#and i have all my necessities provided (well most of them) so like. i would feel ungrateful for wanting anything more

[caffeinatedopossum]

I always feel bad for being even a little dissatisfied with my circumstances and then I remember that most of the people around me (both irl and online) would probably go absolutely bonkers in my circumstances

[teenagefeeling]

how are name-brand frosted mini wheats 2 entire dollars more expensive than the generic? literally there's no difference between them 😭

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

how do you find public spaces to fuck (re:the rooftop + dyke)?

sincerely, horny lez

Good question, I will answer it in this response eventually, but first, you have to sit through me intellectually jerking myself off for a moment because I think it may provide some useful perspective.

Public sex has been part of my life for as long as I've been having physical sex at all. As an adolescent it was mostly out of necessity, but these days it's mostly out of convenience. The vast majority of the sex I've had in the last year or two has been public.

I think it's important to clarify that for me at least, public sex is not an act of exhibitionism. If there's any sort of philosophy behind it besides sheer utility, I'd say it's something like not allowing our society's mores and hangups around sex and privacy dictate the terms on how and where we (especially as gay people) engage with our sexuality.

I think there's this gut impulse many people have--including many gay people--around public sex, and I think it speaks to the reactionary view of human sexuality that is unfortunately the stock standard in these times. For many, the idea of people having sex in public gives them some sort of 'ick' that they can't seem to articulate.

Often discussions around public sex are framed like this: "if I walked in on people having sex, it would make me uncomfortable, I didn't consent to that, so people should not be having sex in public." It would be fairly reasonable to experience discomfort in this imagined scenario--in fact, I think most people probably would--and that discomfort isn't a problem. The problem is that the premise assumes a few crucial points, notably that 1. Walking in on public sex is a common occurrence and/or the desired outcome for those engaging in it 2. Discomfort is a form of harm 3. Exposure to (non-hegemonic) human sexuality is capable of causing some kind of nebulous psychic damage to the witness.

To the first point: in my decade or so of regular public sex, I can only think of one instance where I was actually walked in on. It was an alley off of a major road and probably only at around 1030p. I mention this because we absolutely would have chosen a different, more secluded location/time if we were doing anything other than fully clothed kink and maybe some kissing, because again, the goal for most is not exhibitionism; no one really wants to be walked in on, so we choose locations where it is less likely that we will be.

To the second point, I have little to say besides that it simply isn't. Discomfort is an everyday part of life and is something all people experience regularly without calls to stop every potential source of it. So what is it about this topic that makes people react this way?

This leads us to the third point: non-hegemonic modes of sexuality are treated as degenerative and caustic and therefore must be hidden (or eradicated) entirely from the public sphere. It is the classic double standard; think of things like the "Don't Say Gay" or "DADT" laws or more broadly the attempt to remove even the mention of the existence of gays from curriculum. Most of the people who fight for such measures likely don't take the same issue or action with a 48 foot billboard for the local strip club or with a heterosexual couple kissing on screen.

And while the spot that people place the line may differ greatly, this ire against public sex still draws from the same well of reaction against perceived degeneracy that the fascist draws from. If this is not self evidently a negative thing to you, I have little I can say to convince you.

Some may be thinking 'okay, even if it is not harmful or degenerate, why do public sex?' To me, it is just as strange that so many keep their sex lives confined to the home and I could posit the same question. Neither way of doing things is any more natural or unnatural than the other, one is just the societal default. If it would bring you joy, why not engage in public sex?

The world is large, and if you know where to look, there are countless spaces you can carve out and stake the pervert's claim to. Alleyways, parks, bathrooms, rooftops, and beaches are the first to come to mind for me. To answer your question directly, you find them by making them and taking them.

Time is a large factor here as well. A given spot in a park at 9p may not be suitable, but might be more so by 11p, and even more so by 1a. My experience is that the later it gets, more spots become viable with less heavy precautions.

Another factor is coverage. An open field is riskier than behind a tree. The middle of an alley is riskier than behind a dumpster. You want to limit the amount of vectors through which you could be exposing yourself. I value coverage from sight lines over seclusion.

Something else you want to think about is whether or not you are on private property. If you are, it's possible that there are security personnel sitting in a car somewhere nearby or a resident who notices you. At that point, the issue is not even the sex, it's the fact you're there at all.

Finally, you always have to be ready to dip. Be aware of your surroundings as best you can, listen for cars and people, don't get too caught up in the moment that you're blinded. You gotta be ready to pull your pants up and walk quickly away. I'd rather be safe than sorry. If something's not right, get outta there. If you can't, well, don't have your dick out at least.

Anyway, all that to say go out and have fun. Good luck and enjoy yourself. The world has room for you to fit yourself into.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Azul Ashengrotto - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

I wonder how our newest little business campaign will come to fruition... Heh, oh how I so look forward tomorrow's sales numbers.

Summon: One will usually interact with more people on their birthday than any other ordinary day. In order to deepen personal connections, I must act strategically.

Groovification: I should dress myself promptly. I'd like to make the most of what little time I have available in the mornings.

Home: It's my private time from here on out.

Swap Looks: A wonderful morning.

Home Transition 1: I appreciate how everyone seeks me out for counsel... After all, the more I know of other people's quandaries, the better.

Home Transition 2: A moment ago, Deuce-san shouted his birthday greetings towards me with such fervor. I can't say I'm used to that sort of well wishing...

Home Transition 3: I've started seriously looking into stocks recently. It's never a bad thing to learn all you can before trading.

Home Transition - Login: I refuse to receive gifts as a rule, however birthday cards are another matter. I make sure to read through each one and keep them well.

Home Transition - Groovy: Not only did he wish me happy birthday before classes began, but he also intends to visit the Mostro Lounge... Epel-san is a model freshman.

Home Tap 1: Better sleep quality leads to a more productive performance during the day. It was absolutely worth investing in proper nightwear.

Home Tap 2: Whenever Cater-san graces the Lounge, there is an uptick in the number of customers we see. Now may be the time to unfurl yet another trendy new dish!

Home Tap 3: Hairstyle is an important factor when it comes to first impression. I am always careful to set it so as to give off a professional appearance.

Home Tap 4: Of course, I fully understand the sentiment that money is not a necessity when it comes to celebrating someone's birthday... Yet Ruggie-san takes it to a whole different level!

Home Tap 5: The internet may be quick with how it disseminates information, but sometimes newspapers can still provide unexpectedly valuable reports. How about you give reading one a try?

Home Tap - Groovy: You would like me to teach you some makeup tips? Of course, I don't mind at all. That is, if you are willing to pay a suitable fee.

Duo: [AZUL]: Epel-san, there's no need to gift me anything. [EPEL]: No need to shy away, Azul-san.

Birthday Login Message: [Yuu]-san. Have you, by chance, come to celebrate my birthday? Good timing, I had just hit a roadblock with what I was doing, so I welcome the change of pace. You're curious what this is? Well, it's a new board game. The other day, I only just barely lost to Idia-san, you see. I absolutely must figure out a winning play before our next bout...! Oh, are you intrigued by this board game as well? Perfect, how does a friendly match sound, as I work through possible strategies?

Requested by @oya-oya-okay.

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello! Could I request Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir reactions to you accidentally walking in on them having a little “fun” with themselves 😉

(YES I'm a slut for all of these guys so it would be my pleasure! also apologies for the wait, its been a weird couple months 😅 I figured this worked a bit better with an already established relationship so hope you enjoy :D)

(Includes Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir (separate) x gender neutral reader - established relationship - warnings for smut/allusions to smut obviously)

Legolas:

Legolas can usually keep his desire very well contained, so if he's reached this point you can safely assume he's getting desperate. This also means that he's almost ashamed when you catch him in such a state. He'll cover himself as fast as possible, despite the fact that you've seen it all before, and the tips of his ears turn pink as he mumbles apologies. He might need some assurance that you don't mind before he settles, and will fumble over his words slightly when you offer to lend a hand... literally.

"I would not want to impose, meleth nin..."

"You're not. I want to help you..."

Aragorn:

Provided he's in a safe space, this is one of the few times Aragorn completely lets his guard down. He's so used to getting himself off quickly, almost roughly, as a matter of necessity, so his hand only slows when he feels your own over the top. He startles slightly at the contact and laughs breathily when he sees you, your hand moving to replace his own with a much softer pace. You leave little room for argument when you capture his lips in a kiss.

"My love..."

"No need to be so rushed with yourself. Let me..."

Boromir:

Boromir is not shy around you at all and barely even pauses what he's doing when you walk in on him, though his pace does slow. He's also the most likely to tease you over it. In your defence, it's rather difficult to look your love in the eyes when his hand is still moving over his cock. He'll joke about wanting your assistance, but will never pressure you if you're not in the mood.

"I'd appreciate your help sweetheart, but if you'd rather watch then I couldn't refuse such a pretty audience..."

Faramir:

Faramir is a little more on the reserved side, though not nearly as much as Legolas. He visibly tenses up when someone enters the room, but he relaxes again as soon as he sees it's you. (He will deny that he's blushing though, even though he's definitely flustered by the object of his imagination appearing so suddenly.) He'll gently encourage you to stay, if you want, not wanting to outwardly say he wants your help but definitely implying it.

"I... I'd appreciate it if you stayed, darling..."

[edosianorchids901]

A Quiet and Durable Form of Love

Happy Ace Day! Fic and art, also available on AO3! 💜

“Holmes, what’s wrong?” Watson asked, voice soft.

Holmes pressed his fingers harder against his temple, trying to take slow, calming breaths. Allowing himself to become upset would not assist with his headache in the slightest. “I’m all right.”

