#I’ll get a better name for it at some point

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Lifelines

——-

Part one here

——-

Tommy leads them up to the front door, shifting her up onto his shoulder, holds her in one arm, hand cradling her head while he opens the door. She snuffles reaching out in sleepy blindness. He tilts his head towards her, presses a kiss to her forehead. Her little hand grasps around until she finds the shell of his ear and settles immediately.

“She’s cute.”

“Ava, her name is Ava.”

He glances up the stairs, normally he would put her down. The one blessing in all of this is that Ava is as big a fan of sleeping as Tommy. He doesn’t want to put her down now, instead he picks the small blanket off the back of the sofa and tucks it around her. He sits down and immediately remembers he’s supposed to be making coffee. He sighs and goes to get up again, but Chimney is quicker.

“Kitchen in there?” He asks, pointing out of the door and down the hall.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to, I can-“ he is cut off by a wave of Chimney’s hand.

“Sit down man, I remember what this bit is like, I’ll make the coffee.”

——-

“My sister died. Her husband too. A car wreck.”

Chimney winces. He knew that it wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like anything close to enough.

Tommy scrubs his face with his free hand.

“I don’t how to do this Howie.” Tommy swallows around the lump in his throat. The admission that had been swirling in his mind for the last two months, finally said out loud.

Chimney makes a sympathetic sound.

“I was taking her to this group but- it’s stupid, everyone thinks I’m her dad, and when I tell them I’m just her Uncle they- they look at me differently. Like I’m not part of their club, like-” he hears his voice crack, he closes his eyes and forces himself to take a breath.

“I haven’t gone the last couple of weeks.”

“Something happened?”

“One of the mums, she didn’t mean to, she was just trying to make conversation.” He chews on his lip. “She asked what Ava’s parents do for work.”

Chimney blows out a breath.

“And I just couldn’t, I couldn’t speak. I felt like she’d just punched me in the face.” He laughs humourlessly. “I’d probably have felt better if she had. I haven’t gone back. I can’t even think about it because-” the edge of his vision begins to blur. “Because if I think about it then- I’ll never be her parent. W-what if I can’t do it? What if I just drag her down with me and-“ A tear slips free, he’s hyper aware of it as it tracks down his cheek.

Chimney shifts on the couch, puts his hand on Tommy’s knee.

“I know. When Kevin died, it felt like I was falling. All the time.” Chimney ducks his head. “He’d been there my whole life, and then he just wasn’t. So I get it.” He looks up, meeting Tommy’s gaze. “But if there’s one thing I’ve always known about you, it’s that you come through. It’s doesn’t matter what it is, you show up. That’s all she needs. She just needs someone who is going to show up for her, that’s enough.”

Tommy takes a shaky breath, the doubt clear on his face.

“She’s so little. I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever explain to her what happened. That I’m not who she thinks I am.”

“I mean it, you are enough. And if you need some help then that’s not you failing, Tommy. An 8 month old by yourself is no picnic, I would know.”

“I don’t-“ he swallows harshly. “I don’t want to put you in that position.”

“In what position? Helping out a friend?”

“You know what I mean.”

Chimney sighs.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But if you think he wouldn’t be twice as mad about me knowing and not helping then-” he stops short. It hangs between them.

“What happened? You guys seemed so good and the next thing I know I’m drowning in poppy seed loaf.”

Tommy shoots him a quizzical look.

“He’s dealing with it by baking. A lot. Honestly it’s getting to be an issue.”

“He asked me to move in with him.”

Chimney does a great job of not spitting out the sip of coffee he was taking.

“He did what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, oh my god, that’s so Buck of him. All in, all the time.”

Tommy chuckles, but the humour quickly drains.

“It scared the shit out of me. I’ve done this before and it doesn’t matter how much I l-” he cuts himself off. “I’m not the guy people end up with.”

“So you ran?”

“Haven’t you heard Howie? Running is the only thing I’m really good at.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You’re pretty nifty with a helicopter.”

Tommy smiles, but it’s tight.

“I was going to call, I was and then-” he clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.” He turns his head, resting his cheek against Ava’s.

“If your biggest problem was that you cared about him so much that it gave you the jitters, then I think it very much does matter.”

Tommy shakes his head minutely.

“What am I supposed to say? You went too fast and scared me, I need to be able to slow down and make sure we’re doing this right. Oh and by the way I have a child now.” Chimney rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Well you could take the sarcasm down a notch and give him some credit.” There’s the slightest tinge of sharpness to Chimney’s voice. His phone chimes and he glances down at the screen.

“I’ve got to go, just- just call him. Tell him what you told me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t just let go of something like this.” He stands, picking up the mugs from the coffee table and taking them into the kitchen. For a moment Tommy thinks he might just leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he crouches down next to the couch, gives Tommy a soft look.

“I meant it, when I said I would help. I’ll come by next week, we can go for a walk or something - or I can take her and give you a break. Whatever you need.”

Tommy feels his heart clench inside his chest.

“Yeah, okay. That would be good.”

“Great.”

Chimney heads to the door, just before he closes it he yells back into the house.

“Call him!”

The door clicks shut and Tommy feels like his entire body turns into jelly. An indeterminate amount of time later he forces himself up off the couch, takes Ava upstairs and gently lays her down in her crib. He pulls out his phone and finds the contact.

He takes a deep breath and presses the call button.

