom? and she also told him — oh, i don't know — how his dad's gone missing? no one knows where he is and she puts on a show of being upset about it for his sake. and, hey, she really sells it! he believes her! gets way into crime and the justice system and is dead set on becoming a detective from that original spark of wanting to find his dad.

eventually, he does find his dad. finds out that he's just some lowlife piece of shit. treated his mom horrendously and ultimately left the two of them for someone else — probably someone younger. then, he has to sit with that knowledge. look back on all the years he sank into this one way conviction that this is truly what he wanted for that very specific reason. the hell's he supposed to do with that shit? what then?

MISC. FACTS & HEADCANONS .

interests: smoking, cheese, chinese food

dislikes: entertaining customers, blatant rudeness, sweet foods

10000% will say he doesn’t speak japanese….. in japanese :-) he’ll also mix japanese and korean in the same sentence — also knows a good amount of mandarin, probably some cantonese, definitely english

if you call him ajussi, he’ll try a put a cigarette out on you probably.

siwoo has a) gotten rigorous training as a detective and b) served in the korean military

i do believe that siwoo has either seriously injured or murdered at least 1 or 2 people since his business as a middleman. is it his favorite thing to do? no, but his hand’s been forced ( so he says ). he’s decent with the use of his physique, but even better with his words and logistics. hence, he never brings up the option to enact violence himself.

he has dismembered a body at least once and holds a surprising amount of knowledge of it.

he’s so fr about tropical fish. got some catalogues at home.

doesn’t stay in contact with his family anymore, but does have a soft spot for his nieces and nephews. helped raise them back in the day.

in regards to gift giving, he just gives out cash ( fully knows it's impersonal but at least he's not giving out gift cards ). probably in a happy birthday or get well soon card ( neither coincide with the right occasion ). but he'll treat them to a meal?

siwoo isn’t the best cook out there, but he knows the basics from home. mostly korean cuisine, but there’s a few japanese dishes he’s figured out to make. most of them are for quick meals or something to have while incredibly hungover or sick. yes, his juk is killer.

he 100% got toji and his lil’ once family to watch kdramas a handful of times. no one can tell me otherwise. it’s his guilty pleasure and, hey, sometimes the plot really does make a guy feel something. ( not this one, i just thought it was funny )

tries not to smoke around kids so he usually has a toothpick in his mouth instead.

yeah, he expects toji to pour for him when theyre drinking… something something being older than him

despite never talking about his own family … at all, he does occasionally go out of his way to pay respects. does the bare minimum lbr, but hey — he thinks it counts.

that being said, there have been instances where he’s attended funerals and stuck in a lit cigarette instead of incense when paying respects to the deceased ( or disrespect ig )

some part of me wants to say that some distant relative or a few of siwoo’s was probably a mudang. it’d make sense with him being able to see curses — which also makes me believe he does know some practices / exorcisms himself. he just never does it because why should he?

if you do want to know where i draw my inspiration on how siwoo would actually fight — watch the roundup ( the first one with son sukku — his character specifically )

in regards to siwoo being a top or bottom …. i just think it takes a whole lotta work to convince him for the latter. reach for the sky and above type of convincing. a shoot for the stars, but the gun misfired type of deal.

9 times out of 10, he’s keeping his clothes on during sex :/ 10 times out of 10, his partner won’t :/

likes to leave marks and press on them later. not too hard or anything ( unless his partner(s) is into that ) but more as a visual possession thing.

VERSES .

main — still working as a middleman for literally anyone for anything.

modern day — general criminal liaison, middleman, etc. can fit into any general crime and/or supernatural setting

[joyouslee]

MLC Chinese fic rec: 天机莫问 by bandt包子

Link to the prologue of the fic.

(To get to the next chapter, go to the bottom of the page and click the left button.  There may be other posts by the author in between the chapters, just keep clicking left. Use desktop mode to find the button if you're on mobile.)

My translation of the title:

Ask Not Heaven's Secrets

a.k.a. “Without a word, this young master wrest away that old fox’s stupid character design.”

Pairing: Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi / Fang Duobing

Author didn’t provide a summary for the fic, but said in the author’s notes for the prologue that it’s about a life for a life, but this “life” is not like that “life.”  

Essentially Fang Duobing exchanges his life of good fortune for Li Xiangyi’s life of misfortune and ends up in an alternate timeline where Li Xiangyi grew up in a wealthy and loving home with his brother Li Xiangxian and doesn’t get poisoned.

40 chapters total, plus 4 extras (one of which is locked).

This was a fun romp - well written and a fast-paced plot, but to me the reason I especially love this fic is how the author writes Fang Fuobing.  He’s a delight(ful menace) - he took on Li Xiangyi’s terrible life but remains optimistic and hopeful.  He has many identities, including a female one, and he gets to turn the tables on Li Xiangyi (payback for the times Li Lianhua drugged him and left him behind), at least in the beginning.  Ultimately, it’s about his devotion and love for Li Lianhua and how far he’s willing to go to save him.