“You don’t look all right. You look as if you’re in considerable pain.”

“Mm.” Thinking about it only drew more attention to the steady, relentless throbbing on the left side of his head. He leaned back in his chair, still attempting to relax, and let out a heavy sigh. “Admittedly, it is a little inconvenient. I had hoped to pursue one or two possible leads in connection with that attempted murder this morning, but I think it shall prove necessary to wait.”

“Well, now I’m really worried.” The clink of a full teacup against a saucer provided the alert that Watson was, indeed, quite worried. Otherwise, he would have taken a drink first. “I didn’t realize you had a case. You don’t look like you have a case.”

“Well, well, I don’t have a case yet.” Wincing, Holmes opened his eyes. His fringe dangled across them, and he smoothed it off to one side. “It is merely a conjecture, judging by the attitude of the newspapers. This stretch of tedium has continued for such a miserable length of time that I had considered starting to investigate before my services are requested.”

“But not now.” Watson was studying him with the eye of both doctor and friend now, assessing both his physical state and how badly this had impacted his mood. “Is it the same sort of headache you’ve been getting?”

“Indeed. Exceedingly irritating, but no cause for concern.” The headaches seemed to be a lingering response to the strain of his years in hiding. He had at first hoped that they would cease once he returned home, but months later, that didn’t seem to be the case. “As I have no wish to be incapacitated when the case does come my way, I believe it is more advantageous to rest for at least the morning.”

“I quite agree, old man. You look exhausted.” Brow creased with worry, Watson poured another cup of coffee and slid it to Holmes. “Here, this ought to help. With the headache, not the exhaustion. I know it doesn’t do much to wake you up.”

“Quite.” Holmes flicked a smile in response. “Thank you, Watson.”

He drank the coffee, which did at least taste good. It wouldn’t wake him up effectively, as it mostly helped him to focus, but the caffeine still provided provide a little stimulation in a way that would not worry Watson. This ongoing bout of lethargy had led him to the cocaine bottle a little too often of late.

Watson worried about a great many of Holmes’ tendencies, and yet accepted him for who he was. It was a remarkable thing, to be accepted and loved so unconditionally. It did not matter how irritable Holmes became, or how relentless in pursuit of a case, or even that he had vanished entirely for three years. Watson was still here, just as he had been for decades, steadfast as ever.

Setting one elbow on the table, Holmes rested his chin in his hand and simply gazed at Watson. The good doctor had returned to his meal, eating with considerable zest, just as he always did. He ate, loved, wrote, and went about his work with the utmost earnestness, wholly devoted to whatever task lay before him.

Holmes’ own habits were more narrow, constricted. Passion drove him in his work, but not in any human relations, nor in the daily necessities of life. To eat, sleep, and so on were simply impediments to his work. He had once thought of love in the same way.

He still did not think of it in the same fashion as most of the world, nor experience the same urges. Passion was certainly not a word to describe how he felt towards anyone, not even Watson, who he cared for more than anyone.

The mere thought of intimate touch continued to repel him, an attitude that had certainly not changed with age. Romantic feelings remained abhorrent as well, love a strange sentiment that he studied from afar as it intersected with his cases, but not one that he could ever comprehend. It was not his nature.

And yet, there was a certain tenderness in his heart towards those he cared for, a gentle affection that only deepened with time, and that was developing into a new partnership of sorts with Watson. Perhaps that was a kind of love itself, if not the ones most valued by society.

Watson glanced up from his breakfast and smiled. “What’s that look, old man?”

More than he was entirely certain how to put into words, particularly with the onslaught of a migraine that made communication still more difficult than it already was for him by nature. Holmes gave a quick twitch of a smile. “I am being glad that I still have you, after all that’s happened.”

“I am yours, always,” Watson said in his unselfconscious, earnest fashion.

“I know.” Holmes struggled for something else to say, something that would convey the depths of his affection for this remarkable man. Something meaningful. “Would you like to cuddle?”

Watson’s eyes widened, and he gave a brief, startled laugh. “To cuddle?”

“Mm. I know you are fond of touch, and I am not entirely opposed to it where you are concerned.” This was perhaps not the most ordinary means of expressing love, but Holmes did not feel ordinary love. “It is comfortable for me to be near you.”

Suddenly looking as if he might cry, Watson smiled. “Thank you, Holmes. I should be delighted. I feel very much the same way.”

“Ah! Cuddling is pleasant for you?” Holmes hesitated for a moment, uncertain of himself. “And an acceptable substitute for certain… affections that I cannot offer in this little partnership?”

“Very much so.” Briefly, Watson blushed. “To tell the truth, I much prefer cuddling to any of those other ‘affections’. Our partnership suits me very well. Perfectly, in fact.”

“Excellent! Perhaps we might remove to the settee?” Holmes gestured towards it, and tried to rise. Immediate pain stabbed into his head, and he grunted as he pressed a hand to his temple again. “Dear me.”

“Easy, old man.” Watson, who had risen more successfully, touched his arm with such gentleness that the contact was not startling in the least. “I think it might be a good idea for you to lie down.”

“I wish to cuddle, Watson!”

“I wish to cuddle too, Holmes.” Watson smiled again, corners of his eyes crinkling fondly. “Perhaps you could lie down with your head in my lap. Does that sound comfortable?”

“Mm. My head does ache considerably.” Holmes glanced at Watson’s thigh. “And you are likely an adequate pillow.”

“I cannot think of anything better to be,” Watson said with a chuckle, offering his hand.

Holmes took it, allowing himself to be helped up and ushered to the settee. Moving brought on a slight chill, and he was glad of the scarf he’d draped around his neck again after changing. A heavier scarf would not help his headache, but the light warmth of this one was soothing.

Soon, he was settled in place on the settee, his head resting on Watson’s thigh. The good doctor looked immensely pleased with the entire scenario, and beamed at him as he skimmed a hand across Holmes’ hair. “How is that, Holmes?”

“It is excellent, Watson.” Holmes let out a long, tired sigh. “I really am very glad of your presence.”

Gentle as ever, Watson rested his other hand on Holmes’ chest and smiled down at him. “As I am of yours.”

Smiling despite the headache, Holmes closed his eyes and relaxed as Watson stroked his hair. No, he had no desire for the passions that were so highly praised by most, nor did he feel the things they did. His was a quieter love, if it could be called that, and yet one that had endured. There was nothing better than to be with his Watson, whether on a case or merely relaxing together on a lazy, quiet morning.

[thelastchappie]

Coming out as an a/b/o fiend to say i have this headcannon that maybe curses in jjk have abo-ish tendencies.

Mentions of scenting and scent marking.

(i apologize if i jump from past to present tense im doing my best and time means nothing to me). The PoV might switch around bc idk what im doing.

Anyways i hope you like it idk if it’s any good this was more of a self-indulgent thing that got carried away.

~

Choso had acclimated to his human vessel while among other curses. But imagine him after everything, post Shibuya Incident let’s pretend the tragedy wasn’t as tragic for sanity’s sake, his world is turned upside down and his loyalty now to his newly discovered brother Yuuji.

And as a consequence to this new familial connection, came an involvement in the jujutsu world, and by proxy, the human world.

Everything was different once again, humans didn’t seem to pay much mind to the small things like changes in scent, or how much of their own scent they left behind. Not that humans projected much of a scent to begin with. Stress sweat, hormone fluctuations, blood, the odd moment of arousal he’d rarely catch; none of the nuance and depth he was used to.

While an adjustment, if it meant he would be allowed to see his brother, then the half-curse would take it all in stride. He didn’t care to fraternize with most of the humans around anyways. Choso thinks they probably don’t want much to do with him either, only kept around because he’s too dangerous to just be let go. He assumes his blood connection to one of their students makes getting rid of him… complicated. As it stood, Choso could count on one hand how many sorcerers were willing to come into close proximity with him.

And then there’s you.

A well-ranked, well-respected Jujutsu sorcerer to whom he’d been handed over like a possession to be traded off. The higher ups were displeased with the idea of Choso keeping permanent residency at the school, and of course they’d take the opportunity to stress that the half-curse ‘could not be trusted without supervision’.

Your technique gave the elders reassurance you could hold your own if you needed to defend yourself against Choso’s Blood Manipulation. So without much more thought or consideration, not even towards you, he was sent off to live with you indefinitely.

It’s clear you weren’t considered in the decision, you’re not even prepared to provide space for another human-ish being. You live in a one bedroom apartment- not uncomfortable by any means, but clearly not meant to be shared by two essential strangers.

It’s an adjustment for the both of you, this very odd new living arrangement. But Choso can see, beneath the tense shoulders and clipped attempts at conversation, that you really are trying to make the half-curse feel comfortable in your home. His new home, which is an odd thought but nonetheless true until further notice.

~

“Where are we going today?” A low voice, coming from the kitchen doorway, startles you from your morning routine of staring straight the wall while you drink your coffee.

“Hm?”

“You have a mission today, yes? Where?” Straight to the point, as always. The half-curse ‘needs’ to be under constant supervision, which means your missions are his missions. Wherever you go he follows, for the most part. It had become quite common to see you roaming the halls of Jujustu Tech, with a second shadow marching diligently behind you. Unnerving for most of the sorcerers around, but you had already grown accustomed to the second set of footsteps. Even if out of necessity, the tense atmosphere had finally begun to fade after a month or two, just slightly.

His unwavering stare, while not looking surprised at your wandering mind, still serves to remind you he’d asked a question.

“Ah-“ You clear your throat. “Actually i’m pretty sure Yuuji is stopping by with Gojo. You’re with them today, that sounds nice, right?”

