#*for the third time today* this would be so cool if i wrote it into a fic

[floorpancakes]

i have this meme of scaramouche on my phone with trans flags edited into his eyes when i rewatch holiani and do this for all the characters its over for everyone

[yunhoszn]

steamed milk

pairing choi san x f!reader word count 2.5k genres fluff﹒smut warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, not proofread, all lowercase bc i wrote this at 2 am… a week ago <3, barista!reader, barista!san, clumsy reader, mentions of burn scars?, mutual pining, little bit of power imbalance but it doesn’t play into the plot, escalates pretty fast, public sex, unprotected sex, cute fluffy moment at the end, may we get f’s in the chat for kim hongjoong’s desk chair

summary a closing shift with san is… interesting… to say the least.

more alright alright alright, i know i have a billion wips and a billion reqs to work on,,, but @bro-atz needed something to read on a flight and i needed an excuse to write with no plot in mind, solely based on vibes and this is what came out of it… i ALSO KNOW i’ve been withholding for a week but that’s bc i wasn’t sure if i wanted to keep this locked in the dungeon for a rainy day or not, until i remembered i should post something in honor of chellateez 🥳

@atzhouse @san-network

“did you burn yourself on the steam wand again, y/n?”

you bite your lip and turn away from hongjoong bashfully. so what if you’re a little clumsy, it’s not like you completely sucked at your job. maybe there were a few milk spills here and there. at least you knew what you were doing most of the time. 

“um, what would you do if i said no?” you scratch the back of your neck with the hand that wasn’t burned. hongjoong sighs, leaning back in his rolling chair. as the manager of a coffee shop, he did not get paid enough to babysit and coddle his employees like he usually did. 

between you almost always making a mess and then yunho and mingi goofing around whenever they were on shift together, he felt like he was starting to grow grey hairs. he shakes his head with a tsk, pulling out the first aid kit from one of the drawers in his desk. “let’s put some burn cream and a bandaid on it so you can hop back out. the dessert rush is about to begin.”

you nod and rock on the balls of your feet as you wait patiently. your manager dresses your burn and sends you on your way. the dessert rush, aside from the morning rush, was arguably the worst part of the day. shifts at the coffee shop were divided into thirds— open to mid, mid to evening, evening to close. while opens were the most busy, you at least got out early and could enjoy the rest of your day. mids were the slowest, but they took place midday so you couldn’t do much after you clocked off. 

closes were the worst, because they were so unpredictable. you weren’t ever sure if it was going to be busy, apart from the usual dessert rush, and that uncertainty bothered you. the beginning of your closing shift was staffed pretty well. there was yeosang, who was probably the best barista out of the lot of you, and seonghwa, a seasoned veteran in this game. he was your assistant manager. 

however, yeosang and seonghwa were off at 6 PM and the shop closed at 9 PM, leaving you and your lead for the night to close all by yourselves. and your lead? choi san. 

closing with san wouldn’t be such a problem if it weren’t for your massive crush on him. out of the other leads, san was the kindest. he didn’t lose his cool if your clumsy nature got the best of you during a hectic shift. in fact, he took his time to ensure everything was okay. he didn’t care if there were angry customers demanding that their drinks be made. his baristas were his number one priority. 

and well, with his appearance today, it would be more difficult than usual. donned in a white button up and some black slacks, his brown apron over, you think you’re going to faint. on a regular basis, san wore simple things like the occasional sweater or t-shirts and jeans, but this new look was making you all sorts of dizzy. you felt inferior beside him. (though technically, you were.)

with hongjoong, seonghwa, and yeosang leaving all at the same time, you were in a crisis. how were you supposed to survive this shift? it’s like the universe meticulously crafted this moment so it could laugh at you. and it all started with you burning yourself on that goddamn steam wand, while you were on bar with san of all people. 

“are you sure you don’t want me to send you home?” san asks lowly, making sure only you heard him. the two of you were finishing an order when he asked the question. 

“i couldn’t let you close by yourself.” you pout. as hard as it’s going to be working with him alone for three hours, you’d feel awful leaving him to fend for himself. 

“i can ask yeo or hwa to stay,” he shrugs, putting a lid on the iced vanilla latte in front of you. “i don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

“i’ll be fine, san,” you reassure. “besides, seonghwa would probably kill me if i was the reason he had to stay later than he had to.”

san laughs a little, eyes scrunching up in the cute way they do when he smiles. your heart rate spikes and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. he nods as he turns to hand out the order. 

“if you insist.”

maybe you should’ve taken him up on that offer to go home. 

you’re too distracted by the way his rolled up sleeves strain against his muscular arms, staring a little too much. hongjoong just so happens to walk out of the back at that exact moment. he thinks your (very obvious) crush on san is funny, but not when the line is wrapped and you’re about to be down two men. 

“y/n, there’s five drinks waiting to be made,” he calls out, tapping on seonghwa and yeosang’s shoulders to let them know they can go. “what’s more important that has you standing there doing nothing?”

“sorry…” you apologize sheepishly, avoiding his gaze as you start on the next order; a dry cappuccino with cinnamon. great. another drink that required you using that godforsaken steam wand. a truly evil contraption. 

“i can be milk if you’d like?” san suggests suddenly, noticing your hesitation to steam the 2%. 

“if it’s not too much of an ask,” you frown. “i just don’t want to hold us back in the middle of a rush.”

“you don’t need to explain yourself to me, y/n,” he quickly swaps places with you. “i think you’re pretty damn good with a portafilter anyway.”

it’s a stupid compliment. only another barista would even know what that meant, but you take it to heart. your body flushes with warmth as you tamp the espresso grounds and pull a shot viable enough to use for the cappuccino. you’re a little shaky as you pour it into the paper cup and wait for san to pour the milk. 

this was the closest you’d get to flirting with san, and it was him telling you that you were actually good at your job. what a sad life you lived. 

thankfully, you manage to bulldoze through the line with just the two of you. in times like these, your solution is to go nonverbal and lock in. if you talk while you’re making drinks, you get distracted too easily and you find it’s harder to multitask. after the rush, things are slow for the most part and then it’s just you, san, and the sound of cafe music playing quietly over the speakers at 9 PM. 

“y/n, can i ask you a question?” san inquires, counting the till as you wipe down the espresso machine and the bar around it. 

“what’s up?” you hum, refolding your rag. he shuts the register and walks over to you, leaning on the bar adjacent to the one you were at. 

“i’m curious, and you don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, but i’ve heard that you like me. is that true?” it comes out so politely, you’re not even sure you heard him correctly. you blink as the words process in your brain. this was the end. now you really wished you went home early. 

“well— um— i don’t know how to answer that…” you fiddle with your fingers, looking everywhere but at san. 

“all i want is a yes or no, because truth is,” he walks closer and closer until he’s directly in front of you. “i have a little crush on you myself.”

“you what?!” you don’t mean to sound so shocked, so appalled even, because he takes a step back, eyes widened by your outburst. you’re just so confused. choi san liked you? like, liked you?

“i’ll take that as a—“

“no!” you stand upright, grabbing his wrist. when you realize what you’ve done, you immediately let go. “i mean, no, as in yes. i do like you, san. i was just… embarrassed… that you found out from elsewhere instead of me. and i’m a little in disbelief that you feel the same.”

“why’s that?” his head tilts to the side a bit. “what’s not to like about you?”

“for starters, i’m the biggest klutz on the planet.” you huff, but that makes his smile grow wider. 

“i think that’s your charming point,” he admits, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. “while i don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, like when you burned yourself earlier, i do think it’s kinda cute when you accidentally knock over a drink.”

“are you okay in the head? were you dropped on it as a baby?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. he laughs, this time a full on laugh that has him bringing a fist up to his mouth. you think you just shed a tear. and not from your eyes. 

“i don’t believe so. i guess i’m just attracted to people who aren’t afraid of being themselves,” he shrugs, reaching out to take your hand into his. “and you check all the boxes.”

remember the whole fainting thing? that’s about to come true. you manifested it. 

san brings your knuckles up to his lips, first kissing over the bandaid where your burn was and then all over the back of your hand. you stand there like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing but no words escaping you. was the universe… rewarding you somehow?

“how often does joong check the cameras?” you gasp when his kisses have moved from your hand to your neck. he doesn’t break contact, speaking into your skin as he unties your apron. 

“almost never, but you have a point.”

this is how you end up on san’s lap in hongjoong’s office chair, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips locked like no tomorrow. he was a fantastic kisser, which just further proved your theory that he was the perfect human being. along with the subtle flirting, and the obvious knack for respecting boundaries, it’s almost like the universe had hand crafted choi san to be the ideal man. and they say chivalry is dead. pft, san’s existence dispels that notion undoubtedly. 

“he won’t know, right?” you pant, arching into him when he sucks at a particular part on the base of your throat. he hums. 

“you’re worrying too much,” san’s fingers slip under your top, digging into your waist. “i promise, he won’t find out. but we’ve gotta be quick since he’ll know what time we left.”

“m’kay,” you sigh, grinding down on his lap to help speed things along. the undressing process is a blur. you wish you could spend more time admiring his bare chest and arms, especially because you’d been fantasizing about this moment for almost an entire year now. 

“god, you’re so gorgeous, y/n,” he murmurs, reconnecting your lips sweetly. his hands massage the sides of your thighs as you hover over him, preparing to sink down on his cock. “i finally have you all to myself.”

you whine when you do, his words encouraging your arousal. the intrusion has you moaning softly, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer pleasure streaming through your veins. your nails scrape his shoulders and back, toes curling. the tip of his dick grazes that sensitive spot deep in your cunt with ease, as if he was made to be inside of you. 

“feels— fuck— feels so good, san,” you whimper, head falling to the crook of his neck. san chuckles, albeit a little strained. his hands remain in your hips, aiding your movement so you don’t get too tired. 

“is that right, sweetheart?” he says into your ear, nipping the lobe gently. “you’re taking me so well.” 

his praise shoots straight to your core, punching another moan out of you. you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s inching you towards the edge of that familiar tide so fast. it’s san, and like you’ve stated before, he’s damn near perfect. but holy shit, the way he’s fucking you has you thinking that there is such a thing as heaven. 

you have to bite down on his collarbone to stop yourself from screaming like a fucking pornstar, leaving a myriad of marks on his skin to restrain the ferality threatening to jump out of you. every drag of his cock on your velvety walls drives you just a little more insane each time. 

he’s moving so slow, but so deep all at once, and it’s just the right combination to decorate the backs of your eyelids in stars and colored spots. his ring and middle fingers meet your swollen clit, circling with practiced pressure. the office chair squeaks awfully with each of your bounces on his lap, but you’re too close to pay it any mind. instead, you drown it out with your own noises— warnings of your impending orgasm. 

“gonna cum— my god, san, i’m—!” you don’t even finish your sentence, the tide finally reaching the shore. your orgasm washes over you hard and unlike any other you’ve ever experienced before. you aren’t sure if he’s just that good, or if it’s because it’s san. (most likely a combination of both.) 

san coos, guiding you through the peak of your climax. once you’ve calmed considerably, you slide him out of you and stroke his cock until he’s painting the inside of your thighs with milky white and a groan. his face screws up in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and brows knit together. his lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks and you think you’ve just fallen in love, for real. 

his chest rises and falls as he attempts to catch his breath. you can’t help placing a hand over the left side to feel the rapidity of his heartbeat, smiling to yourself. he mirrors your expression after a moment, leaning up to press a sensual kiss to your lips. 

“as fun as this was, and as much as i like the view right now, it’d be better if i could actually take you out after this… and if i could fuck you somewhere nicer than on our manager’s desk chair.” san bites at the inside of his lip, glancing down at the rolling chair beneath you. 

“i agree,” you giggle, brushing his hair from his face. “hongjoong’s office isn’t the ideal location for a first date or first time sleeping together. but at least we’ll have a fun story to tell our kids.”

san bursts into laughter at that. “our kids, huh? you’ve thought that far ahead?”

“i’ve had a crush on you since i got hired, choi san, what do you think?” you raise an eyebrow, booping his nose with your index finger. he scrunches it up with a grin. 

“i think that i’ve had a crush on you just as long. and if we’re having kids, it’s best to omit some details when we retell this story.” 

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[it-was-summer]

The Very First... Second... Third Night

A/N: Hey guys, happy fall!!! Fun fact about me, I love Season one reid so much it's not even funny. That's pookie!!!!! Anyways, enjoy this little fluffy cute thing I wrote in a romance-infused haze (I saw that photo of MGG in that pumpkin sweater at knott's berry farms and I needed Spencer in a Halloween way). MAYBE some porn coming soon idk man. Love you all!!-Em <3

Link to the Ao3: The Very First... Second... Third Night ->Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Can't remember if I use any female pronouns for reader, but warning just incase. Season one reid, MENTION OF JEID, SPENCELLE, AND bisexual Reid, Spencer reid being critical of himself, Spencer's POV for the most part, jello mentioned guys, Overstimulated Spencer Reid at a football game, mention of a cemetery, mention of Nosferatu (1922). Kind of proofread, yippie!!!

Genre: Fluffy meet cutes. Pairing: Season One! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader.

Plot: Spencer runs into you twice before but only manages to get your name (and number) the third time.

Word Count: 3,863

First Meeting

Spencer can’t remember the last time this bookstore was so crowded. Personally, he tried to go on early Sunday mornings to avoid the crowds– if any– that came into the shop. Maybe he was being overdramatic. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the store with him. But it was still twenty too many. He softly apologizes to the elderly woman as he squeezes past her in the narrow nonfiction aisle. 

Most of the crowd seemed to be hovering around the fiction area, which was fine with him– the further away, the better. With his head turned to watch the small crowd bustle about the store, he didn’t notice the person standing just inches from him in the aisle. 

You stared at him with a confused expression for a second, thinking surely this man would move eventually. But the moment never came. He was tall with brown hair and long eyelashes. He had the fashion sense of a teacher– correction, teacher’s assistant. You clear your throat softly, hardcover clutched in hand as you watch the man’s head snap over to you, his cheeks flushing red. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Not that you’re hard to miss– I mean in a good way, you’re–” He closes his mouth and swallows hard, looking into your gentle eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

You would have felt a little agitated if he hadn’t seemed so earnest, but this man oozes social anxiety, and your heart takes pity on him. Your lips move to a slow smile, and you whisper a sweet, “That’s alright,” 

Spencer’s sure he’s never seen kinder eyes, “It’s just so busy today. I was looking at the crowd,” 

Your head turns at that, allowing Spencer to take in your features. A light sweater to accommodate the cool air this early-October morning, some Halloween earrings that make Spencer smile, and stunning eyes. “Book signing pop-up, it’ll be crazy until three. At least that's what the stock girl told me.” You’re soft-spoken, too. Spencer can appreciate that.

He nods slightly, looking down at the hardcover in your hand and then over at the crowd again, “Are you not here for the book signing?” 

“Afraid not,” You sigh as you hold up a historical fiction novel, “Me and my historical fiction novel were going to take a gander at some biographies.” 

He can’t help his peaked interest as he licks his lips, “Regarding?” He’s a fan of history himself and is always happy to interact with someone who also shares a love for it. He feels slightly less anxious talking about something he knows.

You twist your lips to the side like you’re silently debating whether or not you should tell him. You look away for a second, your eyes scanning the bookshelves on either side of you. “Salem Witch Trials.” You answer him bluntly. 

Spencer nods like he understands precisely what you mean, “Ah, the more humane witch trials.” It's a funny joke… to him, at least. 

But then your lips twitch upwards as you let out a quiet chuckle, “No burning for us, just rope and intense torture.” 

He feels electric, which is stupid because he shouldn’t feel excited over something as simple as someone joking with him, but he does. He’s been working on it upon Derek’s sarcastic request, and he can’t help but wonder if it is finally paying off now. 

Spencer feels the overwhelming urge to partake in what Garcia describes as ‘info-dumping ,’ but he bites his tongue as he settles on a simple question, “How come?” 

You shrug slightly as you look up at him. The bookstore light keeps making his eyes a soft amber, and you’re having a hard time looking away now. “Halloween tradition.” You watch his eyebrow furrow, raising a hand to explain yourself quickly. “My best friend and I each pick a historical event that is relatively macabre, and then we base our costumes around it and throw a party with a related theme. It’s... It’s stupid.” You say with a smile and a wave of your hand dismissively. 

Meanwhile, Spencer’s too busy thinking you’re the most extraordinary girl he’s ever interacted with. For the first time in his life, he’s desperate for an invite to a stranger’s party—a pretty stranger who has yet to tell him her name. 