Go read and come back to talk about it!

See my general warnings for Chinese BL/danmei fic.

Below are some specific warnings for this fic.  I don’t want to put spoilers here but will eventually post a spoilery review in a reblog, so you can put questions on that post if you have any about the warnings given.  

Canon-typical violence

Suicide 

Use of canon sex swap technique

Threatened sexual assault

Underage and age gap (Fang Duobing is physically 16 years old, but since he transmigrated, his mental age is older. Li Xiangyi is 28 and doesn't know about the transmigration when he first starts being interested.)

One of the extras is an AU ending of the fic, so major character death warning for the extra.

Ableism (how Fang Duobing thinks of himself before meeting Li Xiangyi)

Misuse of gendered language (arguments about who is called the wife/ being married 嫁 vs 娶)

Negative perception of being the shou in a m/m relationship

[neonartistycauseidk]

DROP CATCF HEADCANONS

Okay…..Okay….Okay….omg where do I start…..

I think I’ll try going by character???

Charlie:

…Gay. I know what you are sir. This man likes MEN. (I’m pretty sure a majority of people headcannon this…but whatever)

Charlie and Matilda (the one from the Jr.) are childhood besties and have been friends since kindergarten——he met James about a year later.

Perfect cinnamon roll. Literally can do NO WRONG…and thats to A FAULT.

Goody-two-shoes—-need I say more?

Listens to songs from the 20s, 30s, 40s, and 50s on record because his family has quite a bit of records.

The shortest (height-wise) of the group…I’m not sure—-this one just feels right. (Like…maybe 5”4 or 5”5? He’s pretty short)

Also, definitely the youngest of the group…12 MAX at the time of the tour (I headcannon he was 10 during the main events of the story)

Became interested in Wonka through Grandpa Joes stories about working there

Loves his grandparents stories about their lives in general (despite Grandpa Joe’s being his favorites)

Gets in a relationship with James in the future (Implied in a previous post)

NEVER…and I mean…NEVER curses. The worst curse word to ever come out of him was “gee-willikers”

Mom friend/therapist friend of the group.

Oh…also the——matchmaker of the group…yeah…somehow this little guy got all of his friends together and HE doesn’t even know how it happened.

Violet:

Lesbian. WOMAN LOVER.

Was…actually pressured into gum chewing by her parents. I mean, just listen to any of her songs from the musicals…it’s pretty obvious.

Broke multiple Guinness World Records…her most notable, of course, being able to chew a singular piece of gum for a total of five months…yikes.

Despite being a “professional gum chewer”…she doesn’t actually care much for candy. It’s not like she down right DESPISES it, like Mike…but still.

If we’re talking modern au (not in the 70s or the early 2000s), she would absolutely be into Billie Eilish and AViVA

Lover of motorcycles and cars,

Leading me into my next headcannon: Violets a major tomboy…which should come as no surprise (much to her mothers dismay)

After the tour, her relationship with her parents became strained (more so than it already was) and she was often insulted by them for being “stupid” and “immature.” I mean, “how could a girl be told NOT to do something…but then do it any way?”….especially if it turned her BLUE.

Cut her hair, bleached it blonde, and left home the second she could…desperate to sever any relation/and or ties to family.

Ends up in a relationship with Matilda (Charlie’s bestie).

Bestie = Mike Teavee….OOOOGGH BOY these two are absolutely chaotic together. What a perfect duo

Likely the closest with Charlie post-tour? Idk it just sorta feels right.

Doesn’t stay dark blue for her entire life—-as she grows up, the color of her skin gets lighter…becoming and staying light blue when she’s around 16, I’d say.

Miranda:

Demisexual…likely Demi-aroace…

Speaks seven languages (Chinese, Russian, Japanese, German, French, Spanish, and English), however, she says she speaks six because “saying she speaks seven languages…would be bragging.”

Fences, plays soccer, and lacrosse

Plays the violin, piano, cello, harp, and flute

Student council president at her school

Participates in every extra-curricular activity her school offers

Similar to Violet, pressured into being the best by her parents…if she were in the book, movies, or musical adaptations—-Miranda and Violet would probably have a rivalry.

Very professional…speaks to everyone as if she’s speaking to—-like—-the president or something

Assumed she had her entire life planned out at the before the tour…at only 11 years old.

Thought she’d become a lawyer or a politician—-that or a schoolmaster, like her father.

Took the longest to warm up to all of the golden ticket winners post tour—-was afraid of feeling things.

Pretty much hated everyone at first and actually thought the tour was a “waste of time.”

However, she hated Augustus the least…so it kinda makes sense why she became…friends with him first.

Took her the longest to befriend Mike….OOOGH boy—-it was a struggle…since they, too, had a rivalry—-and she was convinced he was an UTTER BUFFOON before actually getting to know him.