Choso does enjoy the prospect of spending the day with his brother. Only getting to see the teen when lucky enough to run into him at the school, or on the odd occasion when your mission for the day is to sub in as a teacher for Yuuji and his classmates. So to be allowed an entire day with his brother? He should be ecstatic.

But something in the back of his mind won’t let him bask in that small luxury he’s been given.

An itch that wasn’t there before.

After a prolonged amount of time in your now-shared apartment, Choso began allowing more and more of his scent to linger around the space. Marking things; leaving his trace in the couch cushions he sleeps on most nights, hand towels in the kitchen, and most heavily around the doorway.

All of it serving little purpose aside from bringing the half-curse comfort, humans lacking the senses to detect his attempts of claiming his space. But it helps the raven haired man to feel he belongs in the place he was forced into. He doesn’t even think you’re aware he’s doing it, doesn’t know if humans even know it’s a thing.

Which brings him to his current dilemma. He’s not sure when it’s happened, hasn’t been allowed to be apart from you long enough to notice. And now, faced with reality of you going off on a mission without him; it’s the only thing he can think of.

He hasn’t scented you.

Choso can’t pinpoint why it matters, but the thought of leaving without covering you in his scent has his chest tightening and his hands threatening to shake. He’s always respectful of you and your belongings, not wanting to be bold enough to mark things that aren’t his.

Up until now it hadn’t been significant, he’s always in close proximity; his scent always nearby, even if not on you. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t noticed before; the shift in perspective. The need to have you smelling like him, a warning sign to the outside world. He’s not sure what he’s trying to warn against just yet. But it’s an urge stronger than breathing, and he’s sure he’ll die if you walk out that door without a hint of him on you.

Like a gift from the universe, his spiraling thoughts are interrupted by a soft, still tired voice.

“Not to be rude or anything but..” You hesitate, biting your lip and Choso tracks the movement with keen eyes, barely noticing the way your hands come up to gesture towards your own head. “Your hair, did you- are you planning on going like that? it’s just they’re a little… uneven” Your voice trails off.

Truthfully, Choso had simply not let down his hair from the day before in the hopes it would still be acceptable today. Though the strands he feels sticking out from each pigtail inform him he was not successful. But dark haired man feels something, maybe a little shameful crawl up his spine at the opportunity presented.

“Yes, i suppose i haven’t had much practice.” He admits bashfully, not a lie but not entirely truthful. He’s grown adept at schooling his own hair into its signature style. He hopes you don’t notice this fact, along with the heat beginning to flush his ears.

“I was hoping i could ask for your assistance?” He tries, his monotone voice carrying an air of hesitation that’s hard to ignore.

“Oh! Of course, yeah i can do that!” You jump, seeming eager to help. Always willing to help him navigate the intricacies of the human world. Always willing to explain anything, from the smallest social nuance to important customs he wasn’t completely aware of; eyes full of kindness instead of contempt.

He never really stood a chance, he realizes.

“c’mon, i need you to sit over on the couch if you want me to reach” You add while walking past him to exit the kitchen, a hand reaching up to lightly nudge his shoulder in direction of the living room.

Choso takes a moment to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth before he trails behind you, as he always does.

This time thankful that you can’t smell the way his scent begins to roll of him in waves, practically smothering the entire apartment. Notes of it growing warm and heady, even if just to himself. Meant to be alluring, enticing; now it serves to remind Choso of his impropriety as he stalks closer and closer.

To any curse in the nearby vicinity it would be a statement, clear and undeniable.

Choso intended to court the human sorcerer.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I ken she isn't a character you typically focus on, but my curiosity is biting ma baws so I may as well ask just in case.

What do you think of the dynamic between Kate and John? And possibly the dynamic between her and Nikolai. Apologies, I ken there's about a bawhair of dialogue to work with on Kate and Nik but you're smart and I'd trust that if you do have an answer, then it'd intrigue me.

If you don't, fair enough, I completely get why. I'm just, to my core, a nosey bugger. And I fear an obvious one because Christ, the way I type isn't subtle and it really fucks the anonymity bit of this, I just cannae be fucked asking on my main blog.

I think their dynamic is pretty great but obviously complicated by the fact they're working for, and loyal to, different nations. Until very recently, UK and US geopolitics has been pretty aligned. I think John and Kate, if they existed today, would be struggling like fuck with how the rest of the world is turning its back on the US. All of Kate's avenues of information are being cut, MI5 and MI6 view the US as a liability, etc.

But, anyways, in fiction! First meeting and I think Kate probably thought "aw an upstart baby", because Baby Price with his shaven chin and serious eyes probably looked comical to someone who had a twelve year headstart on him. And then he proved himself to be a truly formidable operator, she realised she needed to build a strong link; he was clearly brilliantly intelligent and also gay as fuck ("aw repressed gay murder kitten").

It started off as a relationship of necessity. Then they shared a whiskey and a smoke after a particularly grizzly op, and it snowballed into actual friendship. John did wacky shit like use a gorilla costume as a decoy, and wasn't afraid to bend, and sometimes completely break, the rules. She liked that. He's smart, witty, funny, and so is she. If he was a woman, he'd be her wife. Luckily, she found someone just as good, but without John's temper and fixation on duty (read: someone healthier), so he gets "best friend" instead.

It's still characterised by their roles though. Sometimes Kate has to keep things from John and she hates it. But it's just the way it is. She hates it when their mission objectives don't align, she hates it when she can't provide him all the intel because she just doesn't know, and the fact that he'll go in anyway... Sometimes she wants to choke him with her bare hands. She'll take his growls and his snarls when he's frustrated because she knows it's coming from a place of deeply seated duty, an honour code that pushes him constantly forwards.

John is loyal to Laswell as much as you can be to a foreign agent; again, there are just some things he needs to keep to himself. He'll go in and risk his neck to save her arse. He respects her highly, would follow her into the maw of hell if needed. Over the years, he's started to see her and her wife as part of his extended family. I think he's probably slept on their couch while injured a few times. I wrote "Kicked Into Touch" initially because I wanted to write that domestic time between them. John values Laswell's opinion of him and he enjoys sharing hobbies/time with her outside of work. He's been to BBQs, the occasional family function; she'll likely officiate his wedding to Nikolai.

Speaking of Nik, I think Laswell adores him and him her, even though he finds her exasperating. "Why do you want to go there you crazy woman, what is--fine." He doesn't understand the American mind, probably finds it more than occasionally frustrating, but he knows Laswell is good and just, working within a straight jacket as best she can. She's not your standard, cookie cutter capitalist. She finds him eccentric but brilliant. She knows she can count on him to achieve the impossible in most situations; acquiring specific weapons, flying into hostile territory, accessing the inaccessible meetings and gangs. Nik is one of her greatest assets.

It was Laswell that gave MI6 the idea to use John to get Nik to turn. She had known Nik for a while by that point as a potential informant but her guys had failed to entice him over. Their offers just weren't hitting the mark; he didn't trust them. She had enough intel to know he was gay, and in an exceptionally vulnerable situation, so she had to play it carefully. Honeypotting him outright was cruel and it would only damage the working relationship later on. She needed someone that sat in the niche of hot and interesting, but not a blatant appeal to his prick.

She told MI6 to put Baby Blue himself right in Nik's path; intense, honest, brave and handsome in a unique, roguish kind of way. Laswell knew the way John spoke, the way he carried himself, his expressive face, would hook their Russian in. So when Price turned to Nik in the bar and said, "Come work with me, Nikolai. We'll change the world", Nik damn well believed him.

[marleemutt]

TLDR: im a black trans artist who can use some help right now following the sudden passing of my only sister - her doberman is now the responsibility of my parents and we can use help for his food, supplements, toys etc.

Kofi (help me send Chewy orders to my parent's house)

Wishlist (literally send him things like toys, treats, etc.)

⬇️ more info ⬇️

hey guys

some of you might be aware of this already, but early October, my eldest sibling & only sister suddenly passed away due to a seizure, she had been dealing with epilepsy her whole life.

this has been incredibly difficult for me, and my family. her passing was incredibly sudden, she was only 30.

for the past month or so ive been struggling to find any motivation to draw, and barely able to work.

she was the incredibly devoted owner of a doberman named Remi(Ramsey). Me and my sister traveled 4 hours to pick him up three years ago. He's a goofball who tears up socks and needs constant supervision. My parents love him, but I can tell he is a lot of work for two people who have fulltime jobs and have lived long lives.

I'm going to try to help them take care of him as much as possible, I feel that it's the least we can do to honor my sister's memory, since she loved him so deeply.

My sister always wanted a doberman, for years she would watch videos about dobermans and talk about them to anyone who would listen.

Remi wasn't easy to raise - I shared a room with my sister when she got him in 2020, she still worked a 9-5, five days a week, so I was his nanny for most of his difficult childhood. I was his chew toy for the first year of his life about - but that only made him bond closer to me. If he wasn't following my sister, I was choice #2. Dobermans are "velcro dogs", they were bred to guard their owners, and because of this, they are fiercely loyal. I've been moved out of my parent's place for going on 3 years, and my sister had just moved with Remi out a few months prior to her passing.

A week before my sister's sudden passing, we had to board Remi at my dog daycare job while my family and I took a trip out of state. When dropping him off, although he was happy to see me again for the first time in months, the moment my sister turned her back to him he began to panic. He got through the boarding all right but my coworkers told me he would cry and wait by the door for me or her. When my sister picked him up, they said he jumped all 80+lbs into her arms.

