#and go into full detail behind my logic

[chemzee]

Cassandra is 100% going to be dateable otherwise why else is she your dancer partner and why can we get affection points for her?

Uffuiggiig yeah to be honest I completely agree in that regard :"D

Funny thing is, I actually did something of a tier list thingie recently for shit n giggles, like, which characters are most likely to become dateable based on my own logic and Cass was in the top tier for many reasons, which mostly relate to affection sistem (her+Ivy and Daniel being your partner in all the game modes possible) and what I'd call "favoritism advantages", as in many people like her + the devs seem to like her as well, so it only makes sense she would theoretically have high chances.

[seiwas]

omg im scared my tags are gonna get cut out

were he not born to be a hero he must surely be born for this. <- I LOOOOVE THISS my GODD are u KIDDDDINGME i looooove that so much monty :(( how it ties back in to the start!!

and the way!! he uses what he learned on izuku. and izuku really DID burst into a million tears 🥺 poor guy probs needs it THE MOST WAAAH i loooove this lil interaction i am MUSH

and when he realises its different from touching you??? OHHHH. BOYYYYYY.

i love this monty thank u for writing this

STEADY BEGINNINGS ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship (eventual friends to lovers), touch starved shouto, physical affection (hand holding + long hugs), good god the yearning, obliviousness, jealousy, fluff + angst, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 3.8K

series masterlist: 2/5

Shouto was born to be a hero.

It is a sentiment shared by reporters and fans alike. Todoroki Shouto, the pride of Endeavor, the saving grace of his family name. True, his development had been entirely up to chance—no matter the intent or cruel desperation behind his father’s actions, he had to rely on the probability that the next offspring would win the genetic lottery—but low and behold, he did, and to many people that alone was a sign of destiny at work.

Ultimately, he chose to continue the path of being a hero himself, but no higher being put him there. His father did. At the time of his birth Shouto had not been a son, not even a baby. He was a project. A small, shapeless, squirmy thing. Malleable, like any young mind. It’s a miracle he retained any will and individuality.

Sometimes when alone with his thoughts, Shouto would hypothesise on the whys and the hows. The conclusion he always comes to is this: any sort of reality in which Shouto succumbs to his father’s ideals and manipulation would have to be a world in which his mother does not exist.

While his existence was planned, and wanted, he was to be a hero and as such, wasn’t cut from love—that came after. He loved his mother. So much so that when she hurt, he hurt. When she cried, he cried. She taught him what it meant to be gentle, to have hope, to aspire to be his own person. Years spent amongst the country's finest heroes and Shouto still regarded his mother as the bravest woman he knew, strong because she refused to be hardened by her circumstances; soft so that she can’t be broken again.

You are like his mother in that regard. Those same echoes of reassurance that softness isn’t weakness, and it isn’t earned. You’ve been touching him more as of late, as if determined to prove it. Static between brushed fingertips, words expressed by simply pressing your knees together, the weight of your hand on his bicep to garner his attention. The build up is subtle and cumulative and yet each instance strikes him with the magnitude of a thermodynamic explosion.

Nobody bats an eyelid to this shift in physicality, which makes it all the more difficult to determine whether he is reading into things or not. It could be that he’s noticing those small instances only because it’s you, and you are all he can think about lately.

You’ve given him permission to reciprocate. He merely has to ask for more if he wants it. What Shouto hadn’t accounted for is the unbearability of being vulnerable enough to ask. An innocent “can you hug me?” becomes so much more daunting to voice with all that longing crowded up behind it. He can’t help worrying you’ll see right through to the bottom of his desires.

A hand comes into view. Bakugo’s ash-smudged finger and thumb pinch and snap together in front of his face. “Come back to Earth, dumbass. Your thousand yard stare is scarin’ my new assistant”.

Shouto blinks out of his stupor and the blurred vignette surrounding his vision recedes. He glances at the skittish man sitting outside Bakugo’s office currently sending worried glances over his shoulder. “I think he’s more scared that you’re back,” Shouto intones dryly. “Isn’t he the fourth one this year?”

“Not my fault they’re all wimps,” Bakugo huffs. A slap reverberates around the office as he throws down a manila folder onto his desk and drops heavily into his chair. He regards Shouto with suspicion overtop his computer monitor. “Whatever you were just thinkin’ about—stop”.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about”.

“I know you always manage to make Olympic level leaps in logic,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and tears open the folder. He slides out what Shouto assumes is a debrief and flips it between his fingers. Shouto keeps quiet. He reclines into the couch cushions and returns to reading the incident report on his lap, counting down from ten in the privacy of his mind. Anytime now.

Three, two, one.

“So what is it?” Bakugo asks, trying too hard to sound flippant but landing squarely on irritation. “Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm”.

Shouto opens his mouth and closes it again. A wave of hot embarrassment washes over him. He knows Bakugo will do him the kindness of being blunt and honest but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating to admit.

In their younger years Shouto saw something of a kindred spirit in Bakugo. He too did not like touch and aggressively voiced his distaste for it whenever he got the chance—which was often, because divine intervention sought fit to give him the most tactile, handsy friend group possible.

As they got older though, Shouto began to realise that the protests and threats were hollow. Despite being vehemently against affection, Bakugo would allow it anyway, and sometimes even seek it out. The aggression was bravado. Bakugo liked having his friends draped around his shoulders. He liked when Mina kissed his cheek, or Kaminari played with his hair, or Kirishima gathered him into a too-tight hug, or Sero tangled their ankles together on the couch.

Only, for him to comfortably accept it, Bakugo needed to act as though he were doing them a favour by allowing them into his space. And Bakugo’s friends played along without complaint.

From what he’s observed you are also an affectionate person. You are liberal with your warmth and adapt seamlessly to the boundaries of those around you. But you were also visibly uncomfortable whenever people took that affinity for intimacy as an open invitation, and recoiled if they encroached on your own.

Shouto has imagined reaching out only for your body to flinch away from him more times than he can count. It’s a battle staged in his head, ingrown fears. The possibility alone was enough to keep him from reciprocating, set in a state of fawn-like inertia.

��There’s somebody I want to get closer to. A friend,” he begins. Bakugo makes an inquisitive noise, props his cheek against his fist and narrows his eyes as he listens. Shouto retells the story in part, deciding to omit your name, and by the tail-end of it Bakugo’s forehead is deeply creased in dissatisfaction.

“You make all your own problems, Halfie. Y’know that?” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and sinking back into his chair. “Fine, you don’t want to make this person uncomfortable, or whatever. If you need a hug so damn badly, why not ask Deku? Not like he’d say no”.

Knowing Bakugo would make his dilemma sound ridiculous is one thing, actually hearing it is another. “How do you know it isn’t about Midoriya,” Shouto returns petulantly.

“It ain’t Izuku or anyone else from your nerd squad,” Bakugo says, dropping his hand to drum on the desk. “I would’ve heard about it”.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t touch people. And that’s fuckin’ fine, yeah? But if you had, I know for a fact any one of them would’ve burst into tears and told everyone in a five mile radius”.

“Oh,” it leaves him a little off-kilter to hear. Shouto leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, setting the report on the dark wood coffee table. The corner of the page is curled, and the spine is creased, and the ink annotation has smudged under his thumb. He details these things as he deliberates, the excuses cloying in his throat and thick like he might cry too.

Bakugo was right—if he craved close contact so badly, why couldn’t he go to Midoriya? He knows he would likely be met with enthusiasm.

“You don't have to tell me who. I don’t care. But you’re overthinking it,” Bakugo grunts at his lack of response, in a way that very much suggests that he cares. “Go ask. If they say ‘no’ it’s tough shit, but the world isn’t gonna end. From what you’ve told me they wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway. Dumbass”.

Shouto nods and gives up the pretense of reading the paperwork. He feels coltish as he stands and brushes down his front, straightening the creases.

“You’re right”.

“I know”.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” he says. A small smile unfurls across his anxiety-bitten mouth. “You’re a good friend”.

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles. It’s a testament to his concern that he hadn’t cursed Shouto there and then. “Now get out of my office. What are you doing here in the first place? You got your own!”

“Yours gets all the sunlight. And it’s always quiet because nobody comes in here,” Shouto ignores the baleful slit of an eye Bakugo turns on him. “I’m going to take my lunch now”.

“Do what you want,” Bakugo dismisses haughtily, and Shouto smiles while thinking, not for the first time, that he’s very lucky to have friends like these.

The fidgety assistant bows as he exits and turns into the sun-drenched hallway. Warmth drapes around Shouto’s shoulders, lingering at his nape while he descends the dark stairwell where the light doesn’t reach. His boots thud against the linoleum, and he counts each footfall to keep his face neutral as his legs carry him toward your department.

Somewhere between one and one hundred and thirteen, a fraction of Shouto’s courage starts to dwindle. He grits his teeth. A hundred steps can’t be enough to dissuade him after decades of denying himself any kind of indulgence.

The further he goes into the support wing the more elaborate the layout becomes. You’re in research and development, assigned a workshop close to the quirk analysts. Heads turn as Shouto rolls through. Heroes didn’t often make personal visits to this area. If he thinks hard enough he could count a grand number of two past visits and neither of them were for you.

His stride falters when he catches sight of your nameplate. It is fixed to the wall outside your door, polished and gleaming proudly. Shouto traces the characters of your name engraved into steel before raising his hand to knock.

Your voice rings out from inside, “Come in!”

A pitched beeping sound comes from overhead. The workshop doors begin to open in a theatrical fashion, receding like curtains to reveal your space. The floor is mapped out with tape. Clear boundaries drawn between the work benches, the fume cupboards, the vault and your personal office, in an attempt at organised chaos. He might have been more interested in poking around for the first time if he had not felt on the edge of intrusion.

You’re tucked behind your curved desk surrounded by numerous monitors that dwarf your frame. Shouto furtively takes in your cute, rumpled appearance. The upper half of your coveralls have been undone to reveal an undervest, sleeves tied tight around and accentuating your waist.

“Take a seat, I’ll be with you in…” the dull tapping of practiced keystrokes comes to a stop as you notice him in the doorway. The professional veneer disappears. “Shouto?” you say, mostly to yourself. Your gaze slides beyond his shoulder, looking for whoever might be accompanying him. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a worried twist in your mouth that he wants to smudge away. A look in your eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugged at his being. Shouto rolls his shoulders, shaking off the tension, and moving deeper into your office. The doors close automatically behind him. “I’m okay,” he assures, taking the seat across from you.

Your expression gentles, and he likes how your gaze follows him. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he continues. “But if you’re working I can head back”.

“Lunch?” you repeated. Your eyes darted to the corner of the monitor closest to you and promptly widened. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

An upswing of fondness catches him like a blow to the chest. His mouth quirks into a smirk. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long. I got lumped with a new project a few days ago and it’s almost done,” the monitors shut off one by one as you sheepishly press each button. Then you gave him a soft, apologetic look, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Must’ve missed me if you came all the way down here”.

Dread shriked through him. The low whirring from the equipment scattered around your workspace is suddenly inordinately loud. Was he that obvious?

You, however, fail to notice Shouto’s anxiety and grab him around the wrist as you pivot the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go before the good stuff is gone,” you tell him.

Shouto had absolutely no clue what the ‘good stuff’ entailed—maybe he should’ve bothered to ask. Atleast it would take his mind off your hand. It’s wrapped around his sleeve, right where the fabric ends, loose enough for him to unshackle from if he wants. When he doesn’t protest the contact you stroke your thumb in an arc over the heel of his hand and squeeze.

Shouto falls into step, too caught up to realise you’ve taken him to the cafeteria. He expects you’ll drop his wrist in the presence of your colleagues, yet you adjust your grip and glance back at him with an encouraging tilt of your head.

“I’m starving. I think I’ll get a rice bowl. Smells pretty good today, don’t you think?”

Shouto hummed his agreement. He felt out of his depth, and he didn’t trust his voice. The spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to his throat. The line is mercifully short and before long he has a warm bowl of food held against his front.

“Did you want to sit in here? I can take us to one of the senior staff lounges instead if you want,” you cast a nervous look across the sparse crowd. “I mean, support engineers aren’t really gossiping types but…”

A petty part of him hoped the whispers would escalate. To have your name linked with his, to be known as a person that you cared about—he found that deeply satisfying, for reasons he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

Then again, being alone with you far eclipsed the appeal of flaunting your friendship. “The senior staff lounge sounds best,” he answers after a minute of feigned consideration. You nod, regretfully having dropped his hand, and motion for him to follow once more.