Post tour, Miranda is left with red spots over her skin…luckily, though, there aren’t a lot.

Last one, calls Augustus “Auggie” in the future.

Augustus:

Demisexual and genderfluid (he/she/they pronouns…)

Nicest of the “rotten kids”

Actually, besides Charlie of course, has one of the best relationships with his parents (er—-well, mother…his father passed away before he could remember him).

Probably was the most willing of the “rotten” golden ticket winners to be friends with Charlie post tour

Cross dresses (mainly in the future) and probably gets fashion advice from Veruca—-okay, you know what…they’d probably bond over fashion.

Though everyone disliked Miranda (except Charlie because he literally cannot hate anyone), Augustus was the first to get Miranda to open up—-to everyone’s shock.

Unlikely lovers: Augustus and Miranda—-HEAR ME OUT.

Sweetest little guy…I can’t even.

After the tour, he began to have a healthier relationship with food.

Can sing opera level notes (I blame “A Little Bit of Good” from Chicago for this one)…So…I guess, vocally, he’d be a countertenor?

Never lost his German accent—-despite not living in Germany anymore when he’s older.

Veruca:

…I don’t think she’s gay, guys—-although, I’m not opposed to demi-girl (she/they) Veruca. At the very most…I’d say bi-curious? (Oh god I hope this doesn’t offend anyone I’m so sorry I know people see her as a lesbian its just not something I see SORRY)

Definitely became nicer post tour—-she actually becomes ashamed of her past self.

Probably only remains in contact with her dad in the future considering the fact that her mother…wasn’t necessarily in the picture anyhow…

Does ballet. I LOVE this detail from the broadway musical…

Half Russian and British

Voice of reason when it comes to her and Mikes relationship (both platonically and romantically).

Ends up together with Mike eventually

If it’s modern au—-I could see Veruca being into musical theater (the “big ones” now specifically…even though I could see it being in my regular version of events)

Learns to be—-less spoiled, one could say…

Dresses in a lot less fancy clothing post tour—-of course it’s still nice clothing…but its not like she’s wearing luxurious, poofy, sparkling dresses everywhere and anywhere to “flaunt her families riches” in everyone’s face.

Mike:

Bisexual. No comment.

Modern au Mike would be OBSESSED with Saturday morning cartoons. He’d also be a Nickelodeon kid without a doubt. Spongebob would be his favorite…because of course it would…He’d also like Ed, Edd n Eddy.

Also modern au…Mike would be a theater kid. I feel like his favorite would be Spongebob the musical…..go figure.

Since I’m assuming Captain Knuckleduster (in the catcf verse) is a piece of media Mike consumes…(both shows and games based on Captain Knuckleduster)…I’m gonna say it was something he really loved as a kid…perhaps Captain Knuckleduster provided him comfort due to him feeling like a father figure to him. Hmmm…Do I smell daddy issues?

Yeah, Mike and his dad, Norman, aren’t very close…

…huh, it’s probably why Violet and Mike are close….they both have parental issues (Violet with her mom, mainly, and Mike with his dad).

Mike and his mother, Ethel, however…I actually feel like they end up on good terms and have a pretty good relationship in the future! I also feel like in the future that Mike learns to respect her and appreciate her.

In the future—-Mike probably becomes a physics teacher…Not only based on his interests but also out of respect for his mother (since his mother is normally portrayed to be a teacher).

Genius….Need I say more?

Post tour, Mike ends up—-pretty much back to normal size! Maybe an inch or two taller…but normal sized!…yet, theres a catch. Because of his body being stretched to UNGODLY lengths to try and fix him…he likely ended up with bones like rubber….and post tour, his limbs can stretch very far….uncontrollably.

But after bouts of depression, self-hatred, self-discovery, and then self-acceptance (and also therapy…lots of it), Mike realizes he can actually control it…basically giving him a super power almost (move over elastigirl…here comes Mike Teavee).

Ends up becoming pretty close with Charlie in the future too.

Thinks he’s a smooth a** mother f**ker when it comes to flirting…but…oh my god…he just…OOOOGH boy…he sucks at it. Can’t flirt in a smooth way AT ALL yet thinks he’s just so…good at it???? It probably drives Veruca insane (in a good way) and probably gets a laugh out of her too.

Okay, so, uh…That’s it for now! I hope you liked my headcannons!!! I’d love to hear yours! Also, thank you for listening to my babbling lol!