“That’s not-” 

A woman’s voice cuts him off as she barrels down the aisle with a grin, “There you are, oh…” Her blue eyes look Spencer up and down carefully, studying him. “Hello, there.” She’s direct and forward and speaks in a tone that tells Spencer to leave you the hell alone. 

He nods curtly, waving slightly at your friend. You sigh out with mock annoyance as you say, “He’s a friendly, put your gun away.” 

“I don’t believe in guns.” 

“They’re very real, trust me.” Is your sarcastic reply before looking at Spencer again. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.” And just like that… you’re gone. 

Second Meeting

Spencer is sure he’ll never see you again, but here he is a week later, still thinking about you on a case. Or rather, he’s thinking about every woman ever and that he’ll never have a chance with any of them… ever. He’s feeling rather lonely, or maybe his self-esteem is taking a certain nose-dive this fine San Diego day. 

It’s not because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t hate his birthday like Elle hates hers– that’s what she told him once—the day started off great: the trick candles, the big birthday hat, his embarrassing crush on JJ. And now, they’re discussing the case, a routine he enjoys. 

His mind, always full of helpful information, quickly recognized the ballad from the 17th century– betwixt death and a lady. After his comment regarding what people could find by typing the word ‘death’ in the search engine, Derek’s laughing, “Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.”

It sticks on him; he would love to let it slide off his back, but he’s not familiar with that kind of territory– dating, that is– so it hits a nerve. A nerve that Spencer didn’t know was so exposed. The worst part is that Derek’s not wrong. Spencer can’t seem to get a date. Not with the pretty intellectual at the bookstore, JJ, or Elle– though that last one feels strange to admit to himself. 

He’s too awkward, speaks too fast, and, according to Gideon, needs to relax more. He’s sure… he’s cute, actually, he doesn’t know if he is. All he knows is that his mind is brilliant, his skills involving women… not so much. 

He’s silently mulling it over as he approaches one of the bulletin boards, muttering lines of the ballad softly when JJ walks up beside him, “Creepy, huh?” Her voice makes him look at her, hesitating as he replies. 

“Actually, uh, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance.” He’s staring at the bulletin for a second before glancing her away, and his cheeks feel hot when he sees the way JJ is looking at him– disinterest. “But, yeah, creepy.” 

He feels like a teenager, and all those years spent in college and not high school are coming back to bite him. He liked girls and boys, too. He should be better at this, he has an IQ of 187 and five degrees to prove it. Spencer walks away from the conversation quickly, his feet carrying him away from the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible. He needs to focus on the case. 

And focus he does. He’s happy to analyze the meaning of the ballads at the crime scenes, his anxiety calming as he settles into the sweet caress of facts. Feelings, beauty, and tastes were all subjective. The objective was his comfort zone.

So it stands to reason that he feels lighter after conversing with Gideon about why the UnSub would start to use the ballad if it wasn’t a part of his signature. However, after the team delivers the profile, his lightness returns to his ruminating thoughts surrounding his lack of social skills. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels the icy breath of repressed memories breathing down his neck. A jammed locker, missing gym clothes, a dark bathroom bolted shut. As the team waits for the UnSub’s suspected phone call to the tip line, he reaches for his bag to pull out a Rubix cube. 

His fingers quickly twist and turn it aimlessly until he feels like it’s mixed around enough for him to solve it again. Elle is sitting in a desk chair in front of him as he solves it. He wants to ask her if she’d ever consider dating him, if she thinks JJ would, or if she feels any self-respecting woman would. He doesn’t, though, the question sounding too desperate in his head to say it out loud. 

Instead, he asks, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” His eyes don’t stray away from the cube for too long as he asks it, scared of what Elle’s gaze might tell him. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when she chuckles and says, “I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.” 

Spencer feels insecure when he speaks again, but he has to know the answer, “Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He looks up at her now, waiting for the brutal blow, which is her answer. 

Elle looks slightly amused. “You ever ask anyone out?” She smiles a little, seeing the genius look genuinely dumbfounded for a second as he thinks about it. 

He never had the confidence to walk up to someone he found attractive and say something interesting enough to warrant a ‘yes’ if he asked them on a date. “No,” 

She gives him a slight shrug of her shoulders, “That’s why you can't get a date.” And Spencer seems to nod at that, and his lips tighten for a second as he nods before he looks away from her again. His focus is pulled back to the case when the UnSub calls, and for a little while, he feels better. 

On the flight home, he’s almost completely forgotten about his spiral as he plays chess with Gideon. When he hands Spencer a small present, a little smile plays on his lips as he says, “But you don’t give birthday presents.” When he finally gets the present open, he feels a little confused as he thanks Gideon for the generous gift– two VIP box seat Redskin tickets. 

He’s excited, nonetheless, to experience something new with Gideon, and Spencer believes him when he says that Spencer will love it. 

“We are. You’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks with a slight grin.

Gideon smiles, “No.” he doesn’t let Spencer’s confusion build for long as he quickly adds, “Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan.” 

“Who?” 

“Only person in the world who calls you Spence.” 

Speaking of the only person in the world that calls him Spence, the date was going terribly. She had invited Penelope; she thought it was a group thing. He begged Hotch and Gideon for some pointers, anything. They reminded him she was already his friend, but that wasn’t very helpful. He knew how to talk to her on a typical day. On a date? Not so much.

Then, she invited Penelope. Now he’s stuck on a date where only one person in the group knows it was supposed to be a date, and he feels nauseous. He’s trying to keep a conversation going, but every time it picks up for a second, he feels himself fumble the metaphorical ball, and it dies again. 

Eventually, he excuses himself to get some air. He’s debating calling Gideon and updating him on how it’s going. His feet pace on the concrete stadium floor. He’s near the elevators, and he can barely hear himself– it’s auditory overload hell. He shuts his eyes tight, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he covers his ears, leaning against the cool wall beside the elevators. 

It’s all muffled, barely helping, but the feeling of the cool wall on his back through his clothes helps relax him slightly. His shoulders relax briefly before he feels two fingers lightly tapping his shoulders, and he’s rigid again. 

Rigid until his eyes snap open to see that it’s you. You from the bookstore, with that same kind smile, same dazzling smile, it is you. You’re yelling over the shouting, but he can barely hear you. You laugh. He can only tell by your facial expression as all the sound falls deaf to his ears over the crowd's yelling. 

Once it calms down, you repeat yourself, “Are you alright?” 

He nods, then you’re giving him a skeptical look, and he slowly shakes his head. 

“Is it the noise?” 

A part of him wants to tell you that it’s everything he is experiencing today, but instead, he whispers a soft “Yes.” 

You twist your lips to the side, looking upset for him. Your empathy is so sweet and pure for him that he feels the knot in his chest unraveling slowly. “Let me buy you a water?” You offer, motioning to a concession stand a few steps away. 

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but you’re grinning as you walk with him to the stand and buy the two of you a bottle. After a sip or two, you say, “I’m not the biggest fan of football games either. My dad loves em’.”

He nods along silently, feeling so socially overwhelmed that he barely has the energy for more conversation. You seem happy to fill the gap: “I ran into you at that bookstore on 8th, right?” 

Spencer’s beaming as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, nodding, speaking for the first time in a while. “Yes.” 

You let out a happy hum, “Small world,” And Spencer agrees with you silently. 

It's the most comfortable he’s felt all week, and he wonders if maybe this failed date of his was a strange blessing in disguise. He’s about to ask for your name when Penelope approaches the two of you, blinking starstruck at Spencer and you as she introduces herself when the crowd begins to cheer again. Any noise he can hear is drowned out, frowning as you shake Penelope’s hand and say your name– a name he cannot hear. Some more words follow, but it's all small talk until you excuse yourself to return to your father in the stands. 

Then he’s the one being dragged away from you, convinced once more that he’ll never see his pretty stranger ever again. 

Third Meeting

It’s the night before Halloween. Ask anyone who knows Spencer; they will tell you he genuinely loves Halloween. It’s a part of him, always has been. He likes that you can dress up as anyone you want to be without judgment. He loves the build-up, the history, and the scents that fill the air. 

So, when he manages to get the night off, he’s quick to try and convince someone from the team to head over to a cemetery not too far from headquarters. Even when he explains how it is for a classic horror movie showing on the graveyard’s lands, everyone declines. 

Now, he’s setting up an oversized quilt on the soft grass, smoothing out the edges of the oversized quilt with his hands before sitting down on it. His hands move to his bag, pulling out a few of his favorite snacks, drinks, and so on as he watches the cemetery slowly fill up with people. 

He’s happy. He feels a little strange at the thought, but he’s happy– even if it is in the middle of a cemetery. 

A gentle voice cuts through the soft quiet of the graveyard, “I knew I was going to run into you sooner or later,” 

He turns his head to look at you, picnic basket and blanket in hand. You smile down at him. He trips over himself as he stands, his cheeks flushing as you laugh at the sight. He rubs his suddenly sweating hands on his button-up as he reluctantly offers you his hand to shake, only to realize that you don’t have a hand available. 

“Can I—” he says softly, “Would it be alright if I—" he swallows hard, his voice cracking lightly. Do you need help with your things?” 

You glance down at your hands, smiling slightly as you shake your head politely. “I’m sure I can find a good spot soon. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

“You’re not, honest. I’m, uh, I’m here alone, and it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.” You silently debate his offer, and then Spencer feels a wave of confidence surge through him, “You can always sit with me if you’d like. I promise I’ll try to be quiet.” 

You seem to think that’s funny as you nod, “Well, it is a silent film.” 

“You don’t have to say yes. I just have a big blanket, and I’m in a good spot to see the screen and–”

“I’ll sit with you,” You cut him off softly, bending down to gently get the picnic basket on the edge of his quilt. Spencer moves out of your way, awkwardly shuffling for a second before he decides this might be a good time to introduce himself. 

“I’m Spencer.” 

You glance up at him as you move to sit on the blanket, smiling as you tell him your name. He licks his lips nervously, nodding as he sits beside you. His nervous eyes dance over your figure as you set your blanket, which he now sees has little cartoon ghosts all over it, to the side of your basket. 

You’re frowning slightly as you reach into the basket, pulling out a small cup of jello and a spoon. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was sharing a blanket with someone, I would have brought another cup.” 

Spencer finds it funny as he leans over to his satchel and pulls out his own cup of jello and spoon, “No need,” 

You laugh lightly as you raise your jello cup to his. “Cheers, then. " Spencer smiles lightly as the two of you tap the edges together for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence while eating jello. 

Spencer’s spoon digs into the jello, and he asks, “Is this your first time seeing Nosferatu ?”

You let out a soft hum as you pull your spoon out of your mouth and quickly nod, “Yes!” You say after swallowing, “What about you?” 

“Third.” 

“Didn’t remember it well enough the first two times?” 

He lets out a shy laugh at that— it feels strange for someone to be unaware of his eidetic memory, and he wonders how long that’ll last. “Not exactly. I guess just like Halloween.” 

“A man of good taste,” You quip back softly, taking a smiling bite of jello. 

Spencer laughs as his eyes watch your lips close around your spoon before he pulls them away to look into your eye, hoping you don’t notice as he stutters lightly. “That’s debatable.” 

You’re looking down at your half-eaten Jello cup. “I’m the judge here. I deem it a fact that you are a man of good taste. You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s how the judicial system works, don’t you know?” You look back at him with a smirk, and Spencer can’t help the chortle that escapes his throat. 

“That is not how the United States judicial system works, but thank you.” 

“Yeah, you look like someone who would know all the inner workings of the judicial system.” 

Spencer can feel his cheeks getting red at how your voice sounds—teasing and a little flirty. Oh my god, were you flirting with him? He’s sure he’s all smiles and red cheeks as he looks at you, changing the topic. “None of your friends wanted to come with you tonight?”

“No, not their scene. It’s okay, though. I’m making a new friend right now.” 

Spencer’s finishing off his Jello as he steals a glance at you again, stars in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.” 

“Sure I do. Your name is Spencer. You like jello, nonfiction, Halloween, and dressing like a teacher’s assistant.” 

Spencer doesn’t want to say you’re wrong, even though he knows you’re just being nice, but he doesn’t want to spend another week without seeing you. He wants to be your friend— he’ll be anything you want him to be. “Could I–” He licks his lips, eyes searching yours nervously. 

You watch him carefully, tilting your head to the side as you look into his brown eyes. The sun is gone now, but the rising moon is shining down on him. He seems so… gentle, like a deer in a quiet forest.  A part of you just wants to scoop him up and bring him home with you, as inappropriate as that is. 

“You wouldn’t have to– It’s alright if you say no. I was just thinking I could give you my number sometime, maybe.” He manages with a gentle huff of air. 

You nod a little, “Sometime, maybe.” You repeat with a slight grin forming on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the projector starting to play the movie, and a hush falls over the cemetery’s lawn. 

Spencer’s voice is a little too loud as he rushes to say, “I mean, now. Would it be alright if I–” A shush cuts him off, and his back straightens quickly as he shuts his mouth. His eyes meet yours for a second before darting over to the projection. 

You’re watching him again, how he’s staring at the screen like his life depends on it. You scoot closer to him, grabbing your folded-up blanket in the process. Once you reach his side, you drape the folded blanket around his shoulders carefully before doing the same to your own. 

His fingers gingerly grab one of the blanket's edges, casting you an apologetic glance for a second as your pants graze against his. You seem unbothered as you lean toward him. “I would love your number after this, " you whisper, looking up into his doe-like eyes before turning your head to watch the film. 

He’s beaming now as he stares at you, and his chest tightens slightly when you lean close to him again. You’re so close he can smell your perfume, the scent tangling with the sweet smell of crisp fall air. “You like costume parties?” Your voice is barely audible. 

He signals that he does silently, his head moving up and down quickly. The sight makes you grin as you mouth a silent, ‘Perfect’ at him before your attention is fully pulled back to the movie. 

Spencer feels warm all over for the rest of the night, and three months from now, he’ll start to believe three is a lucky number as he picks you up for your third date with him and just how perfect everything feels when he kisses you. 

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hello... again! Are you hyperfixated on RedactedAudio?

Do you want (need) to know who to follow to cultivate your dashboard and feed your gremlin brain good, good boyfriend roleplay content and my first recommendation post of magnificent fan-artists and fan-writers wasn't enough dopamine for you?

Cool, I’ve got you, and I’ve got even more hyperlinks. Buckle up.

(Note: This is by no means a comprehensive, objective, or complete list, as I have biases and favorites and limited time. If you feel I've missed someone, please feel free to reblog with your additions! I just would have loved a guide like this when I got into the fandom back in August 2022 and wanted to spread some positivity~!)

Fanfiction:

@agentplutonium: they/them

Pluto is just one of the many gorgeous people who've migrated to Tumblr now that Twitter is, ya know, on fire. I've been following them on Tiktok for ages, and I'm so pleased they joined us on tumblr now! Highlights: "Constant" and "Inconvenience" mean the world to me, because there are just not enough aspec headcanons in the fandom, we could always have more.

@angelicaether: they/them

Aether is a fucking gem unto this fandom- not only do they run Sky Side, a friendly, closeknit (hehe) server for 21+ Redacted fans but they also were who we have to thank for Redacted Kinktober 2023, bless them~ Highlights: New Job Posting is magnificent if you’re in the mood for some David/Angel smut today and this cute couple crossover fic if you’re feeling more SFW!

@caelumsnuff: they/them

Phoenix is magnificent, creative, and endlessly sweet. I also respect the hell out of anyone that can take the anon hate that they get with as much grace and attitude as they do /gen /pos Highlights: I love this gift for the Quinn-fuckers they wrote, I do, but I have to admit I'm partial to the Imperium!Vincent/Imperium!Asher piece they did, because their tension and hatred was just too palpable to deny, I needed it.

@empydoc: any pronouns

Empy's Soul Eater AU has not only taken over my life but has also got me deeply wanted a Soul Eater rewatch. God forbid xe succeed because this post has already been delayed enough /j Highlights: I love the Marcus/Asset post, because that's my favorite pairing but also because Asset as both an android and a weapon is so, so interesting. Blake/Bestie's is also a particular gem, because being a meister just gives him a new dimension to his manipulation and I love it.

@floofdeloop: she/her

Not only is Floof a beloved fic writer but she's also one of the adored DJs of the fandom. Are you really a fan if you haven't looked up Redacted on Spotify and saved all her playlists? /j Highlights: Her whole playlist page is literally so good, but I love the cute, domestic vibes of this Geordi one or the tragic, angsty, Britrock vibes of this Porter playlist~!