Since my sister's passing, Remi has been directionless. He's with my family, people he trusts, but he's bored, confused, and heartbroken. My sister would often take him to the dog park, social events, on runs, etc. but my parent's can't do that in their age. If my apartment allowed large dogs, I would take him, but I can't, and I see him maybe twice a month if possible.

Ramsey's Christmas List

I made a christmas list for him of things that might help my parents better take care of him. We're trying different food brands out because he struggles with frequent stomach issues, and we can't seem to figure out what food my sister was feeding him. This list is by no means a necessity for him, but I tried to add things to help with his boredom and keep him stimulated when my parents can't give him all their attention.

i do want to state that my family is capable of providing him with the essentials to live, we arent irresponsible. i would just like to help my parents out since a 3 year old 80-90lb doberman is a lot of work to be suddenly placed on them soley. And I worry for his health and well-being sometimes - Remi has a tendency to eat/tear random objects when he's bored.

please consider donating whatever you can. Everything goes directly to him.

thank you for taking the time to read this, and possibly reblog if possible. ❤️

[sunshine-theseus]

Bia | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader

Words: 2.8k Summary: you create your own boots and meet the most beautiful girl  - sorry I also used this to info dump about the necessity for boots designed specifically for women to lower injury risks Warnings: none i think. lemme know if there are any requested by - @hottiedogs375 i hope you enjoy, it's probably not my best :( definitely not as good as pequeña i think

My family was more of a cricket family than a football one. I wasn’t really fond of either, the shouting was always too much, and the food was somehow sloppy yet rock hard at the same time. Even when we watched at home. The living room would be full of sweaty angry men, sometimes my mum and sister would join if our team was actually doing well. Meanwhile you’d find me in my room at the very back corner of the attic, my room, with headphones on to block out the noise, usually designing something.

Despite the cricket background, I found myself intrigued by the design of women’s football kits. In my design and technology class in year 13, I fell down a research rabbit hole on football boots for women. It was then I discovered the lack of adaptation for the shoe. Women often just wear smaller sizes of boots designed for men, which has been one of the factors in the increase in injuries in the women’s game and I’d decided I wanted to fix that.

That’s how I found myself in front of a crowd, made up of possible brand ambassadors and sponsors, as well as a range of women’s athletes from across the world, pitching my idea.

“And that’s why brands like Bia are important to the growth of women’s football. The shape of the boot, the length of studs, the sole support, they’re all contributing factors to how players perform. When women footballers use the men’s boots, which is basically the only option, they aren’t going to grow used to the details designed for male anatomy. It’s causing stress on not only their feet but every ligament, every bone, every piece of them is suffering because they have to try and adapt to things they can’t possibly adapt to.” I felt like the closing of my speech was rather strong, especially as I watched players and possible sponsors stand to clap. The noise echoes throughout the auditorium and a happiness bubbles within me.

“Thank you for providing me this opportunity. Please, if anyone has any questions.” I gesture to the stand-up microphone in the middle aisle, and people rush to line up.

“What made you intent on creating a boot specifically for women, risking money and time on something people have tried to do before? Something you knew wasn’t guaranteed to work?”

“I know it’s funny, but my family was not a football one, so I didn’t grow up knowing much about the game. But in my a-levels design and technology class, we had to research an issue prevalent in an existing design, and I for some reason was just drawn to the idea that women don’t even get the choice of having a boot made for them. I found it unfair and uncaring. Everyone expects women to play at the same level as men yet won’t provide them with the necessary equipment to do so without them having to risk, quite possibly their career. And I couldn’t just move on after the class, I knew that I had to do something about it. So I’ve spent the past 3 years perfecting the design and building the brand, to be here in front of you all today.” Another round of applause is heard throughout the room before the next person steps up.

She’s a footballer, that I know. Young, no older than 21, my age. And very very pretty.

“This question probably isn’t quite as important as that one but, what made you pick the name Bia? It just seems like an interesting name.” people chuckle at the question, and the (newly discovered) Australian shyly looks around.

“No, I love this question. Bia is the Greek goddess of force and raw energy. She’s actually Nike’s sister, the goddess of victory and very obviously the brand. I think Bia resembles a lot of things within female athletes. They have this driving force and unbelieve power that they bring, and it just felt so right.”

“That’s sick. Can I also quickly ask, sorry, are these boots made for every female athlete? Like can someone in track and field use these or are they just for footballers?” the girl smiles brightly after her question, and I have to remember not to lose focus.

“While the primary focus is obviously footballers, I have researched the compatibility of boots between sports and yes, a professional sprinter like Sharika Jackson can use them just as well as you or Alexia Putellas could. And of course as the brand grows we’ll be able to develop even further and broaden our research further in creating boots fit for anyone.”

-

Questions carry on for a while, then I disappear behind the curtain that’s suspended behind me, rushing to remove my microphone. Eventually I slide out the side door and reach the separate room booked for ‘mingling’ after the panel.

Between talking to rich people desperate to make it seem like they care about others, and athletes who are very eager to know everything they can about the shoe, I try to keep an eye out for the nameless Australian. Every time I think I’ve spotted her; it seems she disappears. Bodies keep moving and she seems to be one of them.

Then I bump into someone. We both go stumbling but she catches me just before I head for the floor.

“I am so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.” And there she was, the girl I’d been looking for.

“No, no need to apologise. I’m Y/n.” I give her a hand to shake.

“Kyra.” There’s a pause before she continues.

“I’m a big fan of your boot. It’s truly incredible.” It’s hard not to blush and sputter out random sounds at her praise.

“Thank you. I’m really hoping this function works out.”

“Well I was thinking, when it does, if you need ‘a face of Bia’…”

“Oh my god yes that would be amazing. Seriously you have no idea how cool that would be.”

We talk for quite some time, and she sticks by my side when someone else comes to talk and ask question. When it’s time to go home we exchange numbers and that’s the first and last time I see her for a while.

-

5 months later is the next time I see Kyra in person. We’d both been travelling a lot, me for sponsors, ambassadors, and athletes, her for work. I’d expected to meet with her a few more times before we kick started the ‘face of Bia’ photoshoots, but as the fates had it, we found ourselves in a large warehouse, photo equipment, and many boxes of my shoes filling the space.

It suddenly all started to feel very real, and that made me nervous. So I packed myself into a small room in the corner as I tried to calm down, hoping the isolation and quiet would help me feel better.

Not even 2 minutes in, someone is following and taking a seat next to me.

“You right?” the voice is familiar and smooth.

“Yeah, yeah of course I am. It’s not like the biggest thing I’ve ever worked for in my life is basically in its final stage of release in the next room and I’m freaking out about it. What if they aren’t actually good? What if th-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You sent me a pair 2 months ago, and I told you I would test them before saying anything, and I did just that. I took them to training. Ran on the pitch, walked, kicked the ball, passed, made risky moves. And what did I tell you after that?”

“‘These are the best fucking shoes ever.’ But what if they aren’t?”

“Listen Y/n, how many other athletes, not just me or footballers, did you send a pair to for testing?”

“Like 43. Basically every one that came to the panel plus some more.”

“How many told you they were good?”

“43.”

“Exactly. So we’re going to go out there together, you’re gonna tell the photographer what you want to see, every opinion, every change, anything, and we’re going to finalise your fucking dream.” Kyra picks me up without me even agreeing, and basically carries me out to the set up.

Ali Kreiger, despite her recent retirement, was currently being photographed. She’d been the one to reach out to me when she heard from, someone, and wanted to be an ambassador. I probably screamed so loud my neighbours thought I was getting murdered that day.

“They’re going to want a couple photos of you too probably. Either with the shoes or with one or all of us. Okay?” Kyra rubs a hand up and down my back as I take it all in.

I nod vigorously and try to shake my hands to get rid of the remaining nerves, eventually taking a seat next to the photographer, Eve. She asks for my input on every shot and manages to carry out my vision without fail every single time. As players filter in and out, I begin to truly relax and allow myself to take in the moment.

Zimmorlei Farquharson and Poppy Boltz, two AFLW players for the Brisbane Lions, were being photographed together when Kyra slid into the spare chair next to me. She didn’t say anything but when I looked over, I had to quickly look away again. Her outfit wasn’t something out of the ordinary, a loose cropped top and bike shorts, plus the sage green boots she was promoting. But the strip of skin that was exposed between her shirt and shorts was enticing and it was hard not to stare at the way her muscles contracted every time she moved in the seat.

I’m certain she caught me staring.

As she stands to take over the Australian Football players, Kyra leans over and whispers in my ear. It takes me a moment to process her words and by then she’s already under the lights.

“Good thing we’re taking some pictures. They’ll last longer.” To say I was stumped was a rather big understatement. Was she flirting with me?

I don’t get to think about it too much, Kyra looking my way every time she changed position or began to play around with the ball provided.

Not long after, I’m asked to join all the girls in front of the camera for a few shots. I knew it was coming but my heart still dropped into my stomach, and I choked on my breath. As expected, it’s Kyra who grabs my hand and instructs me to breathe slowly. Her thumb runs over the back of my hand and the motion begins to sooth me.

I take a place in front of the camera and the group of athletes. I’m not quite sure how to stand, but Kyra takes the space behind me, resting an arm over my shoulder and the other around my waist. It forces me to lean back naturally and as the girls around us take a stance, Eve continues to shoot.

“You and Kyra have a lot of chemistry by the looks of it, and she’s who you’re most comfortable with. Use that. Make it natural. The girls around you will adapt.” I expect the comment from Eve, but it’s Ali who puts a hand on my shoulder and reassures me.