[holidayvisa]

23 February 2024 - Woke up in Piha at Elise's house. She had to work today, so we got up together around 6:15 am. We left her house around 7, me on my motorbike headed home and she in her park ranger uniform headed to work. I had a really great sunrise ride from Piha back to Henderson. I'm feeling more comfortable on the motorbike and more confident with the windy roads to and from Piha. They're fun to drive now, instead of scary. When I got to Henderson I was surprised to find that Arnie and Jimmy were both still asleep. Usually, they're both early-risers, but today I was up before them; needless to say, this is VERY rare 😅. I started making pancakes, something that I'd been talking about for a while. I cooked us up some blueberry pancakes, and the three of us, Jimmy, Arnie, and me, sat out on the back porch and started feasting on blueberry pancakes, banana slices, peanut butter, and Canadian maple syrup. Uncle Mitch came over from next door, and I offered him dinner pancakes; he said, no, that he'd just eaten. I got him a plate, and threw a pancake on it. After he finished the pancake, he grabbed a second one! All morning, those three were doing their best American accents talking about American pancakes 🤣 I love when they do their American accents!

After breakfast, Jimmy asked me to join him on some missions. I ALWAYS say yes to Jimmy's missions. I got in his car, and we ran a few errands. We got back home at noon, and he got a call from his work, saying that he had the afternoon off too! We went on some more missions. We bought some plants for Jimmy's vegetable garden at the local Bunnings (New Zealand's Home Depot). I planted all his plants in his vegetable garden and watered them. Hopefully they do okay.

Jimmy's really excited for Maddie to watch the garden grow. Jimmy had a bunch of chicken sausages, and I cooked those up for us. The three of us ate lunch together on the back porch.

Jimmy and I grabbed swimmies and towels and got in Jimmy's car for more missions. Jimmy had a bunch more errands to run, but eventually wanted to end up in south Auckland to go to the Chinese new year festival at the manakau sports bowl. I don't really know what I'm getting into whenever I volunteer to go on missions with Jimmy. He's got a plan, but I know what that plan is maybe 50% of the time 😅. We went to Judge's Bay and Orekei and walked around there. Jimmy showed me a couple places he likes to go to relax and get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

We went to Joshy's house to drop off some petrol. We said hi to Joshy and Essence and the doggos, Nala, Tahi, and Ace. But we didn't stay long.

We drove to Jimmy's work to park the car, and Elise was there waiting when we arrived. The three of us caught a bus from Jimmy's work to the Chinese new year festival. We walked around and took photos of the intricate lanterns.

Jimmy bought a box of 40 donuts that we all snacked on. After spending a good long while there, we headed back to the bus stop. We waited for the bus for close to an hour, but it never came! So we got an Uber back to Jimmy's work. I drove Jimmy's car and Elise drove her car back to my house. Elise had coordinated and arranged to have sole use of the Keddle House, a cabin inside her regional park that people can't rent out. Usually, to reserve the Keddle House, one has to put in for it six months in advance, but because Elise is a park ranger, she was able to snag it for a couple days (there was a last-minute cancellation). In New Zealand, they call a beach house like the Keddle House a "bach." At my flat in Henderson, we grabbed some blankets and some clothes, and then we drove to Anawhata, to the Keddle house. When we got to the Keddle house, it was already very late. But, YOLO, so we walked all the way down to the beach. Immediately upon arriving at the beach, we saw a shooting star. That's three walks to the beach with Elise, and we saw a shooting star each time. We howled at the full moon. We sunk our feet into the soft sand and enjoyed the magic of the night.

We walked back up to the bach and passed out.

I'm grateful for Jimmy. I'm grateful for his friendship, for his positivity, for his trust, and for his kindness. I'm grateful to go on missions with him and to help him with his vegetable garden because I know he's always looking after me too. Getting to help him plant his vegetable garden is an easy way to reciprocate and show my love and gratitude. I'm grateful for Elise. I'm grateful for her organizing and coordinating us staying at the bach!

[hong-kong-art-man]

What Is So Special About The Dance Drama Wing Chun (詠春) As An Art Furore ? Will The Competition From Shenzhen Force Hong Kong To Do Our Cultural Best?

In the Western world, martial art is the art of motion. For the Chinese, martial art is more than that. It is a master’s philosophy and use of his body to accomplish visual art result.

Success is no accident. Many in the art world just want to follow success and not create it. Great stage works never come from comfort zones. The real risk facing the performing art circles in Hong Kong is the lack of enough top-notch breakthroughs and talented persons, apart from the usual problem: insufficient financial resources to make a big dream possible.

The world has changed. Home cinema, home video game and home audio are the kinds of ‘home entertainment’, because of their instantly accessible enjoyment, are replacing the traditional places like theatres, movie houses and concert halls. Determining what play or dance to go to watch in a theatre can be exorbitant these days, especially when you have to take into account travelling expenses, parking and dinner, apart from the expensive tickets. Making the overall trip ‘worth it’ obviously favours the large budget stage productions these days.  

For the above reasons, the new dance drama Wing Chun (詠春), produced by the young city of Shenzhen (深圳) in China, has been extremely popular in the country for more than a year since 2023. The show went to Asian cities. Some said, “What a grand show! Almost 80 dancers perform on stage!” Some said, “The electrifying movements and gravity-defying choreography performed by the dancers create a visual spectacle that keeps us glued to the stage!” Some said, “The variety of striking scenes is another thing that makes me excited. Nobody performs ordinarily!” Some said, “The dancers, male or female, are good-looking, powerful and extremely stunning! They express their performing passion glamorously!” 