——-

[Read on A03]

Winner of the name! that! baby! event is the lovely @rubydaiquiri 🥳🥳🥳 Ava stole my heart! Thank you to everyone who gave me suggestions and the feedback on the first part blew me away, you are all truly amazing 🫶🏻

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed);

@leashybebes @beanarie @partofthelouniverse @big-urchin-energy @loucifersbitch @fyrehose @evansbuck-ley @sad-girl-hours23 @certifiedbisexualdisaster @theweewooshow @beckym2001 @kinardevans @bidisasterevankinard

@sweaters-and-silly @apassingbird @sunnywithachanceofbi @theotherbuckley @desert--moonchild @comfortingevanbuckley @livelaughlou @typicalopposite @wikiangela @bi-bi-buckleys @littlepaws9 @ohithankyou

@agentpeggycartering @sherlockismarvelous9-1-1 @adiprose @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @honeyloulou @tommykinard @casismybestfriend @owlgirl495 @hellion-child @3min17sec @sherlocking-out-loud @o0anapher0o @sorryimlatecapt

@buffaluff @hipsterdarcy @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @that-one-dudette @aringofsalt @cliophilyra @bisexualmadney @reginamillls @zeraparker @harmonic-intervention

[princesssukunalover]

Partition

Nanami Kento realises his grave mistake of pushing his wife away. He'll do anything and everything to get her back.

Part 1

CW: Nanami lowkey being miserable, angst, mentions of divorce.

Part 2 of 5

wc: 1051

It starts off with remorseful gifts at your door and it's obvious who they are from. You refuse to even acknowledge your ex husband’s futile efforts to apologise. And after 2 weeks, when the entry to your apartment becomes cluttered with flowers in colours that you don’t even like, chocolates so full of sugar that you wouldn’t even lick them and cards that you don’t bother to open, you finally decide that you’ve had enough. You’ve had enough of Nanami’s weak attempts to win you back. Surely, 6 months ago you would have been gratified to even receive a single rose, picked from a bush on his way home from work, or any gesture that made you feel valued. But it took you less than a year until you asked yourself, ‘If he could not speak, would you still love him for his actions?’ And it took you less than a minute to realise that there were simply no actions that Nanami had done during your union that could prove that he truly loves his wife.

-

As Nanami is about to enter Jujutsu High for an important meeting, he is stopped by the abrupt buzzing of his phone. “I’ll be inside in 5 minutes.” He tells Gojo, who waves him off and goes inside the building, leaving the tall blonde alone. His heart stops for a moment, staring at his phone as your name appears on the screen. He answers it way too quickly. Nanami doesn’t speak. He waits to hear the sweet voice that he’s missed for these past few months. “Kento..” You start. He responds, calling your name. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.” He tells you. “And I wanted to keep it that way, Kento.” You sigh, causing his heart to drop in sorrow. He tries to talk but you cut him off. “Stop sending me these gifts. I want nothing to do with you.” You tell your ex husband. “I’m sorry.” Is all that Nanami can utter. “I mean seriously, did you think that some cheap chocolate, a waste of paper and roses that die in 3 days can undo the feeling of being neglected by the person you love most?” You question. “Is that all you think I am worth?!” You accuse him, starting to get angry and even a little embarrassed. Nanami answers quickly.

“No.. I know that wasn’t enough and I would never think that it’s all you were worth. You are worth everything to me. And I really never showed you how much I love you. I promise I won’t let it happen again-” You cut him off. “Kento, just stop. There’s no ‘again’. There’s no salvaging this. It’s over. You treated me like shit for most of our marriage, and now that you're gone, I’m doing better, Kento. I have a life now. I have a career.” You begin to explain how much your life has improved since the divorce, which he painfully listens to, the hole in his heart widening with each sentence. “It’s over.. Nanami.” You repeat before the call ends. Your ice cold tone haunts him; not because of the cruel manner that you’re speaking to him; not because you don’t bother address him by his first name; but it’s because in his soul, he knows that at some point in your marriage, he spoke to you in such a manner, and in his soul, there remains nothing but guilt and self hatred, for allowing him to lose the love of his life. 

-

Life for Nanami resumes after one or two months. His mansion that was once littered with empty takeout boxes is now looking cleaner these days. He’s built up a routine that distracts him from the sorrows of life. He spends his evenings alone, cooking meals that lack love and warmth, but it keeps him fed and alive, so he doesn’t give a damn. He spends his mornings working out on the floor of his cold living room, the same living room where you would make love together in the early start of your relationship. He ignores the pain in his muscles as he abuses them with every added kilogram of weight. It’s incomparable to the pain which he feels when he takes a glimpse of the wedding photos on his fridge that he refuses to get rid of. His friends wonder if he is some kind of masochist, who needs a constant reminder of the mistakes that he has made.

Every once in a while, Kento will go to a diner and treat himself to a warm and thoughtful meal. It’s one of the small ways that he can commit an act of self-love without feeling undeserving of it. Quickly, that self-love rots into self-hate as he looks up from his plate on a random Friday evening. His heart genuinely drops when he sees you walk through the door, all dolled up. Weeks of progress are undone in 10 short seconds as he scans your body from head to toe. It all comes flashing back. He remembers everything. He remembers the way he’d fuck you senselessly against the counter, against the dining table, on his bed, on his couch. He remembers the way he’d wake up next to you, watching how beautiful you looked in your sleep. And he remembers what he lost. And it is at that same moment that he remembers Gojo’s words, which echo in his mind. He needs to win you back. He’s going to win you back. 

Kento watches deliberately. It would seem that you’re on some kind of date. He wonders how many dates you’ve been on since the divorce. And although it’s not completely unexpected to him that you’re beginning to date again, he admits that it’s quicker than he would’ve wanted. You don’t notice your stoic ex-husband at first, as you greet the man that you’re meeting with, who kindly gives you a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which you are too sweet to admit, gives you some form of PTSD. After your first glass of wine, you finally notice that somebody is staring intently in your direction. As you squint your eyes to get a better look across the room, you’re met with a smirk, coming from your handsome ex-husband. Your chest feels hollow.

Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated <3 This chapter is just some plot..

[lale-txt]

LALECHINGO!! ; a birthday event

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ it’s bingo! and also a raffle.

let’s party!! one thing about me is that is love a little event and since it’s my birthday month i felt like hosting one :3c

so: raffle time! but you gotta play some bingo first before you can participate. lemme give you a rundown on how it works.

what's the prize?

