#and also its so exciting to buy new things for this place

[lottieurl]

i feel actually so at home at my new place now it's crazy how good it feels. i have almost never felt this comfortable and calm and free at home

[theresattrpgforthat]

How To Find Cool Games: On Itch.io!

As I drift into a reduced posting schedule, I figured I’d give everyone a peek behind the screen for how I cultivate ttrpgs for recommendations! Some of these tips might even help you find your next favourite game.

This is a long read so let's put most of this beast under a read-more. Keep in mind that many of these strategies work best when you're checking itch.io a little bit every week, and when you're engaging with the platform as more than just a store page. There's a lot of features that you can choose to engage with if you want to find the game for you!

browsing physical game recent releases. This helps me see what’s new and happening, and it helps with a number of things. First of all, I get to see new games pretty much every time I browse recent releases. Secondly, I get a good sense of what’s currently popular in the design space. Thanks to my weekly browsing, I recognize Cy_Borg, Shadowdark and Mausritter as games whose content shows up rather regularly - if you see a lot of products attached to one game at once, that’s a good sign that there’s a related game jam going on (in this case, Shadowdark), or that a game is really resonating with its player base.

sorting games into collections. I personally organize by genre, system, player configuration and (in Games That Intrigue Me) games that I’m personally really hyped about. This works for me because of the nature of my work, but a few collections sorted according to level of interest or game style might work better for you.

Depending on the need, I might have a collection that works specifically for the request - Neon Lights & Cyber Nights is perfect for cyberpunk games, but I might also reference this folder for combat, inventory mechanics, resistance themes, or interesting tech rules. LUMEN is great for folks who want fast-paced games, folks who are looking for certain kinds of video games, or folks who want to feel powerful. If you follow other people on Itch, you'll probably also be able to see their collections, which is a great place to browse.

searching game tags. I don’t typically use the regular search feature, although recently the website did update the toggles to restrict your results to physical games, video games, etc. Instead what I usually do is type what I’m looking for into the url: so in this case, [deck-building]. I might use a couple different wordings, such as [deck-builder] and [deckbuilding] (no spaces). You’re not going to find everything that includes the thing you’re looking for, but you’ll definitely find places to start.

Game Jams! I find these either by looking at the “Jams” tab (although you'll have to wade through video games here) or by noticing that a number of games being published recently have the “for the _” jam in the description. Alternatively, I might be reading the page for a game and see the little “Submission” badge in interaction buttons. There’s game jams for specific systems, game jams for various themes, game jams with special restrictions, and game jams that are titled things like “finish your damn game jam.”

Bundles. I typically buy big-ass bundles and then sort through the games in my downtime. These games are sorted into collections for future reference, and if a game really pops out - into the Intrigue Me folder it goes! And the best part is that I already own it, so if I want to learn more, I can just download it and start reading.

following game designers that I like. This way I’ll get notifications if they release a new game, update an old game, rate someone else’s game, or sort games into their own collections. I also get to see what other folks in the space are excited about - on the day I was browsing, Plasmodics by Will Jobst was really hot.

If you follow me on Itch, you’ll get a notification every time I add a game to one of my non-private folders! Also - you can interact with designers on Itch by liking their updates, and even commenting on their posts, which is a great way to get involved in the design community - and also just make a designer’s day!

[lokis-army-77]

A New Purchase

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.6k

When you come home only to discover your boyfriend has bought something completely ridiculous.

Warning: 18+. p in v, riding.

Here's the little thing we talked about the other day @munson-blurbs @lofaewrites @chrissymjstan @hellfire--cult (it isn't as good as I think it could be but oh well)

Masterlist

Eddie was almost giddy with excitement when he saw the Facebook marketplace posting. The aluminum body was a bit rusted and the inside fabric was also questionably stained but hey it was a decoration for three hundred dollars and local pickup, hell yes, he was buying it. 

The only thing Eddie didn’t realize was that it wasn’t a small decoration. No…  it was real and he had no clue where he was going to store it until Halloween. Then came the brilliant idea of testing it out. He only wanted to know what it would be like to lie there, how comfortable would it be?

That’s how you came to find Eddie lying in a casket in the middle of your living room.

Walking through the door you stop suddenly, as the small walkway between the wall and the back of the couch is blocked. Eddie is lying there, eyes closed and hands crossed over his chest. 

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing?” 

He can’t help the grin that paints his once stoic features. He squints open his eyes as he begins to laugh. “I’m testing out my new purchase. Do you like it?”

You sigh and whip your hand over your face, shaking your head. “What on Earth possessed you to buy a casket? Wait, hang on, where did you buy a casket?”

He sits up, resting an arm on the side, and goes into his explanation. “You are never gonna believe it, fucking Facebook Marketplace. It was so cheap and to be honest I thought it was a fake one that would have been maybe a foot or two tall but nope. Imagine my surprise when I get to this guy's house and he rolls this baby out. He slaps the side panel for emphasis. He even threw in the church trucks for free so it would be really easy to move around.”

You just chuckle and shake your head. “Okay, then why did you buy it?”

“I figured we could use it to decorate for Halloween and also because when I saw it was actually real I just had to test it out. Take it for a test drive before I actually do kick the bucket.” He said it so seriously like it was the most obvious reason in the world.

“Eddie, really?”

“Oh, come on babe, like you’ve never thought about laying down in one of these bad boys.” 

“Contrary to what you might believe, no, no I haven't.” 

Eddie reaches out then, making a child-like gesture of opening and closing his hand. You walk forward and curl your fingers around his. “Switch places with me, see how it feels.”

“No, I’m not getting in there.” You laugh.

“Why not? Do you really want the first time you experience this to be when you’re dead? You won’t even know if it's uncomfortable or not.” He pulls you forward even more. 

“Eddie no-”

“Come on… If you won’t switch then get in with me.” 

You give in, sighing playfully as you bend down and crawl into the cramped casket. Eddie tries his best to shift over so you have space, but the area inside is only so big and definitely was never intended for two.

You both are laughing when your knee suddenly loses its steadiness, atop the thin, almost non-existent padding layered over the metal bottom, and slides out from under you and you fall on top of Eddie’s chest with an “oomph”.  You look up and you catch a glint in his eye as they darken just a bit. 

It’s a familiar look, one that he has given you so many times no matter the situation or surroundings. A look that he knows you will give into. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You plead with him, knowing where this will end. 

Eddie looks at you, eyebrows raised in faux confusion. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way, Sweetheart.”

You slap his chest playfully. “Eddie you are giving me your ‘I want sex’ eyes and I am not going to, not here.”

“Baby,” He wines. “Come on. It’ll be sexy. We could even role-play as vampires.” 

“No-”

“Please.” Eddie reaches his hand to cup your cheek, pleading softly as he brings his face closer to yours. You are trying to fight it but you know you can’t and Eddie knows too. As soon as he looked at you with those sultry brown eyes, you were plyant in his grasp.

When his lips press into yours, you sigh, relaxing into him. Your fingers curl into his shirt and you inch up, caging his hips between your thighs. It hasn’t even been thirty seconds from when the kiss started and you can already feel him hardening under you. 

Pulling away, you mumble into him, lips barely touching. “Does it really turn you on thinking of fucking here?” 

Eddie nods and surges forward to reconnect your mouths. His tongue flits past your lips and finds its way inside, caressing your own. 

You're barely-there resolve crumbles as you begin to roll your hips into him. You can feel his hard length as you grind, his breath catches in his throat. 

"Fuck baby," he mumbles against your lips.  "Need to feel you around me."

There is a heat coursing through you, clouding your mind as your fingers begin to unbutton his pants. 

Eddie is eager, his hips press up into your hands, pushing you to free him faster. The blue cotton of his boxers has turned a deeper color in a small spot where the head of his cock rests, the precum there being soaked up by the cloth. 

You slide a nail up his covered shaft and a great shiver overtakes his body under you. "Don't tease me- please."

A chuckle bubbles out of you. "But that's the fun part." 

Eddie just whimpers in response. 

You begin pushing your fingers past the elastic waistband. You pull the fabric down and bring your other hand up to help situate both his pants and boxers down to his mid-thigh.

His cock springs forward and you can't help the feeling of absolute lust coursing through your veins. You need him inside you, now. 

You silently thank your past self for deciding to wear a dress today. In your need, you don't think you would be able to wrangle yourself out of a pair of pants. 

Firmly you take Eddie's cock into your hand. He hisses at the new pressure you ar editing him. 

"Fuck baby, just like that." His hips jump into your touch. 

"Gonna let me fuck myself on you? Gonna let me take what I want?"

Eddie only nods. Words have left him as he stares into your sultry gaze. 

You begin to stroke him, up and down, spreading the stickiness leaking from his tip with your thumb. 

Then, you begin to scoot up his body. Hovering over him. Eddie watches in awe as you take him up in one hand and move your panties over with the other. A slow moan releases itself from your as you begin to sink down on him.

Eddie's cock was perfect. It always felt so good to be wearied around him, his head pushing deeper into you. 

Both of your breathing is labored. You try to keep yourself calm, you don't want to rush into riding him, you want to take your time making each of you feel wonderful. Eddie. On the other hand, is trying not to combust as he lays there and watches.

The way your dress is hiked up around your beautifully, thick thighs, how his cock disappears into you, surrounded by a curly thatch of hair. 

God he loved you. It was the only way to explain why his heart was beating out his chest. 

You groan as you feel him entering you. There is a slight burn as you stretch around him. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. Eddie starts to make choked noises and his hands reach out to grab you. His fingers grip your hips, helping you grind into him. Your own hands grasp at his covered stomach. 

There was an ache building as you moved. Low in the depth of your stomach and it began to grow. The more you fucked yourself onto Eddie the more the ache was felt. IT had you clenching down around him. You cunt milking his cock of everything he could give you.  

Eddie’s hands caress your body. When his fingertips touch skin, it's like an electric shock goes through you. 

“Eddie-” You moan.

“I know, love.” He mummers. 

“Can feel you so deep.” You grind harder, shivering as your clit rubs against his pubic bone. “Need more.”

“Yeah? Take it, baby, take anything you want.” 

You catch Eddie’s hands and guide them up under your dress and to your breasts. 

He hums in approval as he pushes your bra down and begins to play with your nipples, pinching and pulling them slightly.

Your head lolls to the side, hair falling down around you. It’s taking so much energy for you to keep moving. Your legs are beginning to tire out, there is a sting in your muscles. Your knees are screaming at you as they dig into the not-so-comfortable foam at the bottom of the casket. 

Body becoming rigid, you cry out, moaning Eddie’s name loudly into the living room. Your fingers cling to him as your body caves into him. You can no longer keep moving so Eddie begins bucking his hips into yours, helping you to ride out this high and bring him to his own. 

Eddie lets you fall almost completely on top of him once he’s finished. His arms wrap around you, your breaths in sync with the other. 

As you rest your forehead on Eddie’s chest, you feel the tiny movement of him jerking. He’s trying not to laugh. 

You crane your neck to look up at him. “What?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Eddie.” 

“Nothing, just that we fucked in a casket.” His smile was as wide as could be,

You let your head fall and you laugh into his chest. “Don’t get used to it.”

[jalalandfamily]

Help jalal and my family 🚑🚨🇵🇸

To the warm hearted people remaining in this world who reads this my letter , and after suffering to be able to place this letter in your hands...