The story of Ip Man (葉問) who created the famous martial art of Wing Chun (詠春) is well-known among the Chinese. Ip man was born in 1893 and died in 1972. He developed the great martial art of Wing Chun when he was 20. He had a famous legendary student Bruce Lee (李小龍). After the Second World War, Ip left Foshan (佛山) for Hong Kong. The dance performance was chiefly about how he was struggling for a living in Hong Kong, bullied by the gangsters, training his students, sparring with other martial art masters and deserted by his loved wife. His life has an unbroken line of unusual events and emotions, resulting in a successful and yet regretful life.

The production is high-quality but a bit expected. It is said that the investment was fuelled by the Shenzhen government. The stage design, lighting, audiovisual engineering, music and costumes offer their best, though the show are somehow not good enough if it wants to be at the top of other top dances. The truly excellent ones in this case are the dancers. The physically captivating dancers have no stuntman. I can feel that they sometimes risk their bodies to complete dangerous movements. These marvellous performers make the show absurdly beautiful because it is the most rigorous job for a dancer to be equally capable of the best martial art skills at the same time.  

The southern island of Baoan (寶安) County became the British Hong Kong after the Opium Wars more than 100 years ago, while the primitive small village of Shenzhen was ignored on the border. In 1979, Shenzhen was suddenly made an Economic Zone for the ambitious economic developments of China. After about 40 years, the young au courant city managed to produce this art show that shocks the Asian art world. Hong Kong has a much longer cultural history and up to now, there has been no such comparable achievement. We should feel downcast by the scale of the threat that we see from this pioneering city neighbour.

The Chief Executive of Hong Kong announced in 2023 that Hong Kong, with the government’s help, will be able to produce big stage shows for large-scale long runs or re-runs. The ‘Signature Performing Arts Programme’ will provide a subsidy of up to Hong Kong $10 million, a matching funding of up to $5 million to match private sector funding and venue support so that these Hong Kong performances can become world-class art productions and the international cultural brand that can represent Hong Kong. This is surely a piece of exciting news. But, the local performing art sectors are too used to government’s money as their major source of funding. How to make profits is right now a big lesson for the local art groups to learn. Money can be a good reason for success. They must realize that there are 10,000 ways that make things not work. Complacency, inertia and lack of business sense are the imminent hurdles that they must overcome. 

We all do better when we can gather the most talented people from a larger pool to work together. The population of Hong Kong is just about 7 million. That of Chinese mainland is around 1.41 billion. A top-class performing art team must be made of many gifted artists, from front and back stage. It is almost a necessity that in order to accomplish the ‘signature stage projects’ of Hong Kong, we cannot work alone or simply let a few big stage groups determine the scene. Joint productions of Hong Kong and Chinese mainland will be the sensible path, and I am sure we can find and manage a right path. It is going to take some time, though. Flexibility is the art of creating way outs within the cul-de-sac, as a Turkish playwright pointed out. 

Maurice Lee

Chinese Version 中文版: https://www.patreon.com/posts/hong-dong-ya-de-98447537?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link 

Wing Chun Dance Drama

Acknowledgement-CultArts x Creative

Wing Chun Dance Drama

Acknowledgement – 生活生活

Wing Chun Dance Drama Interview

Acknowledgement – 香港商報

[classiqals]

{mahesh jadu, 40, agendered, they/them, sometimes he/him} We are so glad to see you safe, ROYAL ADVISOR ARIYAN SIDDHARTHA BANERJEE of THE MUGHAL EMPIRE! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are PERSUASIVE and CALCULATING enough to handle it. Just don’t let your SNEAKINESS bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out THAT YOU WILL STOP AT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO SECURE YOURSELF A CROWN OF YOUR OWN.

BASICS;

nicknames:  ari, to those few he is close with

sexuality:  pansexual

relationship: married to rostam abdul, shah of persia/sultan of turkey

date of birth: nov 9th

zodiac sign: scorpio

moral alignment: lawful evil

hobbies: reading, storytelling, puzzles, games of strategy, debate, fashion, singing (they have a beautiful voice), music, psychology, conspiracy theories, power, adoration.

dislikes: dancing, early mornings, not being listened too, authority. those who doubt them. childish adults. selfish wannabes.

languages spoken: Arabic, Hindi, Persian, Turkish, English, Egyptian, and some Spanish and French, barely passable Chinese.

politics/loyalty: absolutely no loyalty to anyone whatsoever aside from themself, honestly. would betray anyone they know at this moment in time for their own personal gain.