@joshusten: they/them

Sten is one of if not the writer that comes to mind when you're looking for amazing Guy/Honey content! Highlights: Bitter Melon is my personal favorite of their work; what can I say? I'm a sucker for a little jealousy in my fics. You also can't miss Honeysuckle, their most recent piece which gets into Guy's canonically less-than-pure mind~

@pinksparkl: she/her

Gosh, where would we be without her? Pink never has a bad word or thought for anyone and just persists in being a delightful, sweet presence in the fandom. Highlight: I can't decide what I'm more obsessed with- their Adam-centric fic exploring the Progeny/Maker bond or their nsfw Gavin-centric with his tail exploring Freelancer nudge nudge wink wink

@redlikeredacted: they/them

Just as their blog says, they are the CEO of Dasher. In my head, they are the president of both the David/Asher and the Autistic!David fan clubs, and I'd vote for them a second and third term okay I love Red Highlights: Their "David bottoming for the first time" fic is everything to me okay I am here for nothing but this except maybe this Milo fic where he gets Aggro~

@teafairywithabook: she/they

A lovely writer, voice actor, and person, Cheri does it all! With a whole 34 Redacted works on AO3, they are a must-follow. Highlights: I'll provide the masterlist of previously mentioned works, but I must recommend her nsfw Avior/Starlight fic keeping us sated until we finally get an Avior BA and their fic of Alexis's POV of Sam's turning I couldn't not okay I'm just a person I have biases

@tepid-judas: he/they/it

My favorite Adam stan, my friend, and the person who converted me into an Adam/Brighteyes shipper, I thank Judas every day for that. Highlights: I love their series of epistolary fics, because who doesn’t love a good letter, but I would be remiss if I didn’t rec his DAMN polycule plus Xavier fic cause fuck canon let's add frosty the snowman to the orgy /lh

@themonotonysyndrome: she/her

Lady, my dearest friend and greatest foe~ How else do I describe the gorgeous, sociable, friendly person who bought Alexis/Christian into the world and ruined my life? (affectionate) Highlights: Let these two assholes in love take you on a ride, fall in love with them too. If that's not your vibe, I cannot recommend enough her insane, gen z Bright Eyes being an absolute fucking terror /pos

Fanart:

@androgynouspenguinexpert

Can YOU believe Penguin's only been posting art since, like, December? I certainly can't, because it's like they've drawn every boy at this point and each is as smoochable and adorable as the last. Highlights: Their Porter is one of my favorites; what can I say? Who can resist this high ponytail and cape combo? I also love their Hush, cause look at him~! He's adorable! Penguin gives all these boys such luscious, floofable hair; I love them!

@cute-brainz: she/they/it

Kindly, lovingly, respectfully, Cute's listeners designs reduce me to a sniveling, simpering puddle of a simp. I become nothing but a humble, simple straight man, and none of you came blame me good god their listeners are hotter than all the redacted men- Highlights: Like, look at their Lovely: the hair, the singlet, the VIBES? Fuckin irresistible; like Vincent, I'd give them anything their heart desires. And their ANGEL? The MINUTE David Shaw fumbles that bag, I'm on my knees with a ring hello earth angel will you be mine

@darling-solaire

Darl has been posting art for only a month and a half at the writing of the post, and yet I feel like I've loved their Solaires for forever. They, as a unit, are hot and tragic as fuck, and I love them. Highlights: I am obsessed, particularly, with the Solaire family portraits, but maybe that's because my girl Alexis is up there, and I love her. There's also this bust compilation of more Redacted boys in case you didn't find your favorite in the Solaires~!

@free-boundsoul: she/her

Okay so, like, vibe with me did you ever love Lisa Frank products with the bright, saturated colors and sparkling eyes but wish instead of cuddly animals that there were really hot men? Then Savvie is the artist for you~ Highlights: One, it's fun to see a Regulus that's not blue, okay? It's thinkin outside the box. Two, the CRACKS? WITH THE GOLD PEEKING THROUGH? I'm inconsolable my god. Speaking of daemons, Fool!Gavin is sort of everything to me. He's just really rocking that sweater vest!

@hotmcrodz: he/they

I know for a fact that I'm not the only one obsessed with the way Jai draws human anatomy. I have unironically seen a Jai piece in the tag and gone "WOWZA" like I'm Jim Carrey in The Mask; that's what they do to me. Highlights: This Milo was one of the pieces that made my eyes pop out my head like a cartoon wolf; I think it's the shirtlessness plus the muscle pose. I just couldn't handle it. I also reacted like that to their Babe because I am an equal opportunity pervert /hj

@izzuku: he/they

Izzuku designs characters with the most realistic and gorgeous body types; like, I love the soft jawlines and how warm and touchable they draw skin. Every Izzuku design is kissable as hell. Highlights: I have to recommend his Regulus and Hush designs, obviously, they're my favorite men. However, I can't let the world go by another rotation without recommending this special Halloween version of Vincent~!

@kilarthmac: she/they

In case we needed another reason to love and appreciate the iconic timestamping account we all recognize from the Redacted comments, we cannot neglect their fanart! Highlights: Like, look at this brought-back-wrong Vega! This Hush with his cute face and off-putting air! He's so cute and so weird! I also love this piece they've done for one of my favorite rarepairs, Imperium!Lasko/Adam~

@latenightsleeper: he/they/it/she

My kinfolk and my beloved, one of the few people who understand me and the vision that is beautiful, blonde, dumb and lovable Christian. They will give you so many feelings about Darlin and Christian, and they will cause you agony /pos Highlights: Obviously, I'm obsessed with the Tank/Christian art like this one (Christian is just so cuuute), but we're all obsessed with this Sam/Darlin animatic set to Eat Your Young.

@maxpaulll

An amazing artist that I'm so glad we managed to get to migrate to Tumblr from Twitter so I could put them on this list~ Highlights: I am obsessed always with their Indigenous character designs, especially David. Like, look at him, he's indescribably beautiful, outshone by no one except maybe Max's Imp!Vega, because oh my god look at him~

@nortyourself: she/her

I don't think there's anyone who's not obsessed with at least one of Rachel's pieces; like, I believe she'll get to every Redacted man with the speed and beauty she works. Even Reticuli has gotten the Rachel treatment and been made hot af. Highlights: Technically, this Imperium!Damien just takes me breath away; like, it would be blown up and framed in his palace (for all of his short and tempestuous reign). Personally, her Hush has a dear and special place in my heart. He's just my favorite~!

@penncilkid: any pronouns

One of the most gorgeous and darling and non-stop creators in the space! They're a true triple threat, kicking our hearts in the butt with their art, their writing, and their audio roleplay series~ Highlights: With so many mediums under their belt, it's so hard to choose. If you're looking for purely Redacted content, their art is prolific and so creative, I've got to share the whole gallery. If you're in the market for a new VA to fall in love with, you've got to check out their youtube channel~!

@pycth: any pronouns

I dont have anything creative or profound to say here- all of pycth's designs are smoking hot and would render me selectively mute with a glance, 'nuff said. Highlights: How can I PICK? Ugh, hottest of the hot that comes to mind has got to be their President Moore art; like, this pose isn't FAIR. On the other end of the spectrum, if you want your heart kicked in the butt, I don't think any of us are over this Sam piece or ever will be.

@rainingcatsandjune: any pronouns

Another new artist who's only been here since April, and yet- I would die for his and his fine-ass, touchable Sam. Like, hell, render any man pretty like that, and I'll die for him. That's how pretty this art is. Highlights: Like, look at him. How does one do anything but look at him, especially in this pose? Again, look at him! Look at the hands. The soft, touchable glow and how it lights and shades his and Darlin's skin. The broad shoulders good god~

@sainthowlzon: they/he

You can't turn a corner on tumblr without seeing some of Howl's adorable Scribble Dolls or Icons! (Or any other social media actually. I feel like I've deffo seem some of Howl's icons on Tiktok too.) They're cute, they're iconic, and there's one for almost everyone! Highlights: Here's that full set of icons for your perusal; my personal favorite is Asset's. And here's the full set of Redacted Scribble Dolls; my favorite is Regulus, I think, because of his freaky vibes, but it's so hard to pick!

@sincerelywhistler: any pronouns

Like everyone with a working set of eyes and a beating heart, I am obsessed with all of Wes's designs; like, who wouldn't fall in love at first sight with all those beautiful and often shirtless people? Highlights: There's honestly too many to pick from, but I'll TRY. Their Gavin is an absolute must, I share it with the Discord on sight, he's that it girl if you will. Oh, and one cannot neglect Avior's HBS piece; I'm not even an Avior girlie, and I was like daaaaaamnnnnnnn~

@slushiepizza: they/them

Where would all the guy-lovers be without Slushie and their absolute cornucopia of Guy and Honey delights? Like, where else would we get our homemade, MacGyver'd serotonin? Highlights: The "Everyday" series is everything to me, and I mean everything; Guy has become too relatable and has struck me right in the heart. If you're not in a Guy mood, I'm also in love with their older, cozy Anton~!

@s0lairee: she/they

Jo's style is just so clean, so cute, and I really love it when they play with lighting in their pieces. Like, we are almost, almost there to making me stan Vincent if you're gonna drape him in moonlight like that... Highlights: ...thought, if I had to pick, I'd probably lean more towards Vincent's partner. They're rocking the red eyes, I love them! I'm also obsessed with their freckle-y, sweet Lasko, because who isn't?

@strawberrybouvine: he/they

The artistic equivalent of gourmet candy, I am absolutely obsessed with the gorgeous colors of Jasper's art and cannot get enough of the sweetness! Is this sugar running through my veins or unparalleled cuteness? Highlights: I'm not even a David stan but, like, jesus christ, the long hair and hairy chest makes me want to go feral. Don't even get me started on the cuteness of his chibi art, I really will start foaming at the mouth.

@theflowersaremine

I don't know exactly what medium Haylin uses or what colors or effects they use, but goddamn it makes those men so dreamy. I'm not even a Sam stan, but that's a smoochable man right out of Gilmore Girls /pos Highlights: Like, are you seeing the Gilmore Girls vision? That's a handsome man from a wholesome show geared for women- almost as handsome as this art of David. I see this smile in my dreams; it's so beautiful.

@venuslove-28: any pronouns

Venus's art is strawberry and vanilla soft serve injected straight into my heart; it's so familiar and cute, so charming, and I want to stim and bounce in excitement when I see it. Does that make sense? It'll make sense when you see it. Highlights: Personally, I have never and I will never stop thinking about this Huxley, I am simply not capable. Their Avior is also cuter than all get-out, I must admit.

@wingless-cupid

I don't think anyone does cute and colorful and pastel and kawaii quite like Cupid. You can't help but look and admire all the eye-catching colors and then want to hug their cheery, dynamic characters! Highlights: I'm highkey obsessed with their Freelancer and DAMNily and all their d(a)emons in general. Like, look at this! Minh is such a cutie and a simp, I love them! I'm also constantly thinking about this art in particular, because look at all these PRICELESS EXPRESSIONS!

@yoteako: he/it

Would you like stunning, high quality art and tragic, old man yaoi on your dash? That's a silly question; of course you do which is why we're going to follow and love on Yote. Highlights: See how beautiful, doomed, and intimate this multi-page comic is about two characters who've never canonically spoken? That's devotion. On the less forsaken side of the narrative, their Gavin/Lasko ship art is embedded into my heart.

If you’re reading all the way here, I hope you found the post helpful and smiled while making your way through it! Or both! The RedactedAudio fandom is truly one of my favorite spaces on the internet; it’s so intimate and creative, and I’ve found some amazing, perfect friends here, so I hope you will too 💖

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself to Hate You - Part 11

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: I restarted this about four times—re-wrote the last few sentences for about half an hour. Also I was so excited to write Eris again but he wouldn’t fit in this chapter 😔

Warnings: sexual assault, Bas and his bloody knuckles, Azriel

Word Count: 5,830

-Part 10- -Part 12-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel is going to die.

He’s going to die, and it will be at your hand.

Silence echoes through your mind, the world filled with dark blues and dismal greys—the colours of rainclouds and heavy fog over a midnight river. While the air is warm, ice prickles the layer beneath your skin, seemingly caught in your clothes, captured in your flesh. The perpetual cold of the mortal lands perhaps never fully having left the marrow of your bones.

At the table you sit still, trying to silence your mind to focus on the task at hand. You don’t want to be thinking about that right now. Not today.

Brow pulls together, lips twisting down as the bone of your thumb presses to the line between your eyes, pushing away the pressure.

Ease out a breath, shoulders slumping, muscles draining away as the door is closed on the world. Locked cozily within the dark quiet of the open kitchen.

The last time you’d sat here feels like months ago, presents stacked upon the table with a pretty cake to tuck into. Now there’s nothing to offer but a meagre cupcake, a lone candle put sadly into the spongy head you hadn’t even paid for—it had been a sample, someone giving out free little things so none of the food would go to waste.

It isn’t even decorated, aside from the thin waxy stick the House had offered up.

Lower lip curls, scowling with hot eyes at the small cake.

You stare for a long while, vision blurring every so often before it’s cleared away by a disciplinary blink. Loathing carved between your ribs, twisting and slicing, but never ending. A muscle flickers in your jaw, before finally shifting into motion, sitting straighter.

This night isn’t about you, and you’ll be damned if you make it so.

Breathing deeply, the wooden figurine is placed on the table, palm damp and cool without it’s warmth in your hand. The maiden looks on at the small cupcake, disappointed, pretty flowers drooping in elegant fingers. The skirts of are caught frozen in motion, the hem lifting from her ankles, the graceful sweep of hair being pulled gently toward the candle, as if the breeze is luring her in.

Eyes stare at the sight, and you have to sit back in your chair. Observing the scene, how small and meagre it is for something that deserves much more.

When the world blurs this time, you don’t blink it away, letting it fill and swell. Break over the edge of picked-thin lashes.

Slowly, you lean forward, picking up the light box of matches, taking one out, and striking it against the abrasive card. Fire flares before dimming, wisps of smoke curling from the glowing light, putting a pleasant scent into the room as you lower it to the candle, spreading the scant glow. With a single flick of your hand, the flame is put out, sending up a poor last signal with its diminishment, glowing weakly, before finally extinguishing.

Inky blues and grey-blacks dim the already sparse light, encroaching on the small patch of light like wolves circling a small, run-down hut. Waiting for the first sign of dilapidation before pouncing, sharp canines sinking into the soft, fleshy centre.

Your head hangs, forearms braced on to table either side the little show. Fingers curl, pressing into the now-soft skin, callouses from the days of wood-chopping and frostbite softened by a single dip into freezing cold water. Murky and depthless.

Bringing forth irrevocable change.

————

Azriel’s wings stretch out over his chair, the muscles rippling, shoulders working free of the tension before standing from his desk.

For what ever reason, the House has decided he should get his own food for tonight, evening long since passed with the days becoming shorter and shorter. Light waning, the dark sidling closer the deeper into autumn time flows. Like clockwork, shadows skitter off down the hallway, floating along floorboards and dipping beneath rugs, settling at the darkened threshold of her door. No light warms the gap, and habitually they listen out for the soft sighs of breathing, forgetting the enchantment that’s been placed on the room.

They hurry back, curling around his ear, delivering the information seamlessly as he makes his way silently down the dim halls. He can see perfectly fine in the night—there’d be no point to lighting a candle.

Strain remains tight in his shoulders, having finished reading through Cass’ letter as well as the dozens of other reports monitoring various changes and shifts in courts. Other things to deal with, to allocate time and resources to, seamlessly shifting his network of spies to target and attend to the more prominent catches in his web.

He doubts he’ll be able to catch even a wink tonight, a tight pulse in his chest warning him of sleep.

————

The breath exhales softly, staring at the lone flame, flickering dimly in the overbearing darkness, and you can’t help but think of your youngest sister. The wane light in the wintry forrest, battered by icy winds and freezing frosts.

Calming the beat of your heart, you press your palms together, leaning forward so the knuckle of your thumbs slot above the bridge of your nose. Head bowing toward the candle, eyes sliding shut, keeping the pressure at bay.

“Happy birthday, dad,” you whisper.

Already the edges of your mouth tremble, but you try to stay firm, sucking in a shaky breath. Blurred memories of the war begin seeping back in, the damp smell of blood and sickness, mixed with sweat and leather. Slowly lower your hands, palms pressing flat against the table as you look at the flickering light. The miniature wood carving bought in memory of his carpentry.

“I miss you,” you murmur, voice wobbling in the silence. “It’s been difficult since you’ve gone. Difficult for a while now.” Throat rolls, shifting in your seat, spine straightening. “Feyre’s doing well though. As much as I can tell, anyway. She’s had a baby too, did you know? I don’t know if you’re still able to watch us anymore, so sorry if you’re all caught up—I just thought might as well be on the safe side, and I don’t know what else to talk about besides them.”