With that instruction, and a nod from Eve, Kyra jumps on my back. It’s a pose that helps with showing off the boot and making me laugh. She then jumps off and takes my hands, turning me to face her as she dips. I rush to catch her as she falls, our faces a hair width apart.

Before I can think, I close the gap. My lips press hard against her’s as the camera shutter repeatedly goes off, but I don’t think anything of it. Until I pull away.

I almost drop her once my thoughts catch up to me.

“I am so sorry. What the fuck did I just do?” the rest of the girls had already walked away, so it was just us.

“Nothing you should regret or feel bad for.” Kyra stands right in front of me, our lips basically touching again.

“And maybe you should do it again.” I pause for a moment before leaning back down, kissing her again.

~~~~~

It takes three more weeks for the official brand release. After years of designing, making, spending every cent I had on these boots, Bia was officially the first woman specific sports boot.

Kyra’s first Arsenal game wearing them was the day of the release. She ended up talking about them in post-match interview after being asked “how were you excelling so well in the midfield today?” Not only was Bia’s sale numbers skyrocketing and the media account blowing up, so was my own.

I’d of course attended the match, excited to see them as an officially released boot. Someone had spotted me in the crowd and tweeted about it, talking about ‘the creator of that new boot brand is watching Kyra rep them for the first time live’. Someone else had caught me hugging Kyra on the pitch after the game and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The rumours could only be expected. They also couldn’t be denied. Not without lying.

“I’m so proud of you.” The smooth Australian accent almost lulls me to sleep as we rest in Kyra’s bed, the sheets hiding our bare skin.

Her fingers trace shapes on my hip as she holds me, and I kiss along her collar bones and neck.

“And also very, very grateful for your genius brain creating those boots. Not only for helping my game play, but for bringing you to me.”

“I’m also grateful for my genius brain bringing us together.” I tease before softly kissing her.

It’d been impossible to escape her charm after our kiss at the photoshoot, so naturally we went on a date. And another, before she asked me to be her girlfriend. Eve sent me those photos just in case we wanted them in the brand release post. They currently sat in my hard drive, but it was very tempting to post a couple.

Kyra wanted a moment of privacy before the world knew, but I knew it didn’t matter whether it was out or a secret, as long as I had her.

-

A new power couple is on the rise in the world of Women’s Football. Creator of new women’s sports boots brand Bia, Y/n L/n, spotted with girlfriend, Arsenal and Matildas midfielder Kyra Cooney-Cross at a café in North London this morning before the London Derby. The couple confirmed their relationship mere days ago with photos of the lovebirds kissing from L/n’s brand shoot.

I laugh at the article as Kyra pulls into the Emirates parking, hand in mine. I’d become rather acquainted with her teammates and they begged me to come to the London Derby on the weekend. I couldn’t refuse when my girlfriend pulled out the puppy dog eyes and promised to ban me from any sort of affection, specifically kisses, for the week.

“You better win. I have a bet going with Niamh that you’ll beat her and I cannot lose a bet against her again.” Kyra chuckles and leaves with a kiss, sending me into the friends and family section of the stands.

It was nerve wracking going alone, but it was for Kyra and that was all I cared about. Supporting her like she supported me.

-

Kyra doesn’t start, which had been expected. Despite it, the girls were playing well and were up 3-1 at half-time. No yellow cards for either team had most people shocked though. The derby was known to be rough and physical, yet it seemed things were rather calm for the situation at hand.

There’s a substitute at half-time that puts Kyra back on the pitch. I blow a kiss when she looks my way as she jogs out and she pretends to catch it and place it on her cheek. Both of us are unaware of the interaction being caught on the big screen while people wait for the countdown.

It’s when extra time is announced that everyone in the stadium knows Arsenal have won the game. The Chelsea players look tired and defeated and the Arsenal girls don’t look much different, apart from the massive smiles that grace each one of their faces. The final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts in deafening cheers for the gunners, and I can’t help joining in.

After congratulating the blues on their performance and huddling with her own teammates, Kyra comes running for me. The guard on the other side of the barrier grows wary when I stand, clearly about to jump it, but Kyra gives him the okay and grabs me by the waist, helping me join her on the pitch.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I whisper as she stands on her tippy toes.

Her arms wrap tightly around my neck and mine go around her waist as she pulls me in for a kiss. It’s deep and passionate and the crowd around us cheers, some of the girls joining in.

“We’re both kinda killing it aren’t we?” I let out a laugh as she hops on my back, pointing me in the direction of her Matilda’s teammates, even Sam, who are grouped in the middle of the field.

She sprinkles kisses around my face as they talk between each other and I’ve never felt more content.

Fuck cricket, football is the sport for me.

[xxnghtclls]

Flickering Lights

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 I Chapter 3

True Form Sukuna x Reader

NSFW I Explicit I Slow Burn

Infos and tags on Chapter 1

Used music is linked in text.

Everyday

♫ Up with the sun, gone with the wind, she always said I was lazy. Leavin' my hom-

Your alarm goes off, blaring Bob Seger’s voice into your tired ears. 

05:30 a.m.

“Too soon.” you groan towards your phone and put it on snooze, before you bury your face back into your cushions. Sleep knocks you out again, loosing all sense of consciousness within seconds.

.

.

.

♫ Up with the sun, gone with the wind, she always said I was la-

“Shut up!” you groan into the soft fabric beneath you, as you blindly tap away the alarm.

05:39 a.m.

Like a dead troll that’s coming back to life, you slurp and crawl out of your loft bed, careful not to fall down the ladder. You feel like a truck has run over you.

With heavy eyes and a bad mood, you shuffle past your kitchenette and into the bathroom, brush your teeth, wash your face and make yourself more or less presentable. Then, with a rumbling stomach, you put your clothes on, wide jeans and a white shirt with a brown oversized jacket, before packing your bag with all the necessities you need. Keys, mints, you name it. You place your earphones around your neck, then slip into your sneakers and put your black cap on, before you head out and lock the door. The elevator opens and you repeat its voice in your head every time it speaks, before you arrive on the ground floor and walk outside.

The fresh air of October hits your nose. It’s still warm. You hear cars, the chirping of the traffic lights and some construction workers a few streets away. The slowly rising sun is following your footsteps to the next Family Mart down the street.

Or La Familia, as you like to call it. It provides food and drinks for you, just like a family should.

You pick up your usual breakfast order, pork-mayonnaise Onigiri and a warm, black tea. 

Someday you’d like to have a big kitchen, big enough to actually be able to cook nice meals, healthy too. Have breakfast at home.

Yea, that would be nice.

You put on your headphones, as you tipple down the stairs of Akasaka-Mitsuke station. A random Ghibli playlist starts to play, as you see that the station is crowded. To be fair, it is always crowded, but out of all the times you have to use the train, you feel like this is the most busy one. 

Sigh.

The music carries you through the station, brightens your mood after your unpleasant night, as you follow the red signs to Marunouchi Line.

Beep.

You scan your ticket app and tipple down some other pair of stairs, before you finally arrive at your platform. The air down there grows thick and warm and you see, that people are already lined up according to the markings on the ground. You walk past many lines, but soon, you find a spot in a queue that’s not too long, only seven people in front of you. 

Looking around you, you see how everyone is in their own world. Reading, listening to music, thinking about work, family, friends, movies, series, whatever they spend their free time on.

Such a big city and so many people. So many faces and lives, and yet you sometimes wonder, how many of them must feel the same like you-

Brrrrrr Brrrrrr

Your vibrating phone interrupts your thoughts and you take a look.

[ Mio ] Morning!

You blink and a content smile forms on your lips, as you faintly hear the jingle of the approaching train through your headphones. The wagons neatly come to a halt at their designated stop and the doors open, yet barely anyone even walks out.

Sigh.

Six out of the seven people in front of you manage to squeeze in, the remaining people, including you, have to wait for the next train.

And you take the opportunity to text back.

[ Y/N ] Morning Mio ❤️ 

[ Mio ] The weekend is nigh! Hope you slept well, lil peanut 😚

You smile at her message.

[ Y/N ] Not really 😪 Peanuts would be nice though. Should I eat myself? 

[ Mio ] Ew.

[ Y/N ] heh😂

A few minutes after you hit send, the jingle plays again and the next train approaches. You look up, see how the headlights brighten up the walls of the tunnel and put your phone back into your pocket, as you watch the many wagons roll past you and come to a halt. This time you manage to squeeze in, manage to blend in with many faces.

After a 15-Minute ride of scrolling through your social media and taking forbidden glimpses on other peoples phones inbetween, your destination gets announced.

>< The next station is: Shinjuku ><

The train slowly comes to a halt and you have to hold on tightly to one of the loops to not get even more uncomfortable bodily contact with a stranger. The door opens, causing you and the other passengers move out like a thick flood. Carefully holding on to your white plastic bag of breakfast, you tipple out of the wagon and like a penguin, you shuffle behind the crowd in front of you, waiting for your turn to take the escalators up to the main hall. 

Bzzzbzz bzzz bzbzzz

One of the lamps on the right side of the platform catches your attention, making your eyes shoot to the ceiling above the tracks. The light flickers. 

On and off. On and Off. 

Then suddenly, in the corner of your eye, you see something fat and green sitting on the track barrier. Warping, fading. Almost, as if its merging with the wall behind it, almost like a digital chameleon. However, it looks more like a toad, but not like a toad at all at the same time. 

Creepier. Bigger.

A person walks past your vision and in the next second, the thing is gone. The wind of an approaching train catches your hair, as you look at the other people, looking if someone else saw it, too. But-

No one even noticed it. No one even bat an eye.