The lounge is a modest room with a kitchenette, a breakfast nook and a few bean bag chairs. It smells faintly like peeled oranges. There are post it notes and blueprints haphazardly stuck to the pinboard, covering an out of date calendar filled out in illegible scrawl. This is no shop awning. There is no rainfall to lend to the ambiance. But you are together in an enclosed space, and that is enough to make his heart beat in anticipation.

You scoot into the breakfast nook. He sits on the same side of the table and tries to subtly spread his knees enough to nudge your thigh. You side-glance in surprise but choose not to mention it. Instead you smile through your first mouthful and ask, “How've things been since I last saw you?”

Achy, like he’s used an atrophied muscle. Lonely, and frustrating beyond words. But he doesn’t say any of that. He digs crescents into his thigh through his pant leg and says, “Boring”.

“Figured that might be the case. I saw the livestream of you fighting Haywire,” you bump your shoulder against his. “The Commission probably dumped a whole load of paperwork on you, huh?”

Shouto wrinkles his nose. He hoped you hadn’t caught that fight. The pursuit of Haywire—an eco terrorist with an electrical quirk—managed to cause an unprecedented amount of damage to the city infrastructure.

“You handled it as best you could. The power grid can be fixed. What’s important is people are alive because of you,” a warm weight covers the fingers restlessly whittling at his pant leg. You pet his hand, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt”.

Guided solely by his impulses, the instant you start to draw back he envelops the top of your hand and sandwiches it between his own. He goes hot and cold all over in quick succession. Boundaries, he reminds himself. But you’re not pulling away. You’re studying him with a knowing gleam in your eye.

Shouto clears his throat. Heat pricks across his skin, concentrated in his cheekbones. “Sorry,” he says. You can ask, a memory echoes. “Is this okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise. I told you it’s fine,” you reply firmly. “I’m happy to remind you if you need to hear it”.

“No, I…” his brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking”.

“That’s not good”.

Shouto snorts and shakes his head, his amusement petering out into a shallow breath. “I want to ask. I’ve wanted to ask like you said I could,” he explains vaguely. “I’m not very good at it, I think”.

You make a soft, understanding sound that immediately sets him at ease. “I guess, after denying yourself something for so long it can be scary to let yourself have it again,” you murmur, a faraway look in your eyes. After a pensive moment the sheen fades and your laughter lines deepen, “I’ll do what I did before, then. If you look like you need a hug I’ll ask you instead”.

“In what way do I ‘look like’ I need a hug?”

“You get this—I don’t know how to explain it,” you gesture vaguely at him. “This blankness about you, but not your normal resting face, I mean you don’t seem all there. I don’t like it. I like it best when you’re happy”.

“Ah,” comes his eloquent response. Shouto drops his gaze to where your hands knot together. Every quark in his body is urging him to get closer, and remain close. “Bakugo thinks I should try to hug Midoriya, too,” he adds, oddly flustered.

“Huh. You talked to Bakugo about—? That’s a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean! Well, Midoriya does give great hugs. It would be good for you to…”

Shouto’s thoughts grow louder and he frowns down at his rice. You’re saying something about physical touch and wellness and friends. Dopamine and serotonin. It barely registers. Two truths are pinging around his skull.

You have hugged Midoriya. Of course you have. You’re friends.

You think he’s great at it.

Why is that so unsettling? Teenagers think like this. Single minded and overly emotional.

He feels the shifting of your knuckles under his palm. “Hey. You’ll need one of these back if you’re going to eat,” you say.

“Right,” he lifts his left hand and picks up his chopsticks to take a pinch of rice from his bowl. He chews until the clamouring in his mind has settled, and you patiently accept his stoic silence without explanation. Shouto hasn’t been this awkward since highschool, and even then he was too wrapped up in his familial problems to be aware of it.

“What’s the project you’ve been working on?” he eventually asks.

You take the change of topic in your stride, leaning closer and lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “I’m not supposed to tell you but—it’s for Deku’s new costume”.

“Midoriya is getting a new costume?” Shouto replies. You playfully shush him and he pouts a little.

“Don’t sulk. He doesn’t know yet either,” you poke a chopstick at the corner of his jutted mouth. “It’s my job to prepare a design portfolio and talk through everything next week. You’ll get a new one too, when you break the top five”.

“If,” he amends.

“You don’t think you’ll move up?”

“Reaching the top was never really a priority for me,” Shouto’s attention splinters, half of his focus on the conversation and the other on the sensation of your skin. He considers overturning his hand to entwine your fingers. “I just want to be the best hero I can be”.

You hum, and as if plucking the desire right from his mind, absentmindedly slip into the gaps between his fingers. Shouto steadies his breathing and takes another mouthful.

The rest of the hour passes, syrupy and slow like molasses. By the final minute Shouto’s palm is sticky and reluctant to part from yours. You usher him out from the breakfast nook first, stacking the empty bowls before directing him back toward the emptied cafeteria.

You slide the bowls along the counter for the kitchen staff to take. Then you wipe your hands down your front as you pivot to face him, thrusting out both arms as he stands frozen.

“Can I hug you?”

Shouto touches his face and you laugh.

“This is because I want one,” you clarify with a warm grin, beckoning him closer.

Shouto inhales steps into the embrace, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back. There are less layers this time—the heat of your body is overwhelming, alongside the gentle rise of goosebumps across your bare shoulders. Your breath fell gently on his collarbone, his head lowering to curl into you. He thinks, were he not born to be a hero, he must surely be born for this.

“Thank you,” you mumble, squeezing his waste a final time as you retreat. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Shouto nods. Your presence moves away like the sun being blocked out and he watches you go, departing words caught in his teeth, an incessant buzz in his fingertips. The walk back to his office is a gauzy yellow haze. Every physiological response in his body told him that he was in a free fall, despite his feet being firmly on the ground.

“Shouto!”

Shouto halts mid-step at the familiar voice. He turns to look at Izuku, at the tentative beginnings of his smile. “Izuku,” he says.

“We missed you at lunch—are you feeling alright?” Izuku asks, slightly bemused. “You look kinda… floaty,” his eyes are dark, softened in the afternoon light as they sweep over Shouto’s figure and his face.

"Izuku," Shouto said before he could convince himself otherwise, “Do you want a hug?”

The innocent question appeared to crash into Izuku with the levity of a bullet train in motion. Tears sprang to his eyes, brighter now. Shouto tenses as he is swept into a solid hug. Izuku smells like fresh air, sweat and sweet-salty broth. He holds Shouto as though trying to keep his seams from bursting; thick arms are secure around his shoulders, and a rough palm rubs broad strokes down his back, smoothing the tension until Shouto is relaxed.

You were right. Izuku does give great hugs. Shouto came away doughy, and fuller, and with the stark realisation that while touching Izuku soothed the ache, it still felt completely different to touching you.

Later, as he leaned his head against the desk surface, he sluggishly contemplated the implications of that.

[persicipen]

library ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ — · · 1.0k ノ gn reader — trying to flirt in the library and failing positively (!) ノ slight fluff . no relationship involved (yet) ノ totally rewritten part of an old ficlet :3

“Veritas—”

“Doctor. Or Ratio. Please do not use my first name when we’re not in private, thank you,” he quickly interrupts your call, finger gently pressed to your parted lips. His amber eyes wander a second longer across your face to seek confirmation of your understanding and then fall down back to the crumpled scroll with ancient texts.

A sacred space — a library bathed in warm sunlight that filters through large, arched windows, casting golden beams that dance upon the cool marble floor, dust drifting in the stagnated time. Though the air is filled with the soft rustle of pages and the distant echo of footsteps, with the scent of old parchment and leather bindings, it is silence that envelops Veritas as he immerses himself in thoughts. Tries to immerse because you successfully keep on interrupting his process.

“But doctor, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now,” you persist, a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going away. The warmth of his skin sends a ripple to your mind, yet he shifts away, a frown etching itself across his brow. He looks back at you, clearly bothered.

“If it is a question regarding your education or work, then ask,” the scholar simply commands. Adjusting the golden laurel wreath atop of his head, he gestures towards the labyrinthine aisles of books. “Now move, the library isn’t the appropriate place to squander time.”

Budging aside only a bit to let him pass, you nod silently with your eyes glued to his features. You’re completely certain that his eyes wandered to your body just a few moments before focusing on the tall wall covered in books and scrolls.

“Are you… single?” You carefully pronounce the words, feeling them linger on your tongue and not finding the courage to say them all the same, a sudden shyness consuming you until you hear the man snort behind a cough.

His golden gaze finds yours, a deep sigh heard coming from him as if he already guessed where this is going and he was absolutely, positively, and entirely not ready for this.

“I am,” is all he says.

There is a long pause afterwards, his hands working with a stack of papers.

“Would you be willing to go out someday with me?” You boldly suggest, gathering courage enough to voice your thoughts. And after you’re done, all the bravery you collected leaves your body without a warning, and your heart hammers loudly against your rib cage — waiting. You said it as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the peacefulness in the building, yet it seems like your tone echoes through the whole interior like an earthquake.

The doctor doesn’t look at you, nor does he answer.

Despite his apparent indifference, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s aware of your presence, of the tension crackling in the stuffy proximity between you two like a storm gathering on the horizon.

The silence stretches awkwardly as if he is thinking about it thoroughly, weighing the possibilities and the possible outcomes. The truth is — he has no idea what to say to you. Too occupied with studying and teaching people around him to get attached to any other mortal body. A scholar of logic and knowledge, the Renaissance man of many skills.

So how is it he doesn’t know how to react in a situation like this?

Maybe his studies did not cover human psychology in full detail, and maybe his knowledge did not span as far as to give him a response in such a situation. Or perhaps his lack of interaction with humans has prevented him from responding correctly.

“Excuse me?” is all he says. Again.

Your mind is racing, a lightning of anxiety, and all the scenarios of the possible outcome sound bad in your head. Terrible already. You’re a clown.

“Forget it,” you wave him off, a peal of small laughter caught in your throat when you look at the floor, swallowing tears that, for an unknown reason, start gathering under your eyelids.

Pathetic to cry or even get emotional over something this trivial and yet here you are — rejected and hurt.

Ready to flee from the building, you turn on your feet when a sudden touch around your wrist stops you. Or rather — pulls you towards the most secluded part of the library, tall shelves hiding anyone’s presence and muffling the sounds of whoever wandered between them. Veritas Ratio may not enjoy the unnecessary contact with others, but he still knows the basic rules of humanity. Empathy and decency. Though his thoughts are very much a concocted mess right now, the long-awaited opportunity is finally shining brightly in front of him.

Something he wished to achieve — or should he say, possess like another set of knowledge — for a very long time.

You.

“Wait,” the scholar breathes out, cornering you between two bookshelves, the hard wooden texture biting into your shoulder blades. “If this is what you want, I shall provide. Would you like to call it a date, then?”

Mind drawing blank, you stare at him in disbelief. Veritas has the stature of a man who shouldn’t be messed with, and yet his expression speaks innocence — amber eyes resting on you softly as if he were waiting for your reaction patiently. His hand finds purchase against the wood on one side of your face, a heat blooming across your cheeks at the sudden closeness.

The scent of musk and sandalwood, along with the sweet notes of ripe fruits and blooming flowers, swirls around you. His personal fragrance. The need that draws you to him, a moth to a flame.

Perhaps he wants to try something new, to experience something that academics do not really write about in their books. A bit of tension added to his never-ending work and scientific research? Maybe the idea of a butterfly fluttering romance appeals to him? Or perhaps… it is simply that no one ever confessed to him before.

“Yes, a date,” you say, and watch his expression change from concerned to somewhat amused.

A charming smile lights up his features. “Then I would be honoured.”