Hello my friend,

I am Jalal Ayyad, a Palestinian from Gaza, stuck in the Arab Republic of Egypt due to the war that followed the Gaza Strip.

There is my whole family in Gaza (My warm refuge that circumstances prevented us from) ..14 members , my mother, my brothers, my 4 sisters and their children , my 2 nephews and their mother . They are at risk at any time due to heavy bombing, and they also suffer from the difficulty of providing food and drink due to the scarcity of food resources resulting from the siege.

Even if these foodstuffs are available, they cannot buy them due to the extreme rise in prices. As you know, we have children as young as 4 years old, and it is natural for the child to have better care and protection from this terror, psychological pressure, and constant anxiety.

My family, who are now sheltering in a simple tent in the refugee camps in the centre of Gaza Strip , after they were displaced from our warm home, which was bombed and its traces and memories were erased from our neighborhood, Al-Shujaiya neighborhood in northern Gaza. After that, my family’s repeated displacements continued due to the horror and horrible events, from the north to the center, then to Khan Yunis, then to Rafah and now to the centre of Gaza Strip .. The areas of bombing and danger.. The forced displacement scenario is still ongoing, so where do people go ?!!! There is no safe place here that will protect my family and children from this horror.

Tim, my 5-year-old nephew, was so excited to go to school for the first time. He was eagerly waiting for this day, dreaming of playing with his friends and learning a lot of new things. But, as he was preparing for this important day, w:a,.r came and turned his life upside down.

Suddenly, everything changed. Tim can no longer go to school due to the difficult conditions left by the war. He found himself and his family living in an unsafe and turbulent environment...from a warm and safe home in the arms of his family and loved ones to a tent in the middle of this hot summer and the sounds of war that terrify him at night..

Despite this continues terror, Tim was exposed to the disease of jaundice, yellow eyes, laziness, sleeping a lot, loss of appetite and high body temperature..Because of the w.,a.r, there is difficulty in obtaining medicine, food, and drink for this disease. Despite all this, Tim remained determined to maintain his hope and courage despite the difficult circumstances he faces.

With your kind help, I hope that we will achieve Tim’s wish, which he dreams of so much.

I have been stuck in Egypt now for 9 months since the heinous war, amidst anxiety, fear, anticipation, and intense psychological pressure that no human being can bear. I lost my degree and my university was destroyed and turned into ashes. I have nothing I can do to save my family, relieve them, and pull them out of this horror. I do not even have a residence permit here nor a source of income that I can rely on.

I cannot get any news about my family to reassure my heart about them except only once a month and for a few minutes, interspersed with poor Internet connection, in light of the events whose scales change and increase in severity every minute.

I hope that every person who reads this message can influence my family's life and save them from this tragedy.

With your kind help, I will be able to provide them with food and drink expenses and meet their needs.

I am attaching for you some proof, represented by some pictures taken with a trembling heart of our neighborhood and our destroyed homes, which were taken at the beginning of the war, before the displacement and the entry of the occupation into it.

Thank you, dear reader, for reading my story and reaching this point. I hope you can help save my family from this tragedy. May God help all those affected, and I hope that no one will go through or experience this disastrous situation. Thank you all from depths of my heart .

Save my family from war, I have no hope but your help..

‏My family needs you, don't forget them

‏Donate and spread🙏🏻💔

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[fandomnerd9602]

Little Doe Eyed Baby

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

The labor was long and hard for your deer-human hybrid mate. She was sweaty and clammy by the end of the labor but yet she never looked more beautiful.

You acted as her lumbar support for the entire duration. Your doe appreciated the gentle words you whispered in her ear. The way you held her hand.

Natasha, your best friend and wolf hybrid was more than happy to be the midwife. She provided additional encouragement and love during the process.

As for the twins, Billy and Tommy, well their uncle was happy to take them out on the town for the day. It kept them occupied and filled their little heads with ideas of what they could buy for their parents.

Pietro took them to a little store. Billy and Tommy locked eyes of a simple plushie. Their mom was still a huge fan of plushies and at the moment they saw it, the boys knew it was perfect for their baby sister.

“Billy! We gotta get that for momma!” Tommy practically screamed in excitement.

“That would be awesome! We gotta buy it!” Little Billy responded.

The boys reached into their pockets and could only pull out a handful of quarters. Pietro was more than happy to cover the balance.

Meanwhile in the delivery room, Wanda continued through the pain, gently pushing as her baby slowly made its way from the womb into life itself. How desperately she wanted just to hold her baby in her arms. And yet at the same time, the doe could also feel her old fears arising within her. Her mind began flashing back. Back to before she met you. Back to when Billy and Tommy were in the exact same place that their sister now resides.

Wanda was back in that cold, unforgiving prison cell, with only the weakest of lights shining in. She held back the tears as she caressed her pregnant belly, trying not to disturb her captors.

“My detkas” she whispered thru her tears, “we won’t be here forever.” She wanted so desperately to believe those words.

“we shall have a real home someday. I-I won’t let anything happen to you”

Wanda’s mind came back to the present. She had a home now. With you. With Natasha. With her brother. With her boys.

“It’s okay, baby” you reassured her, “just a couple more pushes.”

Wanda found a new energy within herself. A drive for her family. A drive to hold her baby each and every day. She began pushing.

“Almost there,” you held her hand tight. “one more push!”

Wanda strained and then she came into the world.

There she was. Covered in a mix of blood and embryonic fluid but she was beautiful. Your little doe human hybrid baby.

“My detka” Wanda cried as she held her newborn to her chest. The baby cried and cried. No antlers yet but you could tell your daughter had a doe tail. And it was the cutest tail you had ever seen

“Baby she’s beautiful!” You cried as you held your mate.

Natasha walked up to her best friend, her wolf tail gently wagging, “she’s beautiful, Wanda. What’s her name?”

You and Wanda share a gentle smile. The name was a natural. It was one of the first things the two of you had decided on when you found out it was going to be a girl.

“There was no other, more perfect name,” Wanda giggles, “Natalie”

Natasha’s tail wagged faster as tears began forming in her eyes, “y-you named her after me?”

“You’re my best friend, Nat” Wanda smiles at the wolf hybrid. The two were bonded like sisters, it was only fitting.

And then two doctors came in. Instantly Wanda tried her best to cover her baby.

“I’m sorry we need to clean your baby up,” one of the doctors apologized profusely. Wanda began shaking her head, she didn’t want to risk losing her baby.

Natasha put a reassuring hand on your doe’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on little Natalie.”

Wanda relaxed and let the doctor take away your daughter. Natasha was quick to follow them out.

Your mate rested comfortably in your arms, taking in your essence, taking a few deep breaths, and from once all seemed right in the world. 

“We have our baby” Wanda says, her energy all spent in the moment.

Natasha walked back into the room a few moments later, your daughter resting comfortably in her arms.

“Little doe wants her momma and daddy” Natasha giggles as she sets the newborn back in your mate’s arms.

“My little podarok” Wanda whispers as she kisses her baby’s head. She gently whispers the same animal call she used to whisper to her twins. A way for Natalie to always recognize her.

A second or so later, the peaceful room was interrupted as Billy, Tommy and Pietro ran in. “She’s here!!” Tommy exclaimed as he and Billy ran up to the bedside of their mother.

“Shh” you gently chided the boys. “Her hearing is very sensitive right now”

The twins couldn’t help but marvel at their baby sister. Pietro came up with a plushie in hand and a smile on his face.

“She’s cute, definitely from your side of family (Y/N)” he let out a little chuckle.

Pietro set down the stuffed deer that the boys picked out, “little one needs her first plushie. I cleaned it and made sure it was disinfected.”

Natasha wraps an arm around Pietro. The boys nuzzle their momma and you wrap a protective arm around your hybrid family.

Even Wanda had no way of knowing what the future would bring. But you knew that your whole world was in that one room, your one perfect world.

Your loving wife, your two amazing boys, and her: that cute little doe-eyed baby.

The End

Tags: @ma1egamer @jacenradio7 @julieromanoff @tokufighter @iamnicodemus @family-house-of-m @lifespectator @holiday-house-of-m @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @aloneodi

[prythianpages]

Outta My Mind | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Cassian has not been able to get you out of his mind and after receiving a gift, he decides to finally visit your shop and take you up on a love reading.

warnings: tarot reading, fluff

word count: roughly around 3,700

a/n: I am not experienced in tarot reading (I've only been on the receiving end and even then, it's been virtual) so I just pulled from google and what I've seen on tiktok. I apologize for any mistakes there and will happily fix them!

As Cassian has breakfast with his family at the Riverhouse, the usual lively chatter fills the room. Feyre was talking about Nyx’s reaction to soft foods, Mor cooing after him and Azriel laughing when Nyx pulled her hair. Rhysand had gone to check who had rung the doorbell. Cassian’s mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of a mysterious witch.

It was bewildering, really. 

The way he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you, despite barely knowing you. Since he first set his eyes upon you at the bar, he felt something. He couldn’t pinpoint the feeling but after you crashed into him, it all seemed to click into place.

You, a love witch, had found him.  

Just two weeks ago, he had been wishing upon the stars for love, and there you were, shining brightly with promise.

Your business card has been sitting on his nightstand since the night he met you. The pink card is like a night light, its shimmer never fading. He stared at it every night before drifting off, torn between fear and hope, wondering whether he should take you up on your offer for a love reading.

Yet, you had failed to fulfill one of the promises you made—buying him a shirt to replace the one you had stained. He could care less about the shirt, though. A part of him had been hoping you’d find him again, stumble upon him like you did at Rita’s. Because now that you held the answers to his questions, a deep anxiety gnawed at him. What if what you had to say wasn’t what he wanted to hear?

Fate was a fickle thing. What if it wasn’t in his destiny to have a mate? To have love? What if the stars had sent you to pull him out of his delusion and deliver bad news?

“Looks like someone got a present,” Rhysand says as he walks into the dining room with a handful of mail and another holding a package. He waves the bright pink package, ears straining to hear the sound it gives for a clue.

“Oh, they shouldn’t have bothered!” Mor quips, leaning forward in her seat with a grin.

But Rhysand places the package in front of Cassian, shoving his empty breakfast plate aside. The clinking of silverware against porcelain makes Cassian blink, snapping out of his trance.

“You?” Mor says in disbelief, eyes widened slightly.

Everyone turns their head toward Cassian, his red siphons gleaming under the sudden attention. He stares at the package, feeling the weight of everyone’s curiosity.

“Well?” Feyre urges, shifting Nyx in her arms to lean over too. “What are you waiting for?”

“Who’s it from?” Azriel asks, his shadows fluttering toward him, also curious. Mor stands from her seat to peek at the name, frowning when she finds nothing but Cassian’s name on the package. Feyre and Rhysand exchange a glance, the latter shrugging in response.

Cassian swats at the nosey shadows. There’s no indication of the sender. Yet, he has an inkling, the color of the package nearly screaming it at him. Knowing the others would simply follow him to his room if he chose to open it in private, he unties the red bow. There’s a nervous flutter of excitement in his stomach as he opens it.

Inside, he finds three neatly folded white dress shirts. The first two were silky and almost identical to the one you had accidentally stained. The third shirt was different. Bold. It was a short-sleeve, sheer mesh shirt that glimmered in the light. A shirt he’d never buy himself but felt inclined to try on. 