✰ a total of three 1k (or longer) fics from me! i don’t take requests so this is a rare chance to see something specific written by me ✰ the 3 winners will receive a wishlist form from me in which they can go wild ✰ haikyuu x reader only! gender of reader is for the winners to decide, i’ll write for all of them. ✰ not limited to sfw only (that being said: mdni)

details & rules (it looks like a lot, but i promise it's easy)

✰ to participate in the raffle, you gotta fill out the bingo cards! there’s ten of them in total at the end of this post. some are writing prompts, some are for reading, some to spread some kindness. you can grab and combine any that catch your interest.

✰ 1 bingo equals 1 point. if you manage to fill out an entire card, you’ll get 10 points, so 10x your name in the draw pot for the raffle. this means you can get up to 100 points in total if you fill out all ten cards completely.

✰ it’s not first come, first serve! you got two weeks to have fun with your bingo cards.

✰ this event is mostly about making fandom a little better for everyone, whether you’re a writer or a reader, no matter how you participate in it. this means you don’t have to show me proofs how you got these bingos. putting my trust in you that you won’t cheat <3

✰ since the prizes are gonna be fics by me, i would feel better knowing you actually like my works enough to follow me. however, it’s not a must to be a follower to participate. again, it’s more about fandom than me.

✰ writers picking up the writing prompts: it up to you how you use them! can be drabbles or headcanons, small fics, big fics, moodboards, not limited to haikyuu only. really whatever sparks your inspiration. you don’t even have to publish it or tag me in it (though i’d love to see ofc hehe), this is for YOU and your inspiration.

✰ do NOT bring any ai into this. i'll rip you to shreds

✰ once you’re finished, either reblog this post with your bingo cards or send me an ask with them (i won’t publish them, just for me to keep track)

✰ i’ll draw & announce the three winners on Jan 27th and will contact them through dms for their wishlist :3

card 1-6 ; for the writers

card 7 & 8 ; for the readers

card 9 & 10 ; for the kindness

that's all! have fun ♡ - Lale

[nmakii]

strayed from the main idea of this drabble… oops.

sae itoshi, who loves calling his girl ‘amorcita’. that’s fine, and all. it’s romantic, but he likes calling you his princess much more.

princess is more than just a pet name to him though. because to him, you’re truly a princess, graceful and beautiful despite your faults; someone who deserves to be given the world. he’d go to the ends of the earth to find something that doesn’t exist if you asked him to find it.

it’s not much of an exaggeration when you say that he’s down bad.

he is— he’s just very good at hiding it. he doesn’t boast about you loudly in the ways that someone like that devil— shidou— might, but he instead manages to offhandedly relate any conversation topic to you.

oddly enough, the only other time sae’s ever as talkative or passionate about something other than football, is when he’s talking about you.

that additional time where aiku asked shidou why he was making funny faces in the locker room? after that, sae mentioned, “my princess makes weird faces too. when she’s sleeping, her cheek is always pressed up to me, and it leaves a red mark in the morning. and, she can never manage to keep her mouth closed when she’s asleep. once, i was able to feed her while she was asleep.” and he sighed, silently smiling at the funny memory.

in his first interview after going public with you as his girlfriend, he immediately jumped at the opportunity to mention you. he had always thought that these interviews were an unnecessary hassle. he’s a good football player, and he’ll let his work speak for itself. “right! soo… sae, how are you adjusting to your new team?” the interviewer asks. sae thinks for a moment, his lower lip raising in a slight pout as he thinks of how to answer. “…the center forward has incredible dribbling skills, i’ll admit that. but, his shot range and goal chance percentage are awful. the rate at which he can score goals is still lukewarm.” he sighs disappointedly, “the best striker in the world seems to have not had his awakening yet. it’s annoying, but the city isn’t so bad. there’s a french bakery near my apartment that my princess and i like to frequent. she loves those flaky croissants with chocolate in them— pain au chocolat, but i tend to just get their house black coffee.” he’s recalling your typical order as if it’s the back of his hand, and the flow of his speech is much more relaxed than when he had been speaking about his new team.

and at this point, the interviewer is confused. “pardon… your ‘princess’?” he repeats, trying to confirm what he heard. sae nods, “yes, my princess; my girlfriend. she really likes those chocolate croissants. she eats about a fourth of it in just one bite. and when some hot chocolate from the inside burns her on the lip, she complains a bit and asks me to kiss it better. it’s really cheesy on her part, but i guess i don’t mind if it’s for her.” even sae doesn’t know just what he’s saying. he didn’t mean to reveal this much about how he feels. …yet, here he was, going on like a pining gentleman in love, and remembering how the softness of your lips felt against his as the piping hot chocolate pressed and stuck onto his lips as well.

in his eyes, you’re as close to perfection as there ever will be. it didn’t matter whether or not your physical appearance changed, or if you suddenly decided to change your career path— as long as you stayed as who you are, he’d be at your side.

and to be worthy of such a perfect human being; his princess. he has to become a king— a king of the field. one who domineers the field with his spatial awareness alone, and passes to the one who can keep up with his vision; the greatest egoist. that’s who he needs to become in order to earn your love; to become worthy of being the one that gets to love you every day and every night.

but even so, it’d still never be enough for him. you always make him want to push his limits further, and show you just how amazing he is.

sae’s really down bad for his princess.

[bitethedevil]

Hiii!! Recently fell hard for Raphael and super appreciate your master list!! I've been feasting on it and feeling inspired by the lore and the headcanons.

Not sure if this has been asked before, I was wondering what's your take on the effects of the crown on Raphael's alignment/character/personality?

We see that the crown turns Gale into God of ambition and frankly for me all the human part I adore about him are gone. Or similarly Ascended Astarion behaves very differently from before he obtained such power. Power corrupts mortals seem to be a common theme in the game.