[bivht]

Astrology Observations

😎Virgo moons are polite and respectful until you cross their boundaries. But people accuse them of being rude even when THEY were the ones put in a super uncomfortable situation

😎Aquarius and sagittarius placements are free-spirited. You tell them to do something and suddenly it’s an obligation rather than a choice and they don’t want to do it anymore lmao

😎Cancer risings and their low-key unhealthy relationship with food :0

😎Taurus is branded as the foodie of the zodiac but I think Sagittarius is the ultimate foodie

😎I like to see the moon sign as who a person is at their core. And the moon sign in your mercury persona chart is very insightful to how you express yourself.

for example:

Aries moon- expresses themselves passionately, perseverant, doesn’t give up easily, likes to keep things tidy, hard working, could be naggy, aggressive

Taurus moon- sweet and charming way of talking, logical, doesn’t like believe anything without concrete evidence, self care, words of affirmation, has definitive personal boundaries, slow down when you’re eating babes, when they’re toxic they’re some of the worst kinds of toxic

Gemini moon- domicile (home sign), real sweet talkers, witty, critical thinking skills on point, charmers, just the right amount of flirty, know how to talk themselves out of a situation, scatterbrained, PERFORMERS

Cancer moon- sweet, will remember your birthday, wants to include everyone, confused easily, overstimulated easily

Leo moon- humorous, dramatic af, will spread love to whoever gives them attention, gives their love to everyone, critical thinking not their forte

Virgo moon- domicile, polite, respectful, knows how to remain professional in awkward situations, hates the feeling of being stuffed full?? 7/10 full is sufficient for them, due to this they’re usually slim, “perfect” self expression, neat and tidy, expresses gratitude for every tiny thing, eats slowly, critical thinking on point, extremely private (esp. about relationships)

Libra moon- diplomatic, likes to agree, charming, soft and sweet but also vengeful, avoids confrontation, talks shit behind backs instead of addressing issue directly with person

Scorpio moon- opinionated, probably a coffee addict, death stares at people they dislike, private but not the same as virgo, virgos tell you things but won’t go into detail, scorpios just won’t tell you. so fiercely loyal, their charm is fatal

Sagittarius moon (detriment)- happy, seems like they’re always having fun, don’t take themselves too seriously, charmers, funny facial expressions, stuff themselves full. they DEVOUR food, tendency to overindulge so can be chubby cheeked, struggle to articulate themselves in a professional manner, hates being nagged, lacks critical thinking, they get bored easily so consistency is an ongoing struggle, can be flirty

Capricorn moon- logical, down to earth, realistic, charming, articulate, their smart little jokes, a bit reluctant to try new things but they will, loves feeling in control (more than anyone else), really patient, consistency is key, can be rude and dry, may make shy, insecure people shifty

Aquarius moon- they talk in a very self-important way, very recognisable tone of voice, an intellectual, research whore, likes to share their found knowledge with people, lecture people, full of themselves

Pisces moon (detriment)- ehhem OVERSHARER to the T, silly humour, a bit unreasonable as they don’t follow logic, poor critical thinking skills, either super empathetic or lacks any empathy, can be flirty

😎More of an assumption but Leo+Virgo (and/or taurus)= hating slimy and mushy textures like eggplant, okra, durian

😎Chiron in the 6h can be obsessed with hygiene and cleanliness. My brother has this and he will not eat from the same spoon or drink from the same straw as anyone else, not even his own mother. He’s criticized and scolded by his mother because of this

😎A mother with 10h mercury is scrutinizing their childrens’ speaking abilities and how they interact with people in public

😎Aries mars has a fit looking body

😎People with sun 1h in the mars persona chart can seem really athletic

😎Sometimes individuals with neptune hard aspects (esp. square) are accused of having a mental illness (bullied)

😎Mars square neptune is a really anxious placement. Their panic is so clear on their face. They get really nervous about things more than others. Their intentions are confusing and people find it hard to figure out what your intentions for your actions are

[euthymiya]

how to tame a fox — kamisato ayato

somehow, you manage to catch the menace that’s been nibbling away at the plants in your garden—it’s not exactly what you’d expect, however. and the culprit is determined to stick close to you, too

before you read: fem reader ; fox hybrid ayato ; sly and playful ayato and tired and grumpy reader ; banter ; reader as a garden ; reader sprays ayato with a hose

notes: ari and risu said he’d be a fox hybrid and i think they’re very right

Something has been eating at your garden—something cunning and clever. Your berries have dwindled, your vegetables are harvested before you have the chance, and your carefully kept little plants are a mess.

You think it’s bunnies at first, but bunnies are not smart enough to skillfully work around the netting you’ve set around each plant to keep them safe from trespassing paws.

Which begs the question—just what is so conniving enough to be so good at getting to your garden, and how on earth are you going to catch it?

You don’t have to ponder on the question for too long.

It’s dark when you open your door to wander into your backyard—the moon is full, and you’d like to appreciate the sky and the stars for a bit from the comfort of your own yard.

Until you notice the pair of eyes staring back at you, that is. You let out a piercing shriek, grabbing the first thing you can get a hold of. (It’s a hose—the same hose you use to water the plants that keep getting eaten against your wishes.)

“What in the gods names—” you gasp, jumping back as the creature—no, man flinches at your presence. “Who are you?” You hold up the hose like a threat, and his nose wrinkles in amusement.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” The man rises from where he’s knelt, and you notice the strawberries he’s picked, held in his hand.

And then you realize he’s not just a man—no, there’s two pairs of long, fluffy ears over his head and a bushy tail that waves around behind him. His eyes gleam with a sort of mischief you don’t like.

“What am I doing in my garden?” You ask incredulously, “the better question is what are you doing with my strawberries? Don’t you see the nets I’ve covered them with to keep animals away?”

“I’m not an animal,” he gasps offended, “and yes, these nets have caused quite the troublesome experience for me. My tail gets caught in them often.”

You spray him belligerently, earning a surprised grunt from him as he jumps back at the impact of the water, dropping the berries he’s collected.

“How dare you harvest my vegetables?” You ask in disbelief, “I’ve been trying to keep you away for weeks.”

“Hey,” he cries, “cut that out! I don’t appreciate my fur getting wet, you awful woman!”

“Awful?” You parrot, offended. “How am I awful when you’re the one eating my garden?”

“You have plenty of things,” he huffs as you finally stop spraying him, shaking the water out of his ears as he grumpily eyes his tail. “Sharing is a wonderful virtue to have, you know. Especially for poor, cold, young men like me.”

“You’re nothing but a scoundrel,” you correct, hands on your hips. “Now shoo! Off my property before I call someone to make you leave. And don’t let me catch you here again!”

You spray him one last time for good measure before turning to enter your home when you feel a presence behind you, making you whip around to see what it is. Sure enough, the tall, slender man with an awfully troublesome glint in his eyes is face to face with you, his ears twitching excitedly as he leans in to get a better look at your face.

You get a much better look at him now—pale blue hair and deep purple eyes, a small mole below the left corner of his lip, and, the most noticeable detail, his pale blue ears that are drenched with wet fur. He’s handsome, in an annoying sort of way.

You almost—almost—itch to scratch at his ears, but logic and reason tell you this is the same man who’s been stealing from your garden. Your hard earned plants that you cared for delicately and diligently. And he’s enjoyed the fruits of your labor without so much as a care.

You watch as his tail waves behind him, bushy and thick even with wet fur.

“It’s awfully cold out here tonight,” he murmurs with a pouty look, “and you’ve drenched my poor fur, too.”

“It’ll dry,” you say blandly.

He pouts further, tilting his head as he argues, “not before the cold air gets me sick and shivering. Perhaps I could spend the night in your warm home—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut him off, furiously planting your hands on your hips as you glare at him, “what makes you think I’ll be letting the very person who’s stolen from me into my home?”

“Stolen is a very harsh word,” he gasps, hand over his chest as though the accusation shocks him—maybe even mildly offends him. “I was borrowing the goods you’ll grow back eventually.”

“The season is almost over!” You says frustratedly.

“There’s always next year,” he hums, “it’s good to help those in need, you know.”

“I don’t even know you,” you try again, pursing your lips as you grow tired of the back and forth.

“I’m Ayato,” he beams. He seems almost proud of his problem solving skills. “There, now you do.”

“You don’t need me to help you,” your patience is wearing thin, and faintly, you realize he’s right. It is cold. You’d like to get inside as quickly as possible and warm up the prickling goosebumps along your skin. “You’ve made it this far just fine. Evidently.”

“But I have no one, you see,” he sniffles petulantly, “my parents have long passed and I’m just lonely and on my own. Nowhere to go,” he leans closer, pout deepening as he bats his lashes.

And, well…he’s sort of cute. Far too old to use the parent excuse, you want to scoff, but it’s a cute effort all the same. You realize he’s not going to leave you alone, either, so it’s best just to let him in for the night and promptly escort him off your premises in the morning.

Yes, that’s right, you think resolutely, this will only be until the morning.

“You can stay for the night and only just the night—”

“Marvelous!” He brightens, cutting you off. You realize a little too late you might making a huge mistake when he swiftly moves past you, walking through the door of your home and inviting himself in before you can properly allow him permission.

Sly as a fox, you think agitatedly. You should have realized that much from the get go.

When you walk into your home, he’s already looking around, touching this and that, humming in approval and disapproval as though he’s in any place to judge the arrangements of your home.

“Hm, yes, very nice,” he says dryly, eyeing your interior. Your eyes twitches. “I suppose it shall do.”

“I’m sure it’s infinitely better than the outdoors,” you scowl, “I would count my blessings, if I were you. And don’t get used to it—you’ll be leaving in the morning.”

He grins smoothly—like he knows something you don’t, like there’s mischief already brewing in that quick-thinking little brain of his.

“Won’t you be a dear and dry my fur?” He saunters back over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling it to his ears to guide your hand along the dampness of his coat. You gasp at the gesture slightly, stiffening under his touch as he pouts. “I hate wet fur, you know.”

“Surely, you can use a towel and dryer yourself,” you deadpan. “I’ll grab them for you—”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t want to break anything,” he insists. “Perhaps you should just do it for me.”

Well, his cunning little scheme is at least abundantly obvious this time, you think. So he craves a little affection, someone to handle the matter of grooming his fur for him. It’s a bit troublesome, but you suppose you can let it slide if it gets him to be quiet and leave you alone for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, sighing tiredly as he perks up at your response.

He follows you, silent, but evidently pleased as you gather a dry towel and the blow dryer before settling on the edge of hour bed.

To your surprise, he settles on the floor, tucking himself against your leg as his cheek rests on your thigh. You blink down at him.

“Go on then,” he hums, “I do like when it when I’m scratched behind my ears. And make sure you use the warmest setting there is, I don’t like the cold. And don’t hold it too close to my ears—I’m a bit sensitive to sound, you see.”

“Are you usually this demanding with all the people you steal from?” You snap, raising an unimpressed brow.

He grins, nuzzling against your thigh before he gives you a sweet, innocent look as he murmurs, “only the ones who keep me in their homes.”

Something tells you he’s not going anywhere, and something tells you that when morning comes, he’ll have yet another scheme to stay indoors—just like a sly, conniving fox would manage to. Oddly enough, when your fingers gently brush through the fur as you dry the dampness away with the warm air of the dryer, the way he nuzzles closer grows on you. Just a little.

You’ll still find a way to get him to leave you alone eventually—and your garden, too. Until then, though, perhaps you can allow yourself to scratch behind his ears just a few times.

Foxes are nocturnal so you know that was about to be a longgggg night

[yangsharperavery]

i know there’s been some discussion about the nature of sydney’s feelings as it relates to claire in carmy’s life.

whether what she’s displaying in the narrative is jealousy or completely valid frustration at his lack of focus and attention to detail where their restaurant is concerned.

i think both the writers and ayo played it so that it can easily be inferred as both.

i’m sorry... after they talked through shit ie “i need your focus like you need mine, i don’t wanna share it, i’m sorry.” “you deserve my full focus.” etc

sydney STILL makes additional comments regarding claire.

she knows what table she’s at, calls her by name reminding carmy that’s her table but then as soon as carmy comes back and they start arguing syd reverts to saying he was “talking to whoever” after JUST saying the girl’s name to him.

that’s pure in the moment jealousy and annoyance. that he took even 3 minutes to go out there when they were swamped, yes valid to be peeved on a logical level. but also she KNEW that girl’s name. her even saying that at all in that specific way points to a form of jealousy.

even when she met claire, her saying “i’m also sorry you’re here” is SUCH a specific line the writer’s used, yes to be funny and awkward and tongue and cheek but having SYDNEY be the one saying that to her is very purposeful.

even when they’re under the table and carmy talks about claire being so great it scares him, watch sydney’s reaction. it’s quick, it’s miniscule... but it’s not a platonic reaction at all.

also, notice how sydney is the only one outside of people who have known claire her entire life that EVER speaks about claire. 

tina, marcus, ebra, etc don’t mention/interact with claire at all.

it’s much deeper than a business partner being peeved that their business partner is dropping the ball regarding details in their business.

it’s a personal, heart matter but ayo does an exceptional job at playing it as if it’s something just stuffed behind validly placed and understandable irritation. 

[arealphrooblem]

A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find

Synopsis: Civilian has harbored a secret crush on his roommate for a long time, only to find out that said roommate is the newest villain on the scene during a robbery at his job.

CW: death threats, knives

There was only one thing worse than having a crush on your straight roommate: having a crush on your straight villain roommate. 

Actually worse than that were rent prices, which kept Civilian from running as far in the opposite direction as he could get after he gave his statement to the police. 

A statement that contained a big, gaping hole. 

Because it couldn’t be true, right? It had to be a coincidence. Lots of people had weird, star shaped birthmarks on their ribs. It was a huge leap of logic to assume that the villain who had just tried to rob the bank that morning had the exact same birthmark as Civilian’s roommate for the past two years. 