Tongue darts out to wet your lips, breathing softly, calming the emotion in your chest. “He’s called Nyx, and he looks just like them.” The flame blurs, light dripping out in dots through the room, and you quickly wipe your eyes. “She’s been busy with him—I think she’s been taking him out on walks through Velaris every now and again when he wakes up early, though sometimes the others take on some tasks. I know Mor likes having him around, and even Amren has a soft spot for him already.” The corners of your mouth tug down, head lowering as you stare into the flame. “I think she’s doing well, after all this time. She can stand on her feet.”

Night-kissed memories float up through the fog, of crunching snow and steaming blood, dribbling out of a doe carcass.

“Elain’s good too,” you manage, attention flicking to the wooden maiden. “I think her and Lucien have begun getting along better, or at least not as awkward as they once were. I went with her to visit him a while back—to the old human lands, and—” You fumble, tripping over your words. “Do you know it all worked out?” You ask quietly. “I must’ve told you last year, but just in case I didn’t: we won. The war, I mean.” Vision blurs again, blinking away the dampness.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, dad,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I know it’s morbid, and maybe if I had been there, I would have wished I wasn’t, but Nesta was, and Feyre was there too, and Elain got to… They got to see you again.” The first tear splashes onto the wooden grain, and you hastily wipe it away, fearing it might stain somehow. “I wish I’d gotten to see you again before you went away,” you mumble, swallowing thickly. “I miss you a lot. And they’re all doing well, and getting better, and…”

Take in a deep breath, lungs stuttering, hauling in quivering pulls of air. Dip your head slightly.

“They’re doing well,” you whisper, nodding to yourself. Repeating it in your mind.

“I think you’d be happy with them.”

————

Shadows swirl at his wings, shifting as they dip ahead into the kitchen, skittering back with their message. She’s in there, sat at the table.

Azriel pauses in the hallway, debating the merits of bumping into her at such a late hour. He remembers how poorly his last late-night interaction went, and is frankly disinclined to revisit the memory on any level. The softness of Elain’s skin still registered in some chamber of his mind, laying dusty and untouched for some time, unable to bring himself to quite take it back out just yet.

His stomach grumbles quietly, and he sets a hand on his lower abdomen, rubbing absently as he thinks. Wonders why she’s decided to come out of her room tonight instead of keeping to her space—why tonight of all nights the House is throwing him under the wagon. But he’s a full-grown male, he can handle one short interaction, even if it’s with her. It’ll be a good chance to check on how she’s doing physically in person, too, having been putting off that task for a while, satisfied with the imaginary rendering his shadows bring him every now and then.

Azriel continues down the hall, noting the dim flicker of light from the doorway, warming the blue darkness to a sparse orange, a clear outline of colour in the deep shadow and he wonders what she’s doing. A few quiet steps bring him to the threshold, steadying himself for her longing eyes and the dipped shoulders.

He rounds the frame but halts on the threshold, shadows instinctively slinking across his skin, pressing silently back into the darkness of her peripherals.

She’s crumpled over, sobbing silently, shoulders trembling as deep breaths heave and shudder from her lungs. Her features protectively hidden by the sleeves of her cardigan, pressed tight to her features as quiet, wet cries gasp from her lips, trembling in the dim light of her single candle.

He watches from the edge of the room, observing silently, caught on the force of despair. How it’s shaking her frame, wracking it like a paper lantern in a storm, tossed and battered until it’s soaked and dissolving beneath the downpour. Flame reflects in the golden pool beneath her on the table, rippling with hot droplets as they drip heavily, splashing between the grains, growing steadily larger.

The tips of his fingers tingle, but he resists stepping forward—with everything that’s between the two of them he doubts it would help.

The familiar scent of gardenias floats over to him, stronger than usual, and hazel eyes trace the bare skin of her hands.

They’re horrifically dry, despite the intensity of the scent that always accompanies her nowadays, skin peeling around her nails, cracked and flakey like freshly baked pastry, rough patches of rawness peeking through, sore and worn from the interior of her gloves.

To a less observant pair of eyes, it may have appeared as a case of frostbite, or treatable dryness, but he recognises that formation—the slight warp of burning flesh.

Her palms press to gleaming cheeks, as if the wetness will absorb into her hands, curing the desiccated expanse, soaking up until they’re perfect again, without a flaw or crack to be found. The bones in his hands ache dully, pains blooming beneath his own warped flesh, swollen and melted in parts, scarred and misshapen. Deformed.

She starts mumbling under her breaths, sobs becoming heavier, lungs gasping as air is harshly sucked in, stumbling and stuttering in her shuddering chest. She’s apologising. Over and over, murmured sorries and desperate pleas. Repeating over and over how sorry she is as the water ripples beneath her, lips tugged down, brows knotted in sheer self-loathing. So concentrated it knocks him in his chest.

He should turn away—he can wait a few hours easily, allow her to vacate and recover at her own pace—but he’s kept at the edge, watching silently, wreathed in shadow saved for the flame-lit hazel of his eyes. Observing such a pure display of sorrow and wretchedness, a sense of foreign familiarity ghosting within his chest. Like finding a new path to an exact location—one he hadn’t known existed until then, completing a fraction of the unknown map.

Azriel takes in her curled up form, hunched over the candle, back curved as she sobs into damp wool, familiarising the sight. His expression tightens ever so slightly, brows pulling in, edges of his mouth twisting down, working into the beginnings of a frown.

With one last scan, he turns silently, retuning her the privacy she’s unaware has been disturbed.

————

You ease out a heavy sigh, but your shoulders remain tense.

Half a cupcake remains on the table, the house setting a glass dome over its top.

You peer down at the symbol numbly, eyes sore and swollen. Aching from intense use. That’s all the emotion you can manage for the night—a drought forming in the desiccated innards of your soul. Tears have been bled dry to a state of numbness, skin tingling absently. Breathing mindlessly. Wandering listlessly.

————

You land three light taps to the door, the warm lamp far above you illuminating the small inlet of the entrance, a wooden frame either side to hold the vines as they’ve reached and crawled over the years, the tiny pale flowers putting out a lovely fragrance—like lilies, or sweet peas. Long moments pass, then the door is quietly opening, one dark hand resting casually at the height of it, the other against its frame.

“Hey,” he greets, the edges of his mouth relaxing a little.

“Hi,” you reply, realising how scratchy your voice is, raw from that long hour. Hastily clear your throat, shifting in the entrance. “Would you— I mean, are you busy tonight?” You ask, wringing your fingers slightly, stopping when gold flicks down to mark the action.

Bas releases the door, opening it a little wider, standing straighter and clearing his throat. “Nope,” he says, “something on your mind?” Instantly the lone candle flickers in your head, the sponginess of the small cupcake, and you blink away the prickling pressure. “Yes,” you answer quietly. “I just— I don’t want to talk about it,” you settle on, returning your gaze to his. Anxiety beginning to melt away—you can be something other than fine around him. Lower lip wobbles with the thought, but you hasten to push the welling emotion away. Your eyes would hate you if you started crying again.

A deep breath eases into your lungs, then blown out heavily.

“I had a rough evening,” you say vaguely, “and I’m feeling pretty awful at the moment, so I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit.”

He watches silently from the warm inside of his home, the smell of rosemary and thyme cozily wrapping around you, almost enough to make you wish for a night in, but you’d rather not feel for a little bit. “You do that a lot, y’know?” He says at last, stepping back to allow you inside. You follow quietly, looking up at him with a furrowed brow, keeping to the wall. “Do what?” You ask, wondering if he’d like you to take your shoes off since it looks like you might be coming further in.

“Phrase questions weirdly,” he laughs faintly, the deep sound breathing a small spark back into your blood. “Like that one, ‘I was wondering if you’d like to out for a bit.’ I was wondering if you’d like to go out for a bit?” He repeats, raising the inflection at the end. “You know you can ask me stuff, yeah?”

You feel the faint tug of a smile on your lips, amusement crossing your features. “I know,” you reply, “maybe I just didn’t feel like saying it as a question.” Bas rolls his golden eyes, mouth copying yours, forming a slight smile, before shaking his head and turning. “Let me grab something. Anywhere you want to go?” He calls from over a broad shoulder, reaching for a warmer piece to put over his indoor clothes.

Shake your head, keeping to the edge of the room, wary of the clean floor. “I just want to be outside tonight,” you say quietly. “I don’t…the inside just…” You purse your lips in a grimace, and he nods. “I get you.”

Another well of emotion builds in your chest, but again you push it away.

Tongue licks out over your lips, shifting on your feet, making an effort to brighten your demeanour. “What’s going on with you at the moment? There was that thing you wanted to talk about last time…?” When you’d had a small crying session in his arms. Whenever the memory inserts itself into your head, you’re torn between embarrassment and jealousy. Embarrassment at breaking down over such a small thing after having kept it together for so long, jealousy over how easily that comes to other people. That small, sad part of yourself wanting more, but as usual, she’s gently pushed aside.

Bas sucks in a slow breath, guiding you to the door. “Yeah, about that…” The two of you step outside into the crisp night air, and you wrap your scarf closer, huddling beneath the warmth. Even after all this time, the warmth in the chillier months is something you can’t help but find your stress in.

“So…” you encourage when he goes quiet, linking his arm with yours. “What did you want to say?” But he shakes his head. “To be honest, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he answers with forced lightness. Brow dips—is it something to do with his dad?

“You okay?” You ask softly, stepping a little closer as you make the walk down his small front garden, the gate creaking open before he shuts it behind you. “Fine,” he replies, then relents. “A bit tense.”

You try to come to a stop, but he gives a gentle tug on your arm, telling you to continue on. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy swallow, you direct your attention forward, hand pressing into the warm muscle of his arm, firmly linked together. “You’ll tell me when it’s been enough, right?” You ask quietly, forcing yourself not to peer at him through your peripherals. He has an uncanny sense for when people are watching him.

He’s quiet, continuing on with the walk, but you don’t make the mistake of trying to rush him. Sometimes he just takes a bit.

“Sure,” he says at last, and this time you do look at him, a slight glint of amusement in your eyes to soften the stern set of your mouth. “Sebastian,” you warn, and he cringes at your side. “Fine, yeah, I’ll say something,” he relents, waving his free hand, not quite meeting your eye. You manage a quiet laugh, before you both settle back into silence, quietly paying attention to the swish of the breeze, skirting around the subjects at hand.

The question’s on the tip of your tongue, eyes watching him from the side, but then he gives and almost undetectable squeeze to your arm. So light you’d think you might have imagined it. Had the two of you been human, you would have dismissed it. But fae bodies have an entire new level of awareness to them, impossibly sensitive on depthless levels. Utterly overwhelming at first. Still getting a handle on some of the more intense senses.

As it is, you take it as his answer. The promise he won’t voice.

So you continue on into the night, neither of you quite fully present in the moment to be doing something like this. But bad decisions happen, and mistakes are made. Without them, life would be boring, and dull. You’d never progress.

————

Skin buzzes pleasantly, a wide smile on your lips as you lean into Bas’ side, greedily taking in his warmth, mourning already forgotten and pushed to the side.

You stumble along, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as laughter rings between you, fuel for the rest of the night, replenishing the emptied wells of emotion like he’s pouring molten gold straight into your blood.

He’d been tense at first—nothing outright, or obvious in any sense of the word, but those small tells were there. Patterns one can only pick up on after spending pure, concentrated months with someone. And his behaviour had been erratic. The tension in his jaw when a female had bumped into him, spinning clumsily on her feet to apologise. The pause before he’d forgiven her, and continued on with his night. Then he’d refused to even take a sip of your drink, politely but firmly refusing your attempts to get him to loosen up.

You’d tried plying him with all sorts of methods, from joking and humour, to offering up some of your own little pieces, to asking directly what was going on inside his head that night. He’d diverted the first two, and snapped at you to mind your own business at the last one, which—to be fair—he was entitled to do. You know you wouldn’t appreciate one of your sisters trying to worm their way back into your life if you wanted your peace.

Eventually, you’d gotten up, telling him you’d pop outside for some fresh air—the night sky is always beautiful here—but he hadn’t wanted to come with you, simply sipping quietly on the non-alcoholic drink before him. Was it something to do with whatever he’d wanted to speak with you about?

While you’re out on the balcony, you explore the possibilities of what he might want to say. Though, you decide to stop once you notice the thoughts steadily becoming worse and worse, pausing the process before you cause yourself a public meltdown—you can theorise once you get back to the House.

But with thought of the House comes thoughts of that dangerous piece of parchment on your desk. The open challenge left for you, daring you to bring out some imagined claws. Outrageous and bold and brazen. You can’t even begin to imagine what those sorts of characteristics would imply to your personality. Do you even possess the capacity to become anything other than the flimsy spec you are? To make something out of the damage, to make it worth an amount, so it’s anything but weight, and trauma, and baggage.

Running gloved fingers over your face, you raise from the balcony, turning and heading back in. You don’t know why you didn’t try and turn back sooner when he obviously wasn’t in the right state to be coming out, certainly not surrounded by alcohol.

(I wanted to, so I did.)

(I disregarded him because I am more important.)

When you re-enter the fairly crowded room, you edge your way along the walls until you can spot him, a glass of water in his hand containing a slice of lemon and what looks like a leaf of mint. He’s speaking with a female, his expression softer than usual, and you wonder if you should perhaps complete another lap of the room if he’s managing to relax. But then another male sidles up, his arm wrapping around her waist, and she’s promptly whisked away onto the floor. Golden eyes follow the two, watching as they disappear into the night.

“Hey,” you greet, pretending to be a little more fatigued than you truthfully are. Bas inclines his head in reply, taking a deep drink of the liquid, draining the glass before returning it to the wooden surface of the bar. “Ready?” He asks, standing promptly. A smile softens your features as you nod—wondering how long he’s been wanting to leave but sticking it out. He nods again, the warm piece he’d grabbed before setting out into the night getting put over his free arm as his hand grazes the space between your shoulder blades.

You both cross over the threshold of the establishment, and the cold air smacks you right in the face, draining the warmth in an instant. Bas chuckles lowly, tossing you the outer layer, immune to the cold.

You peer at him hesitantly, but he just rolls his eyes. “You’re cold, and I’m offering you a solution,” he says pointedly. “So take it, yeah?” You give in, sliding your arms into the too-large sleeves, wrapping it around your bodice, relieved to keep out the raw bite of oncoming winter. “Thanks,” you murmur, allowing hesitant comfort to settle over your skin as his arm pulls you out in into the street.

The two of you walk mostly in silence, content to mull over your own issues in peace, the frenetic pulse of others’ lives colliding off one another.

A scream pierces out of nowhere, so shrill that you startle, Bas flinching at your side, heart pounding in your chest. Laughter echoes in response.

Both of you peer toward the sound, but all you find is a female getting to her wobbly feet, surrounded by mirth filled faces offering her various hands up, pulling her back to standing, arms linking close with one another.

You exhale heavily, but beside you Bas is tense, muscle coiled tight beneath the warm heat of his skin. Lightly, you pull on his arm, encouraging him to start moving again because it’s cold outside, and he’s given you his only good piece of protection against the piercing autumn chill. He moves along stiffly, tension tightening across his muscles, hands tucked tight in the deep pockets of his trousers.

Silently, you peer at him from the corner of your eye, noting the rigid posture, the downward tip of his brows, the tension in his jaw, as if biting down.

“Hey,” you say softly, laying your hand on his shoulder, bringing him out from whatever space he’d dropped into. Golden eyes flick to you, more distant than usual, and you realise just how lucky it was that male scooped up the female when he did—he’s clearly needing to be alone right now, in the peace and solitude of his own home.

You put a smile across your features, “scary, huh?”

A beat passes and he’s silent, just watching you.

Then muscle slopes, tension rushing from his body all at once, a heavy sigh deflating from his chest, breath billowing out into the biting cold air. He nods, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

A hand drops to your ass, squeezing with interest before smacking the plump flesh hard.

Your entire body goes rigid, legs shaking as you spin around, clutching tight to Bas’ arm to keep upright, shock disturbing your stomach as your eyes lock with pale green.

“Nice ass,” the male compliments lowly, a slight grin on his lips as he prowls forward, arms wrapping around your waist, large hands settling lightly over your rear, cupping with interest. Instantly you raise your arms to your body, itches breaking out across your skin, pulse kicking up to the beat of a war drum as disgust slithers beneath your flesh. “What—? Get off—”

“Get the hell off her.”

Bas turns on a dime, the tension breaking across his features as his lip pulls back from gleaming white teeth, golden eyes glittering with rage as he shoves one hand into the male’s chest, sending him stumbling back a few paces, storm clouds thundering in his expression.