But what would it do to Raphael? How different would Archdevil Supreme Raphael be from the Raphael we see? Would he just simply be more powerful like the netherbrain? Or would he be somewhat impacted as well since he's half mortal?

By following the logic of the other people who have ascended in the game or grasped for power, it’s true that it corrupts, and I think that it to some extent magnifies their bad traits (like with Astarion) or twist their good traits into negative ones (like with God Gale’s ambition).

I think in the case of Raphael, it would be his self-centeredness that would get blown up to twice it’s size and I think that would ultimately be his downfall. Raphael is a devil, he’s Lawful Evil, he strives for order. We’ve heard it all before and I have talked a lot about it in my analyses posts.

I think that Raphael’s problem is that he has his own definition of order where the other devils of the Hells needs to have a sort of common idea of order for their society and hierarchy to work. The plaques around the HoH describe his order pretty well (though there is nothing orderly about the HoH besides the fact that Raphael makes all the rules). He will most likely attempt to apply that to the rest of the Hells and I’ll give it exactly five minutes before the other devils aren’t having it.

Raphael is good at ‘deviling’. He would not be alive for that long if he wasn’t playing the game well. Give him too much power though and I have a feeling that he would like to rewrite the rules in the name of bettering the Hells to stroke his own ego more.

He’s calculated, cunning, all of that, but I think it’s a bit like introducing a starving kid to a candy store. What he has always envisioned for himself will suddenly be in his hands, and that power-fantasy version of himself will be proven in his mind to be true. He will be insufferable.

“It's the fatal flaw of mortalkind. Take away their free will, and they call you a tyrant. Allow them to indulge it, and they become tyrants.”

I don’t think Raphael himself is the exception to that statement even though he is totally NOT a mortal!  I think him getting the Crown of Karsus will only prove just how mortal he is. A True Devil knows that even though there’s a lot of cruelty, backstabbing, and politics, the whole point is, and will always be, winning the Blood War. Raphael knows that too now, but I think that’s sort of out the window the second he gets any power in the Hells. Then it all becomes about him. It is ironically very human of him. He will feed the part of him that disgusts him the most and because of his self-centeredness, he probably won’t even notice it.

These are my thoughts about it anyway.

(Very interesting question. Thank you for the ask! <3)

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

♡ AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF THINGS I LOVE ABOUT EDWIN PAYNE ♡

We were introduced to Edwin by watching him use a magic spell. He utterly destroys a cursed object to save his partner between cunty little jabs while they were running for their (after)lives. If that wasn’t enough to make me completely unwell about him, he then had this very soft, tender moment while he and Charles were clinging to the wall outside their office, hiding from death. He reassures Charles they will never ever be separated from each other because he will not let it happen. I’m sorry what?? He’s gorgeous?? He’s magical?? He’s a bitch?? He’s a lover?? You’re telling me he did that all in five minutes and you were expecting me NOT to be utterly unhinged about him??

Ahem. Okay. Now let’s go into some other things I really love about Edwin (I’ll try to go in chronological order, but no promises here):

Episode 1: Honestly I was completely gone on Edwin in episode one. What do you MEAN he's promising his boyfriend best friend that death will never ever do them part before the intro even crosses the screen? But even after that, he just kept getting better. He stuck his hand through iron bars because he wanted attention. He does ultimately go to Port Townsend, but he's constantly making cunty little remarks while they're on the case because he is not. Happy. To. Be. There. (Or happy to be sharing is bff of 30 years- we find out he is dealing with some deeper trauma in the alley shortly after). He has a flair for the dramatic. He totally turns the idea of the reserved, buttoned up Edwardian upside down- he has opinions on everything from the name of their agency to witches and he will share them. He has a lot to say (he just talks around some of the most important details, as we find out later).

Then the IT'S A LARK TO YOU MONOLOGUE? Yeah sorry I was on the floor at that point.

Episode 2: Some of my favorite parts of this episode were seeing Edwin do what he does best- which is use his knowledge to get the agency out of a jam. Of course he's brilliant enough to read ancient Aramaic (I have to know, does "knowing" a language to him mean mastering it? Because he seemed pretty capable of reading the inscription.) I also loved how he subtly defended Charles. Charles absolutely lobbed that vase at the skeletons in the dandelion field to protect him, but he later softens the story and says Charles simply "dropped" it. Then he further smooths things over by celebrating Charles' idea to use the jar as a new vase. As much as some may claim he's not people smart, I would argue he is- he simply prefers to leave that bit to Charles.

Episode 3: Edwin and Crystal both working together to work the VHS was a prime comedic moment in some ways (he was born too early, of course, and she was born after the VHS was popular), but it was also sweet to see the two share a moment of mutual acknowledgement for one another's skills at the end. You also realize although he may be worried about losing Charles to Crystal, Edwin is genuinely alarmed when they encounter a misery wraith and tries his best to walk her through evading it (and luckily, neither of them suffer the wraith).

Episode 4: Edwin daydreaming about Charles lives rent free in my brain ♡ (as do the starfish, not to worry) I could talk about many moments, but I'm going to talk about the cliff moment because it is so :)) misunderstood :)))) Something I love about Edwin is he is very, very attentive to Charles. In episode 2 Charles doesn't want to talk about Dads anymore- so they don't. In episode three Charles has clearly been crying and clearly been talking to Crystal about it, but he doesn't want to keep talking when Edwin comes in- so once again, they don't talk. But there are many things Edwin does notice about Charles. He's usually a cheerful guy, and he's hard to rattle. He usually only fights when provoked. He likes physical touch, and he often pats Edwin on the shoulder for reassurance. Could Edwin have worded his concern differently? Sure. Do I think it would have mattered after Charles just relived the worst moments of his life? I am unsure. I think that he tried to show concern, was the only once who approached Charles after all that, and tried to offer his preferred form of comfort, speaks volumes about how observant he is. He's a great detective.