“Shirts?” Rhysand questions with an amused chuckle.

As Cassian unfolds the shirts, he notices that all of them have carefully placed slits on the back to accommodate his wings, as if they’ve been tailored after being bought. His family watches, intrigued and amused. 

“Well, come on, Cas. Who’s it from?” Feyre prompts and the babe in her lap babbles as if asking the same question, his tiny hands smacking the table in delight.

The room seems to hold its breath as Cassian runs his fingers over the fabric. He feels the subtle hum of magic beneath his fingertips. “Someone,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Someone I need to go see.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Cassian ignores his family’s protest as he rises from his seat. Strengthening the shields of his mind, he thought he heard a hint of disappointment from Feyre. He didn't want to tell them about you. Doing so would only invite more questions—questions he wasn't ready to answer, as he was unsure of them himself.

He doesn’t need to return to the House of Wind for your business card, the address of your shop engraved into his heart after reading it so many times. As he makes his way to you, there’s that nervous flutter in his stomach again. It accompanies him all the way to your shop, threatening to burst when he finally stands in front of the door.

The words “Moonlight Spellcrafts” on the sign above shimmered softly, beckoning him inside with an irresistible allure. Bells chimed as he pushed open the door, and inside, he was greeted by a sharp “meow.”

A fluffy white cat with the brightest of blue eyes and pink bow around its neck blinks up at him before darting away and chasing after something unseen to Cassian’s eyes. His gaze follows the cat's movement, lifting to find you.

A vision in pink like clouds at the break of dawn. 

You wore a halter top that offered teasing glimpses of constellations etched onto your back, while your bell-bottom pants flared out with fluffy trimmings, resembling wisps of cotton candy that swayed with every step. Your platform heels tapped softly on the polished wooden floor as you guided a customer toward the wall of potions.

You pause, most likely from the sound of the bells, and just as you turn your head, Cassian swiftly ducks out of view. He hides behind a shelf—a challenging feat given his size and stature. He folds his wings tightly against his back to make himself as small as possible. He carefully walks around your shop, stealing glances at you every time he can.

He tells himself it’s to walk off the nerves.

Much like you, your store is bathed in hues of pink as well as reds and deep purples. Shelves line the walls adorned with an array of mystical books, each tome brimming with ancient wisdom and spells of the heart. Tarot cards of all designs are on display and glittering crystals sparkle under the soft lights. They cast a warm, inviting glow over the array of potions you are still showing the customer.

Heart-shaped mirrors with gilded frames adorn one of the walls and when he catches a glimpse of himself, he hastily fixes his hair. The fluffy white cat from before pops out of nowhere, startling him. It watches him intently, as if sizing up the tall, Illyrian male before it. Had it been following him the entire time?

“Honey!” A voice cooes. 

Not yours.

He follows the voice anyway and meets the gaze of a young fae. Her skin is a soft green, intricate lines adorning her face. Dark hair, painted with bright fuchsia at the ends, seems to glow as she stares back at Cassian from behind the counter, raising her eyebrows inquisitively.

Cassian manages a small smile before quickly turning away, avoiding any further interaction. He finds himself along a back corner where rare herbs and jars of unknown substances are meticulously organized. The air there is thick with mingling scents of rose, lavender, and sandalwood, teasing his senses and lingering in his nose until he sneezes.

Loudly. Obnoxiously. He swears he hears a startled cry from one of the customers inside the shop.

His wings flare slightly, stirring the jars behind him. Eyes widening, he turns to stabilize them, only to accidentally knock over other jars with his wings. He winces at the clatter and the subsequent sound of your approaching footsteps.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

“Are you alright?”

Shards of glass scatter across the wooden floor, the moonwater inside splashing out and spreading in a widening pool that stops at your feet. But your attention is focused on the hunched over Illyrian male.

Cassian stands up straight, hints of scarlet painting his cheeks, his broad shoulders tensing. “I’m sorry. I can pay for this.”

Amusement dances in your eyes, finding this situation all too familiar. “You’ll have to take me to the moon.”

He nods, the sincerity in his expression making the corner of your lips quirk up. He has no clue over the contents he just spilled.

“Just kidding,” you say, giggling at the look of relief that flashes across his face. “It’s just moonwater. I can easily make more next full moon. We really have to stop meeting this way, though. It’s a bit too messy for my liking.”

At your words, Cassian moves to clean up the mess but you stop him by raising your hand. Pink stardust flares out from your other hand as you summon a broom. You lean it against your hip, hesitating for a bit. With a hopeful look in your eyes, you snap your fingers, bracing yourself. Just in case.

Cassian can't help but take a step back. Also just in case as he recalls the way your magic had failed in cleaning up the stain on his shirt. But much to your relief, the spilled moon-water magically disappears. "Oh, thank The Cauldron," you murmur, sweeping the glass shards into one small pile before snapping that away too.

The sigh that leaves your lips is one of great relief. You wipe at the nonexistent sweat from your forehead. With a sweet smile, you look back at Cassian.

“I’m assuming you got my gift.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. I was also joking.”

“I wasn’t." Your smile falters. "I take fashion very seriously here, General.”

Cassian looked over your pink outfit again, trying his best to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the way you said his title. “Clearly,” he replies. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Magic.” You grin up at him, waving your fingers at him in a teasing manner.

His gaze narrows skeptically and you shrug in response. “Your wings and siphons gave you away. There’s not many Illyrians here in Velaris. Just the High Lord, the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed. And given that the High Lady was not with you and the lack of shadows around you and the way red suits you, I took an educated guess. It was easy to find you then.”

“Where’d you find the shirts?” He asks, giving into his curiosity. Though, he really wanted to ask how you knew they would fit. Not just his broad frame but his wings as well.

“Another perk of there being a few Illyrians in Velaris. I bought the shirts from a boutique up the street and then I visited a couple of tailor shops until I found the one familiar with dressing certain Illyrians. That’s why it took me a bit to get them to you. I do hope you like the third one. A little bold but I think you’d look great in it.”

Cassian’s gaze softens, touched by the lengths you went to keep your promise. “Cassian,” he says after a moment. “You can call me Cassian.”

“Okay, Cassian,” you beam, feeling a warmth spread through you at his name on your lips. “You can call me y/n, dear, spell-slingin’ sweetheart or just sweetheart. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

“Just don’t call me bewitching babe,” you add as an afterthought, nose scrunching up in a small grimace. “Or I’ll have to hex you.”

Cassian’s brows raise slightly, interest piqued, wondering how someone could ever get on your bad side. “Noted, y/n, ” he nods and you give an appreciative grin.

“I believe I also promised you a love reading, didn't I?"

You point your hand up and to the right, Cassian’s eyes following the movement to a vibrant neon sign that reads, “Love This Way.” The words are written in cursive, each letter beholding a string of small, glowing bulbs that twinkle like enchanted stars. The phrase is flanked by a trio of heart-shaped neon lights, each one pulsing and pointing toward dark, red curtains.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Right. The reason why he came to you. Well, one of them, at least. The longer he lingers in your presence, the stronger the pull he feels towards you, blurring the line of reason. 

“Come on,” you beckon him to follow you but Cassian can’t bring himself to move. 

Sensing his hesitation, you pause, turning your head to look back at him from over your shoulder. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to.”

An odd yet thrilling shiver runs up Cassian’s side. His lips twitch upwards, indulging in the foreign sensation and then he’s following after you, careful to not knock anything else over.

"Can't say the same for the lovebugs that dwell in this place, though. Those sneaky little things love the element of surprise. They say it's luck if you're bitten by them. Means you've met your true love..."

As he walks behind you, he notices small altars dedicated to different aspects of love. Romantic love, self-love, platonic-love, erotic love... The flames dancing from the candles seem to burn with a life of their own, the ones from the passionate love alter swaying his direction as he walks past it.

You move gracefully, your presence as enchanting as your shop. There’s a pause in your step, the two of you reaching the dark, starry curtains. “Be a doll for me and tend to the front, will you, Moxie?” You call out, pointed ear twitching as you await a response.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Cassian hears the young fae from earlier grumble.

As you lean in close to Cassian, standing on your tip-toes, even in heels, he's reminded of just how much he towers over you. Your hair brushes against his leathers, red siphons softly glowing as he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of roses and vanilla.

“She’s my little apprentice and a little upset that her spell went haywire and turned her hair fuschia instead of magenta.”

Cassian’s brows knit together. “What’s the difference?”

“I cannot believe you just said that!” You gasp in mock horror yet Cassian detects a subtle hint of sincerity in your tone.

“I can hear you, you know!”

You mouth a “whoops” to Cassian before exclaiming: “I’ll be in the back! Love you, my dearie!” 

Cassian watches in a curious, fascinated manner as you blow a kiss toward Moxie. Pink stardust glimmers and shimmers as it floats in the air, fluttering toward the young face. It meets her cheek with a small "mwah" and there's a softness on your features despite Moxie's groan that melts away at Cassian's earlier reservations.

His heart flutters in anticipation when you reach for his hand. Your fingers ghost over his wrist, sending a spark rushing through him, as you guide him forward while your other hand pushes the grand curtains back. 

“Don’t worry. This room is sound-proof,” you tell him. “Whatever you ask or speak will remain confidential. Cross my heart!”

Cassian’s eyes widen as he takes in the room that is also bathed in a palette of vibrant pinks and soft pastels. Yellow, glowing lights shaped like stars dangle from the ceiling and quotes of affirmations are framed along the walls. Two luxurious, bubblegum-pink sofas face each other, adorned with an assortment of colorful cushions in shades of turquoise, lavender, and blush. Between them, a low table draped with a velvet cloth holds an array of tarot cards, crystals, and other mystical tools, ready for the next reading.

“Have a seat,” you say, letting go of his wrist to seat yourself on the plush carpet. 

You had gestured to one of the sofas but Cassian follows after you, seating himself across from you. His large frame makes the small table look even smaller and there's a coy smile on your face. He wonders if you're thinking the same as him.

Dressed in black leathers with siphons and daggers hilted at his waist, Cassian sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet, despite his dark attire and rugged appearance, there’s an undeniable allure about him that seems to complement your ambiance.

Your eyes, wide and knowing, meet his. He swears for a moment your pupils formed a heart shape, but when he blinks, he finds them dilated into round circles. The star-shaped lights reflect in them, and he finds himself unable to look away.

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to know?”

Yes.

“No.” 

You give him a skeptical look, sensing the lie simmering beneath his calm facade. You may just be able to hear his racing heart.�� “Are you scared?”

Yes.

“No.” 

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not,” Cassian insists, though his heart is ringing in his ears.

Humor twinkles in your eyes as you easily see through his lie.

“I’ll go slow and talk you through it,” you say, your voice teasing yet reassuring. “I'd offer to hold your hand too, but unfortunately, I require both for this,” you add, reaching for the deck of cards. “We can do a broad reading.”

The sound of shuffling draws his gaze from your eyes to your hands. He watches, mesmerized by the fluidity of your movements. The cards seemed to whisper secrets only you can hear, the loose locks of your hair swaying gently from an invisible breeze. One card flies from your hands, and you catch it mid-air between two fingers.

You lay it before him with a raised brow. The Lovers.

"It seems you are destined for a profound connection. Something tells me it will be unexpected but undeniable.” 