Hands tremble at your front, managing a few hastened steps away, putting shaky stumbles between you and the male, breath shuddering in and out of your lungs as you stare with wide eyes. Bas takes a step forward, bringing his hands up out of his pockets to remove the rings adorning his deft fingers, golden bands sliding up over his knuckles. “looking for trouble?” He growls, eyes trained on the opposing male with deepening anger.

The male raises his open palms, a faint smile on his sober features, pale green eyes gleaming beneath the hot faelights. “Calm down man. I didn’t know she was yours,” he drawls smoothly, “no harm done.”

“No harm done?” Bas hisses, baring his teeth, an icy gleam in his normally perfectly golden gaze. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” he growls lowly, keeping you behind him.

The smile fades from the male’s face, shifting into a slight scowl. “Calm the fuck down,” he snaps irritably, “it was a fucking compliment.” Bas snarls, discipline slipping as he stalks forward, fist snatching up the collar of the male’s shirt, a faint tearing sound ripping through the crisp night air. Pale green eyes widen, before deepening with anger. “What the fuck is your problem? It was a fucking—”

“You fucking try and put your hands on her again,” he mutters softly, the threat reverberating deep in his chest, staring down the opposition. “Fucking try, and see what happens.”

The male’s brows dip, lip curling back as he bares his teeth, shoving the flats of his palms into Bas’ chest, roughly pushing him off. “You tore my shirt,” he mutters, staring down at the ripped fabric. Pale green clashes with raging gold, darkening to viridian. The male looks down his nose, folding his arms over his chest. “You better fucking pay for that, prick.”

“For what? The improvement?” Bas barks, hands tightening into fists at his sides, aching for a brawl, that familiar itch practically scrawled across his features. Obvious to no one but you. Silvery moonlight catches his knuckles, something sharp and glassy catching your eye.

The male’s features twist with anger, then they’re slamming into one another, light gleaming; darkness swirling.

They’re using magic.

Your pulse kicks up, hands trembling as you stare helplessly, unable to formulate any thoughts. Before you power crackles in the air, tension buzzing like static before lightening strikes, and you need to intervene. But it’s as though you’ve been vanished from the world, physical form obliterated so you’re simply a wisp of conscious being tossed brutally in stormy seas. Just your skin tingling disgustingly in the shape of large palm prints. Like he’s scorched your body, so everyone can see the patch where—

The male pins Bas to the floor, his large body thudding heavily against the stone of the cobbles, one hand splaying across his shoulder, fist pulled back tight as a bowstring, shooting down, landing blow after blow to the centre of his face, blood spraying across a vicious smile. Gold practically glows in the hot light, enjoying it, letting the rage and fury build until it’s ready to combust, to be released on the male atop him. He’s savouring it, and you can do nothing but watch as he slides back into that state of self-destruction. Right before your eyes.

A wet crunch sounds, cartilage shattering, blood coating sharp, gleaming teeth that are bared in a feral grin.

“The fuck are you smiling at?” The male laughs, pulling Bas up by the collar, arm wound back, preparing to strike hard now the bone has caved. “You fucking brain dead?” He shouts, ears wincing from the volume, green eyes lit with bloody glee, liquid dripping from his knuckles.

Nausea roils in your stomach, recognising the path Bas has settled on. The numb violence in his gaze having your throat closing up. Before you can help it, your feet are moving on their own, pushing through the shadows as you run over to the two, arms wrapping tight around the male’s elbow, locking it in place as you lean to counter-weight his strength. “Bas…” you manage, voice cracking, muscles turning weak with adrenaline, legs like custard as they tremble.

Pale green eyes snap to yours, his head whipping round, only to grow wide, features illuminated with a blinding glow. Skin burns, from your fingertips to your stomach to your heels—you’re burning. The male flinches beneath your hold, and you hardly have enough time to catch yourself before he’s jerked his arm out of your grip, the point of his elbow hitting the dip of your collar bones, just shy of your throat. Heart stumbles in your chest before a force shoves at your spine, pushing you back into the male as the knuckles of his hand smack across your cheek, sending you tumbling to the ground. Copper bursts on your tongue as you flip over, scrambling to get up but trembling so violently you might be sick.

The male raises his curled fist again, preparing to strike, but Bas has gotten his dose of violence, bloodlust glittering in blazing gold eyes as lips pull apart into a wet, bloody smile. You catch the gleam of ice coating his knuckles, cold moonlight glinting across frozen, jagged edges before he flips the male over, fist connecting with his jaw, a bloody tooth being spat out onto the cobbles. Then the furore begins, fist pulling back over and over as he keeps the male choked to the ground, sawtoothed ice smashing against skin and bone with every wet crunch.

You try to call out, but your lips are too numb to move, skin stinging with piercing pain. Dark red splatters on the cobbles, flecked through with tiny shards of ice as the crunching continues, getting wetter and softer with every hit. Like the heavy thump of raw meat upon a carving table.

Trembling, you move to get to your feet, fingertips itching with adrenaline, shaking with indecision. Bas is going to regret this, you know it. He’ll come out of that haze drowning in self-loathing for giving into the impulse after so long of numbing it. You can’t let him continue—stop him before he does serious damage to himself.

He’s been there for you, and you need to be there for him.

Breath eases into your lungs, skin itching deeper, the burning again raising as your fingertips tingle, trying to reach out for your power. The sting of the green light begins to manifest, aching in your stomach, head pounding, rising to the surface—

You’re hauled upright, turned around and directed away from the beat down, magic extinguished the second his scent wraps around you in a night-kissed breeze.

Azriel doesn’t say a thing, simply curves his wing round at your back, guiding you off into the night.

You don’t have the capacity for dread or fear at what he’ll say once you’re far enough away.

All you can think about is the quiet warmth of him at your side, steady and assured.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01

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[v6quewrlds]

PLEASE HEAR ME OUT; we saw the stream of tee listention to bmf by sza; so an imagine request could be; reader in her universe or wtv wrote that bc yk her and tee are together. and tee didn't know, and she just randomly posted new song out go enjoy, and when its released let's see tee is on stream and everyone's saying like tee reader dropped a new songs and he goes huh and so he calls her and is like did you just drop a song and she goes maybe and he goes to listen to and is like wait, is this about me and then gets really cute and excited that its about him

imagine writing a song about tee.

Tee was bored out of his mind.

The quietness of the off-season was usually a welcome reprieve from the chaos of football, but today, it felt like a prison sentence. His eyes darted from the TV playing the Notre Dame game to his phone and back again, searching for anything to fill the void. That's when he decided to set up his chair, pop his headset on, and start up his Twitch, hoping the time would fly by.

"Yo, what's good," Tee greeted his viewers with his usual enthusiasm. His screen flickered to life, displaying his face and the den behind him. The chatter in the chat grew as fans typed away, eager to interact with the star wide receiver.

Mid-game, the notifications started pouring in. "YOUR GIRL SURPRISE DROPPED," one fan exclaimed. "It's trending on Twitter," added another. Tee's heart skipped a beat. He paused the game and leaned in closer to the camera, his eyes searching the chat for more information. He hadn't heard a peep from you about this. You were in New York, tucked away upstate to finish recording your third album.

"Fuck is y'all talkin' about? My girl dropped?" Tee said into the mic, his eyes darting between the chat and his phone. He sent you a text, his thumbs moving at the speed of light. "Nobody told me nothing," he muttered under his breath. The notifications on his phone went wild, with fans sending links to Spotify and Apple Music.

After deciding you were taking too long to answer his text, he dialed your number, putting the call on speaker. It rang twice before you picked up, your voice as smooth as honey. "Hi, baby," you drawled out, playing it cool.

"Don't 'hi, baby' me," Tee said, trying to keep his own cool. "Did you really drop a new song?"

You giggled, the sound echoing through the room. "Maybe," you hummed coyly.

Tee rolled his eyes. "You playing with me?"

Your laughter grew. "I don't know. I miss you though."

Tee felt a tug at his heart. "Miss you too, but tell me about this song," he urged, trying to ignore the flutters in his chest.

"Why don't you play it and see?" you suggested, your voice dripping with mischief.

Tee's heart was racing. He pulled up Spotify on his other screen and searched for the new release. Sure enough, there it was: "BMF". He hit play and put the phone back on speaker. The song started off pleasant before the beat dropped, and your velvety voice filled the room.

Young and fine and dark and handsome The boy from Tennessee keeps bossing And I can't keep my panties from dropping

Tee's hand came down to press pause before the rest of the verse could reach his ears. "Hold on, is this about me?" He was grinning wide, a laugh bubbling up from his chest in disbelief.

Your giggles grew louder over the phone. "You're supposed to play it, listen with your ears, baby," you teased, your voice full of excitement and a hint of nerves.

Tee's smile was uncontainable as he hit play again. He leaned back into his chair, eyes on the lyrics scrolling by. The song continued as Tee continued smiling wide. He listened intently as the words painted a picture of your feelings for him. The fans in his chat went wild, posting heart-eye emojis and shouting out their love for the couple.

Know my baby packing, why I'm stuck That's why he my man

He couldn't help but press pause again, rising out of his chair to do a little victory dance. "Chat, y'all hearing this shit? This is about me!" The room was alive with the energy of his laughter and the thumping bass of the track. "Baby girl, you out here talking crazy. Goddamn!"

Your giggles turned into full-blown laughter. "I had to," you said, the sweetness in your voice contrasting with the explicit nature of the lyrics. "Just finish the song."

By the time the song wrapped up, Tee couldn't help but feel over the moon. He had heard rumors about artists writing songs for their significant others, but never thought it would happen to him. His cheeks were sore from smiling so much. He sat back down, his eyes gleaming with pride and love.

"So, what do you think?" You asked.

Tee looked at the screen, his mind racing with thoughts. "Baby girl, that shit is fire. Like, for real," he said, nodding his head in time with the beat that he decided to loop for a second play.

"You like it?" Your voice was a mix of relief and excitement.

"Like it?" Tee scoffed, his laughter still echoing in the room. "I love it, baby. You went off, baby, damn." His chest puffed out a bit, unable to contain his pride. The fans in the chat were going crazy, sending love to the couple and praising the song. Tee read some of the comments out loud, his smile growing wider with each one.

Your laugh was music to his ears. "Thank you, baby. I wanted to surprise you."

Tee leaned in closer to the mic. "Surprise? You could've just called me to tell me this. You ain't have to go and make a whole song about it," he joked, winking at the camera.

"Mute yourself for a second?" you said, your voice taking on a more sweet tone. Tee's eyes widened, and he quickly muted the stream before you could say anything more.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! How have you been lately? I hope you sleep well and eat tasty food!

I wanted to participate in your new blog event. I want to see interaction between ~deadbeat dad~ Crowley and our dear uncles, ghosts from Ramshackle dorm. You can decide which topic they will be talking about, I just wanna see ghosts more in twst fandom. They're so rare to see and it upsets me(ू˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣ ू) give more application to our ghosts! 👻👻👻

(I hope I wrote this right how it supposed to be wrote in this event. Sorry for grammar errors)

... I was going to include the Ramshackle Ghosts in the banner, but couldn't find any chibi sprites of them that were high res enough to use. That's it, that's my commentary 🙂

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Ramshackle was a marked improvement from its sorry state in the autumn. The cobwebs, dust, and mildew had been cleared away, as if done by the hand of a benevolent fairy godmother. Rotting wood had been replaced with fresh panels, and the walls were coated with a glossy new color. The paintings and furniture had either been restored or replaced, antiques polished and set back up on display.

It's almost like Ramshackle before its ruin, Crowley noted, shutting the door behind him.

He strutted a few paces in, his cane clacking sharply against the floorboards. Crowley cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the foyer, then called out. "Ghosts?"

A reply came at once, accompanied by a cool sensation spiderwalking down Crowley's spine. This, he knew, was the telltale sign of a supernatural being's arrival.

Three pale bodies materialized before him. One tall and scrawny, the second small and compact, and the third wide and squat. Each ghost--A, B, and C--wore a top hat and a cloak.

"Mweeheehee... You rang, headmaster?"

"Aaah, there's my lovely Ramshackle trio!!" Crowley cooed, spreading his arms out with a flourish. "Good afternoon! I hope you're doing well."

"As well as we can be in the afterlife," Ghost A cackled.

"We weren't expecting visitors," C remarked.

"What brings ya here?" B floated around Crowley in a circle. "Rare for you to drop on by for a casual visit."

"Ah, that." He thoughtfully stroked at his chin. "Today is Family Day at Night Raven College and--well--I figure that you three upstanding gentlemen count as the guardians of our dear Prefect and Grim-kun. You live under the same roof, share household responsibilities, and have a deep bond. You may not be related by blood, but this arrangement could classify as a 'found family'. That would make you eligible to sit in at parent-teacher conferences."

"Oooh, are we being invited to the event?" Ghost A asked excitedly. "I was popular with the ladies back in my day, but I didn’t have the chance to do something like this. Never did manage settle down..."

"Can we really be where the people are?" B chimed in. "It's been a while since we got to stretch our ectoplasm. When was the last time? Halloween, was it?"

"But all those meetings sound like a bore," complained C. "You sure we can't just scare the daylights out of the parents and siblings instead?"

"There will be NO scaring the daylights out of anyone!" Crowley stopped himself and smoothed down his feathers. "As you can imagine, I'm a very busy man and I haven't got all day! Please make your decisions now."

The Ramshackle Ghosts glanced at one another. Murmurs passed between them.

"Well... They don't have anyone else but us, do they? Because Yuu-kun is from another world and Grimmy doesn't remember where he came from."

"They've always been there for us when we needed them the most. We've had so much fun together too. Keeping us company, playing magift, celebrating Halloween and the winter holidays..."

"It'd be sad if they were the only ones left out of Family Day. No one likes being excluded from the festivities."

Silence. Then mutual understanding lit up their eyes. The answer was staring at them right in the face this entire time.

"We'll do it!!" the ghosts cried in unison.

Crowley's lips curved upward. "A most excellent choice. Yuu-kun and Grim-kun are so very fortunate to have a family as loving as this."

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[yoredoesmore]

Hello yes me again 🫢, so how about this. Reader who has incredible sense of fashion like she dress gyaru (or smth similar). And when the 3rd division is fighting kaiju or having training she's always so serious and 'cold' (she's actually a sweetheart but she just has b12ch face). They go out cuz they celebrating something and they see reader but they are suprised that she has that kind of style? Like they thought that a person who is always neat and serious in her work would dress like 'plain' and not in bright colours and skirts? Expecially with those cute accessories hairclips, bracelets(I love them) Take your sweet time don't worry I will wait 💕💅

(I hope you understand what I just wrote cuz my mind was foggy writing this💀 Btw I love your work❤️)

a/n: if i could i would give you the biggest smooch!! your requests feel like a breath of fresh air, i had so much fun writing this! i apologize for the long wait tho ^^

pairing: Fem!Reader & Third Division

genre: fluff/comedy [wc: 2,2k ]

a/n: the third division has two vice captains in this ff ^^)

enjoy!

GAL is Mind! | Hoshina Soshiro

“Third Division!” Your voice echoed through the entire training room, ice cold and sharp. Everybody immediately halted in their movements, their bodies in perfect sync with your voice.

“Salute!” The sounds of boots clicking and body's straightening brought satisfaction to your ears. A smile, though short lived, formed on your lips as your eyes fell on the rows of cadets. One of them stepped forward, gaze lifted up high in the sky as she opened her mouth.

“Thank you for today's training, Vice Captain L/n!” She yelled out.

“Thank you for today's training!” Everybody followed her suit.

“Dismissed.” And with that said you stepped away from the front and began your journey to the dressing room.

“Vice Captain L/n really is something, huh?” Kafka sighed, hands reaching for his water bottle. Heavy puffs of air escaped his lips, the effects of the training still harsh on his body.

“Tell me about it. She's gotta be the third strongest on the base for sure.” Reno replied, copying his friend and reaching for his bottle as well. He too was trying to catch his breath. Whenever it was your turn to train the Platoon, even the strongest cadets would end up collapsing after the session. Yet you walked away unscratched, with no signs of exhaustion or weariness.

“I wonder what she is like off the field..in private, you know. Shinomiya's words caused a shift in atmosphere. Immediately all feelings of enervation were forgotten as the group tried to imagine you in a more casual setting.

“Off..the field?” Kafka's gaze fell on your disappearing form.

Most of the people at the base already had a set image of you in their mind. Your cold demeanor was engraved in their heads. The fearless Vice Captain who led every fight with precision and a cool head– that was the only version of you which they knew. But they knew better than to judge a person solely from what they decided to show to the public– and not to mention that most of the time, people were different in private than in their work life in general.