Episode 5: I love that we see Edwin practicing necromancy. This is a moment that is so underrated and I just want to point out that summoning a spirit that is unsettled or not at rest to talk to you is an old, archaic form of magic that takes a lot of skill. People who are interested in seeing Edwin do more magic can consider looking to this scene for some dark, eerie inspiration . We also got some very quotable quotes: "There's a... fuzzy lizard motioning?" "What is a hand job?" "We should follow up with this Molly character."

THE!!!! HUG!!!!!! HE!!! CRAVES!!! THE!!! HUG!!!!!!!!!

Episode 6: BOYFRIEND SWEATER!!!! HE WAS GOING TO TRY AND GET A BOYFRIEND!!! WITH THE LITTLE SWEATER!!!! HE DRESSED UP!!!!!!!! JUST!!! FOR!!! HIM!!!!! I- AAAAHHHHHHH!!! Look that's probably genuinely my favorite part of the episode, but I also really enjoyed seeing that Edwin had a little on the go potion kit full of glitter and magic? I want one?? That was oddly enchanting? And is there anything more "to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die" than holding hands with your crush as you get pulled into oblivion by a giant teeth face mushroom? I think not. I would love to know what he was going to say to Charles.

Episode 7: He confessed to him on the steps to Hell and he is a pretty crier and I could type a whole post about this all by itself but this is getting really fucking long I am so sorry okay actually the fact that he was like you don't need to feel the same I just need you to know and then Charles was like "well we'll figure it out" and he was like I KNEW IT HE DOES NOT FEEL THE SAME is so. Edwin. BABE. What is going on in there. Please explain. You are so smart but so... PLEASE???

Episode 8:

He looks really pretty screaming on a table Also he tried to shake hands with the night nurse even though she hates them oh. My heart. Then that little giggle and squiggle in the chair when Charles was half-flirting with him I am crying they were taken too soon.

In conclusion: EDWIN PAYNE, LOVE OF MY AFTERLIFE EVERYONE

I AM SO UNWELL (I don't think I will ever be well again)

[fairy-princette]

i gave your name as my emergency phone call

AO3 link | 1 2 3 4 (you are here) 5 6

Stan receives a postcard from his twin brother - who he's not seen in a decade - asking for his help. But like with everything else in his life, he runs into some trouble on his way there

4. i’ll let the pain metastasize

Ford awoke with a groan to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes he looked into the - surprisingly clean - kitchen and saw Fiddleford puttering about. He called out to his old friend to untie him. Or rather, he tried to. His efforts were rather impeded by what felt like a large piece of tape covering his mouth.

“Mmmm, mmmm!”

“Oh, Stanford! You’re awake!” Fiddleford walked over to him and leant down to peer carefully into his eyes. “Good to have you back. Now, this might hurt.”

Before Ford had a chance to prepare himself the tape was ripped from his face and he found himself wishing he’d put more care into shaving the last few days as he felt more than one piece of hair get pulled out with it.

“Did anything-” Ford coughed to clear his throat. “Did anything noteworthy happen during the night? Why was my mouth taped? Why is my throat sore?”

“As far as I’m aware, there was nothing eventful. Bill was mouthin’ off at Stan and apparently he decided this was the best solution. From how he’s telling it Cipher spent most of the night screaming through the tape until he got bored. Stanley’s still asleep upstairs - he was up most of the night watching over you.”Ford nodded in understanding as Fiddleford finished untying the last of his bindings, and followed him through to the kitchen, picking his glasses up off the table.

“You cleaned?”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford looked up from where he was pouring a mug of coffee. “Oh no, it was like this when I came down, must’ve been Stanley. Here.” Ford took the proffered mug. “That should help your throat some. I’d do you some proper honey and lemon but you’re out of, well, everything.”

Ford tried to remember the last time he’d been grocery shopping, but between hiding the journals, fighting off Bill and decommissioning the portal he hadn’t had much time left for the usual mundanities of life. “I might have some canned stuff left in the cupboard?” he offered.

“I saw. There was more snow last night so I didn’t want to risk the roads so soon, so I’ve done us a breakfast of ramen and canned peaches.”

The two of them pulled the same face at the thought of the meal.

“After all this is done I’m going to invent a nutrient powder. Then you could add it to water, or maybe have it in a pill, and have a whole meal and I never have to go to grocery shopping again.”

“Couldn’t be any worse than your usual cooking.”“Hey, I’ll have you know I’ve not burned a single meal in weeks!”“And how many meals have you actually cooked in that time?”

“…”

“My point stands. Now drink up, buttercup, neither of us deserve to have to deal with you uncaffeinated.” The ceiling above them creaked. “Speaking of, sounds like sleeping beauty’s up. How’s he take his coffee?”

Ford paused. “I’m not sure - he used to take it with creamer and two sugars, but that information isn’t exactly up to date. You would be better off asking him.”

He stared down into his own black coffee. He and Stan used to be inseparable, living out of each other’s pockets. They were completely in sync, didn't even need to speak to talk to each other, and now he didn’t even know how he took his coffee int he morning. It was strange seeing him again. He’d been so angry at his twin for so long, nursing his resentment and contempt from him, but now that he was back he just missed him. He hadn’t missed Stanley for ten years, but now he was here, in his home, and somehow he felt further away than he ever had before. Like the emotional distance between them had been obscured by the physical. Last night Stanley had been within arms reach of him and he hadn’t known a single thing to say. Not even how to say hello. How do you go about greeting your estranged twin brother who you haven’t seen in a decade who tried to destroy your life? Where do you even start with that?

Ford was pulled from his thoughts by the thuds of Stanley’s boots as he descended the stairs.

“Morning,” Stanley crossed the kitchen, clapping Ford on the shoulder. “Ford, good to see that fucker’s pissed off. Fiddleford, is that coffee?”