A wave of relief washes over him, lifting a weight from his chest. There’s a small part of him that remains skeptical. It seemed too coincidental for you to pull that card during a love reading. The way he leaned forward slightly betrayed his doubt. 

He barely knew you, but he already found himself trusting you. There was something about you that was inherently relaxing, almost comforting—like the feeling of being at home. You sure were a master of creating a wonderful ambiance.

As you continued to lay out the cards that fly out, each one seemed to weave a story of passion and a deep bond. Cassian finds himself drawn into the narrative you’re spinning.

"Who is she?" he asks, his voice softer, more serious.

"Usually I can gather some general characteristics. I fear I'm at a blank here. But..." Your gaze narrows at the cards, studying them intently.  "She is someone who will challenge you, make you see the world differently. She'll walk you through all aspects of love. Someone who is closer than you think...” 

A shudder runs through you, those heart-shaped pupils returning for a brief moment. "You'll never feel alone again," you add, voice a mere whisper and tinged with a wistful longing.

Cassian feels a strange flutter in his chest, an unfamiliar sense of anticipation and yearning. "And when will I meet her?"

You draw the final card, lips curving into a pensive frown. “It's a little unclear. You may or may not have already met her.”

Cassian visibly relaxes, leaning backwards, his wings meeting the sofa behind him. At least it has been confirmed that there is someone for him. That's what had mattered the most to him.

His thoughts drift back to the days before in deep wondering. Could it have been the pretty fae at the bakery who had slipped an extra croissant in his order? No, she’s married... Maybe, it was the friend Emerie had brought to Valkyrie training yesterday morning…

You must sense the thoughts racing through his mind. “What’s your type?”

The question throws him off guard. He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I don’t have one.”

“What of your past lovers?”

“I fear there’s too many to recount them all. Do you remember yours?”

“It’s kind of in my nature to,” You laugh softly, a sound laced with a subtle bitterness that matches the distant look in your eyes. “There must have been important lovers in your life, though. Ones that lingered in your heart, beheld the title of something more…”

“My first girlfriend was a Valkyrie. She died in the great war.”

Your eyes glistened with sympathy and he hesitates, a mixture of contemplation and something unreadable flickering across his face before he continues. “My second girlfriend was strangely also a valkyrie. I trained her, taught her everything she knows. But it didn’t work out, she didn’t choose me…”

“It sounds like you do have a type to me,” you say, trying to lighten the situation. 

Judging by the look in your eyes, he knows you’re also familiar with the heartache that comes with past relationships. He catches the way your gaze flickers down to your soft, manicured hands, noting the fleeting light of wistfulness that crosses your features. 

You blink and suddenly your face lights up, beaming with hope. “Third time's a charm,” you remind him of the old saying and suddenly your entire face lights up, eyes beaming like a beacon of hope. You jump to your feet.

“Sizzling Cauldron!”

Cassian startles at your sudden outburst. He watches you as you begin to pace back and forth, murmuring to yourself. His ears strain to catch the words slipping from your glossy lips but he only catches “stars” and “wishes.” 

You look at him, eyes still shining bright.

“We were meant to be!”

Cassian’s heart skips a beat, his wings fluttering as he looks up at you. “What?”

“I was meant to find you–to help you find love.” You clarify, pointing a finger at him before letting out a delighted squeal. “I’ll be your wingwoman–well, wingless wingwoman, ha! This is going to be just wonderful!”

Cassian rises to his feet, watching as you continue to pace back and forth, moving your hands animatedly. He's sure you're burning a hole into the plush carpet. He looks at you in slight concern when you suddenly begin to speak in riddles, gaze flickering to the curtains behind you, contemplating if he should sneak out. Surely, you wouldn't notice in your current state...

"In a quest to help you find true love, I heed the guidance from the stars above. The Cauldron's blessing and The Mother’s gentle kiss I shall earn. And with my magic, I shall return. Once my strength begins to grow…what I seek, I too shall know!”

Cassian makes a face. “I’m not sure we’re speaking the same language here…” he trails off. But your excitement and joy are contagious.

“Help me, help you,” you clarify again, your pacing feet coming to a stop. The room seems to buzz with the energy of your determination.

You turn your body to face his, outstretching a hand. He eyes it for a moment. A jolt of energy passes between you two when he takes your hand in his, the red magic from his siphons dancing with your pink magic.

Your eyes lock, and for a moment, Cassian feels a deep, inexplicable connection.

 “So...what now? ” He asks, shaking off that feeling as he shakes your hand. It has to just be your power charming him, you're practically glowing. "Does this make us friends?"

You give his hand a squeeze, mirroring the hope that had tightened in his chest.

“The best of friends.”

a/n: Little do you know that the true love you're meant to help him find is literally you lol. I live for the irony in this. Also, hope Cas isn't too out of character. I just needed him to vibe with love witch in the beginning of this au. She's a little delulu but I hope you love it as much as I love writing it <3

Since I live for the aesthetic of this au, I put the pictures I used for inspo for love witch's shop below.

[slytherinshua]

MATCHING DINOSAURS

genre. fluff. warnings. kissing. pairing. anton x fem!reader. wc. 1k. a/n. @eternalgyu here's ur anton delusions <3

“I have a present for you!” You said excitedly, pushing Anton’s back towards your bedroom.

“What is it? Should I be scared?” He looked back at you, bewildered, but still allowed you to drag him towards the bedroom door.

“Why would you be scared? It’s cute, I promise.” You reassured him, pulling out a gift box from the closet and setting it on the bed. Anton sat down beside you, peering curiously at the medium sized blue wrapped box.

“It’s not even my birthday…” He mumbled with a laugh, picking up the box.

“Just open it!” You urged him, getting impatient to see his reaction to the cute present you had picked out at the store earlier.

Anton was soft and pure, so warm and gentle to everyone and everything that he didn’t even know how to raise his voice. He probably couldn’t even hurt an ant. Knowing this, you should’ve predicted that he would be the type to unwrap the present slowly and carefully to make sure the wrapping paper didn’t rip. He picked at the tape that was holding the paper together carefully until it separated from the box. 

It was a little endearing to watch, but also tested your patience even further. You were so excited to see his reaction and to see him use the present that you could barely think of anything else. But one of the things that had improved once you had started dating Anton was your patience, so you sat and waited as he unwrapped the present at his own pace. 

“You’re making me nervous by staring so hard.” He laughed shyly, his cheeks flushed as he finally slid the wrapping paper off the box, successfully saving its form without ripping it so it could be reused on another occasion. 

“I can’t miss your reaction.” You muttered, leaning even closer to stare even harder which caused both of you to giggle. 

The anticipation in the room was probably absurdly high for the occasion, but something about this little gift that you had gotten for him on a whim was exhilarating for both of you. You may have just been in your crappy small apartment, the lights dimmed to save electricity and the space running a little colder to save on the heating bill, but it still felt like it was one of the most precious moments of your life.

Your boyfriend slid off the lid of the box, revealing the contents of it. His face broke out into a huge smile once he saw what it was, quickly turning to face you again with his excitement. You smiled satisfactorily. This was the reaction you had been anticipating all day.

Anton picked up the set of pyjamas from the box, still admiring them carefully. They were a light green colour with a cute print of brachiosauruses all over in a darker green. When you saw them in the store, you immediately had to buy them for him. There was no way you would be able to leave them hanging on the rack.

“Guess what else?” You prompted. Anton turned to you, humming curiously in response, still holding his pair of pyjamas in his hands.

You pulled out another pair of pyjamas from your dresser drawer and held them up. These ones matched Anton’s, but were pink with triceratopses instead. You grinned and he giggled.

“They’re cute.” He commented, blushing at the thought of matching with you.

Once you were both changed into the comfy new pyjama sets, you settled down to watch a movie which had been your original plan for this evening. Cuddled next to Anton would always be your favourite place to be, tucked comfortably under his arm. He rested his head on top of yours. Your eyes were stuck on the movie screen while his eyes were closed, enjoying the pleasant scent of your hair.

“Did you get new shampoo?” He asked in a whisper, catching your attention enough for you to look up at him.

“Yeah. Is it good?” You smiled up at him, your eyes crinkling slightly— the sight made Anton’s chest feel warm.

“Smells like grapefruit.” He noted, breathing in the scent again, smiling against your hair, his nose buried in it. The feeling made a million butterflies start to dance in your stomach. 

You both focused back on the movie, watching mostly in silence, though sometimes you or Anton would let out soft giggles at something funny in the movie. Time went by quickly and before you knew it the end credits were rolling on the screen. Anton reached over to grab the remote and turn off the screen while you just snuggled deeper into the soft blankets you both were under.

There was a bit of a shift as you both got comfortable and ready for sleeping. You liked to fall asleep in a position that was still close and cuddled up to Anton, but at a distance where you could still look at him for your last whispered conversation before finally falling to the depths of your dreamland.

Anton smiled at you, cheek squished adorably against the pillow, his left hand resting against your waist and tracing the small pink triceratops on the fabric of your pyjama pants.

“Thank you for the present, lovely.”

“They were too cute not to get.” You grinned, eyes closing as tiredness swelled through your body. You loved falling asleep next to Anton, and you could feel the drowsiness taking over quickly.

“Don’t fall asleep yet.” Anton whined softly. You forced your eyes open to catch his pout before they fell shut again.

“Why? I’m tired.” You mumbled.

“You haven’t given me a goodnight kiss yet.”

You laughed softly at his response, “Come get your goodnight kiss then.” 

It didn’t take long for Anton to take you up on your offer, giving you just a small gentle kiss on the lips before settling back down on his pillow.

“I love you.” You whispered to him, teetering on the edge of awakeness and slumber. You fell asleep before you could hear him say it back to you, but those 3 words followed you into your dreams for the night, bringing warmth to your chest and the perfect familiar comfort that was always an effect of Anton.

↳ riize taglist: open!

[danikamariewrites]

Meant to Be

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: I’m so excited to start this little series! I hope you all enjoy this and thank you for being patient with me. I know I’ve been all over the place lately lol. Also I might change the pov I use in the next fics but we’ll see.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

As I’m just about to shut the front desk computer down, the glass door to the gallery swings open. Holding back rolling my eyes, I lift my head ready to tell whoever it is that we're closing. I stop, my lips partially open as my eyes meet the most gorgeous, soft hazel ones. On a beautifully sculpted face with a sharp jawline and soft raven hair. The words died in my throat. Changing to, “How can I help you?”

Gods I need to stop staring. If Feyre was still here she would be making fun of me for ogling the poor male while using my stupid customer service voice. He gives me a bright smile before speaking. “I’m looking for a new piece for my office. The walls are feeling a little bare.” Mother above he sounds like an angel.

I froze again. I’m technically not supposed to be selling paintings to clients, especially walk-ins and new ones. But my boss left me in charge for the rest of the day. It’s Gavin’s own fault he blew off work for a spa day. And I had to help Gavin list all the paintings, so I can absolutely sell one of these bad boys. I was amazed by how much Gavin didn’t know when these paintings came in. And he has the audacity to call himself an art collector.

“Absolutely. Are you looking for anything specific or I can show you a few of my favorite pieces if you’d like.”