They wondered if that applied to you as well.

“Wouldn't Vice Captain Hoshina know? Or Captain Ashiro. As Captains they must spend lots of time together off field, I think.” Iharu suggested. His words made sense at first but upon consulting the other Vice Captain, it seemed that you were as isolated off field as at work.

“I never really interacted with L/n outside base grounds, besides out on the battlefield of course.” Hoshina admitted, surprising the entire group.

“No way! Ain't she your work partner? Don't tell me you never went out for a drink or two? Sir.” Iharu quickly added the sir after realizing that he was talking out of line.

He was quite shocked at the Vice Captain's words and it seemed like he wasn't the only one. The entire group stood in disbelief as Hoshina told him that you were as quiet and introverted as they came.

“No, because now I really want to know what Vice Captain L/n is like off duty!” A spark had been lit inside Shinomiya. Her determination was contagious, as the others soon started to feel the same way. Even Hoshina was starting to wonder what image laid behind your nonchalant facade.

Therefore they came up with a plan to get you to ease up around them without drawing any suspicion towards their real motives.

x

“You want to..hang out?” Your voice perfectly reflected the image on your face– you were confused.

“A little get together with the other cadets sounds nice, don't it? Allows the group to bond and stuff, get their mind off things.”

Hoshina was prepared for the rejection of his life. Despite sharing many great memories at the base together, neither he nor Ashiro knew you on a very personal level. You were a strong and dedicated fighter, that was a fact. Your skills were flawless and your performances during battles praiseworthy. Yet all they got to see so far was your work behavior. You were like a ghost, hovering around the base and gaining everyone's curiosity.

“Sure, why not.”

“But it would be– whaddya say?”

“I mean why not? Sounds nice, I'm down.” A cold gaze sat on your face as you arranged the files on your desk and even your voice sounded uninterested. It gave Hoshina the impression that you were forcing yourself to agree to this meeting. Five whole minutes were needed to convince him that you really stood by your words.

At the end he walked out of your office, carefully pulling the door shut behind himself. Only after you were sure that he had left the area surrounding your office did you manage to produce a small smile.

“Yay!”

x

“She said yes just like that?!” The squad could barely believe their ears. Hoshina simply shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to say. He himself still had to process the fact that you willingly agreed to this, without arguing or rejecting him. But then again, you never made a ruckus when having to pick up an extra shift or taking care about some more paperwork, therefore who knew what truly went through your mind.

“Am I the only one who is getting nervous?” Kafka asked into the round.

It was such a silly discussion, the mystery behind your personality, yet everyone involved found themselves curious to seek the answer.

“Vice Captain probably dresses really well! Like elegant and modest.” Shinomiya chimed in, clapping her hands together.

“I can definitely see that too.” Aoi agreed. The group began to chat and talk about the event of the night and how you were going to appear in front of them. They talked and talked, just for a little bit longer, before they returned to work.

x

A couple hours later and the time for the rendezvous came closer and closer. Throughout the day, Hoshina managed to ask Captain Ashiro if she too wanted to join the festivities and to everyone's surprise she agreed as well.

“I too want to see the Vice Captain in her casual glory.” Ashiro said with a straight face and sparkles in her eyes.

Everyone arrived around the agreed on time, some earlier and some later, but at the end they all gathered in front of the fine establishment.

“Oh, L/n just texted me that she is already inside!” Ashiro had a soft smile sitting on her lips, happy about the fact that you had texted her.

“Am I the only one who feels excessively excited??” Iharu looked around the group for validation.

“Nah, I'm just as excited” Izumo placed a reassuring hand on the other one's shoulders. “But I do feel like we are totally doing too much. I mean, it's just the Vice Captain.” The group was unsure if Izumo's words were directed towards everyone else or just himself, as he had quite the distressed look on his face. Shinomiya, Hoshina and Reno on the other hand carried a blank look on their faces. Their excitement manifested itself in the form of silence.

“Does anybody see her?” Kafka asked.

The bar was of decent size. It was most likely on the more fancier side. Not too many guests sat seated at the tables and from their point of view they should have had a clear vision of the whole place. Yet you remained to be discovered.

All they saw was another group of businessmen, a handful of couples, a person who seemed to be having a stroke in the corner and some young college students who were being a little too noisy..

Ashiro was about to ask a staff member for help, when all of a sudden a stranger approached them.

“Guys? I have been waving at you for the past two minutes, didn't you see me?”

Silence

In front of the group stood a woman, who's stroke turned out to be her attempt of getting their attention. She was dressed in attire that did not fit the establishment's vibe.

l

Her long eyelashes were a perfect match for the dramatic makeup she had put on. Half of her hair was put into a high ponytail, with the ends strongly curled. Although her head lacked charms and accessories, many of those were found on her long, white nails. The clothes she wore perfectly reflected everything that was going on in her face.

A skirt so short sat around her hips that the group feared that it would only take her one bad step to reveal herself. They just hoped that the golden star belt she wore was good enough to hold everything in place. What truly topped everything off weren't the dark fur leg warmers or the thick golden chains hanging from both her belt and neck, but rather the bold, off shoulder cheetah print shirt.

To put everything in simpler words– she was a looker for sure.

“...L/n?” Shinomiya was the first one to open her mouth.

“Yes?”

“WHAT?!” Kafka could barely contain himself. Shock wasn't even expressive enough to describe the sheer disbelief he was currently feeling. His eyes were stuck on the countless bracelets you were wearing, trying to count them all. Meanwhile Izumo and Aoi still had to pick their jaws off the floor.

“Ya gotta be kiddin me..” Hoshina cursed under his breath, his eyes still drinking in the image of you.

From all he had expected, this would have been the last thing. Seeing you in such revealing and bold attire, it was out of character for you. Even Ashiro found herself speechless as she slowly started to recognize your face behind all the accessories and makeup.

And let's not get started on Shinomiya who almost fainted.

“Do..I have something on my face?” Your voice was genuine and filled with confusion.

“Everything!” Iharu blurted out, earning a slap from Reno.

“This..is just very unexpected.” The white haired man tried to explain in the best words available.

“Unexpected is puttin it lightly! Shit, you sure this is our Vice Captain??” Iharu barely finished his sentence before the second slap from Reno came flying towards the back of his head.

“Oh. Yeah, I figured you guys would be surprised. I tried to tone it down a little and left some accessories at home but once I get dressed I can barely hold myself back.” You smiled softly.

For some it was the first time seeing you present such a sweet smile. It melted their hearts in an instant and forced them to question everything about you that they knew.

As you showed the way to the table, the group of people behind you silently fought about who got to sit next to you. Both power and authority were abused, as Hoshina and Ashiro ended up by your side with Shinomiya getting the seat right in front of you.

There it was, the moment they all have been waiting for. The silence was so strong that it became one of the loudest things in the entire place.

Their gazes poked holes through your outfit but you simply sat there, enjoying their attention. Such close interactions did not exist at work, as all were too afraid of you. They did not go unnoticed by you, the comments and whispers about your unapproachable behavior. There were obviously no ill intentions in their words but it still hurt you a little that nobody tried to get to know you on a personal level.

Your shyness and professionalism were labeled off as coldness on your very first day and ever since you had found it quite difficult to build more skin deep relationships. That is why you were beyond happy when Hoshina asked you to join them today.

“Have you always been dressing like this?” Shinomiya asked the question that has been on everybody's mind. The sparkle in her gaze returned, her eyes shining with nothing but admiration for you.

“Yes, pretty much. My mother was a Rokku Gyaru and taught me everything I needed to know. Started off as a Kogal and slowly found my way into the world of Tsuyome.”

Everybody listened with great attention as you explained your sense of fashion. It was the most talkative they have ever experienced you in, it was a memory to cherish. It made you feel awfully happy, their kindness and acceptance, that you temporarily lost yourself.

“Sorry Vice Captain, but I really didn't take you for the kind who would dress like that. So bold and carefree..but now that I think about it it suits you quite well!”

“Thank you a lot, Kafka.” You both exchanged mutual smiles.

“Same here. I first thought that you were gonna come in all formal and shit but this really hits the spot.”

“Your head will swell if I hit you one more time, moron.” Reno shot the red head a deadly glare.

“I know that I come off as cold sometimes, but I can't help it. I like to express myself with my appearance and actions rather than words and not to mention– in this field of work I just cannot afford to be as silly and expressive as my clothes.’

“It is very impressive that you are able to have these different sides to you.” The woman next to you spoke.

Much more time was spent talking about certain fashion styles, life and work at the defense force. The night was long and who knew when the next time would come where you got to talk the way you did now? Therefore you talked and talked, until all troubles and thoughts were taken off your minds.

a/n: i literally threw up couple hours ago and i got so mad bc i really wanted to upload this fic today so i swallowed a pain killer, took a nap and got right to the editing after waking up 😭 don't play with me stupid migraine (ง'-̀̀'́)ง

btw, if you want to get a better image of tsuyome (the gyaru subculture) make sure to google it! It is sooo pretty!!

[kaneaken]

author's note; we need more freminet content, and I'm happy to contribute whatever I can 🫶 enjoy!

content notes; modern!au, gn!reader, less cohesive than I thought, wrote this late at night so not proofread

Wednesday. That's the first time Freminet sees you on the bus. It wasn't planned. He promises. The second time was. The third one as well. Not the first.

He doesn't remember what he was wearing. It was cold that day. It was probably his hoodie. He does remember wearing his snow boots. You told him they were cool when you sat a seat away from him.

He remembers you complimenting Pers, the small penguin plushie hanging from his bag. He remembers smiling and telling you an almost silent 'thank you'. He remembers you smiling back. He remembers wanting to see you smile again.

"Oh, this is my stop. See you around!"

He remembers you leaving before he could speak again.

That's why he's on the bus again. It's Wednesday. The bus is a bit slower today. It makes him fiddle with Pers, tugging on the chain and squeezing the plush.

He hears the ding of the bus doors opening. He looks up, hoping to find you amongst the other bus goers. It's a sea of colors, thanks to the raincoats worn by everyone. It's a flurry of florescent. It makes Freminet turn his head away. He blinks away the colors. He stares at the gray tone of the bus seats.

"Morning." Freminet turns his head, coming face to face with you. The light filtering through the window becomes brighter as he stares at you.

"Good morning..." He mumbles out, turning his head back. He didn't think this far. He thought you wouldn't be here. As much as he wanted you to be. He wasn't sure where to go past this.

"I like your freckles." That startles him.

"Sorry?" He stutters out, his ears flushing red.

"Oh, sorry, that was a little out of nowhere." You chuckle. "I like your freckles. They're cute!"

"Oh, thank you..." It goes silent, only the rumbling of the bus filling the silence. What would Lyney do? Say?

"Tell them you think their eyes are pretty!"

"Eyes..." Freminet starts, causing you to turn your head.

"Eyes?"

"Pretty eyes..." He finishes.

"Pretty eyes? Oh, you do have pretty eyes."

"No, um..."

There's a beep, signaling a stop. You look up.

"Oh, looks like this is my stop. It was nice seeing you again..."

"Freminet..."

"It was nice seeing you, Freminet! I'll see you next time." You smile at him again before rushing to stand up and exit. The world goes gray again, but Freminet knows it won't be that way for long.

[purerae]

teehee first ask thing :3c

i work at a movie theater and it sucks, literally the only thing that keeps me going is pretending someone going to see movies just to interact with me. tbh whenever i scan someone ticket and they’re cute, i’ll try to be at their theater whenever the movie end just to tell them “have a nice day!”

do what you'll want with this, i just wanna share my delusions ^^

hihi omg this is so cute, i wrote a little something about it !!

(i wrote this at like four am on a googles doc and didn’t proof read — pls forgive me for the kinda lame writing ;;;)

You’re tired. Extremely tired. If you got a coin for how many times somebody had asked you a stupid question — you’d be able to quit your job by now.

The smell of popcorn and off brand candy lingers in the air; you feel sick to your stomach as you look at the clock. 3 more hours of your shift left, god, you close your eyes for a solid minute — imagining yourself in your nice warm bed away from all the noise, smell and buzzing food machines.

Fortunately, it seems as the flurry amount of people had dispersed after the screenings of the new trending movie had stopped at a certain time. You hum a sigh under your breath, the theater was almost empty, You prayed to whatever was listening to you that a group of teenagers wouldn’t just burst in and charge towards your counter.

You decide to pass off some time by restocking the candy shelves by your desk, grimacing at the overpriced labels when you suddenly hear a small cough.

Looking up, you notice a very familiar customer beaming at you with a big smile. Their eyes light up, and you can't help but change your tired expression to one that matches theirs.

“Hey! How’s your shift going Y/N?” The man smiles, fidgeting with his hands as he eagerly looks at you.

“Good as a shift can get Matteo, how’s your day going? This is the third time you came this week — Must’ really like movies.. new world record huh?”

You respond back, with no malice in your tone, exchanging banter with your favourite customer. He comes so often to the theatre, that you guys are already on first name basis.

Honestly, the only reason he was your favourite customer was because of how how nice and pleasant he was to chat too.

Matteo would arrive with a warm smile, always making a beeline for whichever counter you were working at. You guys would chat about the latest releases, obscure indie films, and laugh over the messiness of children running around.

You’d remember the first time he came into the movies with his friends, his eyes would linger on you every now and again whilst ordering — you never really paid any mind to it.

Matteo raises his eyebrows as you question him. “…Really like movies?” A pause between the two of you as you nod awkwardly, before his eyes widen in realisation.

“Oh yeah— yeah! I love movies hahaha…! Movies are great.. awesome, spectacular, so fun!!” He says laughing, wiping his eyebrow and grinning extremely wide.

Rapidly changing the subject, Matteo places one of his arms on the counter. “The movie you recommended to me two days ago was so funny! I loved it, anything new for me today?”

To be frank, you could not recall what movie you told him to watch, and you doubt you even watched it yourself! However, seeing the gleam in his face — you didn’t have the heart to tell him so.

You shift your head slightly to see behind Matteos head, the small list of movies that were going to play soon. Selecting the most cool sounding one, you look back at him.

“There’s a movie called ‘Argan Gate’ that came out recently in theatre 3?”

His smile becomes even more radiant (which you didn’t know could be possible) as he looks through his bag, “Sounds perfect! I’ll take a ticket!”

Matteo hands you his money, your fingers brushed slightly, The man freezes as he just stares at your hands for a solid few seconds before zoning back in with flushed cheeks.

“…I’ll tell you how the movie was after, see you at your next shift?” He says with a flustered look. You mutter a small okay with a wave as he walks to the movie screening.

You wonder for a second on how he’d know when your next shift is, and why he watches every single thing you recommend him. Pausing as you stare at his back with a narrowed gaze before you shrug your shoulders, going back to restocking the shelves

‘He must just really really love movies.’

[s-awturn]

Karma Is A Bitch | MV1

summary: S/N and Max invented hate at first sight, they hate each other from the first moment they met and never tried to make things better. The hatred between the two is real and almost palpable to the point of becoming karma... In the dirtiest sense of the word.

cw: Conflict, verbal fighting, insults and name calling, suggestive, mild smut (very little), mention of accidents, and what else? Somewhat based on the discussion between Max and Esteban (no explanation needed). No real events will be taken into consideration here, so everything was taken from my head (duh)

a/n: I wrote this based on Max's headcanon in "Pilots and their romantic tropes", because it stuck in my head and I needed to develop it. It's my first time with Max (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°) heheheh so he's gonna be a little OC, don't take it too seriously pls. I just saw that I reached 101 followers, I'm going to shout it out (I'll think of something to celebrate, suggestions?)

Melbourne, 2023

"You're doing great, kiddo," Hugh said into the headphones. "We're down to the last ten laps, keep doing that and we could have a double podium today."

"Cool," she said through gritted teeth, focused on keeping Lando where he was: on her tail. "How's the car? Can we fight Verstappen for first place?"

Y/N heard Hugh's heavy sigh, and if she knew Hugh, she knew the engineer was rubbing his beard, as he always did when he was nervous.

The season was still in its early stages, it was only the third race of the year and the rivalry between Max and Y/N had already reached a dangerous peak, they competed more with each other than with other drivers. Luckily for the team, both Max and Y/N managed to keep the competition alive both among themselves and with the other teams — even if the two always took their internal rivalry more seriously.

"The wear on the tires has not yet reached a precarious level, so you can compete, but you need to be careful, there may be rubber debris on the track," he advised, hearing her click her tongue in agreement, Hugh knew he was stirring the hunger of a beast, and for all intents and purposes, Max had the prey she wanted. "God help us," he muttered, closing the communication channel.