“A fresh pot,” Fiddleford poured out a mug handing it to Stanley.

Stanley took the mug gratefully and sat opposite Ford, grabbing the small amount of creamer and sugar left and pouring them into his coffee. Maybe there were some things that never changed.

———

After their questionable breakfast and second round of coffee the three men sat around the table discussing the best way to destroy the portal. The portal itself was simple enough to destroy, the sticking point was what to do about the journals. Now that Stan didn’t have access to his El Diablo, not to mention the fact that they were still in the middle of a snowstorm, Ford’s so-called plan for him to take the journal and drive off with it across the country with it had gone out the window. Not that there was any world where Stan would finally see his brother again, just to up and leave again. They had been talking in circles for close to an hour, with each suggestion getting more and more outlandish as more and more got shot down.

Stan sighed, running his hand through his hair. God he needed it cut. “I just don’t get why you won’t destroy the journals.” He held his hand up before Ford could interrupt him. “I know, I know, it’s years of work, but if this portal’s as dangerous as you say, is your research really more important than the safety of the entire world?”

Ford let out a huff, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. “Of course you would suggest that. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you would have actually had to do something with your life to know what I’m losing.”

“Ford! That was uncalled for!”

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose something? I don’t, Ford?” Stan yelled, barely noticing that Fiddleford had spoken. “You don’t know anything about my life, or anything I’ve been through!”

“Oh please, we all saw your tv adverts, you were doing just fine out there scamming innocent people. Did you even try to get an honest job or do anything worthwhile?”

“Get an- I didn’t even get to finish high school!” Stan’s chair screeched across the floorboards, toppling over from the force of him standing. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s not exactly a queue of people lining up to hire some homeless seventeen year old drop-out who lives in their car. It might not seem like it to you with your house and your job and your university degree, but me being here right now? Being able to find somewhere to sleep, having enough money to eat every day, having clothes on my back, keeping myself alive? That’s the worthwhile thing I’ve done. And yeah, maybe nobody else would give a flying fuck that I managed it - actually I can think of a few who’d rather I didn’t - but I care, so don’t you be sitting there in your ivory tower, all high and mighty! I might’ve made a stupid mistake when I was a kid but I have paid for it and then some. The literal entire world is on the line and you’re too selfish to destroy a few notebooks.”

Stan was breathing heavily as he stormed across the kitchen to the front door.

“They’re not just notebooks, it’s my life’s work!”

Stan spun back round to face his twin. “For God’s sake Ford, we’re not even thirty yet! You’ve not been alive long enough to have a life’s work! Are you really telling me these three journals, that’s it? That’s the best you can manage?” He turned and walked out into the snow. “We both know that’s not true.”

———

Stan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he trudged aimlessly through the snow. He might’ve been dressed for Ford’s unheated house, but it definitely wasn’t enough to be out in the remains of a snow storm. Realistically he should go back to the cabin before he starts to develop frostbite, but he really doesn’t want to have to face Ford again. They’d both always had a short fuse and if they ran into each other again now they’d just end up in another screaming match.

He continued to stomp through the snowdrifts, listening to the sounds of the forest; birds cheeped above him, the bushes and undergrowth rustled as small animals scurried about, and a small stream babbled in the distance. A flash of red caught the corner of his eye. Stan turned his head to catch it but was instead left staring a strange stag that had two pairs of antlers in a nearby clearing. The two stared at each other until the stags eyes blinked - out of sync - and it wandered off into the forest, head held high.

———

Ford tugged on his hiking boots and roughly pulled his winter jacket on over his turtle neck, taking the bag that Fiddleford handed him, filled with a spare jacket and woollens. Under normal circumstances he would have happily left Stanley to cool off after his outburst, but he was alone, in an unfamiliar forest, in sub zero temperatures without suitable clothing, in Gravity Falls. One of these circumstances alone would be enough to kill someone, never mind all three combined. Fiddleford had declared that he would wait back at the cabin incase Stanley returned, and would begin work on the calculations needed to safely decommission the portal - much more his area of expertise than Ford’s - while Ford tracked his brother through the snow. After all his time spent researching the anomalies in the forest he had gotten quite good at tracking if he did say so himself, although he doubted he would be requiring those skills with the footprints Stanley left in the fresh snow.

He trekked through the trees, tugging his scarf tight around his neck. Stanley didn’t have a scarf to wear. He double checked the duffle bag to make sure there was one tucked inside. He hadn’t had a scarf when Pa had kicked him out either. It was summer and he presumably went to stay at a friend’s house, but still. They hadn’t had many other friends growing up - it was always the two of them against the world - but he must’ve had some. Stanley had a big personality, he could talk his way into anything, he must have had somewhere to go that night. And the night after that. And all the nights after that. He can’t have been living in his car for ten years, that must be a recent occurrence.

And he had those tv adverts! Yes, Ford nodded to himself, if he had money for tv adverts he must have had income and somewhere to stay; it would be ridiculous to do so otherwise. But the adverts never lasted very long, and they always popped up with a new product, so his business ideas can’t have been very successful. And Stan always had been a bit ridiculous with his ideas, playing the long game for a better pay off later. It would be just like him to pay for a tv advert rather than rent.

And he was still claiming that it was a mistake, an accident, even after all these years. But why? It’s hardly like continuing that lie would help now, or get him out of trouble, they were all far past that. Unless it hadn’t been a lie. Act first, think later was practically the story of Stan’s life. But Pa was so sure, so positive that he had done it vindictively; he must have been otherwise how could he have thrown out his own son? Ford hitched the bag higher on his shoulder. He had gotten Stan’s bag of stuff together very quickly though, like he’d been planning that. Like the science fair was just the excuse he needed to get rid of him and have one less mouth to feed.