DETAILS;

the family banerjee has been upholstered upon the palace walls of the mughal empire for a century, maybe more; their names are in every record book, soulful eyes in the background of every haunted mirror. loyalists the the throne dating back nearly as long as the sharma family; as the mughal empire itself. they are, or so ariyan believes their name to be, synonymous with the throne. but now the sharma have fallen and it's a new family in charge.

and in turn; oh, have they upheld their duty set before them. eldest of six, ariyan knew the role that they would eventually come to take on, and underwent exhaustive training to be a brilliant, sparkling mind, well enough to make the ancestors proud. they lived and breathed strategy and psychology.

fast forward to finally settling into the position as advisor, a place as destined by the stars, and watching as a young empress takes over and becomes a leader worth fighting for. or so- the world sees, but there is always ariyan in the background, pulling the strings. they fixed the mistakes. they solved the problems. they got their hands dirty. they made things, or people, disappear, and they always ensured that their empress stayed free of the trouble it may bring.

but this was no easy feat, especially not as the little family grow, and soon ariyan found himself cleaning the mess of not one, but three. and this went on... and on... and on. they hate the lovers, they are beginning to hate the empress, even. they want power for themselves.

so they have accepted the request to restart a betrothal to the crown sultan of turkey; then turned regent of persia, for now. this suits ariyan, though they still fester a bit of a grudge for being abandoned for another, when things were going well, too. oh, no matter... ariyan figures this gives additional access to three thrones now. all that would need to happen is for something tragic to happen.

and tragedy did strike. taking advantage of the events of the reckoning, ariyan used this opportunity to eliminate enemies, and had an accidental hand in the fall of the sharma line; even having involvement with the empress' death. panicked and unsure, ariyan hurried to wed their betrothed, and was quick to set their sites on climbing the ladder outside of their home, while trying their best to stay in good with the new bhati royals as an advisor.

efforts not in vain; ariyan earned the trust of their husband over the last year, and while rostam is securing the turkey court under himself, he has left ari in charge of persia.

a very likable person, ariyan is not what you'd primarily expect a villain of this kind to be. charming, extremely intelligent, well-versed in psychology, and an absolute mastermind of a planner, they do make a very valuable asset to anyone. some may even call ariyan gentle if they weren't too close.

[amidalashandmaidens]

Eileen Barreau

“I hope someone would do the same for me, if the shoe were on the other foot.” 

– Eileen Barreau, explaining why she wants to join the Joestar Group, Chapter 121: The Power Called a "Stand"

Basic Info:

Japanese name: アイリーン・バロー Romanized Name: Airin Barō Alias: Lee, Limpet (by Jotaro) Bisounour (by Polnareff) Namesake: Come On Eileen

Birthday: May 27 1970 Age: 17 [Part 3] 28 [Part 4] 40 [Part 6] Zodiac Sign: Gemini Chinese Zodiac: Dog Blood Type: AB Ethnicity: French-Japanese Nationality: Japanese Occupation: Student [Part 3] Graduate Student [Part 4] Labour Lawyer [Part 6] Signature:

Appearance & Defining Features

Skin: Fair Hair Colour: Purple [Part 3], Brown [Part 4 & 6] Eye Colour: Green [Anime], Brown [Manga] Height: 172.72 cm / 5 ft 8 in Weight: 73 kg / 162 lb Scars/Marks: Two vertical scars over her cheeks, freckles and moles on her body Piercing(s): Standard lobe-earring Dominant Hand: Left

Favourites

Colour: Green Movie: Rebel Without a Cause Food: Raspberry Mochi Musician: Kate Bush TV Series: City Hunter Person Type: Someone who faces their problems directly Hobbies: Likes carving wooden figures and making mixtapes.

Notable Relationships:

Aoki Nobuko - Mother Simon Barreau - (estranged) Father Aoki Fumiko - Maternal Grandmother Aoki Masaharu - Maternal Grandfather Ogawa Setsuko - Aunt Kujo Jotaro - Husband [m. 1996] Jolyne Cujoh - Daughter [b. 1992] Jouta Kujo - Son [b. 1994]

Personality & About

Eileen Barreau (アイリーン・バロー Airin Barō) is a primary ally featured in the third part of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure series, Stardust Crusaders. She reappears in the fourth part, Diamond is Unbreakable, and the sixth part, Stone Ocean, as a secondary ally.

Eileen is a Japanese student who recently transferred to Jotaro and Kakyoin’s school after she was expelled from her previous high school. Eileen became involved with the Crusaders when she noticed Jotaro carrying Kakyoin's bloody unconscious body off of school grounds. Eileen followed Jotaro home while pestering him about Kakyoin's well-being. Upon learning of DIO, and later of Holly's illness, she insisted on helping the Crusaders. Eileen is a Stand User who commands The Hounds of Love.

Eileen is usually characterised by her persistent and bubbly attitude, but when she is pissed there is no way of missing it. Eileen refuses to give up on goals she has undertaken, no matter the difficulty. Although, under extreme pressure, she can be bullied into taking breaks to moderate herself. 