Y/N smiled at the free pass Hugh had given her, she shifted gears, hearing the engine roar loudly and she smiled, there was a DRS zone. She was a few seconds behind Max, three maybe four seconds and with the possibility of overtaking in front of her, Y/N did what her instincts told her: she opened the rear wing and put her foot down on the accelerator, breaking the distance between her and Max and consequently stealing first place from the Dutch driver. She not only passed Max, but managed to establish the four-second gap between them again, with herself in the lead. Her smile under her helmet was wide enough for her to feel pain in the cheeks.

The rest of the race was fast and intense, she and Max fought aggressively for first place, Y/N didn't let Max take advantage of any opening, she broke all chances of Max regaining first place. Not even with DRS active was Verstappen able to retake the lead.

As the two entered the last lap, Christian, Hugh and the entire Red Bull team began to think they would have an accident, because the two were, literally, playing cat and mouse.

"Keep it up, girl" Hugh suddenly appeared on the comms, making Y/N laugh "you're going to win your first F1 race, keep it up"

She laughed with victory, feeling as light as a balloon as her car passed the checkered flag in first place. Everyone in the garage heard her happy screams, when Y/N parked the car in the spot reserved for the winner, she could barely see because of her tears. The girl didn't even have time to take off her helmet before she was engulfed in the team's hug.

"You did it, girl!" Hugh lifted her into the air, celebrating the victory. It all went through her mind like a torpedo, but she remembers well when her country's anthem played, Y/N cried. She couldn't even explain how light she felt without the weight on her shoulders.Being the only woman among drivers in the top category of motorsport was heavier than she thought and winning was not a dream, it was an obligation.

She greeted the champagne shower as if it were a blessing, laughing as she doused the other riders. If it were possible, she would be exploding like fireworks.

Victory tasted sweet, and she got addicted.

After Melbourne, what was already tense got even worse. Y/N discovered what victory tasted like and Max wasn't about to let her taste it again. But what he didn't know was that his teammate was just as stubborn as he was and was willing to commit atrocities if it guaranteed her a podium finish — just like Max himself.

The races became increasingly fierce, the other teams instructed their drivers to stay away from the fight between Max and Y/N. The possibility of the two RBR drivers putting a third person in an accident was immense, and no one wanted to risk it.

"You" Christian pointed at S/N, watching the girl play with the zipper of her jumpsuit, as if she wasn't being reprimanded "don't tease, I know how much of a brat you can be when you want and you" he turned to Max "calm your nerves, you'll end up causing an accident, and no one here needs any more punishment"

The team leader scratched the back of his neck, all his efforts to convert the hatred between the two into anything but... Harmful, but nothing worked. Frustrated because neither of them seemed willing to give in, so if neither of them would make the first move, Christian would.

"You two are going to stay here until you sort it out, I don't care how, if you want to be treated like children, I will treat you like children" he scolded, putting his hands on his hips "You have plenty of time to sort things out and when you leave here, I expect you to respect each other, at the very least!"

Christian left the room, locking them in there, Y/N snorted, aware that Horner wasn't joking and the sound of the doorknob locking made that obvious. From her corner of the couch, she glanced sideways at Max, making a disgusted face, which he scoffed at.

"If we're here it's your fault" he said, pointing his finger in her direction, S/N frowned in confusion and stood up.

"My fault?! You're the idiot who thinks everyone has to give you back the position! Do you know how to lose a race without crying in the team's lap?!" She yelled back, stopping just a few steps away from him. Both of them radiated pure rage.

"I wouldn't need to ask for the positions back if you weren't a treacherous snake!"

"And you're a crybaby!" She said angrily and soon a wicked smile appeared on her face "You hate knowing that there's someone really competing with you, threatening your title"

Max scoffed, stepping away from her as he adjusted his hat. "As if you were enough competition to threaten me with, cutie."

“You wouldn’t be so mad if I wasn’t,” she retorted, balancing on his ankles, being petulant enough to prick Max’s short temper. “It’s okay to admit you’re afraid of me, Verstappen.”

“As if I would fear someone who still smells of milk”

Y/N laughed, leaning closer to him. “Should I be worried about your nose being so close to my neck?” He clicked his tongue again, increasing the level of mockery, making Max even more irritated.

“I would never get close to you, under any circumstances,” he replied, with nothing less than raw disgust in his voice and Y/N would never be able to explain why that was such a hard blow to her ego.

“As if you had any chance,” she said, composing herself with dignity.

“Anyway, fuck you, stay out of my way, girl,” he warned, pointing his index finger at her, “or I’ll throw you in the gravel.”

“Do that and I’ll be your worst nightmare, kid.”

The two went to opposite corners of the room, leaving the entire place filled with animosity. They remained in the office for almost two hours until the public relations manager took them out, scolding them because they were late for their interviews.

When Christian saw them leave the office, he couldn't tell if his attempts had yielded any results, but from the way they existed near each other, he was afraid. Whatever would come after this conversation, he had the entire team ready, whether it was for a fight or, maybe, the apocalypse.

Spielberg, 2023.

The Austrian GP was an important circuit for RBR and S/N was excited, she really wanted to win at the team's home ground, it would be an important victory and she wanted first place as much as she wanted oxygen, perhaps victory was more important.

Since Christian's intervention, instead of her and Max strengthening their rivalry, it seemed to increase, which was great for the fans, the races became more exciting and fun to watch, but for the team, the atmosphere was unbearable. The fear of an accident between the two happening was real and increasingly possible; and the race at Red Bull Ring gave an extra weight to the competitiveness of the RBR drivers,

"Keep your head cool, girl." Hugh ruffled her hair as Y/N sat in the cockpit, reading the information on the monitor. "Do your race, stay calm and everything will be fine, you have a good score in the drivers' championship, don't let your problems with Max get in the way of the race, It's important for the team"

"Relax Hugh, we'll win the race and increase the points gap with the second team"

"You're in second, so try to preserve your tires until the pitstop, our strategy will come into play after the first stop, understand?"

"Yep Hugh, I understand."

"In other words, no pointless fights with Max." He said, giving her a stern look, Y/N giggled and held up her crossed fingers. "Y/N..."

"I'll try, I promise"

The minutes until the start of the race were spent fine-tuning the details of the strategy, meditating and listening to encouragement from the family. And as always, the moments until she positioned herself on the grid passed as if she were on autopilot, without realizing where she was or what she was doing until her engines roared. It wasn't until the lights came on that Y/N blinked back to the real world and she smiled, gripping the sides of the steering wheel. She glanced quickly in the rearview mirror, seeing her purple helmet gleam in the faint light of the weak sun. The forecast was for rain for the second half of the circuit, which made her anxious, she loved racing in the rain just like one of her greatest examples in motorsport, Ayrton Senna.

When the lights went out, she let her instincts take over and her focus was on one thing, the highest place on the podium.

In the second half of the race, the rain fell like a torrent, nothing that S/N wasn't used to and with this new obstacle, she held on, trying to have a safe race, even though he was still competing for victory with his teammate. She stepped on the brakes several times, trying to avoid any collision and as they were entering the forty-fifth lap, exactly at the Schlossgold Curve, in a fierce dispute with Max, where she tried to overtake him when a collision with the two front wings made S/N spin on the track until she was pushed against the barrier. The shock was strong enough to make her hit her head against the steering wheel; S/N was disoriented for a few seconds and shook her head, but the act made her grunt in pain and hearing Hugh's desperate calls in the dot in her ear only made her more nervous. She didn't even know when she was pulled out of the cockpit or when she was taken to the circuit hospital, but she knew exactly the moment the rage exploded in her chest.

Max threw her off the track, in a dirty move, Max took her out of the race.

"I'm going to kill him," she said as the nurse bandaged her forehead. The poor nurse gave S/N's companion a frightened look, who signaled for her to ignore it. "He threw me off the track, mom, I hit the barrier!"

"Honey, don't worry about it, you're fine, luckily the accident wasn't more serious" she tried to calm her daughter down and asked the nurse to leave, which she did in a hurry.

The driver's time in the hospital was spent hurling abuse and homicidal thoughts at Max Verstappen. So it was no surprise when she arrived at the Red Bull garage screaming and swearing. She shook off Hugh's grip on her, marched straight to Max, and pressed her finger against his chest.

"You scream that I'm a treacherous snake, but you're the most dishonest son of a bitch that ever walked this fucking earth!" She yelled, seeing Max's eyes widen until he understood what was happening.

"What? Did you really think I was going to give you my position? Wake up girl."

"Are you an idiot? That was a clean maneuver, I didn't attack you to get thrown off the fucking track"

"You wouldn't have gone off the track if you were a good driver, or an honest one" Jos Verstappen interjected into the conversation, pulling Max away from it.

"Maybe it's time for you to rethink your career, this profession isn't for everyone, including cute and delicate little things like you" Max said, and that made something burn deep inside her before it completely faded away.

She licked her lips and pulled away, playing with the zipper of her jumpsuit, a habit she did whenever she was nervous, she took a deep breath and said "You know what? Fuck it, from today you died to me"

And with that, Y/N retreated to her room, feeling her whole body tremble, since she was four years old, she never questioned herself, She always knew that she would race in F1. This was always a certainty in her life and she had the unconditional support of her parents; thinking about anything else for her life never crossed her mind, Y/N knew she would be the first girl in the highest category of motorsport.

However, being discredited in that way, especially after an accident, shook her convictions.

And for the first time in many years, she cried in fear that she would not be able to do it anymore.

São Paulo, 2023

After Spielberg, things in the RBR pit changed drastically, Y/N didn't just avoid Max, she literally pretended he didn't exist, of course the Dutchman didn't take it seriously in the first few weeks, he thought Y/N was just making a fuss to get attention, but he realized things were serious when Hugh started relaying her decisions to him. Of course, the PR team did best to keep things away from the general public, It was necessary for the pilots to maintain good relations, even if just a little, for the good of the team.

She did what she promised and it was as if Max didn't even exist.

And shit, that really bothered Max, because Y/N looked past him, she never spoke to him again, she never stayed in the same place as him again, even the races had changed, Y/N hadn't lost the will to win, but something had really lost its essence.

It was Saturday, almost eleven o'clock at night when Max's discomfort about Y/N became unbearable.

He didn't know why, but it was boring, really bad not having someone to fight with, to make things more exciting. There was a piece missing and he knew where it was.

Y/N was the karma in his life, to torment him, to make his life hell, but fuck it, Y/N was still his karma and he would deal with her.

He put on his slippers and got the room key, he didn't need to ask, he knew which room she was staying in, Max crossed the hotel like a caged lion that had found freedom and it was with all that frantic energy that he almost broke down the door to her room.

Max hoped that this would get some reaction from his teammate, but Y/N opened the door and remained silent, looking at him standing in the hallway.

"You can't fucking ignore me forever!" He yelled, expecting her to retaliate, but Y/N just prepared to close the door, but Max stopped her. "Talk to me, damn it."

"Well, what do you want me to say?" She said, too calm, too soft, and Max didn't like it.

"Fight, scream, do anything, but don't ignore me"

She reached out, checking her cuticles, a clear sign of disinterest that increased Max's disgust, she couldn't act like that.

"I can't ignore what's dead to me," she said dryly, "was that all?"

Max swallowed the lump in his throat, her indifference made him uncomfortable in his own skin, it was impossible to deal with it calmly. He took a deep breath, letting the act clear his mind, he let all his arrogance and pride fall away and allowed himself to be vulnerable; Max admitted to himself that he missed her, Y/N was a constant in his life, chaotic, disturbing and restless, but a constant, he knew she would be there to stick his ass in the races, to take everything he had and without it, things would get monotonous.

But still, he wanted a reaction, he wanted the white-hot, overwhelming anger that was always in her.

"Yes! I want you to stop ignoring me, acting like I'm nothing in front of you."

"I don't care what you want, Verstappen," she said, crossing her arms. "I couldn't care less about your desires."

"You think that makes you better than me? You're always saying how arrogant I am and what do you think that swagger is? Niceness?"

Y/N gave an exhausted sigh and pulled Max into her room, because in a little while longer, he would be causing a ruckus in the hallway.

"Why is this important to you, Verstappen? Unfortunately for you and your father I didn't change careers, but to your delight, as your father once said...?" she paused, resting her index finger on her lips as she pretended to think, "Oh yes, a hindrance to your brilliant career."

"And you gave in? Did you accept it so easily?!" He exclaimed and she pressed her temples, already exhausted from that conversation, feeling her patience drain away very quickly.

"Do you have some personality problem? You have to! Why the hell are you so bothered by this, damn it?!" She finally screamed, stressed out by the whole thing.

"I don't like it! I hate that you're distant, damn it!" He took over, making her posture break, Y/N looked at him in surprise, what was Max talking about?"

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I hate you, I hate the fact that you are hard-working and intelligent, that you work on your strategies, the way you drive, the way you laugh" he spoke quickly, not giving her a chance to respond "I hate how you fill every space with your presence, I hate how nice you are to Charles, how you idolize Hamilton, I hate you for flirting with Lando because..."

Y/N's eyes were wide as she watched Max's monologue in his suite.

In return, Max found his breath — and the courage to finish what he had started, because hell, Y/N was more challenging than any race he had faced.

"Because I get jealous, I hate that they have your attention, I hate that they have any part of you while I have nothing"

Y/N rested her hands on her hips, absorbing Max's confession, God knows she never expected to hear that, not even in that circumstance.

"Fuck, that's something," she said, wanting to break the silence, seeing Max twist his fingers in pure nervousness. But nothing more was said for long minutes until she looked him in the eyes, peering into whatever he was trying to keep hidden. "Have you ever thought about talking about this in therapy?"

Max gasped, this was fucking not what he was expecting.

"Well, damn, that caught me off guard, you know?" She said, sitting on the bed. "That doesn't justify your shitty behavior towards me this whole year."

"I know, but you were a bitch to me too."

"And I ignored you"

"And I hated that shit, keep being a bitch to me, it's better than being treated like nothing"

"You deserved every second, you still do"

Max sat next to her, both of them staring at the huge black and white photograph of the capital of São Paulo.

"I'm sorry, you're a great driver, I never meant to make you doubt your potential and the sport would be a lot more boring without you in my rear view mirror" he said sincerely "You make a difference in racing and I wouldn't forgive myself if I ruined that... None of what I said was true, it was a bit of spite"

"You need to work on being forgiven... And if your father talks to me like that again, I'll throw my helmet at him."

"Okay, fair enough."

"And you need to learn to declare yourself, that was completely unromantic"

"Was that all you paid attention to?"

"And you're judging me for that?"

"Obviously, because I opened my heart here, "go fuck yourself, damn it"

"Why don't you come do it, you coward"

Before the two could process what was happening, Max and S/N were kissing, rolling around on the mattress. Grunts and curses were uttered in a confused manner and before long, the clothes were scattered around the suite and before long, the girl was riding the Dutchman, moaning insults as he bit her breasts and neck, leaving fingerprints on her hips, her thighs and ass. He swore in Dutch — and it made Y/N clench around him.

Maybe it was the euphoria, or the repressed feelings that led them both to orgasm in a violent way.

"Fuck," they said together.

The sky above her was so blue and bright it hurt to look at and behind her, Max was on her tail, nudging for any chance to retake the lead of the pack, but Y/N increased the gap, from four seconds to six. She knew he was cursing and that it would be harder to close the gap between them.

The fans screamed, fired up by the competition for first place, suddenly that fight, the anger had arisen again, making things interesting again.

"One more quarter of a lap and you'll win the race, firecracker." Hugh said into the headset, making Y/N laugh in excitement. "Things are in place again, that is great"

"I know you missed me, I missed you too," she admitted, changing gears at once, making the engine roar. "I love my job."

The podium featured Red Bull Racing twice and the last time anyone saw such a bright smile on S/N's face was in Melbourne, months before.

"You should make it easier sometimes" he said as they both waited for her anthem to start, Y/N giggled.

"As if you liked that," he retorted ironically and Max shrugged, yeah, he didn't.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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[denv2]

Hi~~ Today I've been drawing the cup brothers as I said before!

This is my first time drawing IM Cuphead and Mugman, and I like the way they turned out.

Below this is a chat about the feeling I was trying to get while drawing the two of them. I'll leave the text part out because it's going to be long if I turn on the translator. Last time I looked, the chat was so long that it took quite a while to scroll🤣

I drew Mug's eyes with a lopsided frown for a reason, because even though he has round eyes, I still wanted to give the impression that he's an adult, rather than something completely harmless. I love the idea of them being brothers with powers, and I wanted to keep that alive. He's obviously innocent and nice, but it's not like he's completely harmless, it's more like he has powers!