He continued to hike through the forest, lost in thoughts of the past, following Stan’s tracks and ignoring the occasional gnome that ran underfoot. After half an hour of walking, though it felt longer having to pull his feet through the snow, Ford saw Stan’s silhouette at the top of a small outcrop, looking out of the valley. He pulled himself up the short rise to stand next to him, looking down across the tops and trees and the lake.

The pair stood in silence, admiring the view. Rays of sunlight shone across the clear blue sky, twinkling on the blanket of snow was laid over the valley below them. The same light glistened on the waves of the lake, the boats moored at the jetty bobbing in the water.

“Y’know, it’s a really beautiful place you’ve found to live.”“You should see it the summer, the sun reflecting off the lake, all the creatures filling the forest with life. It’s something else.”

“Saw a weird deer earlier with double antlers.”“Ah, that’d be Henry. There’s a page or two on him in the first journal. His eyes glow when he’s near acidic soil.”

“Ford?”

“Yeah?”

Stanley turned to face him. “That’s really fucking weird.”

The two stared at each other before Ford’s mouth twitched and they both broke into laughter.

“This entire place is fucking weird - there’s a glade over there,” Ford gestured vaguely east, “Where a magical unicorn lives and I’ve had to get locks for my trash cans because the gnomes keep getting in.”

Ford slid the duffle bag off his shoulder, “Here, F grabbed you some layers - jumper, coat, gloves, the whole nine yards.”

Stanley dropped the bag and dug out the clothes, quickly pulling on the extra layers. “I swear, that man is an angel in disguise.”“Don’t I know it - I probably wouldn’t have survived my undergrad if he hadn’t been such a mother hen, making sure I ate and slept.”

“Good to know someone else took after I-” Ford watched as Stanley’s face closed off and he turned away. “It’s good to know you had someone looking out for you.”

Ford turned back to the view, dropping his arms by his side. “You were right, earlier.” He watched from the corner of his eye as Stanley froze. “I can do more research. Hell, if I wanted to I could do the same research again, it’s hardly like the anomalies have gone anywhere. But if that portal gets activated, if Bill manages to connect us to the Nightmare Realm, this’ll all be gone. It won’t matter what research I’ve done or if I prove my Unified Theory of Weirdness if there’s no-one left to see.”

Ford watched as Stan turned to stare at him wide-eyed before slowly lifting his hand towards his forehead. Ford quickly batted the hand away. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking for a fever. There’s no way you would admit I’m right and agree to destroy your own work. Are you ill? Did you get bit by something in the forest? What’s wrong with you?”“Nothing is wrong, Stanley, I’ve simply been in quite a few situations in the last few weeks that have forced me to acknowledge my own errors, and what sort of scientist would I be if I could not learn form my own mistakes? Now, I don’t know about you but I’m absolutely freezing, shall we head back to the cabin?”

Stanley nodded his assent and they began to carefully descend the small hill, following their footprints back through the woods.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Stanley asked, “About seeing this place in the summer?”

“Well, I- yes, of course. I mean, I’m sure you have your own life to be getting back to, and I’m very appreciative that you dropped everything so quickly to come help me, but if you maybe wanted to stay after we fix all this, or maybe come to visit, I would not be opposed to the idea.”

Ford stumbled to the side slightly as Stan nudged him with his shoulder. “‘Not opposed to the idea’, calm down there Sixer, don’t want to sound too enthusiastic,” he laughed. He pulled away slightly, withdrawing into his own space. “I’d love to. I’ve missed you, Ford.”

“I miss you too Stan.”

The pair continued walking side by side, retracing their footprints through the deep snow towards the cabin.

One of the many thoughts that had been niggling away in Ford’s brain floated to the surface. “Last night, what was Bill saying that was so bad it warranted taping my mouth shut?”

“Oh, just the usual - ‘you’ll never amount to anything’, ‘everyone thinks you’re a waste of space’, ‘why even bother coming back’. Honestly Sixer, are you sure you made a deal with a demon and it’s not just dear old Pa?” Stan laughed self-depreciatingly.

Ford felt his face fall. “Stan, that’s-” He cut himself off, suddenly aware of how quiet the forest had become. Gone was the birdsong, the rustling of the undergrowth and occasional yelp of gnome, leaving just the crunch of their feet through the snow. “Stanley, when you saw Henry earlier did you bow to him?”

Stan looked at him incredulously. “Why would I bow to a weird deer in the woods? It’s a deer.”

“I expected as much. We should get back as quickly as possible.”“Is something wrong? Is there more weird stuff?”

“Everything is absolutely fine and we are both being very calm about it, but we are walking faster.”

A screech sounded from amongst the trees.

“Actually, we’re running.”

Ford grabbed Stan by the wrist and dragged him after him, weaving through the trees in a much more direct path towards the cabin.

“What- is- happening?” Stan panted behind him.

“Short answer - Henry’s a prideful asshole who’s decided this part of the woods is his territory and doesn’t take kindly to ‘slights’,” Ford yelled back, jumping over a rock, his twin in tow behind him. “Those antlers are very sharp.” He heard the sound of hooves on snow and glanced back to see the stag gaining on them.

“Don’t look back, it slows you down,” Stan shouted, still being partially dragged by Ford.

Ford spun his head back round just in time to see another rock protruding from the snow, catching his ankle and sending him tumbling to the ground, dragging Stanley with him. The two tumbled in a heap of limbs through the thickets until they ran out momentum. Stan was thrown into a tree, his shoulder hitting the trunk with a sickening crunch, while Ford rolled through the snow, using the force to roll onto all-fours. Henry stood above them, its eyes glowing a sickening green. A small hysterical part of Ford’s mind wondered the acidity of the soil as the deer hissed and pawed at the ground, fixing its stance to impale Stanley.