As I stand I look around the room to see if anyone else is in the gallery. Two males with similar tan skin and dark hair stand by the door. The more muscular one slightly smirks at me before staring ahead again. I look back at the male in front of me, taking in his suit, the expensive watch, and the thick silver signet ring on his index finger gleaming in the light. Staring at the ring closely I can make out a family crest engraved on the flat surface. Morwood.

The male standing in front of me is notorious mob boss Azriel Morwood. Recovering quickly I smile up at Azriel, burying any kind of fear that was working its way up my spine. He isn’t here to hurt me. He’s here to buy art. Harmless.

Relaxing, I walk around the desk, gesturing to the left of the gallery. “This way then.” Azriel holds out his arm for me to take, that bright smile never once leaving his lips. Although it might not be the most professional thing to do, I loop my arm through his.

As we go from painting to painting Azriel seems to relax as well. We fall into easy conversation. At times it feels like we were childhood friends catching up. His flirtatious comments made me blush and fumble over my words. At the risk of being unprofessional again, I flirt back. There’s no denying the male is beautiful. I’m sure he’s kind under all of those dangerous layers. I can’t help the pull I feel toward him, to know more about Azriel. I should feel ashamed of this attraction. Azriel has done awful things but that feeling isn’t taking over.

“And that’s it for this collection. Is there anything else that’s caught your eye?” I ask, regretfully pulling away from Azriel as I snap back into my customer service voice. A stark contrast to the normal flirty tone I was just using. He seemed to take his time thinking. Azriel’s hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at me. “That Blanch piece, I loved the two you showed me.” “Of course.” I lead him to the middle of the section where the two paintings hang side by side.

He looks at the two trying to decide between the two. “Which is your favorite?” I look at him, taken aback by Azriel Morwood asking for my opinion. “Well…I can’t choose between the two. Truthfully, I believe Blanch created these pieces to complement each other. They’re from two different collections but you can tell by the edge of the scenery they are meant to be together.” Azriel let out a thoughtful hum as he crossed his arms.

I try not to stare at him too blatantly but I just can’t help myself. His thinking face is cute. I can tell he’s concentrating. “I’ll take both.” My eyes widened. I'm so shocked I took half a step back. “I’m sorry?” I realize that it came out harsher than expected. “Sorry, I just - really? You want to buy both?” A half smile tugs at the corner of his lips as Azriel turns to face me. “If they are meant to be together it would be a crime to separate them.” There was something insinuating in that seductive tone of his. The hopeful look in his eyes gave it away. Something told me Azriel rarely let something like that slip. I give him a genuine half smile of my own. “Of course.”

Fifteen minutes and one giant check later Azriel had bought his paintings with the promise to come pick them up after they were framed tomorrow. Finally closing the gallery I went home and dreamed of him that night.

——

Walking down the sunny streets of Velaris I’m lost in thought about Azriel. How I want to run my fingers to see if those raven locks are truly as soft as they look. Those hazel eyes and how I never want them to lose sight of me.

My phone incessantly buzzing in my bag pulls me from my thoughts. I groan as I search for it in the clutter of stuff I threw in this morning. Fifteen texts from Feyre and more incoming light up the lock screen.

Girl get here soon

Gavin is piissseeddd

What did u do lmao

He won’t tell me, plz tell me so I know before him. I wanna taunt him with this secret info

Oh boy. He must not be pleased about the new client. I quickly type out a text telling her I’d be there soon. Shoving my phone back in my bag, my pounding heart seems as loud as my footsteps. I’m practically jogging by the time I enter the gallery.

Feyre looks up at me from the desk. A wild and confused look is on her face like she was just handed the winning lottery ticket. “He’s been on the phone with Benny all morning. I could hear him screaming, what did you do?” A nervous laugh sounds on the last word.

As I open my mouth to answer the door to Gavin’s office flings open, hitting the wall inside with a violent thud. “You!” He seethes. “Why didn’t you call me about the client last night?!” He screeches as he stomps over to the desk like a child. “What was I supposed to do? Say, sorry, come back later? It was Azriel Morwood.” Feyre lets out a dramatic gasp leaning back in the spinny chair. Her eyes bounce between us, waiting to see what wild statement her ears will be blessed with next.

“I know damn well who the client was, and you’re not supposed to make sales! Remember? Or has your sense of self importance around here made it hard for you to remember that you're a fucking intern! And you have no right —” a throat clearing makes Gavin stop his berating. His face went pale as his eyes landed on Azriel and the two males flanking him.

Azriel raises a brow giving Gavin a quizzical look. Gavin puts on a fake smile striding to greet our guests. “Hello Mr. Morwood! How can I help you today? Is there a problem with your purchase that I can fix?” He shoots me a glare that I don’t notice. All I notice is Azriel. It feels like the whole world has melted away and it’s just us.

“No.” His tone cruel and cold. “I would like to talk to y/n. Alone.” He emphasizes the last word by pinning Gavin with a look that would send anyone running. The shock on Gavin’s face is fucking priceless as he backs away murmuring an apology.

I slowly approach Azriel trying to suppress my grin. He watches me with a gentle gaze. That charming smile pulling on his lips again. “Hi,” Mother above that deep, gravelly voice gives me chills. “Hi.” I whisper back. “Your paintings should be ready soon. I saw the framer when I came in.” Azriel slowly shakes his head. “No, not that. Well, yes, I’m here for the paintings. But I wanted to ask you something.” I blink up at him curiously tilting my head. What could he possibly want from me?

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

[oursecretways]

“Look at all those chickens’’

OT8 × Reader notes: ngl this all started with me seeing a chicken art on my feed and I realized I want a couple dozen now lol, so enjoy my first imagine/drabbles. Also, sorry it got so late by the time I have finished this, I will revisit to edit this and that is why it got shorter and shorter at the end 😭 (Forbidden feelings coming soon♡︎) word count: 598 warning(s): none just pure fluff

Chan:

He would just look at you dumbfounded: what are you two going to do with these chickens? He knows you didn't think it through, he isn't mad at you, secretly loves all of them and wants to buy at least the same amount so you can have little chicken pairs.

Already thinking about buying a farm far away from everyone where you can have goats and baby cows, maybe some horse and of course dogs and cats. Heck, he would even buy you a whole zoo just to make sure his little princess has all the animals she can possibly think of.

Minho:

He would tease you with feeding them to his kids, enjoying how your face scrunches up from the thought. Deep inside, he is intrigued by them, and slowly warming up to the idea of having a bunch of baby chicks.

He also says up until the AM to look for chicken coops and things he can build for them so they can play and have a comfortable place to stay. He is trying to be secretive about it to surprise you and to not blow up his cover.

Changbin:

He would literally hold back tears and show you all the pictures he has saved on his phone about baby farm animals. He is a softie and you always knew it.

He names all of them silly names and feeling quite happy about them until one poops on his floor… he might be in for a wild ride with figuring out how to potty-train chickens.

Hyunjin:

He already wants to make sketches of you and your kids, thinking about poses he could have you hold them so he can make sure he gives justice to your beauty. Feels overjoyed by this new milestone you two accomplished: having a dozen of little feathery kids.

Han:

For a solid minute, he laughs, not thinking you are being for real. Then, when he realized he was happy, he named all of them names like pip, peep, squeak, lil pip jr. and the list could go on and on.

After a week or so of having them, he started “teaching” them how to fly, making you watch it in horror. But let's face it, he is so clumsy he has dropped one or two of them accidentally when you weren't home.

Felix:

As soon as you opened the box, his eyes light up, living that Stardew fantasy with you. He makes lots of pictures of them, you with the chicks, and his own SKZOO. He sends the latter picture to the group chat with the boys, announcing that BbokAri somehow ended up being a father and that the mother left them. You just laughed at the soap opera he suddenly started to write about his own merch plushie, but you didn't stop him.

Seungmin:

You showed him while the others were there as well, bragging about your new-found family with Minnie. Everyone was over the moon about how adorable they were, except your boyfriend, who simply told Felix that he thinks they are his kids, delivering it with the stone-cold expression he mastered probably at birth.

I.N.:

He gets super excited, although finds it a bit silly. Said a joke along the lines of must've cheated with Felix's SKZOO, which earned a chuckle from you.

As he starts to play with them, one immediately pinches him with its beak making you forget about your kids and making sure that your boyfriend is okay, babying him just a little more.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms #2

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Taglist: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan

Warnings: Smoking, some cursing, tension.

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

November 1913. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Alastor admired the signature changing leaves of Autumn, the shifting colors seemed to him more like an announcement of death’s arrival than a beautiful aspect of nature. And yet, that didn’t discourage him. 

But he felt cold and numb, trapped in a monotonous routine that was no longer comfortable. Having his hands in the warmth of fresh blood was a thrill that partially filled the void in his mind and body, a thrill he would like to have during the day.

He had a hard time remembering how he had started his obsession with watching the sparkle in his victim's eyes fade. He had a hard time remembering why it amused him so much.

How unbearably distasteful. 

He had little time to think about it, given societal rules its ever present watchful eyes scrutinizing his every move. They pushed him against the wall of so-called established social normality, which affected him day by day.

Twenty-four going on twenty-five and no wife, living on the edge of town, never interested in pursuing dates or women. That raised suspicions. 

- Either he’s a homosexual or he’s hiding something- people muttered as they saw him walk.

The first few months working as the charismatic and handsome radio host, he was able to put up with the comments against his skin color, his Creole accent, and his lack of marital companionship, but after two years of work, he began to reach his limit.

Then his boss pops out a question.

"Heartfield, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Howard saw Alastor as a hermit, but also as a hard-working and ambitious young man, he had this elegant style attitude, sly and also cunning and good with words. 

Perfect for a woman such as yourself, one that had no filter whatsoever. 

“Nothing special” he admitted, he wasn’t a fan of holidays, not if he had to spend them alone, “How about you come over? My cousin is in town, she’s cooking, and we would like to give our silent dinners some twist” he had to laugh at his awkward comment, it was his boss after all.  

“How could I refuse such an offer? What should I bring?” It would have been rude to decline the invitation, especially if someone was going to go through the trouble of setting an extra place at the table for him, and having the opportunity to have a home-cooked dinner, which he hadn’t had in a long time, was a high benefit even if it came at the expense of a night with his boss. 

“Whatever you want, my cousin will be preparing a lot of things, so bring your appetite.” Alastor thought of the last Thanksgiving he ate turkey, which reminded him he skipped lunch that day, painfully so. “Will do” he limited himself to answer.

Tuesday 18th, Thanksgiving. Alastor woke up strangely excited. He ironed his burgundy suit, polished his shoes, he even styled his hair so he wouldn’t look like he stays out into the late hours, sleepless. 

It is a tradition to fast during the day in order to have some space for the feast, so he had only eaten a slice of bread and a cup of coffee from nine o'clock onwards. He felt nostalgic, excited, depressed and anxious, but perhaps it was the hunger talking, or the fact that he hadn’t spent Thanksgiving at anyone else's house since his mother died.

On the way to his boss's house, he thought about buying a bunch of sunflowers for the table. The wine he was carrying in his hand was already a lovely detail, according to his reasoning, but it would impress his boss, not the company his boss had at home.

"Good afternoon, I am in need of a modest bouquet of flowers" he explained as best he could to the lady at the store, who took pity on his anxious state and made him a mixture of chrysanthemum, marigolds and pansy.

“Right on time, Heartfield” Howard received him, took his coat and hung it on the deer antler rack at the entrance, one he took out from the basement just for the occasion. 