Or maybe he just imagined it. It had been a very traumatic day. Civilian went home after the police released him and had a massive panic attack in the shower for about forty five minutes and then pressed two weighted blankets on him in bed like a panini grill. 

Having a group of villains stride into your workplace, guns blazing, would do that to you. As would getting stuck in the crossfire between said villains and the Hero from behind a desk, praying a stray bullet or laser beam wouldn’t hit and kill you. 

It was only a coincidence that Civilian had seen the birthmark. Near the end of the fight, one of the villains had been thrown over the very desk Civilian cowered behind, hitting the wall hard enough that even Civilian winced in sympathy. 

He laid there for a moment, dazed, half his torso exposed from a rip in his clothes, that stupid, undeniable birthmark on full display. Civilian could only stare at it, head dizzy as if he also took blunt force trauma to it. The villain groaned and sat up. 

For one agonizingly long second their eyes met. Civilian felt like a kitten spotted by a hawk. This was it. His time was up. He’d be just another statistic on the news -- 

But the villain just put a finger on his lips -- a silent command for silence -- that Civilian could only nod helplessly at. Then the villain slipped away in the chaos and disappeared. 

And besides, it couldn’t be his roommate because his roommate was in Colorado, visiting some online friend of his and going mountain biking or whatever. 

Two days after the attack, Roommate burst through the front door, dumping his duffel bag onto the floor and stepping towards Civilian with a scary single minded determination. 

It took every ounce of control not to flinch when Roommate cupped his face, gaze roving over his features as if looking for injuries. 

Roommate himself looked untouched from the fight. It almost made Civilian second guess himself. But he hadn’t spent the last two days analyzing every detail his love-sick brain had filed away for the last two years to doubt himself now. 

That villain and his roommate were the same person. 

“I saw the news,” Roommate said. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt? I tried to change my flight but this was the soonest I could get in.”

The lie hurt. Obviously Roommate hadn’t been mountain biking in Colorado for the past few days so it begged the question: what else did he lie about? Was this concern just an elaborate play at innocence? But if his roommate was taking the time to craft this act of concern, then he must not think Civilian knew. 

And if Civilian valued his life, he’d have to keep it that way and force normalcy. 

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for a smile and coming up with a grimace. “I mean, I’m not fine. It was fucking scary, but I didn’t get hurt. So there’s that. Work’s given me a week off and then. . .”

Roommate scowled. “And then what? They can’t possibly think you’d be okay working there again after only a few days off? You should quit.”

“Quit?” Civilian’s eyebrows raised. “And we both get thrown out on our asses? We’re lucky enough to have this apartment as it is.”

“I have enough savings to get us through for a few weeks while you find another job,” Roommate insisted. 

“I thought you blew it all on Colorado,” Civilian joked weakly. 

And where the fuck did those savings come from? he wanted to ask. But he didn’t dare. 

“Not all of it. Seriously. You should think about it.”

Something gleamed in the roommate’s eyes, like a warning. Civilian swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll think about it. I just . . .I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit. It’s good to have you back. You’ll have to tell me all about it when I wake up again.”

Roommate’s face lit up with a smile and Civilian’s heart twisted in his chest. “I have so many good photos. It’s beautiful out there.You should come with me next time.”

“Yeah sure,” said Civilian thoughtlessly, thinking only of the dark safety of his room. 

“Get some rest.” Roommate nudged Civilian towards the hallway. “I’ll order us pizza.”

Civilian nodded and forced his steps to slow as he made his way to the bedroom. Once the door shut and the fan turned on, he buried his head under his pillows and tried to get his breathing under control. 

Faking normalcy was going to be harder than he thought. 

"Oh you're starting dinner already?"

Civilian jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice, the knife slipping and nearly cutting  into his fingertip. A quick glance over his shoulder showed his roommate leaning against the opposite counter, arms folded loosely over his chest. 

Just a casual chat. And yet it felt like a fist suddenly gripped Civilian's heart. Even after three days, it still felt like walking the knife’s edge every time they were in the same room together. 

"I, um, got bored," he said, thankful to be facing away so his terror wouldn't show as he fought it back down. "I didn't know you'd be home so soon."

"I took a half day at lunch. Did some shopping. I got you more of that tea. It seemed to help you sleep."

A hint of guilt colored his roommate's nonchalance. Or maybe Civilian just imagined it. 

"Thanks," Civilian said.

Focus. Focus on the potato. Cube the potato. Be the potato. 

Heart thudding in his ears, his concentration on chopping vegetables, Civilian didn't hear the movement until his roommate's head appeared over his shoulder. 

"What are you making?" he asked. 

Civilian swallowed down a lick of sudden hysteria. 

Get a fucking hold of yourself he thought. There is no reason why he'd be suspicious unless you're acting like a lunatic!

"Soup," he managed to croak. "The, uh, kind at the Italian restaurant you like."

A bribe. A hope. A way to remind himself that he knew his roommate, right? They've lived together for two years. 

And true to form, his roommate's eyes brightened. "Oh excellent! We haven't had that in ages."

"That's because chopping all these vegetables is a pain in the ass."

A thick tension rose and tightened between them. Civilian concentrated on chopping, trying to ignore the heat at his back as his roommate didn't step away, didn't leave. Just watched him. 

"You're using the wrong knife, you know," the roommate said softly. 

" . . .what?"

The roommate reached over Civilian's shoulder to the knife block on the counter and pulled one out. It was small and two fingers wide, short and wickedly sharp. Fear clenched Civilian's throat with icy hands. 

"You're using a butcher knife," his roommate murmured against Civilian's ear. A shiver fluttered down his neck. "That's for cutting meat. You need a paring knife for vegetables."

" . . .Oh." Was it just him or did the kitchen suddenly feel low on air? "I'll . . . remember that . . .for next time. . ."

"Why don't I take over? At least for the chopping."

Civilian tightened his grip on the knife, an instinctive gesture he had no control over. But even though Roommate had offered help in the kitchen many times, that same instinct screamed not to let him. Something felt different this time. 

"I got it," he said, forcing lightness in his tone. "You know you're hopeless in the kitchen."

"I'm good with knives, though." Civilian swallowed down another spike of cold terror. "It's the least I can do if you're making me my favorite."

The paring knife rested just inside Civilian's peripheral, deceptively harmless. 

"Why don't you put the gnocchi on to boil," he said. "I'm almost done here."

His roommate sighed, a rush of air against Civilian’s cheek. "You're always so stubborn," he said with sad fondness. 

The paring knife moved like a flash and suddenly it's cold steel pressed light as a kiss just under Civilian's jaw. 

His breath froze in his lungs. 

"Drop the knife, Civilian."

" . . .Roommate?" It wasn't difficult to pitch his voice high in uncertain fear. To pretend shock. "What are you doing?"

"I know that you know."

"Know what?" Civilian breathed and then cringed at how unbelievable it sounded even to his own ears. 

He only had room in his head for one secret,  it was hard to sound convincingly ignorant when every cell screamed at him to run away. 

"You've tried so valiantly to hide it, but I know you too well." Roommate's murmured against his ear.  "You're afraid."

Civilian dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. "You have a knife to my throat."

"And you are nowhere near as shocked about that as you should be." Roommate twisted the knife until the flat of the blade lay against Civilian's skin -- and then he dragged it, achingly slow, over Civilian's jawline to rest against raw bitten lips. 

A wave of dizziness gripped him, driven by fear mixed with the heady, dangerous edge of want, the desire Civilian struggled with for so many months wrapping its claws around his chest. 

"Be a good boy and drop the knife."

Breath came fast and heavy as he willed himself to relax his fingers, to release the knife. Not that he would have even thought of it as a weapon and not a kitchen tool until his roommate demonstrated it. But with one having danced so close to his pulse, letting go of his own felt like a death sentence. 

The second he dropped the knife, his roommate twisted a hand into the fabric of his shirt and hauled him across the kitchen to pin him against the fridge. The smiling tomato magnet they grabbed as a joke at a yard sale clattered to the floor and broke into pieces. The roommate  doesn't so much as flinch, their gaze like stone, the knife never wavering from Civilian's neck.

He swallows thickly against the panic, never more afraid in his life than in this moment. He never thought death would look like his favorite person in the world ready to slit his throat with a paring knife. 

And yet the desire still thrummed beneath it all, a twisted hunger being fed from such close contact, like his body forgot to stop yearning in light of what his mind knew. But the stone-cold glint in his roommate’s eyes twisted his face from comfortingly familiar into dangerously unrecognizable. 

Seeing it shattered something in Civilian just like that stupid magnet. His eyes prickled and stung; the roommate's face turned blurry. Humiliated, he darted his gaze to the window, focusing on the speck of green of the neighbor’s tree swaying in the breeze. 

And waited for death. 

Time stretched long and excruciating between each heartbeat. Then the coolness of the knife disappeared, replaced by warm fingers that nudged his gaze back to his roommate’s.

“Hey,” the roommate said softly. 

That granite hardness of his gaze had melted into soft concern. The exact kind of look he gave Civilian each time a migraine flared up. The reminder of that felt as dangerous as the knife. It couldn’t be real. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face. 

“Don’t say that!” Civilian hissed. “I didn’t do anything and you’re going to kill me.”

He flinched from the hand that raised up, knocking his head painfully against the fridge. But Roommate only brushed a stray tear away with his calloused thumb. 

“You’re right,” he said pensively. “You didn’t do anything. And I’m not going to kill you.”

He turned and tossed the knife into the sink. Civilian did not feel any safer, however. He felt like a bug under the shadow of a boot,  even as Roommate smoothed his hands over Civilian’s chest in a display of casual affection he would have died for a week earlier. 

“Here is what I am going to do,” he continued. “I’m going to finish dinner. You’re going to compose yourself in a long hot shower and when you get out we are going to eat and have a discussion about the way things are going to be from now on. Is that alright?”

Civilian nodded, not trusting his voice. What other answer could he possibly give?

Part two here

[honeysickledream]

'Overgrown' - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | Chapter One

(photo credit: me [@honeysickledreams])

warnings | tags: F!reader, no use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of reader, reader is a healer and midwife, this is set in a very vague ‘middle ages’ time, forced/arranged marriage, angst, slow burn (heavy emphasis on slow), miscommunication, there’s no communication at this point honestly, relationship issues, relationship doubts, (mild) hurt with no comfort, no smut this time around but still minors DNI, mild horror/fear element towards the beginning (a nonexistent monster is described in detail + the briefest mentions of animal and possible person-on-person attacks along with it) | that’s everything off the top of my head, lmk if I missed anything!

word count: ~2.6k

synopsis: You had married Simon four months ago, the whole thing some stupid forced arrangement. You had left everything you knew behind to live with Simon in his cabin a few miles out from his hometown. You weren't sure you could classify your relationship as a marriage, or even say truthfully that you lived with him because he wasn't around very often. Some part of you hopes things improve, but you're not unwillingly to do what you can to live the life you'd originally planned for.

Next Part ->

Thin clouds softly colored purple and pink from the sunset drifted overhead. Street lamps burned away at the oil and cloth wicks. The townspeople flooded the rough streets as they went about their evening routines of visiting the markets, going home after a long day or meeting with others. Some mothers were wandering the alleyways where their unruly children wandered after being sent out to play. You did your best to move through the crowds of people, hopping onto the wooden promenades to get around the slower and louder groups so you wouldn’t have to trek home in total darkness. The walk back to the cabin was a few miles out, and after spending four months tending to mothers and their children, you had heard more than your fair share of stories about the shadows in the woods and the spindly-legged beasts that enjoyed gobbling up those who were out too late. Logically you knew those creatures weren’t out there, that the mothers were telling their children such stories to keep them from wandering off into the woods and finding themselves food for wolves and bears. But as you walked alone on the dirt road that cut through the thick of the woods, winding this way and that, with only a few thin paths branching off and leading to well-hidden cabins and cottages, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Like something was there behind the trees as it tried to make up its mind on whether you would be a tasty treat. You turned down the third path on the right that you came across, the old wooden sign reading ‘Riley’. The name had been etched into the surface haphazardly—either done by a child ages ago or by someone with shoddy penmanship. Somewhere in the depths of the woods, a branch snapped. Your blood ran cold, your heart racing as you tried to keep yourself from going stock still. The creepy stories from the mothers in town began to fill your mind. Images flashed behind your eyes of lanky creatures with bark-covered antlers that dripped with the blood of their victims, cloaks made from human skin and moss draped over their shoulders, their smiles too wide and full of rows of pointed, thin teeth. Those stories were nonsense, you had to tell yourself with each step you took. If there was something in the woods you needed to fear, it would be the wolves or bears that would charge you before they mauled your defenseless body, or perhaps a person lurking in the woods with whatever foul plans they had brewing in their mind. But the notion to fear those things didn’t enter your mind, they never did when something startled you in the woods. For some reason the fantastical, wicked creatures seemed more terrifying than the real threats. The fear you felt subsided as soon as you saw the heavy door to your cabin, the dark blue paint faded. No candles or lanterns were lit, not that you expected them to be, but a disappointment settled in her heart where the fear had been nonetheless. You unlocked the door slowly, slipped inside and locked the door loudly. Once your boots were off, your cloak hanging from the rack by the door, and your aged medical case in its place by the sword stand that was empty like always, you did a quick search around the cabin, lighting candles in the rooms as you ensured that they were clear. The two bedrooms were empty, undisturbed. Your most recent crochet project was still on the couch in a snarled mess, the furniture still angled the way you liked it. You did a quick sweep of the kitchen, making sure no little critters had managed to find their way into the cabin to sample your loaves of bread or tore into your sacks of sugar or crates of ripening fruits. With everything safe, just the way you’d left it that morning before making your rounds through town, you lit the fire in the parlor before lighting the open hearth in the kitchen.