[bomberqueen17]

how it's going

I am delighted so far by the responses to the post about signing up to beta/cheer-read the solarpunk tallship bisexuals novel I've decided to really give a go this year-- if you missed it, this is the post-- I have gone through and added everyone who signed up so far and it's a lovely mix of names I know and names I don't, not so many people it'd be hard to keep track and not so few that I'm worried about burning somebody out or totally winding up relying on one poor reader to keep my sanity going. I am also always pumped to get a lurker to de-lurk and say hi, not that there's anything wrong with lurking, I've got a few spaces where I lurk because that's what I need from that space. But it's always nice to be able to like, relate to somebody, y'know?

Not that you can really talk a lot in a google doc. I admit a lot of what's kept me going on Witcher has been having various little Discord threads where I can paste in whatever line I'm smug about, or that I'm stuck on for workshopping, and having a conversation about it, and not having that (I have a thread going in a Witcher discord but since it's off-topic it's kind of... well, low-traffic). I don't know if it's feasible to make a new Discord so I probably won't. But.

Anyway I will at some point turn that form off, but it seems to have worked pretty well so far as a method for adding people specifically to the doc, and I will leave it open and keep checking it for a little longer if any of y'all reading this were on the fence about signing up. I just can't rattle around alone in that doc and still keep my momentum. I'm only up to chapter three or so and the main plot hasn't even started but there's thusfar been at least one really confusing action sequence and I've realized that I've got a serious case of zero visual information being conveyed, so that's been helpful. Even with only a couple of readers-- ha, even the last couple of hours before I started adding people to the doc it had already done a lot of its job because I started proofreading with an audience in mind, which in my case tends to improve readability, which is what I want.

Listen, there's a noble purpose in telling stories for their own sake to yourself, but the idea of telling a story so that others can understand it is important to and I value it highly. So. That's what this is about.

So I've got a few people poking around in there with me and I feel much better about life and have some hopes I might make it over the hump into a real plot now, LOL.

But I think I'm gonna snippet post, which I haven't much with this work yet! (Have I? I forget. I started it in the fugue state of pre-holiday fuckery last year so who knows.)

bah i can't find a good snippet. well, here's a recently-composed one anyway.

As they approached the ship, Tom said, “You’ll tell the others, yeah? Simmons didn’t know. It ain’t his fault.” “I don’t know as it’ll help,” Keller said. “They’re mighty displeased about how you been treated. It reflects on them, y’know?” “It’s not so bad,” Tom said. “I’d rather be here than escorting the Barka convoy back to Subia in Jeanette all by my lonesome knowing damn well Righteous is waiting there for me with a bone in her teeth. No thank you, I’d rather not be set up on a suicide run like that. And you know if I got killed in a fourteen-gun sloop facing down a bloody-minded forty-gun privateer they’d tut-tut and say a proper Subian gentleman could’ve won.” “Oh sir,” Keller said. “You know they’d say that,” Tom said. “You know they would. No thank you, I will take my lumps and stick with Haines and I’ll thank you not to force me to defend poor Simmons the entire time. It weren’t none of his doing, Henry Keller, but that don’t mean I want to have to argue with the rest of you lot about him every blessed day of this commission.” “He’s also an ignorant sod,” Keller pointed out. “It don’t signify,” Tom said. “You know me and Yardley won’t let no harm come to the ship.” “Oh, Yardley,” Keller said. “I forgot he’s aboard. He’s been scarce.” Tom rolled his eyes. “He’s taking it well, too,” he said. He rummaged through the few parcels he’d brought back, and pulled out a bag and handed it over to Keller. “Share that out with your mess-mates,” he said. “And tell them-- it ain’t his fault, at all.” Keller took the bag with pleasure-- it was candy, Tom knew they’d have liked liquor better but he didn’t dare risk them being found with it and punished, with Simmons and not him in charge, so candy was safer. Keller looked back up at Tom, weatherbeaten face crinkled with a grin, and said, with a wry, grudging concession, “I’ll tell them.”

[kkolg]

Do u have anything left at the bottom?

Here are some toon concepts for you

[cuteniaarts]

Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3

[deus-ex-mona]

january is finally over…

[coffiicorgii]

Oh yeah! It’s artfight time soon! >:D!! Here’s my profile!

I generally try to revenge any attack I get. I did around 140 attacks last year, we’ll see how many I can do this year since I’ve been struggling with some joint pain recently :’] I am aiming for doing at least 100 this year tho so!

[unforgivingchorus]

I can’t read wings au fics very often despite loving them because the adhd/autism hits and I inevitably find myself reading about birds instead

[dangerousoperatoroperadonkey]

My mother is all into homesteading and off-grid living videos right now. Every time I check up on her, this is what she wants to talk about.

It gives her a sense of peace and purpose I guess. Which is good, she’s been struggling to find that with her injuries and condition. She’s learning skills, and feeling prepared for “the worst”. Like I can’t get her to stop watching conspiracy theory bullshit on YouTube so at least this kind of content alleviates some of the anxiety the other content amplifies, because she feels like she can do something now to secure her safety later.

But to get through these conversations, I have to tell myself— hey, if natural disaster comes our way, some of this might be useful. But I know she’s not just thinking a big storm or natural disaster. She’s preparing for the collapse of society. And I don’t know how to break it to her that we wouldn’t survive that. You can make long lasting candles with crisco? Cool. Where you going to by crisco when society collapses? You’ll stock up now? Ok cool. What will you do when it runs out? Honestly, before it runs out, what will you do when people with guns come to take your various stockpiled supplies?

If we hit a point where society collapses, we’re done for. Food, medicine, etc. we can’t survive without society, without a world where people are working together trying to help each other out.

So, I’ll go through with this shit in the name of natural disaster preparedness, and because it helps her. But that’s as far as I’m willing to put energy into it. I refuse to prepare for, bet on, or hope for the collapse of society. I’d rather spend my energy trying to prevent society collapsing, what little part I can play in that. I’d rather spend my energy supporting people in my community. I’d rather work and build towards a better future, not prepare for the worst.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”