It’s been six months, since you started seeing those creatures. Slowly, only a few, at first. Then more and more, especially in Shinjuku. You see them in train stations, on rails and highways and near abandoned buildings. Sometimes they sit close to a person, but they never notice them, never see them. And you wonder why you can, wonder if it has something to do with your mental state… especially since your loss.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait too long, until it’s finally your turn to step onto the escalator. Another shadow twitches in the corner of your right eye and you turn around, only to see another stranger quickly passing your right-hand side.

Gone.

You blink again and sigh, before you arrive at the main hall. A glimpse on the watch of your phone.

06:44 a.m.

Opening your navigation app, you type in the address of your office, since Shinjuku Main Station is worse than Pan’s Labyrinth. And even with the app, it still takes you about 10 minutes to get out of the station.

With a rumbling stomach, you wait for the pedestrian light to go green. Taking your headphones off, you watching the 3D cat play on the edge of the building.

Meow!

You like the sound. 

Pew. Pewpew. Pew. Pewpew.

The lights start to chirp and turn green, the crowd starts to move. You quickly walk past the many shops and restaurants, straight towards Toho Cinema. Like every morning, your eyes shoot up to the top of the building, to lock eyes with Godzilla, who is already staring you down on your way to your office. Already annoyed by the loud and constant advertisements and Godzilla’s ever present stare, you poke your tongue at the huge figure, before turning right and lock up the door to your office building. 

It’s a rather unusual place for an office. A former café and karaoke bar, sitting right on the opposite corner to the cinema. Seven stories high. Six months ago, your boss decided to move the company into this building to be “more central”. Some smaller renovations are still in the works every then and now, whenever money is available, in order to complete the project of turning this previously fun establishment into a boring office space.

You sigh loudly, before you go in and take the elevator up to the fifth story. Repeating the elevators voice once again, you take a quick look at your phone.

07:02 a.m.

 “Oopsie.” you murmur, before stepping out of the elevator and head down the hall. The second door to your right leads to your office. Quietly, you open it and take a peek.

Phew.

Your colleague isn’t here yet. Luckily. 

Sharing this office with Itō Isamu has been… a challenge. On some days you’re coming along fine with him, even like him and on some others, you don’t. And which day it is, is always decided within the first 10 minutes of him stepping foot in this room. Before the company moved here, you were sharing the office with someone else. Now, he occupies the place of your former colleague, Kobayashi Himari.

Your throat tightens, as you remember her name and you’re quick to take a sip of your now lukewarm tea to distract yourself. After you swallow, you walk to your desk on the left, which is sitting on the opposite side of your colleague. Next to you, on the left side, a window front, enabling a broad view to the street. Taking a deep breath, you pull out your Onigiri. 

“Finally.” you whisper, as you carefully remove the plastic and take the first bite. You love this flavour, it always hits you like a-

Clck

the door opens and Itō-san walks in, interrupting you and your food. Your mood crashes downwards, right into your empty stomach, as you can’t even have your breakfast in peace and you immediately know which kind of day it will be today. 

“Morning.” he says in a monotone voice, sounding rather tired himself.

“Good Morning.” you suspiciously say back, slowly chewing on the Nori-rice-pork-mayonnaise mixture in your mouth, as he quietly hangs up his jacket and places his backpack next to his desk.

Itō-san is a bit older than you. Five, maybe six years. Usually, as soon as he walks in, he comments on everything. On you being late, on you eating at your desk, on the noise of your keyboard, on Godzilla, on the day’s news. It’s not even always annoying comments or bad ones, sometimes he is sweet and bubbly, but-

He just doesn’t. stop. talking. Most of the time at least.

You assume he’s just as lonely as you. Maybe even worse, since you have Mio. But, sometimes you even wonder how he gets his work done for the day, because he’s talking so much. And those days, are the days in which you can’t stand him. Today, however, he seems quiet. 

Too quiet.

You take the opportunity to finish your Onigiri in silence, taking some sips of tea inbetween, while turning on your computer. After a few moments, you tap a message on your phone.

[ Y/N ] He’s quiet today. Should I be worried?

You open your email program and some calculation sheets, as you notice Mio’s reply.

[ Mio ] Oh? Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe he has a date later or something… It’s friday after all 😋

Right. It’s Friday after all.

[ Y/N ] Should I ask him?

You shift your attention back to your computer, start to type emails, while glancing over your monitor to Itō-san once in a while. His eyes look tired, but other than that, he seems to be just immersed in his work.

However, this silence just doesn’t sit right with you. And Mio doesn’t reply. You chew on your lips, before peeking at the clock.

07:56 a.m.

You quietly tipple your fingers against your keyboard, contemplating if you should-

“Everything okay?” you finally ask in a gentle voice. His reply takes a little more than a second.

“Me? Yeah sure. Sure.” he says, sounding very busy. 

Not a good answer.

“Cool.” you hum, as you raise your eyes above the monitor again to look at him. “Any plans for the weekend?”

His brown eyes meet yours. 

You wouldn’t say he’s not attractive. But he’s your colleague…

No. Just no.

He blinks, before he looks back at his monitor.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” he suddenly asks. 

And your heart stumbles. For some reason you feel caught, while not exactly knowing how he means that or if the question is even appropriate.

…It’s been a while.

“I uh…” you stutter, slightly embarrassed. “A few weeks ago I guess. Wasn’t my type.” you lie. 

It was four months ago. He was your type. The asshole type.

And it was him who ghosted you.

Sigh.

Itō-san looks back at you and you grow nervous, hoping he would not notice your lie.

“I see! Well tonight I’ll see someone!” his eyes start to light up. “I’m a bit nervous. I’ve been talkingtothisgirluntil-

No way.

His voice starts to liquify, while you shift your focus to your phone. 

[ Y/N ] How did you know??

And your focus shifts back to him.

“…so I gotta leave early tonight.” he mumbles. “And get some work done beforehand. Otherwise Hirose-san might yell at me again.”

“Sounds good!” you smile at him. Genuinely. “Good luck!” 

His eyes smile back and he nods his head.

“Thank you!”

And so, both of you focus back on your work. 

The day goes on, you get new mails, new data for the lists. It’s rare that you can really concentrate, but since Itō-san is quiet today, you can fully immerse yourself. You even forget to check your phone for Mio’s reply.

At 6 p.m. Itō-san gets up and quietly packs his bag. You wave and smile at him, crossing fingers for him, while he wishes you a nice weekend and heads outside. 

And you focus back on work.

Work.

Work.

Always work.

[emvnah]

Please help my mom. I hate asking for help but she really needs it.

PayPal.me/MarileeCampbell

My mom is disabled, a senior, divorced, living on $1280 a month from SSDI, and is always struggling to make ends meet. Her house, my childhood home, has a TON of problems and she can't afford to fix any of them. She can barely afford the bills as it is, she is always one financial disaster away from being on the streets.

Now there's been two financial disasters in a row that are threatening her ability to keep her home. First her car broke down, and then she learned her plumbing issue was far more serious than a nasty clog. Happy Mother's Day right? 🫠

She's out of savings completely, maxed out her credit card which has high interest, and needs several thousand more dollars to pay off the plumbers. She was already struggling to pay the mortgage and other regular necessity bills, she never has any money for anything besides necessities and most of those things she usually gets from charities.

I am quite literally begging for help. She has no social media presence and I don't have much of one either, but I might as well at least try. I can't help her much financially because I am also disabled and living on SSI which is even less money per month. This is the only thing I can do to help her.

Here's the long story and as much evidence as I can provide without full-blown doxxing ourselves:

Two weeks ago her car broke down and she had to spend $1500 on a replacement because it was cheaper than fixing her old one. It was immediately apparent that this "new" car needed the breaks redone, which thankfully her ex-husband was able to fix for $400 instead of the $1600 quoted by the mechanic.

Replacing her car and fixing the breaks wiped out more than half her savings which has taken her literal Years to build up. And unfortunately that's just the beginning. That's not even the reason she needs a fundraiser. That was rough but manageable, but now it's truly an emergency.

Last week we got the devastating news from the plumbers that her pipes weren't just clogged by regular debris but have been completely obstructed by the invasive species "Tree Of Heaven" (Ailanthus altissima). She's been having plumbing issues for a couple of years but it got really bad in the last 6 months.

For example, to avoid the downstairs toilet backing up into the bathtub(!!!), she has to throw away toilet paper and only flush that toilet once a day at most. She's also been having to manually dump blackwater from doing the dishes outside, using a bin system to stop as much water as possible from going down the drain. (Which btw is bad for the environment and she hates having to do it. Desperate times, desperate measures.)

You can see from these pictures, these trees are growing right next to her downstairs bathroom and kitchen, digging their roots directly into her sewer lateral line (the "exit" pipes.)

And here is a video taken by the plumbers of the roots in her pipes:

We just about had simultaneous heart attacks when we heard that the job of digging out the tree root systems and repairing her pipes would cost close to $9000.

Thankfully these are the CHILLEST PLUMBERS EVER because they offer 10-year payment plans, otherwise there is no way this could get done at all. Mom put $3000 in credit as a down payment which will bring her monthly payments to the plumbers down to about $75 a month. But of course we also have to factor in her credit card interest, which is 23%!?!?!?, so she has to pay that $3000 first and foremost ASAP.

Even $75 a month is a huge blow, but hundreds towards the credit card bill is disastrous, as I said she hardly makes the bills as it is. She already applies for every single type of assistance like, power bill assistance, literally as often as possible. It is a miracle, literally a miracle, that she has stayed afloat this long. She's quite literally living on a prayer lmao...

Literally anything helps. We need to pay back the $3000 on the credit card very quickly because if we can get that out of the way it will be much more manageable.

Money is tight for everyone right now but if you can spare a dollar, literally pray for her, or just spread the word, it all helps and we will be so grateful. We wouldn't ask for help if we didn't need it, but we do. If we get to the point where help is no longer needed I will delete this post and post an update!