The front door’s lock unlatched loudly right as your nightgown fell down the rest of your body. Without hesitation you grabbed the dagger you kept under the face-down journal on your nightstand. You knew only one other person had a key to the cabin, but who was to say someone hadn’t gotten a locksmith’s set or perhaps one of those damned creatures from those horrible nighttime stories had managed to slip their thin nails into the locks to trigger the mechanisms.

Knife brandished before you, poised to strike at anything even if it was just to buy a few more seconds of breath before dying, you crept down the hallway. You stuck to the right side because it was the side that never creaked, something you learned a few days into living here. The middle of the hallway seemed to creak only when it was nighttime, while the left side creaked morning, noon or night. There was nothing at the entrance of the hallway, and no one was lingering around the front door to the right or in the parlor which was dead ahead. As you looked left into the kitchen where your pot of stew was still bubbling away, you noticed a broad and tall figure wafting the savory smells towards their face. Their back was towards you, their attire dirty and ratty but it was deep green of their cloak that caught your eye and told you that it was safe to lower your blade. “You’re back,” you whispered as you slowly approached the figure who froze when your voice broke through the silence. You didn't bother to hide the faint disappointment in your tone. The scars of the person’s face glinted in the candle- and hearth-light of the kitchen as their head turned. “’Course I am,” the man rasped, voice tight as if he hadn’t spoken for days. “Been four weeks, told ya I’d be back around now.” You glared at him, not just for being so nonchalant about his arrival. It was night, you were alone, no one around, and he just waltzed in without announcing himself. If you hadn’t noticed the green to his cloak, you could’ve stabbed him which wouldn’t have ended well for anyone. “I take it you’re hungry,” you said under your breath. You didn’t wait for his response, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard and two spoons from the drawer. Luckily you’d made a bit more stew than usual, but you knew you’d be scrambling to find him more food after he scarfed his portion down. You stirred the stew and sighed. It had a little ways to go before it was ready to be eaten. “Go fetch yourself water for a bath and get clean. You smell like a wet dog rolled in a puddle of decay, Simon.” He returned the glare you’d given him moments ago but did as you said and went to the back garden for pails of water. He had bristled when you said his name, rather than referring to him as ‘Ghost’. That happened often after he spent a hefty amount of time with his three friends who only referred to him as ‘Ghost’. Everyone in town did the same, or they used a string of descriptors to refer to him. Simon had told you to not refer to him as ‘Ghost’ while withholding the reason why you were given special license on your wedding day.

Bitterness settled heavy on your tongue, memories of your wedding day suddenly filling your mind. Every muscle seemed to tense and tears brimmed in your eyes. You knew the whole situation was horrible for Simon, too, not just for you, but very little about his life had changed that day. At least to your eyes, he had been able to remain in his hometown, living in his family’s cabin all while you had to move far away from the family that forced you to become a Riley. You had to leave everyone you loved behind, most of your belongings still in your old bedroom hidden under white sheets until your family re-purposed them or sold them off. And the marriage remained as rocky as it had been on day one—and it had been four months since the wedding. When Simon was home, he was gone most of the day, leaving near sun-up and returning near sun-down. Sometimes he was called away with his three friends for a few days, and most recently, they’d been called away to do something for four weeks. The two of you rarely talked when he was around, rarely spent more than an hour in the same room. Oh, and there was no physical intimacy. None. Your sisters wrote to you often asking how married life was (and if you had found yourself to be with child yet, which they made sure to never write out so bluntly, preferring to inquire between the lines) and you had no idea how to politely tell them that they had witnessed your husband barely give you a peck on your awful wedding day to seal the vows, so why would they think the marriage had gotten even remotely physical enough for there to be the possibility of a child? As you stood there stewing over the stew, you weren’t even sure you wanted children with Simon. If it ever did happen, would he be a supportive husband to you through all the pains and changes, the scares and the happy moments, the horror and miracle that was birth? Would he care for the child in such a way that would charm you into wanting to give him a dozen more babies? A bubble popped on the surface of the stew, ripping you from your contemplations and rapidly growing dissatisfaction and anger at everything. You licked the spot on the back of your hand and smiled faintly. You were sure you’d perfected the seasonings this time, as well as the ratio of carrots to celery. It was then that Simon cleared his throat and you looked up at where he leaned against the door frame. He dressed in loose cotton trousers and a sleep shirt, his body cleaned of whatever filth he’d gotten on himself. He’d even trimmed his dark blond hair, which was a shame because the slight length had looked rather charming on him.

Then you realized you’d been in your own head long enough for him to fetch water, heat it, bathe and dress, and for the stew to finish cooking. All the little lines you fed yourself daily about making the best out of this strange and aggravating situation seemed to have done nothing but give you some momentary distraction when you saw happy couples and families loving interacting with each other. “There’s fresh bread in the larder,” you told him as you began to ladle stew into his bowl, making sure to given him most of the venison. You knew that whatever he and his friends did when they were called away left them without hearty meals most of the time. Even just a few days away often left Simon looking a bit leaner, but four weeks away? The hollowness to his scarred cheeks made something twist in your chest to see it. You sat the bowls down on the little table in the corner of the kitchen, then turned to find Simon slicing the loaf—no, loaves…God, you made a mental note to get up early tomorrow to bake more before you left to tend to your patients. He’d also grabbed a jar of apple butter and poured you both a cup of water, which you thanked him for under your breath. The two of you sat at the table, eating in the usual silence, staring off at the usual spots of the wall. Your eyes trained on the cobweb in the left corner of the wall behind him, and his eyes trained on the wall behind you. Your brows furrowed when Simon suddenly made a face that you caught out of the corner of your eye. He picked up the jar of apple butter, examining it, then took another bite of the bread that he’d slathered the mixture on. He made the same face and you sighed. “I bought that stuff a few days ago.” You took it from him when he offered it up. It smelled just fine, it looked just fine, too. No discoloration or signs of something growing. You spread a little bit of it on the corner of your bread and took a bite. Simon snapped his fingers in some sort of triumph when you grimaced, too. Something about the apple butter mixing with the savoriness of the stew, perhaps even with the slight acidity of the bread, made everything taste wrong. Worse than wrong. You took a gulp of water to wash down the horrid taste. Before any more mistakes were made with the apple butter, you closed the container and made your way to the larder. After searching the moderately dusty shelves, you grabbed a jar of pepper preserves that had been gifted to you two weeks ago by one of your patients after helping her deliver her third child and first daughter. You hand it to Ghost who wasted no time in opening it and spreading the contents onto a fresh slice of bread. He took a large bite and his eyes fluttered closed as he chewed slowly. “I’m not sure why you thought apple butter would go well with such a savory stew,” you said under your breath as you resumed eating.

“Thought it’d be tangier,” he muttered around his bite of food. “Stew’s good, though. Not too garlicky like the last time ya made it.” You stared blankly at him. For some reason the idea that he sometimes found your stews too garlicky made something flip in your mind. Maybe it was because it had been a long day and now he was back after so long away, your normal routine disrupted which always managed to put you on edge. You managed to hold you tongue and look back to your food, waiting for Simon to say something else. But he didn’t say anything. He fell back into his usual silence and your frustration grew a little more. You finished eating your stew and a slice of bread with the pepper spread. Since Simon was eating rather slow, you left cleaning the kitchen to him as you put your dishes in the wash basin. You made your way to your bedroom, locking yourself inside. Everything suddenly felt wrong in the cabin, in your body, even in your mind. Like you were sweltering in the summer heat and unable to find a way to cool down and relax, despite it being the middle of autumn and your bedroom was somewhat chilly. For hours, you tossed and turned, pushing your sheets on and off, this way and that. Your mind always wandering to what was hidden under the loose floorboard by the bedroom door. After a while, you managed to fall asleep, but your rest was fitful.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part III

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

Part I | Part II

____________

You clenched your fancy Kohinoor pencil between your fingers like it's a gun, staring at Aemond already posing in front of all of you. No procrastination, you reminded yourself firmly as you drew a long vertical line across the paper to balance the future drawing. Your teacher hadn't berated you for your mistakes even once. It'd be fine if you got this one wrong, too. Anything was better than an empty sheet.

God, but Aemond was so pretty. His high cheekbones, his strong nose and jaw, and those thin but expressive lips, the long scar across the left side of his face...

You quickly hid behind your easel.

Breathe. Just get out of your head, you repeated to yourself Aemond's very words. You needed to get started, and whatever happened next didn't matter as long as you allowed yourself to draw whatever came to your mind. Explanations and logic be damned. You were an artist! At these rare moments, you were supposed to feel, not think.

Slowly inhaling and exhaling to keep your anxiety at bay, you uncleched the pencil in your fingers and slowly started shaping the figure on a sheet. It's fine. Aemond wouldn't get mad anyway as long as you did what he said.

The more you put your pencil to the sheet, the easier it was getting, something unfurling in your chest, putting a stop to your anxious thoughts and fears of failure as you continued to build Aemond's body, starting to get into details once you finished with the primary form. Regardless of his talent and uniqueness as an artist, he was still only a fellow human being like you. There was no need to magnify his power.

By the time Aemond walked over to you, you were almost finished with the painting, landing the last strokes to color the palms of the man on the sheet. It was that very red paint you had been mooning over for many months, complimenting its unusual vibrant color and a pleasant consistency. It was hard to believe you were now using it for your own artwork, but time was running out, and you didn't have a spare moment to be drooling over the paint.

"What do we have here?" The artist hummed, making you jump in your seat. How on Earth did he manage to walk so quietly in a room full of tables, chairs, and people?

Trying to focus on his question, you suddenly realized you had no clue how to present your idea to the teacher. Did you even draw what he had asked you to? What was that, not changing the silhouette and using mainly paint to express yourself or something?

You felt the beads of sweat promptly forming on your forehead as you clenched your jaw.

"You've been improving," Aemond told you, eye on the drawing as he tilted his head to the side. "Body proportions seem right, and I like the way you shaped the arms and legs. You had difficulties with them before."

Oh, really? You surely had problems drawing arms, but you didn't notice you were becoming better. A pleasant surprise. Not that one wouldn't expect to improve after taking lessons from the most esteemed artist in the city.

"Why did you paint the head and hands in red?"

Oh, crap. Why did you? You frantically searched for an answer other than "no idea, Sir, I think my subconsciousness just took over my body." Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you looked up to Aemond bent over, intently studying your artwork.

Cautiously, you muttered, "I-I think every change starts from the head, Sir."

Would that qualify for an answer? But Aemond quickly directed his gaze at you and demanded, "And hands?"

Biting your poor lip that no amont of lip balm was going to save after today's lesson, you mumbled, "Hands are the tool that make the change happen, Sir."

"Very logical, yes. Now, forget about trying to give me a logical answer and tell me what you felt when you were drawing this. Tell me about the paint."

He bent over even closer to you, practically breathing into your face, and you almost lost the ability to produce any adequate sounds. Your teacher clearly saw through your bullshit, and the thought that he was upset or even mad at you made you feel miserable.

"It's a metamorph, Sir," you whispered, one step closer to having a panic attack and hoping no student in the room was listening to your rambling, "and red is a color of life. Of change."

Aemond cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you. "Why do you think red is the color of change? Is it because the change scares you?"

"It's not the change itself that scares me. It's what the metamorph is becoming, Sir," you uttered in a small voice and then added even quieter, praying only Aemond could hear you, "I think- I think he's turning into something violent, Sir. Something terrifying."