After being subservient for most of her childhood, Eileen is determined to understand the ‘why’ of things, even when asking is inconvenient or uncomfortable. Her sense of justice also drives her to be quick to act no matter the circumstances. 

Before her scarring, Eileen took great pride in her appearance, and even with her pride ruined she still spends a great amount of energy into what she wears and self-grooming. Eileen entered her ‘delinquent’ phase as a direct result of her facial scars, she felt if she could not visually fit in with the ‘good’ students it was better to conform to their expectations of a ‘scary’ looking teenager. She stopped attending most classes, she felt she had no future. This made her able to express herself in ways she didn’t out of fear of judgement. She is deeply hurt and lonely. If someone is willing to reach out to her, she will cherish them. Eileen is deeply sentimental. 

[ncrrctcr]

{Mari Yamamoto, 40, non-binary woman, she/he} We are so glad to see you safe, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER ASHIKAWA SATOSHI of JAPAN! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are FIERCE and CARING enough to handle it. Just don’t let your PRIDE bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out YOU HAVE A SECRET CHILD THAT YOU REGULARLY SEND MONEY TO {rawr, 28, GMT+1, she/her, no triggers} + kaito's rival wc

/ content warnings: teen pregnancy

NAME: Ashikawa Satoshi AGE: 40 GENDER / PRONOUNS: Non-binary woman, she/he ORIENTATION: Bisexual

INSPIRATIONS: Roy Mustang (FMA), Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek Voyager), Princess Leia (Star Wars), Mulan (Disney), Korra (ATLOK) the Lion Clan (Legend of the Five Rings)

• • •

FAMILY: Her daughter Midori, elderly parents, two younger brothers. Her mother is a cousin to the late Emperor. MARITAL STATUS: Single LANGUAGES: Japanese (native), English (fluent), Chinese (fluent), Scottish (fluent), German (passable, spoken only), French (passable), Spanish (passable)

BACKSTORY

The rebellious eldest child of a cousin and now retired advisor to the late Emperor, she spent a great part of her youth in the Imperial palace. The whispers of the rulers' apparent inability to produce an heir didn't concern Satoshi, as he was always busy sticking his nose in every other affair that caught his attention. Scraped knees, muddy hands, wooden swords and a knack for humiliating his elders over board games, the woman remembers his early teens with fondness.

The news of Satoshi's pregnancy shook the entire court. Lives were taken to ensure the secret never came to light. Her sharp wits and sharper tongue didn't protect her from her parents' fury — apparently, the line separating the merely unconventional from the utterly unacceptable lies exactly one step before messing around with a nameless commoner. To protect her (her parents and younger siblings' honor, and their Imperial Majesties who treated her almost like a child of their own until the young prince was born), she was sent abroad. Only the late rulers and her parents knew the truth — the public, including Satoshi's own siblings, were told she had left to study.

The child was born and given away, as keeping them was a sentence to never return home. However, and although her secret was safe back in Japan, Satoshi could not bear the thought of looking at her parents in the eye. And so, she made her mind to make amends, and become a person her mother and father would be proud of. An excellent future advisor to the Emperor, for example. For years, she traveled, she saw, she studied. She took odd jobs, learned other languages, enjoyed — and fell in love — with foreign cultures. A part of what she earned, Satoshi sent to her child's caretakers, in hopes that it would help give them a dignified, comfortable life, and soothe the guilt on her conscience.

During a particularly rough period in Scotland, an acquaintance suggested the military as a solution to Satoshi's economic struggles. Never disclosing her actual closeness to the imperial family, she became a soldier from a nation that wasn't her own, and found an unexpected calling. Her rebellious nature was tempered and slowly turned into wisdom and confidence as she rose through the ranks, and before she knew it, she had spent over a decade in the Scottish army.

The penitent daughter returned home in her mid-thirties with battle scars, calloused hands and many plans to renew and improve Japan's military power. The boldness she was remembered for hadn't faded, but the loud, arrogant child was now a commanding woman who did not fear expressing her opinions — a trait as admirable as it is dangerous — and her presence once again shook the court to its foundations.

Command of their troops is promised to Satoshi, but the Emperor doesn't live to honor their agreement, and when his successor denies her the position, she is relegated to their second in command.

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! We're still seeing cloudy skies and rain. The sun is starting to emerge but the winds are still strong and temperatures are cool. Gimme all the noodles! Mummy and I revisited a very popular noodle bar at the mall near our homes. She ordered chor bee hoon (thick rice noodles) with veggie and pork wantons, I had spicy pai gu la mian tang (pork rib handpulled noodles soup) and we shared blanched bakchoy with crispy spring onions. The chilli oil added just enough heat without withering my tastebuds. Their blanched bak choy without sauce was really delicious; we won't order their version with sauce again. So fresh, crunchy and so good. As you can see in the next few paras this wasn't our first visit and certainly won't be the last.