But I want to keep the round eyes, but that would make him look too innocent. Of course, Mug has a nice, innocent face, but that's not the mood I'm trying to create.

The original face I was trying to draw was something like that, next to the cup thinking intensely about something, making eye contact with the third party (us) on the other side of the screen and saying "Hi~" <something like that.

But it didn't work... Even though he's greeting innocently across the screen, it's not as harmless as it seems... There's an unclear aura that feel from the two brothers... < I wanted to intend something like this....

But this composition didn't work, so I just went with the feeling of two people talking to each other outside. A cup that is outside and thinking about boundaries + something and a mug that is lightly touching the back to tell such a cup to relax < With a feeling like this!

I talked a lot about mug lol actually... Cup just came out the first time I drew them and I liked the eyes so I didn't talk much about the process haha. I like him because he came out somehow cool and cool. Both brothers left the area for the eyes and eyebrow lines unpainted and I like that feeling, so I'll continue to draw them like this!

It's definitely long because I wrote it out like this... Thanks if you made it this far! I'll be drawing Alice and Holly next!

[tojisth3rdwife]

📺BuzzWord Celebrity Game: 10 for 10 with Gifted Curse!📺

Choso: "Hey guys, it’s Chosen here with Toji, Kuna, and Guru! Together, we make up Gifted Curse, and today we’re about to play '10 for 10' with BuzzWord! Let’s get it!" *points to camera*

Rules: Each member will take turns pulling tiny scrolls with questions from this fishbowl. The goal is to answer 10 questions in under 10 minutes. If they fail, they will have to pull a dare from the Dare Box. If they succeed, they get to pull a prize from the Prize Box.

Sukuna steps up to the bowl first.

Toji: "Age before beauty, right?"

Sukuna: *flips Toji off but his finger is blurred out*

Sukuna: “alright…If your band were a superhero team, what would each member's superpower be?”

Toji: "Oh, that’s easy!"

Suguru: *playfully shushes him* "Let’s hear it!"

Sukuna: "Well, Toji’s power would be him talking people to death. He’s good at that. Uhhh… Choso would be telepathic or have the ability to manipulate people's emotions. He’s probably the most intuitive person I know. And Guru?" *turns to Suguru, squinting thoughtfully* “A sharpshooter. Like Deadshot or Hawkeye”

Suguru: “why tho?” *chuckles*

Sukuna: “Because you don’t miss.” *mimes writing with a pen*

All: ooooh

Sukuna: *nods* “I know, I’m good at this!”

Suguru’s turn.

Suguru: “What’s the weirdest thing a fan has ever given you?”

Suguru: “Hmm… I mean, we get a lot of underwear when we’re on stage, but I can’t say that’s strange, right? Isn’t that just a given when you’re in a band?”

Toji: “it is..” *nods*

Choso: it happens

Suguru: “Yeah, so maybe that? I dunno..But I do remember one night at a show in Chicago. We’re in the middle of our set, and out of nowhere, the biggest pair of panties hits me in the face, bounces off, and ends up hanging off the pegs of my guitar. I didn’t notice until the song was over.”

Choso: “I remember that!” *laughs*

Suguru: ”uh huh…I still have em too. The fan signed them and wrote some very nice things. So… at least there wasn’t a bottom-heavy woman or man missing their panties that night. Plus they were clean so..I appreciated that.”

Toji: how you know?

Choso’s turn.

Choso: “What’s your go-to karaoke song when you’re not performing?”

Choso: “Aw man… I don’t really do karaoke.”

Suguru: “Never?”

Choso: “Nah. I didn’t get out much when I was just a regular person. But I do know a song that I’ll just bust out and sing randomly. Toji knows it too.”

Toji: *lifts his brows* “I do?”

Choso: “You do! Because we sing the parts. I don’t know who it’s by, but I know all the words because it played so much in the house I grew up in. It’s crazy.”

Suguru: “Well, what song is it? How does it go?”

Choso: “Aw man, I gotta sing it?”

Toji: “You might as well! You brought it up!”

Choso: “Dang… okay, um…*looks at ceiling as if hes trying to remember* ‘You're contagious… touch me, baby, give me what you got…’”

Toji: *starts grinding* “Seeexy lady, drive me crazy! Drive me wild!”

Choso: *also grinding* “See!? I told you you knew it!”

Suguru: what are yall even dancing to?

Sukuna: “Yall funny” *chuckles*

Toji’s turn.

Toji: “If you could be any mythical creature, which one would you choose and why?” *grunts and laughs to himself*

Toji: “Ooh, I know. What’s the thing where the upper body is a dude, and the bottom half is like a horse?”

Choso: “A centaur?”

Toji: *winks and points at Choso* “Yeah, that one. That’s me!”

Suguru: *smiles with a wrinkled nose* “Why?”

Toji: *looks at the camera and winks again*

Sukuna: *is the first to get it and busts out laughing, playfully shoving Toji’s shoulder* “Ughhh man.”

Toji: “Next question!” *winks for the third time*

Sukuna’s turn again.

Sukuna: “If you could have any animal as a band mascot, what would it be?”

Sukuna: “Toji.”

Choso and Suguru start laughing while Toji just smiles.

Toji: “I’ve just been catching strays all day… it’s cool.”

Sukuna: *laughing* “Because you just make it too easy.” *nudges Toji playfully*

Toji: “Uh-huh.”

Sukuna: “Aw, come on, man, don’t start pouting!”

Toji: “I’m not! It’s cool! Wouldn’t be the first time somebody accused me of being an animal.” *looks at the camera, smooches the air, and winks again*

Suguru: *looking at him incredulously* “What does that even mean?”

Sukuna: “ANYWAY.. Ummm… I think some type of bird would fit us. Like a bird of prey. Maybe a crow or a vulture… some dark *cuss*.”

Suguru: *claps* “Good answer… that’s a good answer..”

The timer goes off.

Toji: “Damn!”

Choso: “Wait, that was 10 minutes?! How?”

Sukuna: “Time flies when you’re talking *cusses*”

Suguru: *snaps his fingers*

Host behind the camera: “Okay, since you guys didn’t answer 10 questions, one of you has to choose a dare from the Dare Box.” *places box on table*

They play rock-paper-scissors, and Choso loses.

Choso: *walks up to the Dare Box with Toji slapping and rubbing his shoulders teasingly*

Toji: lets go champ. Daddy aint raise no punk

Choso: *makes a face and looks at Toji but shrugs off the comment* ok..i can do this. *hesitates*

Sukuna: today would be great

Choso: *puts his hand in the box, mixing the scraps of paper around before picking one*

Suguru rests his chin on Choso’s shoulder to see the dare while Toji leans over his other shoulder to do the same.

Choso: “Eat the hottest chip in the world and close the segment out… wait, hottest chip in the… NO!” *sees the producer handing him the viral spicy chip challenge in the coffin-shaped box*

Toji: *grimaces because its common knowledge that he hates spicy things*

Suguru: ooh ive seen that. That *cussing* is no joke.

Sukuna: *smirking*

Choso: “Oh god..oh god…im scared” *carefully opens the box and sniffs the chip, snorting* “WHEEEEW…”

Toji: “Ugh, I smell it too…HELL naw..ugh…” *swaps places with Sukuna*

Sukuna: man eat the chip!

Suguru: *snickering*

Choso: “Okay!… okay… I can do this. *picks up chip carefully, sniffs it again then gags* Oh *cuss*.. I'm from Tennessee. We eat hot *cuss* all the time. This is nothing..Just one chip.” *shrugs, then pops the chip into his mouth and starts chewing vigorously*

Choso: *pants and chews* “Ugh…”

Toji: *face stuck in a grimace*

Sukuna: *grinning with amusement*

Choso: *fighting for his life, tapping his fist on the table and chewing vigorously*

Choso: Agh! Its so bad..*cusses*

Suguru: “Nah, you’re supposed to be talking, fam— not gasping. Close us out…” *pats his back*

Choso: “Gaaah… ick.” *blinks, teary-eyed* “Okay. *LOUD CUSS*, sorry. Um… Gifted Curse new album dropping December 25th, so go to the link in our Instagram bio to presave it. Ugh, oh god… it gets worse when I talk… uh… show it lots of love. The Journey Documentary will be available to watch on Prime January 6th.. Be sure to like this video and subscribe to BuzzWord so you can see more videos like this. I am Chosen. We are Gifted Curse. I’m about to go drink some milk… good day…”

Choso walks off camera, and can be heard dying in the distance.

Suguru goes after him while Toji gives one last wink/peace combo to the camera before leaving.

Sukuna: *sniffing the hot chip box* “Can I try one too?”

✨Like. Comment. Subscribe✨

<🥀>

Click here to meet the band

[canmom]

proceduralism

continuing to read about TTRPGs (today has been a TTRPG blog reading sort of day)

if you read my RPG posts - well first, thanks!! I'm glad someone does x3 - but also you might notice that my reference pool of games is... kinda old, innit. story games like Apocalypse World, Burning Wheel, Microscope, Fiasco etc. on the one hand, the OSR milieu on the other, Chuubo's and other Jennagames on the third hand, D&D on the fourth - these games are all at least a decade old, they've spawned countless successors, etc. etc. I'm not with the times!!

partly that's because a lot of the more recent games I've looked at have seemed pretty derivative of paradigms that were established during the 2010s. there's a lot of PbtAs. a lot of lasers and feelings hacks. and often the first game made the most definitive statement. I have yet to find a PbtA game that reads half so strikingly as Apocalypse World itself.

when you've read enough RPG books it's easy enough to be like 'ok this is a dice pool game with some PbtA-style inter-player character creation dynamics' and just focus on some more nebulous question of like, whether the prose and prompts given are evocative at all, or if they have some cool new specific subsystem. there is a danger there of being too dismissive - maybe these familiar components bring out something new in synergy. I look at thirsty sword lesbians and wonder what the point of it is (I don't need a book to make my character a lesbian, and it seems a bit corny to make a book that's just telling you how gay you are over an otherwise standard fantasy scenario), but I ask someone who's actually played it and she explains it's essentially a vessel for IRL flirting. it didn't occur to me that a game could be that! suddenly it makes sense.

but like, I want to know what the next big paradigms are, now that the previous movements are kinda-sorta dead.

so what's the hot new thing? the next major paradigm?

one answer seems to be something called 'proceduralism'. i was vaguely aware of this trend from games like Blades in the Dark (also now quite old, published 2017) with a clear session structure - you use these rules in downtime and these rules while on the job, essentially making the 'loop' of the game more explicit. but I didn't have a name for it. now I do!

Prismatic Wasteland (I can't find any other name for this author, so I'll use the name of the blog) defines the difference between 'procedure' and 'rule' based on whether they 'provide the order of operation for a game and structure play', with most of them being loops. the D&D combat turn is a procedure. in Blades in the Dark, the whole session is a procedure. this provides a framework for other rules, like actions you can take, to fit into.

since I'm a programmer, I would describe this as essentially the state machine of the game.

you can cast the basic 'loop' of certain types of trad RPG (particularly, OSR games) as an implicit procedure - the post there goes into some detail about the parallels and differences between this and the more trad end of story games like AW.

as an example of a proceduralism-oriented design from the same author, we've got this frame for 'social combat', to provide a context and direction for roleplaying with a bit of dice rolling to make the outcome determined by dice rather than the GM's whim.

the prompt-writing duel system I wrote back in 2021 is in retrospect a "procedural" design for a specific scenario that might come up in a game. the game I was responding to, The King is Dead by the usual suspects (vincent and meguey baker), is essentially a collection of such scenario-specific minigames - they don't loop for the most part, but they still fit Prismatic's definition.

anyway, I'm not sure that's a new paradigm per se - a whole lot of what the story games were doing was playing around with procedures for things like scene framing and so forth. but, as with all things, having something to focus on inspires creativity.

(all RPG design is in a sense iterative - we're taking small hops around the space of all possible RPGs into unexplored corners, looking for what vibes. we might keep the setting and role of characters but change some of the procedures for how they act. or we might use a familiar framework on an unfamiliar scenario. whenever designers' and players' focus moves to messing with something new, particularly something I hadn't even realised we were taking for granted, I think it's interesting. this is an art form of constant evolution and reinvention - never let it settle!)

edit to add: another, more detailed explication of 'proceduralism'

[spankingwishes2]

No Longer in Hot Water

@agbbswts wrote:

"Hey! There you are. I've come up with a great idea to spare our water bill and also contribute to help the planet by saving energy. Every time before you wash, I will slipper your bare bottom long and hard so that you won't want to use hot water on your blistered buttocks. And with a bit of luck, you'll get used to taking cold showers, even in winter. Isn't that bright? Come on now, climb over my lap. Your ecologic duty starts today!"

***

She told me this in a light and cheerful tone but I knew she was serious - and that the coming spanking would be as well.  She’d drawn me a cold bath which I was in no hurry to get in, even in August.

“Just let me know when you want to get in that bath - and how very much you want to do so!” she chirped.  It wasn’t long until ‘I’m ready’ had turned into ‘Please!  Please!  Let me get in the bath now!’

She just laughed.  “The longer I take, the more the water is warming up a bit… but not like your bottom is!”  She’d said she wanted my bottom ‘blistered’ and she wasn’t kidding!

At last she let me up and I raced to dunk my burning cheeks in the cool water - it felt great! 

Of course, to avoid a repeat performance, I had to get in completely - which was a bit shocking!

“With a bit of luck you’ll get used to it,” she told me.  “Maybe not today.”

“You… we… are going to do this again?” I asked.  Clearly, she couldn’t do this every time!

“Oh, yes,” she mused.  “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…”

“How many times?!!” I asked with some alarm.

“Hmmm, seven, it think.  One week’s worth.  Baths or showers.”

“And are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Thursday getting ready for work, I discovered you had used up all the hot water - again.  I had to make do with cold.  Now you have to, too,” she complained.  I tried to sputter an apology.  “Save it,” she went on.  “I figure you’ve done this half-a-dozen-plus times… hence the seven spankings.”

It’s awful when I can’t argue with her.

“When you’re all clean, you can put your nose in the corner - or between my thighs,” she informed me.  I knew which one I’d choose - and not just because ‘in the corner’ would lead to more spanks when I wanted out.

****

Seven spankings gave her way to much time to think.  For my third spanking - a bath - she decided while I was in the tub that she wanted to spank my wet bottom when I got out.  “But I’m already sore!  You spanked really hard!”

“Yes, I did,” she acknowledged.

“You should have thought of this before you spanked me!” I complained.

“But I did, silly!  Slippering you on a wet, sore bottom - twice the fun!”

“Will this at least count as two of my spankings?”

“No,” was all she said.

***

Having spanked my sore, wet bottom, she decided that she’d like my remaining spankings on a sore bottom as well.  “To be fair, I’ll make you a deal.  I’ll spank you the night before with my hairbrush so you’re still sore in the morning.  Then, after your morning bath, I’ll dry your bottom with my slipper,” she ‘proposed’.

“No showers, then?”

"No, all baths… you’ll just have to get up earlier.  But!  I will count that as two spankings!” she offered.  I really had no choice but to accept in any case.  “I’ll keep the other two baths - or showers - ‘in reserve’, in case I need them sometime,” she explained.  “Maybe even without a spanking.

“And!  I’ll give you a day off between - I mean, your bottom can only get so sore, right?”

I was glad to hear that, at least - I was ready to take a hot shower again!

***

In the end, her plan cured me of using up all the hot water - especially since she said the next offense would result in a similar week of discipline.  That wasn’t quite all of the spankings I got.  The first was not my fault at all - I got the strap standing in a cold bath...

...before we figured out that all the hot water had gone to the washing machine, which she had run just before showering.  Once we’d discovered the mistake, I did benefit from several very generous apologies that she made on her knees.

The second I did truly earn and the aftermath was even a bit more elaborate when I started the dishwasher while she was in the shower - with a full head of shampoo.  It was a bit of a shock, she says, and left her with no alternative than to continue.  She saw to it that I was very well spanked and then had me spend the week ‘apologizing’ on demand, only to be sent for a cold shower after each - with no reciprocation whatsoever!  Another mistake I haven’t repeated.

And, in there somewhere, was another one - again, one I earned.  It must have been when the water bill arrived.

“Nope,” I could resist telling her, “No lower.”

“What isn’t?  The water bill?” she asked.

“We used just the same amount of water.  It’s the natural gas for the water-heater that you must have been thinking we’d save money on,” I smirked.

“You brat,” she said, swatting at my bottom as I walked past.

And then that evening she gave me an 'exemplary' slippering.