It took you a second to recognize what you've just said and what reaction it has provoked.

All of a sudden, you were staring in the face of Aemond Targaryen with his thin lips stretched so wide in a smile that it was even a little creepy. Was he... content? Did he want to laugh at your silly attempt to explain your feelings when you'd been drawing? You wouldn't even be offended, to be fair. It sounded like nonsense to you, too.

But no, he didn't seem to find it funny. Instead, you felt his palm squeezing your shoulder firmly, his smile unwavering as he spoke to you in a hushed voice the way you'd been answering to him, "Very good. My favorite artwork today so far."

As he got up, moving to the next student on your left, you were ready to jump and run away from the studio because, clearly, you were going to burst from the excess of feelings and anxiety in the next five seconds. Your teacher said it was his favorite painting today. This banal, lacking in originality in its every aspect thing was his favorite. When blood rushed to your head, making you sweat and feel disoriented, you clutched the brush between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut.

Aemond Targaryen liked your painting. Despite being the very inspiration for the beautiful but horrifying metamorph, he actually had some sort of fondness for it because later, before you left, he actually asked you to allow him to keep the artwork for his own collection. Why did he like it so much? You had no idea.

_________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

[cyndraws]

Kaishin secret santa 2023

This is a Kaishin roleswap au for @blueamphibians! I hope you enjoy this art + my ramblings on the au underneath. Because of course, I couldn't just leave it as one piece of art haha (ehem please buckle in for preparation)

Many thanks to @dcmkkaishinevents / Mack for hosting this event, it was super fun participating and interacting with the community <3 <3 As a side note, I would absolutely recommend it to others who are considering signing up next year. Everyone is very friendly!

(Hey Blue, I had more art planned but unfortunately many things came up. But I hope you enjoy this anyways! I might draw some more for you later ^-^ Thanks so much for this prompt <3 <3)

Edit: I have decided that now you will receive a completed arts + ramblings + some WIPs behind the scene hahahaha https://www.tumblr.com/cyndraws/737208478471487488/kaishin-secret-santa-2023-extras-basically-wips?source=share

AU ramblings under the cut (ngl it's a lot):

Random details and notes that don't really fit anywhere. Mostly about the fanart:

Kaito is 1 year older than Shin and is taller than him

This scene is set over the Haido City hotel. In the distance you can see Shiriyomi Trust Hotel (can't full recognise it behind Kaito but I assure you I drew it lol), Tokyo tower (easy to spot) and Roppongi Hills Mori Tower (Just behind Shin on the right, the one with the lights in a --u-- shape) Main reference: https://www.detectiveconanworld.com/wiki/Haido_City_Hotel

I was also screaming at the Kaishin pic in ED70 throughout this LMAO.

Kaito breaks through Shinichi's mysterious KID persona in this drawing and Shinichi shyly reveals his face behind the mask. Kaito then produces a blue flower, claiming it matches Shinichi's beautiful eyes (he's also the one who bred it)

Kaito has extra pockets sewn into his uniform to carry more tricks. This wasn't really necessary in canon, but here, Kaito has to be prepared to investigate at any moment.

Lmao help me render hair *stares at Kaito's* Cool effect but not quite right. I need to go experiment later.

Kaito/Shin getting shrunk (aka Conan situation) never happens in this au. But Haibara and the other victims are still around. Haibara still lives at the professor's.

~

Background:

Yusaku was much more entangled and involved with Toichi and his fight with the Black Org. Side note but in this au, Snake is from a division of the Black Org

As a result, they both end up being killed during the fateful accident. Yes, both Shinichi and Kaito are there for it. They were going to be introduced to each other on that day, but well,,, we can see the way it ended.

It wasn't well known that the Kuroba and Kudo family were close at all. Extra vigilance was taken after the funerals to ensure their safety. Their families parted ways for the better or worse after thsi event.

Yusaku's and Toichi's friendship/rivalry included collaborating for some heists, having a second secret base in the Kudo mansion, and Yusaku donning the Night Baron costume... even if he was just hidden in a car and sending information to Toichi via an earpiece lol.

After their husbands' deaths, Yukiko and Chikage meet up occasionally and travel together in secret.

~

Shinichi:

Shinichi never became a famous detective. The years after Yusaku died in the tragic accident, Yukiko and him tried their best to move on with varying success. Shinichi's dream to become a famous detective never came to fruition.

This was because for various reasons including not having Yusaku's guiding hand to develop Shin's detective skills, was only being taken to crime scenes for a year, and of course the trauma.

After avoiding detective work as much as he could (well considering that he's still a corpse magnet), Shinichi finally starts to dig through his memories. From then, he uncovered a strange inconsistency with the logic of his father's death and starts to obsess over the idea that it was a murder.

Shin painstakingly and slowly investigates in the shadows with his *ehem* admittedly rusty detective skills and chases after the very little crumbs left by the organisation. What he uncovers is that the accident wasn't one at all, but premeditated murder by an encompassing third party.

Shinichi finally finds a lead to,,, Jii Konosuke. This takes quite a few years, and Shinichi is 15 when he confronts Jii.

Jii reveals everything after Shinichi's deduction and also mistaking him for Kaito. And such Shinichi is brought into the fold. Shinichi also makes up his mind to take on the KID mantle, greatly sympathising with the fellow teen whose father was also involved.

The years after Shinichi uncovers the truth, he learns many skills such as disguise, acting and magic from Jii and Chikage. However, his magic skills will never be on par with Kaito's.

Shinichi in this au has more acting and disguise skills from living with his mother. She passed this skills onto him, and they bonded over it to recover from their grief.

When Shinichi is 17, he officially takes on the role of KID. Chikage permanently locked the KID cave in the Kuroba house, and the KID cave settled in its new home in the Kudo mansion. Inside the second base previously used by Toichi and Yusaku.

Shinichi as KID:

Well, he's just as dramatic as Kaito in canon, but it's a different kind of dramatic. Shin is more of a mysterious and cryptic phantom thief and wears a menacing Night Baron mask. He overall speaks less, and when he does, he says a lot of dramatic lines. Like in theatre almost, with plenty of double meanings.

He takes on a lot of aspects from the Phantom Lady and Jii's interpretation of KID.

And also, I was inspired by the Black Knight, Shiragami in canon, and AngelicSentinel's fantastic fic, Heart of Eternity. I guess you could describe it as more theatrely, cool and princely. He's still very athletic (laughing at Shinichi being Tarzan as Shiragami)

Unlike Kaito, Shin's notices often involve cryptic riddles. It satisfies Shinichi's puzzle loving side and adds to his mysterious reputation.

It's funny to me how Akako's 'Demon of Light' moniker is still accurate haha

Shinichi investigates a little in the shadows and is overall a touch more hot-headed than Kaito KID

He uses a lot more gadgets to cover for his lesser magic skills. He's still learning though! A lot of them are references to Conan's and KID's in canon. Between Jii and Agasa, he gets a lot of them haha. This includes:

Mask/monocle -> voice changer, mask to cover for poker face, zoom and night vision, tracker, microphone and radio, gas mask.

Transmitter/microphone -> button stickers, bugs in general, cufflinks. In some cases, a camera but it must be asked for first. Shin uses these to cover for Kaito's doves in canon.

Wristwatch -> Clock of course for his heist times, tranquilliser, emergency flashbomb (KID has one in canon too)

Shoes -> jet powered rollerskates (equivalent to skateboard). Of course, Shin still kicks things but it looks more to take down the occasional criminal, trigger emergency traps, and more. He doesn't kick often because it doesn't really suit the image of KID + it's a unique skill to have.

+ other usual KID gadgets -> smoke, flash, sleeping bombs, grapple gun, hang glider, etc.

~

Kaito:

He's still an aspiring magician

Since there's a rising amount of cases in Beika, Kaito gets recommended by Nakamori because of his magic skills. The idea is that his knowledge of magic tricks will help uncover the criminals' tricks... Well this includes basically all cases lol. It works though! And the news of Meitantei Kaito starts to spread.

Kaito falls in love with the dramatics and triumphs of figuring out a criminal's trick. He starts to get called into Beika every time a case is discovered. One different to Shin is that Kai gets called to the cases instead of the cases coming to him.

His detective persona is like KID's in canon - flirty, dramatic, confident, charming, a bit of a pervert, and a classic showman's personality. Aoko is sick of it hahaha.

Kai's deduction show is very dramatic. He uses flashy magic tricks to reveal evidence and tricks, and uses his magic to take down criminals.

This includes his acrobatics, trusty card gun and traps he set beforehand. I like to headcanon that Kaito invented his cardgun first before integrating into KID. Kaito's cardgun includes the normal sharp cards (Kaito uses it to pin down criminals with their clothes, cut ropes, etc), tranquilliser laced cards, smoke and flash bombs. And also sleeping bombs but he uses it vary sparingly because even that toes the law a little too much... Megure is exasperated but the criminals are taken down quickly without much harm so he lets it slide

Kaito also follows in the spirit of dubious investigation. He changes his voice, uses his doves to spy on others, uses disguises (very very rarely), and is noisy overall.

Kaito and Hakuba:

Has a detective rivalry with Hakuba.

Hakuba still thinks, even in this au, that Kaito is KID. After all, Shin's profile is very similar to Kaito's. Kaito vehemently denies it but acts like a KID fan around Hakuba to annoy him. He isn't really though, citing KID's magic to be third rate, but he is still intrigued.

Hakuba offhandedly slips in wording and insinuations to Kaito's huge annoyance. You can imagine them bickering at a crime scene while Megure is just Too Used to this.

Much later on, when Kaito learns Shinichi's identity, Kaito tells Shinichi's about Hakuba's warnings. So Kaito is kinda a messenger between the two. Despite Hakuba being annoying, Kaito knows he can trust him.

~ Other character interactions:

Shinichi and Kaito:

Shinichi is still a corpse magnet. So he encounters a case, calls the police, and escapes as fast as he can after giving a witness statement. This is partly to avoid the awkwardness of meeting Megure and the police officers (he hasn't met them since his father died), as well as his new night job.

This results in the most frustrating yet amusing situation where Shin and Kaito miss meeting each other for quite a few years. Shinichi is busy hurrying off while Kaito is called to the scene and busy listening to the details.

Quick sketch I may/may not fully finish in the future:

Description: Set in suburban Beika. Shinichi is at the foreground, looking at his watch and worrying about meeting Jii on time. Meanwhile, next to a police car, Megure merrily discusses case details to Kaito. Kaito is glancing over to Shinichi in curiosity while keeping an ear open. He has his hands in his pockets. Behind Megure, the scene has police tape barring entrance.

~

Kaito thinks KID is a third rate magician but can appreciate the dramatics and mysteriousness. He is Intrigued. This leads to a meeting later on. Kaito uses his connection to Nakamori.

Shinichi is of course startled by Kaito's namedrop.

... Sorry no more details/plan about their meeting. It's definitely a dramatic face off though.

Regarding Shinichi's identity reveal, I was playing around with the idea that Snake is there, threatening the two at gunpoint and sneering over the '"lovely family reunion between father and son". It would definitely spur Kaito to grill Shin for more details

~

Shinichi and Hattori:

Hattori hears about the "Meitantei of the East" and goes off to meet him and challenge him to a deduction battle. He doesn't know how to contact him, so he goes with the strat of wandering around Beika until he runs into a case. He figured that with the high rate of cases being reported, he's eventually run into Kuroba ,,, yeah hahahaha Thats his entire plan

Luckily for Hattori, his detective luck exponentially multiplies with Shin's and a scream runs out. As Shinichi is reporting the crime and tried to head off, Hattori slings an arm around his shoulders to stop him from sneaking off.

Hattori loudly greets him as Kuroba despite Shinichi's insistence that "No, I am NOT Kuroba, please get your arm off me". Insert much scepticism from Hattori.

Even after they part ways, this isn't the last they see of each other. Hattori keeps wandering around Beika while running into Shinichi. They eventually become friends huhu.

Shinichi and the Detective Boys:

The Detective Boys admire Kaito a lot. Obviously they've watched the news reports on TV. So when they see him at the park playing soccer, they glomp him HAHAH Poor Shinichi

At this point I think people mistaking Shinichi as Kaito can be a running gag. The Detective Boys keep annoying Shinichi and even attempt breaking into the 'Edo house' to see the ghosts... Shinichi is still not happy. And also, when they visit Haibara, they're basically next doors so Shinichi's never going to get them out of his life.

Despite the annoyance, he eventually becomes fond of them and takes on the big brother sort of role.

When Kaito and Shinichi get acquainted, they take the DB on outings a lot. The DB is very fond of Kaito-nii-san and Shinichi-nii-san.