“Please make yourself at home, she should be down any minute, I’ll go check on the turkey” before he went inside the kitchen, Alastor took it upon himself to give him the wine he had bought, pleasing his boss upon eyesight. 

"Ah, Riesling, good choice." Since Howard was a known alcoholic, it was obvious he appreciated the kind gesture. "Thank you, though I think I played it safe," he said, as if he hadn't exactly known what to wear, an ideal humble mask. Of course Howard made sure to point at the bouquet with a mocking grin, "Surely, these are for my cousin?" Alastor examined the roots sticking out of the brown paper wrapping the flowers. 

"Yes, they are," he stated with a moral lump stuck in his throat, according to his upbringing it is good manners to offer flowers, had he done wrong?

"I didn't know you could be so thoughtful." Howard calmed his frayed nerve with a smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder, before retreating to the kitchen, like he stated earlier. 

It would have been rude to run out of the house. Alastor didn’t expect to feel anxious, much less like he was short of breath.

He had unconsciously prepared himself with conversation topics based on the radio show he hosts. 

He had accidentally glued himself to the spot Howard had left him in, a few steps from the entrance. Flowers in hand and undecided about whether to hang his hat on the rack or not.

Hearing footsteps coming from upstairs, he straightened his suit and took off his hat. Looking over his glasses, a silhouette stole time and the ground from beneath his feet.

It was as if he had seen a glimpse from when he was a little boy. His mother, limping downstairs one step at a time, after the accident  that had busted her leg. After adjusting his glasses he saw you, hands gripping on the railing for dear life.

"Y/n take small steps, you're going to hurt yourself" a second voice, soft and motherly, spoke from upstairs, a nurse as he recognized the uniform. 

Y/n, your name rolled again in his mind.

"Rosemary, I swear" your voice was hoarse and broken, making a warning to the nurse that followed you a few steps behind, muttering that you had already fallen once.

"Slipped, I didn't fall" you continued making small efforts to get down, given that you kept stepping on your skirt. 

"Rosemary, one more tone of pity and I will throw myself out the window" Alastor was taken aback by your warning, though it wasn't directed to him, he was amazed by how forward you could be.

The railing was facing the wall, so Alastor mainly watched you struggle down the stairs from your back. 

"Don't you dare, I spent a lot of time stitching you up!" The nurse quietly hissed to you, though Alastor heard her nonetheless. His stomach tightened when he saw you, the rim of the bandages showing off the neck of the dress tying the knot around his organs even tighter.

"I hate this color" you breathed, hand on your rib as you tried to support your weight against the railing. "Yellow is such a happy color" Rosemary tried to get your mood up, "Like jaundice" clearly not working, "That's just the stress talking".

"It's the lack of air, it's too tight" you pulled the bottom hem of the corset out, pinching over your dress, not helping release some of the pressure. "A corset has never killed anyone" Rosemary laughed at your angry quips, knowing you were just nervous and stress-talking nonsense.

"Oh yeah? Make sure they add that to my obituary, big letters, Lungs punctured by ribs because of a damn corset!" Alastor couldn’t help but scoff at your comment, especially after watching you make each word of the imaginary headline with your hands in the air. 

"I will make sure the intonation doesn't go unnoticed when the news gets presented on the radio" he jested, a big smile on his lips. 

 And then you left him paralyzed, cold in place. You looked over your shoulder at the stranger in the doorway, eyes whose anger was untold. He felt as if he were staring down the barrel of a rifle, cornered in the darkness. And yet, excited, alive, expectant.

"Do men also have to wear this type of sh-...stuff?" you bit your tongue and refrained from cursing. "Well, the shoes aren't pillows, and the tie can make a wonderful noose" he was wearing a long tie, just to spice things up. The same he pulled sideways and then up his head. 

Your gaze softened, not much, but to Alastor’s eyes, it was much less menacing. 

"Ever felt tempted?" he knew he had stepped into safe terrain when you joined his joke, "When the coffee machine broke during overtime, yes" and then even safer, when he swore he saw a smile reach your eyes. 

"I would hate to interrupt our chat, dearest, but you're dangerously stepping on your skirt" he pointed to your feet, following your stare down, he offered his hand from a distance, "May I?". 

He didn't move, he offered his help but did not make a single advance from where he was standing. Not until you nodded.

Alastor's hand, unlike yours, was bare. It was a good thing you were wearing leather gloves, since it would have been too much to touch someone else's skin again.

"Thank you...sir" he helped you walk down the rest of the stairs, feeling the faint shake of your muscles. "Alastor Heartfelt, at your service" he made a small bow, "Y/n Desmond" you mimicked his body language, not making a single sudden move. 

Both of you felt like you were dealing with a wild animal. Alastor looked at you carefully and calmly, as if he were facing a pack of wolves. You only saw a man, an enemy, a monster.

"Pleasure to meet you" his voice waivering slightly as he brought your attention to the bouquet, "These are for you, I hope it’s okay, I chose the ones with roots" you let go of his hand to grab the bouquet, that’s when he saw your face for the first time.

You never once looked into Alastor’s eyes for more than two seconds, and since he was taller than you, he had never really looked at your face until that moment. He realized that he never saw you smile, it was a cut on your right cheek that started at the corner of your lips all the way to your cheekbone, a permanent half smile on your face.

Sloppily covered with makeup.

Your eyes turned so big as if they were a child’s, shining and mesmerized with the colors. What a strange change in your demeanor, he thought. 

"Chrysanthemum...thank you" you made room in between him and the stairs so the nurse could come down. A woman in her forties, with a sweet voice and mannerisms. "This is Rosemary, she's...a friend" More than the sweet and motherly treatment she gave you when bandaging you, it was her name the thing you liked the most, since it was that of an herb with a very pleasant aroma.

Alastor offered her a smile and a polite salute, like a true gentleman. 

"Nice to meet you too. Now kids, I'll let you celebrate" Rosemary touched your forearm gently, saying goodbye, under her fingertips she felt your muscle move involuntarily. "Say hi to the kids for me" you knew she had a girl and a boy, she confided that information to you, even after knowing what you did, in hopes to get closer with you. 

"Will do, bye Y/n, nice to meet you Mr. Heartfelt" Rosemary was confident in leaving him with you, because she knew you would make him regret it if he ever touched you inappropriately. 

After she left, there was an awkward silence between you, not an awkward one that makes you feel like you have to say something. But that’s what Alastor turned it into. 

"So...I heard you were cooking tonight" you had prepared everything beforehand, even the pie was ready. "Yes, you can still run away" two steps back, the way you walked away from him, subtle, careful. "How come?" he smiled, shifting his eyes from your feet to your eyes, the cold stare came back. 

"Cooking is not my strongest suit; Howard was extremely paranoid" your tone didn’t match your face, it was playful. "Per usual" he agreed, "Probably, I did wreck the pie by mistaking the sugar for salt, so do yourself a favor and don't bother trying it.” He saw you go, your eyes moving fast and steady, yet hands clutching at the wrapping paper. How odd, he thought.

Playful tone, the defensive body language, menacing stare. The bandages, the cut, gray-ish skin, your retinas partially red. All consistent with abuse, either past or current. It made him wonder about the real reason he was invited to dinner and how he should approach you, or if he should at all. 

During dinner Howard didn't stop talking. It was either about how his business was going, Alastor being the star of his own segment, or his marriage that led to a messy divorce. All under the influence of Riesling and three fingers of whiskey, of course.

When it came time for dessert, Alastor was the first to ignore Howard's warnings and try the pie. "Savory pumpkin pie, it's like a quiche, it's very interesting" all while Howard snorted, half drunk.

"Don't try to be nice to me" a half smile, more mocking than sincere, was all Alastor received in return for his - in his words - flattery.

"Believe me, I'm not even trying, it's really good" for the love of the art of deception, he pretended to be more than just nice, but he smelled a plan, something was about to happen and he was stuck in the calm before the storm.

And speaking of which. After the disaster dessert, Howard invited Alastor to the garden for a smoke. 

A cigar, one of the many things Alastor loathed.. The smell was tolerable - funny enough-, he just wasn’t enthusiastic about the very particular type of men that makes use of said thick chunks of inhalable cancer. 

"So Alastor, I want to go ahead on a business offer" Howard was nowhere drunk enough to have that discussion, but he was determined, and god - and Satan- knows there’s no limit that can stop a drunk man with a mission. 

"Do I get a raise after two years?" Alastor nearly choked on the smoke, - it wasn’t his first time smoking, but it has been a while - making a joke to ease up his bad omen alarm. 

"HA! Good one" well that hurt his pride, you thought observing from the window. His body language shifted -oh so deliciously- violently. You slipped the very first laugh in months. 

"Y/n, does she seem pretty to you? even with the…" It bothered Alastor how his boss made a smiley-hand motion over his lips, then the curvy motion, how vain and fucked up. 

"Due to legal complications, she cannot leave the premises unless she marries or the due time is met" a bowling ball fell on his lungs, Alastor choked and coughed his lungs out. "Legal complications?" he managed to ask, thanks to the crude combination of drinks, Howard was too focused on his own issue to mock him.

"Well, she..." Howard swished his cigar in the air, looking for the right word for it,  "Got caught up in a fight, the police interpreted it as a crazy female insanity moment" and managed to make it sound worse - somehow -.

"Well that was low" you muttered.

“This is beyond inappropriate Howard” he wasn’t wrong.

“I know, but I already had ten other suitors and I can't get a decent man to like her” Howard only then started to get lightheaded, “You two seemed to have good sync back there, so I dunno” he slurred.

And then he shut off, flat on the grass.

“Did he give you the talk?” Alastor didn't have a second to react to his boss's sudden fall when you opened the door.

"He started…I think. What is that about?" you ignored his question, signaling him to take your cousin’s arms as you did his legs, taking his limp body up the stairs and onto his bed. 

"Mr. Heartfelt, if you'd like, you can have the rest of the turkey and forget this ever happened, he won’t remember it either way" as you walked your way downstairs to get his hat and coat, he followed you slowly, being aware of his leg length. 

“Ten suitors? None your type I assume” it was his challenging stance, the tone and how he bit back his lip, he was being a little shit, maybe on purpose. 

“I don’t know what you mean” playing dumb wasn’t your smartest idea, he saw right through that. “How bad did that legal complication of yours end?” 

“Mr.Heartfield” he cut you off, smooth as butter that bastard, “Alastor” you didn’t have many options but to comply, much to his amusement. 

 “Alastor, it was just a monumental misunderstanding, it got fixed, I’m just in house arrest as a precaution, for my safety that’s it” you handed him the pyrex with chunks of turkey inside, hearing him only humm to himself.

“How desperate is he to get rid of you?” very, the moment he read about the mobsters he wanted to kick you out. “He hates family drama, and thinks an unmarried woman of my age is a bad omen”.

“We seem to be in luck” he paced, the same four calculated steps, over and over. “How so?” you stepped away, using the living room table as a separation. “May I be frank with you?” he pursed his lips again, “I’ve been in the business for two years. Popularity has its perks, but the stalkers are no laughing matter” yet you laughed. 

“How unfortunate” you dismissed his self-melancholy, “Indeed, I don’t have the luck to be a divorcee like your cousin, I need a wife to keep the peering eyes elsewhere” while humming, you caught sight of his chestnut brown eyes, inspecting your essence down to the very foundation. 