Thank you everyone from the bottom of my heart if you took the time to even skim this post. I know I am very skeptical myself and there's a lot of fake fundraisers going around, so if you have any further questions you are more than welcome to ask.

[cherryheairt]

Chapter Three: Pit of Snakes

@shabnam2005 for any questions or comments too!

Aemond’s departure left Saryna feeling more conflicted than she'd imagined herself to be. Once, she despised the thought of one man leading the Realm and deciding her life for her-and still did. However, the resentment had simmered down to a calm flame after getting to see the man beneath the crown.

He seemed to realize the weight that rested upon his shoulders with a solemn acceptance, although looking at his tired expression beyond the defensive exterior reminded Saryna that the Targaryen was merely a boy, still. His youth was easy to forget when he had outlived the majority of his family and controlled the largest living dragon—but the proximity allowed Saryna a closer look than most.

His face was only marred by the scar that crept over and under his leather eyepatch, and was otherwise perfectly smooth and clean. No wrinkles nor moles or blemishes, as if his skin was made from hardened porcelain that was carved rather than gently formed throughout time. His hands were calloused from his sword training but still rather unscarred and pristine. He had known few battles, perhaps none, and lived the same amount of years that she had. And yet, this boy was given the Realm.

She tried to keep such pitious thoughts from the forefront of her mind. He was still a fearsome kinslayer before he was a boy: that fate was chosen by him when he killed his even younger nephew. Death was irreversible, even to the God-like Targaryens who claimed the Western skies years ago.

It was all too easy to blame Aemond for his forebears’ sins, but Saryna decided to give him a chance. Only one, that she desperately hoped she would not grow to regret sooner or later.

He was her only chance, after all, to live a life outside of this forgotten farm.

When the letter came by raven, something that she had never gotten the privilege to receive before, Saryna couldn't help but feel a slight girlish giddiness rise in her belly to her throat. A raven, black as the deep night sky and eyes as dark as the sea: here to deliver a message to Saryna and Saryna only. As if she were a Lady of a high house being summoned to have tea with the Queen, Saryna carefully ripped the wax seal from the parting of the paper and bit her lip to stop its quivering. From excitement to fear to anticipation, she went through a multitude of emotions while wondering what the contents provided.

‘Saryna,

Unfortunately, my duties prevent me from directly seeing you and giving this offer myself.

Come to the Red Keep with Fracsor. You will be housed and fed adequately: provided for well beyond anything you've been granted previously. So long as you swear your loyalty and your service to me in front of the Seven, you will be taken care of.

I will send for a wheelhouse to be delivered to you. Take only your most precious belongings, as cloth and necessities will be provided, also. A tailor awaits you as well as chamber rooms in Maegor's Holdfast.

The King,

Aemond Targaryen’

Saryna thumbed the fine print while mulling over the offer. She supposed that now the only thing holding her back was sentiment. This was her childhood home where she grew up with Tarkan and her beloved parents. Her first memories and all her hardships were delved deep into these woodboards and all the doorways wafted in the faint scents of those who no longer lived there.

New and old memories flooded her mind.

Her parents teaching her High Valyrian, sharing twinkling and prideful looks whenever she fluently pronounced a sentence. Her brother training with her in the yard, the salty musk of sweat hanging between them as they breathlessly laughed and fell to the floor in exhaustion. Fracsor following her around and scorching the grass beneath her feet when they were both mere hatchling and child, exploring boundaries and learning to communicate though they could not speak plainly.

Her first meeting with Aemond, the man that she killed near the lakebed, her first flight with Fracsor.

The sheep and chickens would be taken care of when Tarkan came back, surely. It would be much harder on him, especially considering he also would have to take trips while keeping in mind how long the livestock may go without being kept. Saryna scanned the fields anxiously, as if waiting for Tarkan himself to appear over yonder. Would he lose the farm? The generations of blood that had presided over it, lost all due to Saryna's selfishness. Their neighbors, though kind enough, would jump at the opportunity to take in their animals if they could no longer afford the property and all its taxes.

She tried to reason with herself, that she was not in fact selfish but forced into this. The reasonable part of her mind nagged disappointedly at her, but she resigned to begin her packing.

The toiletries could bear to be left, as the Keep would likely have much better quality ones awaiting her. Clothes from the farm would be an embarrassment to Aemond if she continued to wear them in his halls despite being offered new gowns. Kitchenware would be left for Tarkan, as would all of the furniture and bedspreads. Saryna focused on heirlooms, or what little her parents left behind.

She shuffled between the main room of the house. It was as if it had been stuck in time, permanently still and waiting for its owners to return to their beds once more. Dust began gathering in the corners and on the odd objects kept on the nightstands. The bed was made as it was every morning even as they got older. Dips in both sides of the bed from their wear throughout the years, as they had always been too stubborn to replace the old mattress. She lifted her mother's jewelry box, her main goal at the moment, and gingerly pried open the lock from the stained oak wood.

It was lined with thin blue velvet to prevent any scratches upon the jewelry's faces. Her mother rarely wore any, being extremely humble both in life and work. The only necklace she wore was the one passed from her mother and so forth, the most ancient gem in their family from the beginning of their line.

Saryna lifted the silvery necklace and appraised it, running a finger across the cold blue stones and smiling at the memories rushing into her mind. Her mother, sitting on her old vanity and clasping the piece around her neck as she got ready for her once-in-a-blue moon night out. She and Saryna's father would go to a tarven and not come back til the sun was up the next morning. For weeks after each date night, Saryna's mother could be heard humming the festive tunes she heard at the taverns.

She reached down to place it back to pack it up, but stopped herself when she noticed a small black cloth underneath where the silver necklace laid. Lifting it, she gasped upon seeing a rich ruby-lined collar style necklace hidden at the bottom of the jewelry box. It had to be hundreds or thousands of gold dragons, at least, with it lined with true gold that held each generously large ruby. Some chains hung from the main piece, holding even more stones. It looked quite fit for royalty, and Saryna's suspicions of her parents possibly stealing Fracsor’s egg from the Dragonpit grew ever more. Were her parents thieves as a product of their access to the Red Keep? With such an easy way in and out of royals’ lives, it would be so easy to steal many things that would go unnoticed.

Her stomach held a pit, feeling nauseating the more she thought about it. What was the point of keeping precious jewelry if not to sell it? It would have helped them years ago, when they struggled in their old age. They didn't steal for their own monetary benefit, but rather for their own satisfaction.

She placed it carefully back into the box, covering it with the cloth and clamping the whole thing shut. She would bring it, if only to keep it safe.

Saryna spent the rest of her time scribing a note dedicated to Tarkan. It read in High Valyrian:

‘Brother,

I have been summoned to court by the will of The King Aemond Targaryen. I do not know when I shall return, but I leave everything to you in my absence. Do not worry about me, for he has promised to take care of all of my needs. Stay safe, and take care of the farm.

All my love,

Saryna.’

She sighed, running a finger across the dry ink and folding it neatly. With no wax seal, the note simply looked out of place on the orderly desk she sat at. Staring out the window, she found the wheelhouse waiting for her.

She glanced around the cabin. Would this be her final day in it? Vaguely, she couldn't find herself mourning her life as a farmer. This was what she had hoped for, all those years ago.

As she stepped outside, she realized the distance between her home and the wheelhouse was due to the driver's own precaution. Fracsor lay in front of the house, staring the lone man down as if he were his next meal. “Lykiri, Fracsor. Follow the horses.” She muttered into his ear and placed a small kiss on the area below his eye.

Saryna left her home without a glance back, nodding her appreciation to the chamberlain who so graciously opened the door and took her bag right out of her hand.

“Oh, that's—” She began, being cut off with a sharp shake of the man's head.

“No need. Please, settle in, it will be a short journey.” Although his words were chipped, they were not impolite, and she found herself settled into the bench seat and gazing out to the passing grassy hills of her farm.

🍒

The hours after her arrival felt like they were going to slow and too fast all at once. The sights, smells, and warmth of the Keep was nearly overwhelming to her understimulated senses. The first thing she noticed was that it rank of sweat and sex all around her, not even able to be escaped in the Red Keep high above it all. The sights were quite beautiful from so far up, but were sullied by the beggars that the wheelhouse passed on the dirty streets.

The one stop they made was right in front of the Dragonpit. The sight was much more daunting than she had ever imagined. This was where Fracsor has supposedly come from, and where her parents had worked their entire lives as well as their parents before. The pillars were massive and ornate, if not slightly dusty, and Fracsor was hesitant to enter. “Come, boy.” She urged, patting her thigh as she descended the steps. It was dim and eerily silent but she pushed on, finding the first empty catacomb that looked like it was meant to fit a dragon. She caught a glimpse of more blue scales down the path, but decided that her curiosity would have to wait to be satisfied lest she get herself eaten. Fracsor grumbled with displeasure as Saryna attached a long iron chain around his lithe neck.

“I'll visit soon. Sleep, now.”

Two maids ushered her directly from the wheelhouse and into Maegor's Holdfast without so much as a ‘hello’. She was forced to watch the fine paintings and architecture pass her in a blur of colors and textures as they sped off to her new chambers. A hot bath was already waiting there for her in a room attached to her bedchambers, which were an attachment to what appeared to be a regular living space. These chambers that were all interlinked were bigger than her entire cabin—each. It stunned her that each room was entirely for her and her alone, and it dawned upon her how lonely such solitude would be.