[ruinofchimera]

It’s more convenient for me to analyze these arguments in depth in a separate post, so here we are. 1.

This is almost exactly what I’m suggesting, but you’ve managed to twist it. I wonder what exactly was so funny about Severus being attacked, humiliated, and threatened. In addition to this whole very “comical” situation, he was her friend. Let’s not forget this little detail. If this reaction seems absolutely reasonable to you, well, I wouldn’t envy your friends. I would never forgive such a reaction to my public humiliation, but maybe we have different standards for what should be called friendship.

In fact, she did join the mockery. Doesn't the use of a derogatory nickname, in addition to the mockery of his clothes, illustrate this enough? No, of course not, because she was just acting on emotion.

2.

Yes, I’m implying that Lily should have handled this situation with complete grace. Why shouldn’t she have, if she is the saintly and morally pure person you make her out to be? Why wouldn’t anyone expect her to be completely calm and polite in this situation? You expect exactly the same from a guy who was bullied and threatened in front of everyone. What are these double standards? Let’s make up our minds whether people still have the right to let loose emotions when they are being mentally destroyed, or whether there is no such right.

You state that Severus' words are not just a random insult, but a full attack on her identity and a bold sign that Severus associates himself with blood purists. You believe that this outburst of anger defines Severus. It doesn’t matter that he’s mentally broken at the moment. No. He had to behave with grace. He had to remain calm and polite. However, how he acted instead is seen as nothing more than malicious intent and a calculated situation (lmao, him being a mudblood too—and yes, anyone except pure-bloods is considered a mudblood by blood purists—definitely only confirms that his insult was well-considered and all). But does Lily play by some other rules? Doesn’t the same logic apply to her? Interesting. And I ask you to stop underestimating the power of bullying and abuse. That’s hardly on the same level, huh? If you're going to go into the emotional damage that Snape caused Lily with his insult, I can do the same. Severus’s mental state, already fragile from years of bullying and struggles with identity, was crushed even further by the realization that his only friend used the same cruel nickname his bullies had used to degrade him for years. Oh, and somehow she even managed to come up with a brand-new mockery to double the pile of bullying. She witnessed his public humiliation but joined the abusers at the first opportunity. And, of course, Severus’s trauma doesn’t mean anything. Only Lily’s trauma counts, given your constant highlighting of her hurt. 3.

No, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think she’s a hypocrite for rejecting Severus’s apology after everything. I implied that she was a hypocrite because she forgave James, who never even apologized for his behavior. And this whole idea that she started dating him only after he changed and became valiant is not supported by anything at all. Sirius and Remus pointed out that James continued his bullying—just not on dates with her, but behind her back. Anyway, I don't really care about Lily's love choices. She has the freedom to believe in James' redemption, just as she has the freedom to reject Severus' apology. And she was not obliged to stick around. I've written this I don't know how many times, and I have little faith that this will be the last time because you people are still ignoring it. I wasn’t talking about their reunion; I was talking about a sense of remorse. Whether Lily forgave Snape or not, he felt guilty about his behavior and apologized. Lily never did. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong, and this is a significant difference between them. They both followed their emotions and hurt each other, but only one of them repented. Such things, whether you like it or not, say a lot. 4.

I hate to judge something by how it’s talked about. Show, don't tell, you know? The characterization of anything will vary greatly depending on the narrator and their biases. We explore the story through Harry’s eyes and hear the perspective of his father’s friends. If we were to study the story through Draco’s eyes and hear his father’s perspective on the events, I’m sure many things wouldn’t match. And this is the natural state of affairs. So forgive me if I don’t remember a single scene where Lily behaved like a good friend, and therefore I’m skeptical when someone proclaims her to be one. The fact that she justified her friendship with Severus to others can have a very double meaning. The fact that she defended him is also very questionable if she did so in the manner shown in the only scene of her "heroism." For me, this is all unconvincing, especially when, in contrast, we have the precedent of Sirius and James' friendship, which in some ways mirrors the situation of Lily and Severus, except for the differences that actually define the concept of friendship. Both Sirius and Severus grew up in abusive families, both had dark tendencies that were just expressed in different ways. But Potter stayed loyal to Black after the Prank, even though James was forced to sort out the situation by himself. Apparently, for James, the bond with Sirius was more important than punishing him for his recklessness, and this bond wasn’t broken. When Sirius finally decided to run away from home, he ended up with the Potters because he knew that James was fully aware of his family’s atrocities and, more importantly, ready to shield him from it. I could go into this for a very long time, but my main point is that I have no doubt James was a good friend. And I don’t even need to hear Sirius praise him for this. Show, don’t tell—this is exactly the case. Everything that has been shown of Severus and Lily’s friendship seems disturbing, and not just because of Severus' actions. That was the point of my previous post. 5.

Well, I started my original post with the phrase, "If you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation." Toxic friendship (mind that I didn’t say that only Lily was a toxic friend) and contribution to the equation (not her fault for ruining their friendship) are the key words. Lily Evans was the focus of my thoughts, but not the scapegoat. Don’t confuse these things. I didn’t delve deeply into Severus' contribution (though I haven’t ignored it in my post) because I’m not new to the fandom. In the more than 12 years I’ve been here, I’m well aware that the incident with the slur has been covered as much as possible.

Moreover, it is actively used as a way to shut down any discussion about Snape, conveniently omitting that Lily was, in fact, an active participant in this unhealthy dynamic, not a victim. And yeah, she wasn’t a good friend.

Although it depends on everyone’s understanding of friendship, I admit that some may consider her approach to friendship to be worthy. But again, you need to make up your mind: if Lily has the right not to be held accountable for her emotional outburst, then Severus does too. If the circumstances don’t mitigate words spoken in a state of distress, then Lily is responsible for her sudden bullying. Otherwise, it’s hypocrisy. I’m not going to be convinced that Lily was a suffering friend, if only because I’m fortunate enough to know what real friendship and support look like. Their friendship was toxic, but not solely at Severus' hands. He misstepped, and so did she. He apologized, she did not. That’s pretty much the whole story.

[balkanradfem]

So I decided to learn to knit! I've never before found a way to ethically and cheaply get yarn. I found a little ball of yarn outside at some point, as one does, and saved it, but beyond that I didn't have any other tools. Then I saw a video showing how you can take a thrifted machine-knit sweater, and undo it back into yarn, and then just knit with that. Incredible, since I have a full box of old sweaters, I just need to figure out which ones are easily undone.

So I grabbed my little ball of found yarn, and then I needed some needles. I looked up what I could use instead, and found there's plenty of alternatives; pencils, chopsticks, wooden sticks for barbecue. Looking around my room I realized I had some very long paintbrushes; I tried to use them, and immediately realized they need to have a pointy end. I grabbed a pencil sharpener and sharpened them; only this made them very rough and splintered. I needed to sand them down, but I had no sandpaper, and then I remembered that recently someone gave me a flat tool that removes dry skin from feet. I sanded them down with that, and it actually worked, they worked perfectly like knitting needles. They're even the same size.

The knitters probably already know this, but if you start knitting for the first time, especially if it's winter and you're under a blanket, some ancient human instinct will activate and you will feel that you are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing and everything is well and right with the world. Creating fabric is a powerful thing to do, in a society where everyone needs fabric to stay alive, and go outside, and I like having this power to myself.

I found out there are two basic types of stitches; knit stitch, and purl stitch. I liked the knit stitch better, on the basis that purl stitch had 'bad vibes'.

It knew before that most fabric will be woven, or knitted, or in some cases, crochet, so I got little curious, and studied each layer of clothing on me, and every single item of clothing was knit, and it was all a purl stitch. I got fascinated by this, wondering if this is true for most clothing, or if I just somehow prefer knit things on me because they're nice and stretchy. Looking into other fabrics, I could easily tell that all of the sheets, pillowcases and kitchen cloths were woven, and that they were much sturdier and less stretchy for it.

I looked at stuff in my closet, and found that I had a scarf, hat, and pants that were woven, but in very soft and warm fabric, and they were very sturdy and non-stretchy as well. I then wondered what was the logic behind it, and is there a traditional type of things that will be woven, that isn't just bedsheets and cloths?

I tried to find a video on youtube detailing that stuff, but no female-made video was found, so I'm now downloading several women-written audibooks on the topic of history of textiles. I think we should just take the power to make textiles back to us, because back when women were the maker of the cloth, it was just something we 'did out of the goodness of our hearts for our families' but it was also environmentally friendly, practical, sustainable and a beautiful, powerful craft. Now that m*n decided it's something to make money off, they created fast fashion, tons of waste and environmental damage, new types of slavery for workers, and the clothing isn't even practical anymore, it's made to fall apart.

So, back to my knitting, I have to say it's not happening very fast, I thought by the end of the day I would be done with that little ball of yarn and be able to tell how much fabric it can make, nope, did not happen, in fact I've been working on it two days and by this time I've barely made any progress. Apparently the 'purl stitch' is faster, well, I'm still refusing to do it. Boo purl stitch. The yarn I found outside is some of the worst quality yarn I've ever seen, not only it's different in thickness everywhere, but in some places there are 3-4 different threads distangled from each other, and it confused me so much while knitting that I kept adding stitches on the brush unnecessarily, until the entire thing could barely fit on one.

One thing that surprised me was how incredibly soft, stretchy and comfortable the fabric feels when made. I genuinely expected the fabric to be as horrifying as the yarn quality, nope, it's nice and comfy I absolutely love it.

There is a movement in online spaces for being mindful of environment when purchasing clothing, and making our own wardrobes, which is absolutely delightful; seeing people gain new respect and fascination for clothing, sewing and textile making, and then doing it themselves and becoming non-dependent on capitalism, it's the change the world needs. I didn't think I would try to join in, because I get so much discarded and unwanted clothing from others, I wouldn't need to buy any ever, but I did get fascinated by looms, natural fibers, and women doing all that work, that I can't resist trying it out.

[queergaygaygaygay]

Don’t know if this has blown up on Tumblr but, in the new Spiderverse film (spoilers), we see Gwen’s room which features a trans pride flag above her door. We also see a smaller flag sowed into her father’s police jacket.

They have been some theories sparked off by this with people speculating if Gwen is trans or just an ally. I find the argument about allyship to not quite hold up given where the flag is located. Someone’s bedroom is a very personal space and Gwen has only had one friend before Miles so it seems like the flag isn’t a social indicator for allyship but something more personal.

It’s perfectly possible that Gwen feels such close allyship that she keeps a pride flag in her room but I can’t really think of a justification for this. This level of passion for allyship would probably come out of a personal connection to a trans person but Gwen has very few people she feels close to (especially at the start of the film), namely: Peter Parker and her dad. These are the only people that could’ve inspired her allyship and it is possible for these characters to be trans, and one or both of these characters being trans would explain the trans flag on her dad’s police uniform since Peter was close with her dad, however I cannot find any further evidence of these character’s transness though it is possible.

It is semi-plausible to say Gwen saw trans people struggling online, and her father was convinced by this to wear a pride flag on his uniform to show allyship, though I personally don’t know any allies who have pride flags in their room.

This also seems like a strange detail for a film that is so purposeful in its visual nuances so I would imagine the reasoning behind this is less convulated than the allyship theories.

Another clue to her possible transness could be in her universe’s animation style which uses blues, purples, whites and pinks- the colours of the trans pride flag.

When I was watching the film, I spotted the trans flag and thought it was interesting. I hadn’t heard the rumours or even watched the full trailer. As the plot unfolded, I made some comparisons between Gwen Stacy’s expierience in the film and my own trans experience; the alienation from society, the anger at the world, the search for a community, the disconnect with family and the eventual acceptance of family. This made me feel a rather intimate connection with the character and her story and I think it’s actually encouraging me to come out to my mother but I haven’t yet (I asked if I could go to pride with friends and she said yes so hopefully that gives me the confidence).

This subtle but poignant dropping of the trans flag into the film, the film’s nature of making every detail significant and the clear comparison between her character arc and the general trans experience gives me the impression that the team behind the film intended for Gwen to be allegorically, or even canonically, trans and, if so, I hope they do more with this since I was genuinely brought to tears.

Whilst we can not prove Gwen is trans, we can’t prove she isn’t trans and, as explained, it isn’t impossible. I read through the reddit post and found a lot of people, unsurprisingly, saying that this is just Twitter making everyone think everyone is trans and she is conclusively not trans but I don’t use Twitter (as a loyal Tumblr girl) or had heard anything about Gwen’s story arc so my experience was as organic as anyone’s experience who came out of the cinema thinking she was cis. This stubborness to not believe Gwen could be trans is ignorant, from my perspective, because there’s no reason to say she isn’t trans. It’s more logical to assume characters are cis because most people are cis statistically but, here, we have evidence for possible transness so it feels more like a Shrödinger’s transgender- where a character could be trans, due to non-conclusive evidence, or could be cis, depending on what the writers (in regards to cannon) and fans (in regards to headcannon and fan works) choose.