It felt disgusting to be seen like that again. 

“With me on your arm those eyes will look at you repulsed” 

“Better yet.” 

“Wouldn’t that affect your ratings?”

“Not if I play this right” he smiled. 

He thought you were a game? You could play too. 

“What’s in it for me?” he arched his brow, slightly impressed and intrigued, “Oh, you thought I would be swooning over your accent and the compliments?” It was an exotic accent hidden under a trans-atlantic cover. 

“What do you want?” He quipped as he slid around the edge of the table, turned and stopped, a solid five steps away from you. “I want a cut of your earnings, a garden and my own bedroom” not at all what he thought.

“Don’t spouses sleep together?” he taunted, “Spouses that have sex sleep together, I don’t want you near me, not when it’s not necessary” one step back. 

“We wouldn’t have sex, at all?” he had this amused grin, a delicious contrast to your frown, “Is that a dealbreaker?” you hoped it was, not because it was him, but because as soon as you lay out that condition, the suitors find the door and disappear.

“I’m just trying to understand, you don’t hear this condition from many women, especially when arranging a marriage” he had a fair point, but didn’t deny it either. "I have no desire for kids" you placed your card, sure in your declaration.

To him it was unusual, to say the least, but it couldn’t be more perfect, something had to go wrong, you saw that hesitation in his eyes.

Some day he would realize how much he gives away with his eyes.

“Look, you get your dainty suburban wife cover, while I get my privacy, my hobby, and some independence when I get to be outside” 

“What else do I get?” 

“Witty conversation, a clean house, warm plate, need I say more?”

“Privacy, garden, money. I can work with that” 

"Seems we got ourselves a deal then" one sealed with a subtle kiss to your hand. 

[marzipanandminutiae]

You don’t like 1920s, 1940s AND 1950s fashion? Damn what did the mid-century do to you lol. K but seriously why not the 50s? The skirts had volume and were long-ish (at least in high fashion) and blouses were well structured and fitted and often had embroidery or embellishments.

Obviously I don't hate ALL of it; no era is a monolith. But there are a few things these eras have in common that I hate:

The rise of synthetic fabrics, AKA Using Plastic To Make Clothing. We're now at a place in terms of clothing where its actively harder and more expensive to wear natural fibers than to wear clothing made entirely of a substance that leaches into our water, holds odors, makes us sweat more, doesn't generally last as long or admit as much repair over time as most natural textiles, and just Kind of Sucks all around except for a few very specific purposes. Synthetics weren't invented in the 1920s, and natural fibers were common in all of these eras than they are today, but it was definitely increasing amounts of "BUY THESE NEW EXCITING PROGRESSIVE MODERN FABRICS!!!" throughout the early and mid-20th century. Which pisses me off in principle.

Less practical garments unless you lived a very specific lifestyle- namely, access to washing machines and a willingness to launder clothing after just one wear. Modern clothing is just not great unless you have access to very frequent washing (see above re: holding odors more than many natural fibers) and barrier garments to keep sweat away from them and stretch the time between washes aren't a thing anymore for most people. In the eras mentioned, everyone was getting so excited about machine laundry capabilities- and who wouldn't? washing machines ARE a huge boon! no denying that! -that they shifted away from modes of dress designed to minimize the necessity of laundering outer clothes. Except now, with concerns about the aforementioned microplastic leaching from washing machines draining into municipal sewers and less mendable clothing- washing is a huge strain on garments, and wears them out faster if you do it too often -we need to be getting back to the system of having fewer but higher quality garments and washing them less often. Except we can't. Because some idiot in the 1920s said "whoopee nobody will ever need linen combinations or chemises that actually serve a purpose anymore!" and the subsequent decades continued it.

The silhouettes generally do not spark joy for me. 1920s actively makes me fly into a rage and scream into pillows, with the exception of robes de style MAYBE. 1940s...well, let's say there was a reason the New Look was so popular, and that's "no more boxy utility wartime clothes." I will give 1940s the hair prize here, though, because I like it better than any other decade 1920s-50s. I actually DO like the New Look! ...but not its combination with the bullet bra; yikes. This is highly subjective.

Some of the textiles, patterns, colors, and common embellishments used are just not my thing. I don't go in for Bold And Graphic And Geometric anything, usually. With a very very small number of exceptions. Polka dots and florals are also not my thing (unless the florals are on a dark background). Plastic jewelry? Hard pass. ~Fun~ motifs like fruit (except pomegranates which have Goth Appeal), the poodles on a poodle skirt, household objects, transportation, etc? No thank you; reads too Kindergarten Teacher for me. Again, not universal or exclusive to those eras- witness the 1880s chicken-print dress I saw an illustration of once -but more prevalent, to my eyes.

Hair. 1920s bobs make most people's heads look blocks. I love a good bob, but those are not Good in my opinion. 1920s Up Hair is usually meant to mimic a bob. 1930s was only a little bit better. 1940s, as I've said, was skirting the line for me and marginally acceptable. 1950s took us right back to a solid Nope with either short poodle cuts or pageboys as the main options for adult women. An occasional chignon maybe, but nothing else that appeals to me personally. just not great all around.

All of these eras were holier-than-thou about the Victorians and their fashion, which I love, so I'm petty about it. Yes please tell me more about how your plastic bullet bras or potato sack dresses are inherently superior to Grandma's elegant and comfortable long wool skirts with the perfect center back pleating. Oh, the 1860s were the ugliest fashion period ever in your opinion? Fascinating. I am setting your car on fire.

I actually DO like the New Look...which is heavily inspired by mid-19th century fashion, so that's not really any big surprise. Still has the issues with synthetic materials and the end of practical undergarments, though. Also, why stop at mid-calf for everyday skirts? Instep Or Bust You Cowards.

[rizsu]

validation gojo satoru.

sum. after learning through a couple dates that you have a three-year-old daughter, gojo's now found himself doing anything to make her like him. even if he hates it.

gojo doesn't know what he's doing. pet shops aren't his thing — scratch that — dogs aren't his thing. he hates the way they fur up every single furniture but deep down, gojo's simply afraid of them.

due to his nature of wanting the upper hand on a daily basis, he's found himself standing in-line along with a caged puppy. the reason? he wants to impress the three-year-old girl by getting her what she always wanted. not needed, but wanted.

in addition to proving his love for her mother, he also must prove that he can be a perfect step-father. he'll do whatever it takes to make his ( unofficial ) woman and her mini-version happy. but.. it seems like there's only one person happy about this.

"this cannot possibly be hers, right...?" you questioned, standing at the door. there's a worried glint on your face.

"it's certainly not mines," he starts, lifting the cage with one hand, "and it's not yours."

you both stand in silence. one man gifts an immature grin as the other fights away the urge to close the door. you know it's hers but you really wish it wasn't. gojo doesn't hesitate to spend money and it isn't a problem. the only problem is that you're afraid of him spoiling her to the core. a puppy was something she only wanted — it's not a necessity. maybe it won't hurt to see her excited about it.

"are you gonna let me in?" gojo asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

"should i?"

"i think that's an exquisite idea."

rolling your eyes, you moved two steps back. gojo enters and immediately looks around for the star of the day. her absence makes him question you, "is she asleep?"

you shaked your head "no," making a bee line to the pantry. scattering around its contents to offer him a light snack, you spoke, "she's cosplaying as a chef in her so called kitchen."

gojo accepts the snack, muttering a "thanks," before looking at you with eyes that spoke his mind.

sighing, you made your way to her playroom. "i'll get her. you hide the dog."

"excuse you, it's a puppy!" gojo corrected.

"same thing!"

after a couple minutes and two snacks later, you re-entered the living room with a vibrant toddler settled on your hip. she's hosting a mini chef hat on her head along with a matching apron and plastic spatula. upon laying her eyes on gojo, she whispers, "mommy, it's jojo!"

"it's gojo, baby," you corrected her, smiling at the mispronounciation.

gojo's senses notifies him about your presence, ripping him away from inspecting the random paintings decorating your walls. he turns around with a smile, walking to capture the little girl in his arms. "well hello, mini-chef."

"jojo!" she exclaims, reaching her arms out for him.

"i got you a surprise~" he teased, placing her down to retrieve the puppy.

she looks at him with furrowed eyebrows, head tilted with confusion and excitement. her two pigtails swing as she turned to you asking, "mommy, do you know?"

sitting on the couch, you pinched her cheek, lying to her in order to keep the surprise, "mommy has no clue."

gojo doesn't return with the cage but he does return with a blanket-wrapped puppy that's facing him. he makes his way to you both, kneeling down to her level as he instructs, "i'm gonna hand you something, you must hold it carefully, okay?"

she nods three times, expression utterly serious at the new quest.

handing over the puppy to her, she gasps at the sight. face lit with overjoy and sparkles. "it's a lil' doggy!!"

she switches her gaze between you, gojo, and the puppy. too overjoyed to form any sentence. gojo feels proud — there's a tiny feeling swelling in him. the sight of her being excited over his gift has him wanting to buy her the world. he pats her head, looking over at you whose eyes are stuck on your daughter. a motherly smile adorned on your face. a smile that made gojo fan-boy in his head.

"thank you, satoru," you whispered to him, not wanting to disturb your daughter and her new-found friend.

"anything for the two of you," he whispers back, leaning his head on your knee as he entertains himself watching your daughter squatting down to gently pat the puppy.

[dairy-farmer]

Imagining Jason feeling so guilty about everything he's done to Tim, so now he treats Tim like he's a princess. Spoiling his Timmy any chance he can get, feeding him, getting him gifts he just glanced at in vague interest. Maybe at some point when the others see what's happening they get a little jealous cause they keep seeing Timmy's small smiles and red face, they've gotten so used to his rbf that they forgot what he looks like excited. So one after another each person starts to try to do what Jason has been doing with varied success. Anyways, I just really like the idea of Tim being pampered and fawned over, and being treated like the princess he is~ <3

-🐁

jason being all ashamed because when things finally sort of simmer down and become civil it turns out that tim...jason actually enjoys being around tim. like...the two of them have so much in common. jason makes some obscure reference or joke and tim actually gets it, he gets it and lets out a quiet snort of amusement from behind his phone or laptop screen. the two of them share the same sense of humor, the same interest in cheap gory movies, the same food tastes that have the rest of the family grumbling and whining about ordering in from the same place every time because tim and jason both voted for the same place again making them the majority vote. unlike the rest of the family tim is also...easy to get along with. very easy. there's an ease, a humor at being with tim like they're constantly on the same wavelength. so it makes jason feel more than a little...ashamed at how their relationship started. because it means that things are...tense when its just the two of them. like when they're home alone because the rest of the family is out or when they're both up in the middle of the night and sneaking ice cream. tim has this cute little smile that showed off the small gap in his teeth and made his cheeks all pink when tim makes a particularly clever quip and it just makes jason...makes the desire to see it more grow. so jason tries, dare he say it, charming tim. buying him his favorite candies, inviting him to hang out, buying him gifts like that new game he'd talked about his civilian friends playing. he wants to treat tim...well. partly to make up for the rough start and partly because he wants to and so when they start getting closer and jason starts making some progress of course the others notice and just have to ruin it for him by trying to take up tim's very limited time.