I couldn't stop thinking of LeNu's (that's the name of the noodle bar chain) la mian, so I took Pa there. He ordered their dry pai gu la mian, I had their xue cai yü pian la mian tang (sliced fish and preserved vegetables with handpulled noodle soup) and we shared blanched bakchoy without sauce nor fried shallots. Our mian tiao (noodles) came in a set which included chilled silken tofu with century egg and bonito flakes. It was a chilly afternoon and a steaming hot bowl of la mian was extremely comforting. Pa loved the meal so much, he finished everything! When I offered to pass him the voucher for $15 off for every $40 spent so he could take his friend there, he accepted without hesitation 😅 I wish the restaurant offers more fish la mian options because they do fish perfectly. Large, thick, tender slices and generous portions, I'll happily return for this over and over again.

Would you believe it, Mummy and I revisited LeNu again! 😅 They rival Din Tai Fung as far as noodles are concerned. After hearing me wax lyrical about their pai gu la mian tang, she tried it, but switched from la mian to guo tiao (thin flat rice noodles). I chose spicy zhu pai la mian tang (fried pork chop handpulled noodle soup). We shared poached lettuce without sauce nor fried shallots as well as hong you chao shou (dumplings in vinegar and chilli oil). Mummy LOVED the pork rib guo tiao soup! This is very delicious and tender; I love it too. As for the zhu pai la mian tang, where do I even start. The pork was crispy on the outside but so juicy on the inside, I think I might prefer this to Din Tai Fung. Also recommended it to Pa. Their hong you chao shou may be even nicer than Din Tai Fung's. Mummy and I finished this as well as the poached lettuce. SO definitely coming back!

We had our company Chinese New Year lunch as the festivities were coming to an end. Aside from lo hei, we had fatt choy sharksfin soup, steamed patin, sous vide chicken roulade (this wasn't popular with pretty much all of us), baby abalone with flower mushrooms and poached lettuce in oyster sauce, poached prawns and lap mei fan (rice with lap cheong, pork, green beans and dark soya sauce). There was dessert but I gave it away to another colleague because I don't have a sweet tooth. It was a noisy, rowdy affair, so characteristic of Chun Jie (Spring Festival) and Chinese New Year celebrations. It was the same at other tables; so fun!

Again, if the YouTube video shorts don't load, click on the bottom-most right, enlarge them and they will play. Palestinians are very busy recently clearing their land and homes of debris left behind from the genocidal war. Watching them clean, wash and tidy is so moving after 15 months of carnage. Touching scenes of family reunions as well as joint efforts to make what is left of Gaza habitable again are emerging from the war-torn strip. Slowly but surely, the area is coming back to life and it's beautiful to watch. Some semblance of normalcy is beginning to return to the enclave; Palestinians are brewing fragrant cups of coffee and they're preparing higher quality meals. Even if Gaza is nowhere remotely near to being restored to what it was before the genocidal war, the return of a sense of normalcy is a start. A good start. 下次见!

[just-stopandthinkaminute]

20 January 2024

Dear Diary,

I’m at the absolute tail end of my chaliya — I have 3 days left! On Friday, once a I come home from the event, I can have a drink, I can get a slice of carrot cake and I can get pizza or pasta or Chinese food — or all, even.

It’s been such an interesting journey in the idea of mind over matter — for so long, I have felt enslaved by food and my moods that dictate what I can and can’t eat — these 40 days have gone by so blissfully with that — I have not always been cheerful — with Rituraj for example, I was pretty depressed for, well, 1 day. There have been nights I haven’t slept well and not wanted to move but I found ways out and managed to exercise even I thought I couldn’t. I’ve also really, really started enjoying weight training and I really do look forward to it now — I am hoping I can swim soon, too, the second my arm starts healing. I am lifting heavier, I can go for longer hours, it’s all just pretty damn great.

in other news, I can also feel my finger get better. I am better able to bend it and feel less pain doing that. I have also managed to be there for Kanav during his Nana’s passing — something else I am very, very proud of and happy about.

The other day, Saturday, I came to visit Nana and he remembered that I had fractured my hand. He held my hand so softly and gingerly to examine my finger, I won’t think he’s ever done before. It reminded me instantly of when Nani help me hand in hospital and looked confused or scared (I can picture this so vividly as I wrote this) and I thought I would remember that moment for my whole life (and I do — not because it was a tender moment but because she was using my hand to help her build pressure to take a shit). Except, he wasn’t confused. He just really, really cared. Anyways I cried then haha!

Did I already tell you about the accidents? If not, will do tomorrow.

I also went to the tailor today to get some blouses taken in after the weight loss. It didn’t feel that great or that special — I don’t think anything will change until I breach 55. Or do I just not care anymore? I do really care — I am so keen to be thin again. But still — it’s not hitting in the way I thought it would.

Love always,

Ankita