Thanks for reading. I love the film regardless of this detail and would happily nerd out with any fans. If you want any citations, I’ll hand you them through dms. I would add them here but I don’t know if that would be unusual.

[bigassbowlingballhead]

so we all know that my dreams are weirdly hyper realistic and plot driven so buckle the fuck up.

number one: everything (like, the rules of reality) was the same as real life except i guess my bf didnt exist (sad but necessary for the plot i suppose). im at thanksgiving at my parents house, which is a weekend long affair. tzp and redacted are married and also there bc they are my friends i guess. im definitely better friends w taylor than redacted but redacted and i get along and like each other. okay. the scene is set.

so, im preparing dinner with my dad and aunts like usual. taylor and redacted have slept in but taylor comes out to help eventually. he is fresh from a shower and wearing a very tight shirt. we talk while i cook and it’s clear that i need to fuck this man like, yesterday. within the dream logic, this is not the first time ive fucked around with him — this is a thing that we do. go me!

so we’re like okay, where can we go, bc i have a one story house and it’s full of family members at thanksgiving. i mean FULL. and redacted is sleeping so we dont wanna bother him, but there is literally nowhere that we can go that a family member wouldnt also be there and see us (damn you, open floor plans!!!) so what else can we do but go outside behind the pool shed, obviously.

now, it IS november in philadelphia, so it’s not WARM, but we’re making it work. i got this man bent over in a tiny corner of backyard, shirt fully off, making him see god. weve got our shoes on and mostly pants except for the important parts. hes not making as much noise as i want him to make (bc duh, we gotta be quiet), but im doing my damnedest to make him squeak, so im touching every inch of him that i can. i remember that i was thinking “i wish i had another hand to grab his hair, bc i already have one hand on his balls and the other on his dick and im not willing to give up on either of those for the sake of making him arch his back.” obviously this was a tough decision by me, but what are you gonna do. also at this point important to mention that i dont actually remember all the details, just flashes of stuff and general vibes. i was definitely like “hurry up and come man, we are on borrowed time here,” but taylor was apparently in no rush no matter how much i played with his dick. also at some point i put my hand on his stomach and could feel his abs and how he was moving every time i did and whew. that was hot.

so TRAGICALLY we were interrupted before the grand finale. i am not pleased but hey, if it’s time for dinner then it’s time for dinner. so i sit next to tzp at dinner and redacted sits on the other side and im TRYING to enjoy my MEAL but those two are definitely doing something under the table. whores.

things get a little weird and dreamscape-y here so i’ll skip most of dinner but the only relevant plot point that came up is i found out about something thats been seriously irritating me at work is happening again and so i was kinda pissed. but anyway.

so after dinner all the cousins decide to get in the pool which is insane to do bc it is NOVEMBER and my parents never even have the pool open at thanksgiving, but it’s my dream so fuck weather patterns in guess. so we’re all in the pool and taylor has clearly still not gotten off and redacted and i are having a good time messing with him, you know how it goes, standard pool shenanigans but nothing too bad bc my parents are RIGHT THERE so. keep it pg. but after we go inside?? oh all bets are OFF.

now here’s where things go bad for me. we go inside and we’re only in our towels and we’re all three looking for a place to fuck and we CANT FIND ONE. it’s only a three bedroom house and all three bedrooms are occupied. for some fucking reason we try my parents room first (which im glad was occupied bc i would not be down to fuck in my parents room, ick), but my little sister and my cousin are in there watching a movie with the little cousins, so thats a big fat no thank you. then we go to my sister’s room which yeah, i wouldnt feel GREAT about fucking in there, but it’s a redacteds threesome on the table and if i have to do it i will. but thats where my uncle and aunt are sleeping and hes in there napping after all the pie so thats another no go. so now im pretty pissed off bc of the work thing and also pls why cant we find a place to just FUCK.

so we go into my old bedroom and im thinking this will be fine, this is where redacted and taylor are sleeping anyway, (why didnt we go there first? whos to say) this will be open and we can get down. but we get in there and two people ive never met before are in the bed. what.

so my family tends to take in a lot of strays around the holidays. if you dont have a place to go for thanksgiving and you know a relative of mine, you are automatically invited to my parents house. theres always like 5-6 unrelated people at dinner just bc my uncle or cousin or whomever showed up and was like “i have extras!” and my mom is always like “dope! come in and eat!” it’s a lovely representation of the welcoming nature of my family and culture and it’s something that i always love to see around the holidays but it is also currently FUCKING ME OVER BC I JUST WANT TO BANG THESE MEN IN PEACE!!!

so im like “excuse me, with all due respect, who the fuck are you.” and the one guy was immediately rude (sir you are in MY BED) and was like “your mom said we could stay here so fuck off.” and im like??? YOU fuck off?? but then another part of me is like “no, your mother raised you better than that, you need to be welcoming to people so they dont feel unwanted.” the thing is that at this moment they are in fact VERY unwanted. so taylor is also pissed and redacted is trying to calm him down but keep in mind that taylor hasnt finished still so hes a bit bitchy. and redacted is like “what if we just went and got a hotel room somewhere,” and im like NO, we are in nothing but our bathing suits, we are all horny and ready to go, this is HAPPENING.

so i go back into my parents room and i ask my cousin hey have you seen my mom and also maybe you guys could watch the movie in the basement bc desperate times call for desperate measures and im not gonna fuck in my parents bed but maybe the floor would be fine. and shes like i think your mom is doing the dishes but why do you need a bedroom all to yourself? and i just gave her a look and i was like come on. why do you think. and she asked “ohh, okay, so wait, where do you see this going with taylor?” and i was like “oh it’s not going anywhere, he’s married to redacted, we just fuck around. it’s great, sometimes redacted joins, sometimes not, but it’s always a good time.” and she was somewhat scandalized and i was like oh right. within the context of my family that would be an objectively insane thing to just drop like that.

so anyway. after that the dream gets all weird and dreamy (there was some plotline with kamala harris i think? i think i worked for her? but she was actually also my irl boss interchangeably? idk). but thats the story of how i fucked taylor at thanksgiving in my subconscious. also i just remembered that while i was fucking him and had my hand on his stomach i could feel the outline of my strap through his abs. have a good day i love you 😘

the outline of your strap though his abs is CRAZY GIA. i love it.

also where'd the strap come from, was it stored behind the pool shed for safe keeping, are you just strapped at all times always ready to bend over a gay man? (me next)

[roscoehamiltons]

regarding my prev tag about a merc employee sending the email and my overall thoughts about lewis at mercedes and possible sabotage:

i think it’s very clear at this point that things behind the scenes at mercedes are messy, and that the relationship with lewis and mercedes has been fractured for a couple years now. it’s hard to believe that it has gotten this bad. if we were to go back to 2020 or even 2021 it would’ve been unthinkable that it would get to this point: that lewis would leave mercedes in the first place and go to another team rather than retire, that the possibility of the team sabotaging him is even being considered.

and i think we should consider it a possibility that there is sabotage happening at the team. and by that i don’t necessarily mean that the entirety of merc is actively plotting against lewis because there are thousands of people working there, some of whom have been there since the beginning of lewis’ tenure with them, and have a strong working relationship and even friendship with him. i don’t doubt that there are people at mercedes who still want the best for lewis in terms of results and life in general. however, the opposite can be true as well— there very well could be people in the team who do not like or care for lewis, and all it takes is one, two or a few people here and there to cause trouble.

it might sound illogical to sabotage lewis, but. just because it seems "illogical" doesn’t mean it’s impossible. people are not robot-computers that act rationally all the time, there are plenty of situations where people at mercedes have not acted logically in the past couple of years. it is illogical that merc wouldn't give lewis, their most successful driver, the most successful driver of all time, a 2+1 contract and an ambassadorship. it is illogical to replace lewis with an almost 18 year old who skipped an entire feeder series and can’t drive a road car yet. it is illogical for the marketing team to actively ignore lewis, their most popular driver, in their social media posts, for the admin to beef with lewis fans publicly on the official account. there have been many instances of illogical behaviour, and unthinkable things have happened in the past couple of years. why not one more illogical or unthinkable thing? there have been many instances where lewis has been treated unfairly by the team, and it could be a coincidence or incidental of course, but how many coincidences or incidents have to take place before it is not that anymore?

which brings me to the email. we do not know who sent it and what the intentions are with the email— it could be sent by someone who genuinely cares about lewis and his well-being, it could also be someone who wants to cause trouble for mercedes, and doesn’t care one bit about the consequences it will have on lewis. it might be a mercedes employee and it might not be. however, the fact that it has been sent out— by someone who knows something about the inner workings of f1 media— and is being investigated means that we cannot any longer ignore the murmurings of what is happening behind the scenes at mercedes.

for the record, im not saying for sure that there is sabotage happening. like i said, i believe there are still people at merc who still like and care for lewis. it could be just some people being bad at their jobs, and not anything more deliberate and sinister than that. we, as outsiders, don’t know and won’t ever know the full details of what’s happening and will happen at mercedes. sabotage is only one possibility out of many, but it is not as improbable as some people think.

[potat0bag]

hey hello! hope you’re having a good one. cccccooould I request some info about your shiver’s sister(s?) maybe? if you feel like it

hi! i'm not doing great so this'll be fun to do (/gen about both things! i'm thankful for this ask) sooo shiver has two sisters! they are each 4 years older than shiver, because they are twins!

i'm not gonna include images cause their designs are constantly changing and i'd rather focus this post around their characters for my own sanity.

Sela Hohojiro is a gossip on the surface and probably comes off as mean. She's very playful and requires a lot of attention due to having this kind of middle-child syndrome going on (even if she is tied for oldest child) due to Shiver being the one raised (and enthusiastically agreeing) to take on clan head duties when the time comes. Same (Shiver's mother) loves all her kids so much, yet Shiver is her youngest and has the most set future of all of them and needs her attention the most in her eyes since her position as clan head was kinda rushed upon her due to unfortunate circumstances. Sela can sort of understand on an objective level why she isn't as intensely nurtured by comparison. However, she is also emotionally aligned to a severe degree, so her own feelings of loneliness regularly cause her to be sassy and act out. She tends to spend a lot of time at their aunt's bar because of this, seeking out her childless older relative's attention instead.

On a cooler level, Sela is drawn to praisable arts much like Shiver. Specifically, she enjoys painting (and is the reason Shiver also picked up the interest) because it's something she can be praised and acknowledged for. The Hohojiro residence is full of paintings she's made. She mainly does landscape art since in her mind it's hard to mess up something that's concrete and dictatable on its objective quality of detail and logic. TL;DR "i can do this thing well and get noticed for it!!" As quiet of a passion it is, she also enjoys alternative music as it tends to have a fueling power behind it for her. She enjoys the electric energy of parties for this reason also. Always happy to meet new people and possibly earn more attention and a tighter support system. Somebody tell her she's doing fine, please.

Chi Hohojiro in comparison to her twin is far more like still waters. Because of how logic-based her reasoning is, she can often appear blunt and seem to lack empathy. When really, she's just tackling it from her own sense of logic and justice. If that person hurts you, why don't you just cut them out? That's- difficult to do? Because of the connection you've built? That's... huh. She didn't think of it like that. She's very clear cut. Which can hurt, but she'll also hold you blatantly accountable. She doesn't really like letting things go until a suitable compromise/payback has been reached. Shiver snuck her snacks? Okay. That's fine. They're buying her more. And that incident'll be tallied against them until they act on her terms. Because of her objective outlook, Chi doesn't face the same feeling of loneliness Sela does. The way Chi sees it, Shiver requires more attention due to their life path being set out for them and requiring guidance. It makes sense for them to need more. And she can see how Same treats them. They aren't being given less. She treats them with a million percent more than the bare minimum. Her love isn't being divided between them, rather being magnified in an educational aspect to Shiver, who she is required to be hands on with.

Chi has the capacity to play the straight man between her and Sela when it comes to teasing Shiver, being a flat one liner kinda gal. She also presses for Shiver to take care of themselves in a very "you quite literally need this objectively" way. If they can't afford to do something crucial one day? They have to do it the next. It's Chi's Law. (One they like to try and fight, but can never truly escape.). Same enjoys Chi's Law. Where do you think Chi got it, after all?

Hope this was articulated well, anon. This genuinely improved my mood. I'd be happy to answer more text-based asks like this (and asks about Sela and Chi <3), they're a lot easier for me to handle than drawing requests I think due to motivation coming and going. Thanks for reading!!