[theresattrpgforthat]

It would be awesome if you could recommend some solo ttrpgs! I've been getting into them a lot lately and want to know more of what's out there. Especially journalling ones, as I enjoy creative writing. So far I've looked into (and will probably buy soon) Firelights, Apawthecaria, and Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.

Also, I love this blog a ton. Already there have been some awesome games I've learned about from you, including the one you're currently working on. Excited to give it a try sometime! Keep being amazing 💜.

Theme: Solo Journalling Games

Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm certainly excited to run Protect the Child for folks, play-testing it so far has been really fun!

As for your ask, solo games and journalling go hand in hand. These next few games are just a sampling of what I've added recently to my Solo Games folder on Itch.

Cats Know Things, by Mushroom Witch Games.

CATS KNOW THINGS is a light-hearted game meant to tell a humorous story of intrigue, all while pretending to be a very nosy cat. 

But you are no ordinary cat.

You are a very special feline who, through some magic you cannot explain, can communicate with your human, an individual who wishes to make their mark in society by any means necessary. The two of you decide to start a society page, (a very fancy type of tabloid newspaper dedicated to a particular location) revealing the glitz, glamour, and inner turmoil of the town’s most notable individuals. 

Use a d6 and a d10 to generate numbers, and sneak into places to listen into secret or private conversations. Then bring this news to your human companion, so that they may relay this gossip in the local society page. You need to find 6-8 scintillating stories before the week is up, so that your human has enough to print.

If you want a game full of scandal and cute furry little rumour-mongers, this might be the game for you!

Lingering, by Meghan Cross.

The last thing you remember, you were dying.

Now, breath fills your lungs once more and your eyes open, slowly shifting side to side as you attempt to regain your bearings. You are alive. But you are…changed. Your human form is gone, and in its place is one that is different, foreign, animal…

In Lingering, you play as a person who has died, only to find yourself alive again in an animal form, unable to move on to your eternal rest until you settle business left unsettled from your life. 

Throughout the course of a game, you will make several attempts to communicate with a chosen human, hoping to convey a message to them so they can assist you and help you move on once and for all. 

This game uses a deck of cards and some guiding adjectives to determine how your attempts at communication will go. Over eight rounds, you’ll flip cards while guessing as to whether each card will be higher or lower than the previous one, and a successful guess means a successful interaction. The details of those attempts are what you’ll be journalling, and Lingering provides a number of questions that you might try to answer with each attempt.

This game takes place over eight rounds, so it’s excellent if you want a short, contained game. It also has a two-player option if you want to try this game out with a loved one.

Dragon Dowser, by HatchlingDM.

Dragon Dowser is a solo journaling RPG using the Carta SRD by Peach Garden Games. You play a mysterious character known as a 'Dowser'. Your aim is to locate abandoned dragon eggs and return them to your Sanctuary. If you succeed before expending your resources, the hatchling you rescue will be reared to change the kingdom forever! 

This is a lovingly crafted game that uses card suits to represent four different kinds of ways your character will be tested, as they interact with different cultures, explore new landscapes, and dea with various conflicts, both human and nature-made.

You’ll travel across a grid of cards that provide you with journaling prompts as you travel. You’ll expend resources to overcome obstacles, looking for a dragon egg, represented by an Ace! Once you return this egg to a sanctuary, you’ll journal about your experience of raising the hatchling. Based on the games you’ve mentioned so far, I think Dragon Dowser is right up your alley.

EDEN, by blasez-faire.

You are Judaiah Clark, the Head Botanical Researcher at the Southern Sector of Eden. You are here for exactly 10 days, and were a last minute choice after the sudden disappearance of ■■■■■■ ■■■■■, the last person to hold this position. You are not here for work. Investigate.

EDEN is a single-page game that takes place over the course of 10 in-game days, with two questions that you will have to answer in your journal for every day. You are expected to write up a report with detailed notes, so much of the extrapolation taken from each pair of questions is going to come from your own imagination. To help with this you might want to come up with names for other characters, draw a map of the Southern Sector, or go into detail about the plants that this research station grows.

One thing is for sure - this is going to be a horror story. If you like games that give you a lot of room to stretch your creative wings, and you also like writing terrible endings for your characters, you might like this game.

Black Mountain Numbers Station, by Simon de Vet.

You wake one morning to the sound of a voice on the radio reading a series of numbers. On impulse, you jot them down. These numbers will become your life.

Black Mountain Numbers Station is a one-page, solo-journaling game about a mysterious broadcast, and about finding patterns in randomness. Using a unique dice mechanic to prompt you to describe your journey, you will tell a short story of obsession, frustration, and discovery.

This game is uses a 6x6 grid with boxes that you’ll need to fill when you roll a pair of dice. You’ll trigger evens when you roll doubles or find a certain pattern on the grid as you fill it, and in both of these cases, you’ll write special journal entries. The game ends when you fill your Frustration track, which symbolizes listening for too long without learning anything new. What exactly you learn, however, is up to you.

Bound, by K Ramstack.

Bound is a single player setting agnostic game about the connection between two people as they travel to a destination through the destruction of the world on a journey they will most likely not complete.

You will create two characters, their relationship to one another, the destruction that haunts them, and the motive for them to move forward.

During the game, you will be asked to write scenes in first person, switching perspectives between characters, and using their personality traits and subjective conceptualizations of each other to answer prompts.

Bound has a single and two-player version, and uses two decks of playing cards, one for each character. Each card will relate to a prompt on the prompt table, but only the highest ranked prompt will be answered. Each prompt will ask a question about the relationship, and how it changes.

If you want a deeply emotional game with a beautiful layout and lovely art, this is the game for you.

The Narrator Paradox, by psychound.

The Narrator Paradox is a one page solo-narrating game where you try to tell a story … if your protagonist will let you. In it, you determine the five acts of your story based on an oracle, then make rolls for your plot beats to see if you can wrangle your protagonist into the prescribed narrative. If you can't, they defy you and take the story into their own hands. Wrestle the story into shape against a rebellious hero, or lose them forever and have to finish the story without them in it. 

Using the Major Arcana of a tarot deck, two six-sided dice and a coin, The Narrator Paradox has a number of different ways that you’ll try to keep your story on track. However, with so much randomness, your protagonist is sure to have a mind of their own. This feels very much in tune with how many writers talk about their characters as if those characters have their own desires, so if you’ve ever related to that you might enjoy this game.

Also Check Out...

My Solo Games tag! I use this tag for every recommendation post specifically for solo games.

[kentopedia]

Any dating Gojo headcannons?

ੈ✩‧₊˚ dating gojo headcanons

so starting this off by saying that if you’re in a relationship with gojo, there will be so many photos taken! they could be of both of you together, just you, just him, etc.

he likes to keep memories of all the times you’re together, and will scroll through all the photos when he’s feeling down or when you’re apart.

also, he also changes his lockscreen frequently to whatever recent photo of you has become his new favorite. <3

gojo will do absolutely everything in his power to make you laugh, especially if you’re feeling down.

at some times, he will be the most ridiculous boyfriend, but it's just bc he always wants to see you happy

whether or not you’re a sorcerer, gojo will introduce you to all his students!!

but... they already know everything there is to know about you because gojo talks about you non-stop. so when you do meet for the first time, hey feel like they’ve already met you before.

they definitely tease gojo about how you deserve someone better than him, especially nobara and megumi <3 though, it's all for fun and they are all genuinely so supportive of your relationship.

he makes you come to his classes as a "guest speaker." there is absolutely no learning done at these times. ever.

but you get to know the students better, and gojo loves seeing you interact with them. mostly, he just invites you to the school to see him and all the students know it.

because gojo takes care of megumi, you'll be the closest to him of all the students. and megumi is honestly tired of both of you, but he’ll tell gojo he likes you more just to annoy him.

gojo will take you out to eat a lot, especially at nice restaurants--but only if that’s your thing! if you'd rather eat at home or don’t feel comfortable at stuffy places, then he doesn’t care.

he just wants to spend time together and make you feel special bc you are!! <3

also, there will be so many dates to get a little treat. it doesn’t matter what, if its sweet, gojo will be buying it.

if you don’t like sweets… gojo will probably still buy you one so you can try it (and then he'll just eat it himself).

gojo loves when you wear his clothes, even if they fit you horribly. he starts leaving tshirt and sweatshirts at your home in the hopes that you’ll wear them when you’re lounging around

expect a lot of stupid texts or phone calls, and always at inconvenient times.

he sends you things that make no sense. then sends you screenshots of when he sent them to nanami and got left on read.

gojo sends a lot of screenshots of him annoying nanami. it's honestly his favorite hobby

every time you walk into a room, gojo will smile so brightly to the point that people notice and start teasing him about it. he doesn't care though :)

he is always excited to see you, even if you’ve only been apart for five minutes

we all know gojo's got generational wealth, so he’s going to spoil you all the time. don't protest bc he loves spending money on you. gift giving is def a love language of him.

so he's always buying you gifts, whether they’re just random things that reminded him of you, unnecessary items he secretly wanted for himself, or extensive, thought out gifts he’s been contemplating for a while.

gets you big bouquets of flowers all the time.

once he sees that one of the flowers is wilting, he’s on his way to buy another. he’ll switch up which flowers he gets depending on what looks the best during the season.

but if you have an absolute favorite flower, he’ll gravitate towards those <3

he uses an excessive amount of pet names. sticks to the classics most of the time, but when he’s feeling silly, he'll whip out something so ridiculous you will cringe

when you’re out in public, he usually keeps a hand on you somewhere, just so he can reassure himself you’re nearby. he doesn’t expect that any curses are going to sneak up on him, but he knows better than to take a stupid risk like that.

teases you so much it’s almost painful, but he knows when he’s taking it too far. he’ll never do anything to upset you.

he's pretty good at reading you, but he wants you to know the you can always talk to him about anything! he doesn't want his partner to be scared of talking to him, because he knows that communication is important

(even if he's sometimes bad at it.)

at the end of the day, he is going to be the most supportive person in your life, and he just wants to feel as happy as you make him

if he’s been away for work, or had a particularly rough day, he’ll be extra clingy.

he loves cuddling <3

i feel like there will be lots of movie watching dates on the couch (though expect that this will lead to something more)

he won’t (always) do it on purpose, but he likes seeing you get jealous.

gojo’s pretty flirtatious by nature, but he’ll make sure that you know it doesn’t mean anything if he smiles a little too much at the barista, or talks to the waitress a bit too friendly.

but he would also be lying if he said he disliked the annoyance that would spread on your face, and he’d kiss you even harder once you were back home.

gojo’s outwardly very confident, but secretly, he wants a lot of reassurance from you.

initially, he tries to do things that will get a lot of compliments from you. you eventually pick up on this and just shower him in affection

and when you’ve said you loved him, he will ask you to say it all the time. <3

gojo loves taking you on shopping dates and watching you model all of the clothes. he will be no help at picking things out because he’ll think you look good in everything!!

he can be quite spontaneous, so whatever you want to do, he’s always up for it.

gojo falls first, but he doesn’t tell you first. he’s honestly a bit insecure that he’s not enough for you and waits for you to say “I love you” first.

honestly, he decides pretty early on in the relationship that you’re the person he wants to spend the rest of your life with.

but... he waits a while to propose because he’s a sorcerer and he knows that things in his life could change at any moment.

he will love you so so much <3