She gasped when she felt nimble fingers tugging at her dresses’ strings, turning and covering her bosom with her arms and accusingly glaring at the maid behind her. The maid only narrowed her eyes in bemusement, tilting her head like a cat might. “You must bathe, m'lady.” Was all her chipped voice said.

“I will.” She defended herself. “Why can't I undress myself?”

She backed away. “Forgive me,” she bowed her head and worked on folding a simple white chemise over a chair. “The seamstress will be here within the hour.”

As Saryna stepped into the hot water, she was pleasantly surprised at the immediate relief it brought her sore body. At the farm, all the bathwater was room temperature at best and freezing cold at worst. She sighed and leaned back into the tub, hesitantly allowing her hair to be wet and scrubbed by the silent maid.

It took a while for the foreign feeling to get used to, but when Saryna closed her eyes and imagined that it was her mother standing over her and gently washing her hair as she used to, she allowed herself to relax.

The seamstress entered with a loud clamor, random baubles falling from the supplies piled up in her arms and huffing at her young assistant's lack of use. “Alora, go back and fetch my green ribbon—you brought black!”

‘Alora’ scurried out with a hasty apology and the seamstress dropped everything ungracefully onto a settee. Covering herself modestly, Saryna was unsure of what to say.

“Well, come on, dear. I don't have all day.” The lively old woman crossed her arms over her chest and did not bother looking away from her in the tub.

Saryna stepped out with the legs of a newborn deer, stumbling slightly and straightened by the two maids who worked immediately to dry her off.

“You're shorter than I expected.” She grunted with displeasure. “Now I'll have to alter the temporary dresses even more.”

“I can wear my dress, I'd hate to cause trouble.” She replied meekly.

The woman glanced to the sad rag on the floor, almost as if a hard stare might burn it where it lay. “Gods, no. I'm not cruel.” She rolled her eyes and brought up her measuring tape. “Arms up!”

Saryna obeyed, though did not once make eye contact with the lady. She held her breath as the tape fastened around her arms, chest, hips, legs, and every other place she didn't think would matter in clothing. Finally, the seamstress clicked her tongue as she wrote the final measurement.

“Now, let's put this on you.” She said, guiding a fine velvety green dress over her head. As the maid behind her worked to tighten the corset, Saryna cursed every noble lady and man that made such a thing standard.

The woman hummed and shook her head, confirming her suspicions as correct. Saryna awkwardly stood on her crowded settee as the woman worked to hem the bottom skirts, then worked to begin on the other dresses in the pile similarly. “Whose are these?” Saryna wondered out loud.

“The Queen Regent Alicent's.” The quieter maid replied. “Of course, from when she was your age. These garments haven't been used in the last twenty years.”

Saryna feared that the retired queen might spot her parading in one of her old dresses and execute her on spot for her disrespect. “What-no I cannot wear such things.” Her hands flew to untie the corset.

“You can and you will.” A masculine voice said sternly. “It is only for a few weeks while Matilda works on making you your own set of dresses.”

“Your Grace,” Bowed Matilda and the two maids.

“Your Grace.” Nodded Saryna, slightly quieter.

“You are unhappy with the dresses?” He asked, fine brow raised.

“They are lovely!” She stammered out quickly, fearful of mocking the Queen Regent's personal taste. “Is it not disrespectful to wear them?”

“If I say that day is night and night is day, then that is how it shall be.” He said dryly. “Anyway, It is merely a temporary arrangement until the new ones are finished. You couldn't walk these halls as a guest dressed in…” Aemond eyed the rag on the floor. “Your previous attire.”

Saryna blushed in slight embarrassment at his tone. “I understand.” She said, “Thank you.”

“Is the dragon securely in the pits?” He continued.

“Fracsor is fine. Unhappy to be sure, but I'll keep him company during the day.”

“Come to me every time you wish to go beyond the Keep's gates. I will call upon a wheelhouse for you.”

Saryna's eyes widened. “Every time? It isn't a far walk—”

Aemond's nostrils flared out like a bull’s. “Every time.” He stepped closer, nearly eye level with her despite her standing upon the settee. It was strange to be taller than him, it made her stand up even straighter.

“I see,” she muttered.

Aemond turned to seamstress who plucked away at the other hems of the old dresses. “I want the new ones green, too. Or white.”

“All of them?” Matilda had the gall to question. “For every season there should be balance—”

“All.” Aemond left no room for questions.

“Saryna,”

“Yes?” She asked, tilting her head down to look at him from his place at the doorway.

“I'll send someone to fetch you for supper.” The door closed with a harsh, ‘click!’ and his straight blond hair was finally out of sight. Saryna released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, a sigh of relief and a burden gone from her shoulders.

“He wants to sup with me?” She asked no one. Matilda muttered under her breath angrily, something about no taste in the royal family or something. The maids went back to work, fixing the flowing skirts around her ankles and whispering excitedly to each other.

“We'll find you some slippers, my Lady!” The more talkative piped up again, seemingly eager about the news.

The quiet one nodded but looked just as content.

“It's just Saryna.” She corrected softly.

All she got was giggles in reply.

[i-heart-hxh]

In all honesty why do you think Killua made the number two comment to Gon? I feel like he doesn’t realize how messed up that is to say to someone who has gone through extensive trauma trying to prove himself to a father who also put him in “second place” to something he deemed more important. It was hurtful and I don’t see how that can be repaired now. Even if they do reunite Gon is going to just step on eggshells and fear that even one slip up will cause Killua to just leave him again. Idk I just feel like separation wasn’t the solution here. They needed to talk and then stay together. But “taking a break” rarely works out for any relationship. It also sucks that Gon constantly told Killua how important he was to him but Killua NEVER returned this sentiment verbally so Gon’s just stuck thinking he’s a piece of shit who destroyed his most important relationship. Killua really did just say “screw Gon I have Alluka now”.

Hello!

I don't agree with this interpretation at all; to me, there are a number of complex reasons why Killua made that comment, and I don't think it will destroy their relationship by any means.

This post--In-Depth analysis on the Hidden Reasons behind Gon & Killua's separation scene (ep 147) Why Gon is 'Number 2'--is the best starting point for anyone trying to understand the separation, in my opinion. It's cohesive, uses supporting evidence from the series and demonstrates the careful wording used in the separation, and it makes more sense than any other interpretation I've read of why Killua would make such a comment to Gon. I keep referring back to this post because I truly think it holds keys to understanding the separation that other posts I've seen don't.

In addition to the insight provided in that post--where Killua is trying to put some distance between him and Gon for Gon's safety and well-being, essentially--I also think it's:

a) Partly how Killua is trying to steel himself to leave Gon, by telling himself, Gon, and Alluka that Alluka is his priority for now

b) Part of Killua's campaign of teasing Gon lightheartedly on the topic, to bring it up while at the same time downplaying the emotional effects of what happened between them--because when they're separating is not the right time for them to seriously address it or work through it

I do think the second place comment hurt Gon a little, but...Gon is already aware that he hurt Killua, and after his life was literally saved by Alluka (Nanika), being put in "second place" is not the worst outcome ever, honestly. Plus, it confirms he's still one of the most important people to Killua even after everything that happened between them! Killua is not saying Gon is trash to him now, even though it is a bit of a jab.

I've also said before that I think Togashi had Killua make this comment with awareness that we, as the audience, would be like, "Uh-huh Killua, sure, interesting of you to say this so shortly after you centered your entire life on him for basically the whole series and even seriously considered doing a lovers suicide with this guy..." We're most likely supposed to see it as Killua not being fully honest, even though Alluka does obviously mean a lot to Killua and by necessity she has to be his priority now. Plus, even Alluka herself says she'll give Killua back to Gon after a while. She must have some idea of how much Gon means to Killua, to be so willing to "give him back." I've said this before, but I see this line from Alluka about giving Killua back to Gon as a promise from Togashi to the audience that this isn't forever.

Gon isn't clueless; he knows Killua cares about him even though Killua struggles to express it verbally. The degree of trust and unspoken understanding between them in the dodgeball match is a good (albeit complicated) example of this. The two didn't communicate to the degree they needed to during Chimera Ant Arc, which makes sense because they're young and have their own issues and it was terribly traumatic for both for them, but they also have a good understanding of each other overall, and it's not giving Gon enough credit to assume he has no idea just because Killua hasn't said it. He doesn't know the full extent of Killua's feelings for him, certainly (I hope he will someday!), but he is aware Killua cares about him. Even when it comes to the separation, Killua expressing his pain shows that he still cares about Gon! He's saying that what happened still hurts, because he still cares! He's making light of it, but it's honestly a step in the right direction for him to be discussing it at all. If they can't be honest with each other about how what happened impacted them, they can't heal.

Of course it would be better for their relationship if they talked it out fully and came to some sort of resolution, but neither of them were in a place where they could do that quite yet. Killua is too closed up emotionally and hurting from seeing Gon essentially die in front of him, and Gon needs to recover from essentially throwing his life away and saying those things to Killua that we know he regrets. They do need some time apart to reflect and grow.

Are the two boys in a complicated emotional situation currently? Yes. Do I think this dooms them to never reconnect or heal their relationship? Absolutely not. I see their separation as more of a "We gotta go our separate ways for now because we both have things we have to deal with," (both externally and internally) than anything final. They agree to stay in touch, they express sadness at having to part, they make it clear several times that this is a temporary parting. Why make them clearly unsatisfied with having to part if they're not going to have an opportunity to make things right later?

[coeluvr]

“in the snow”

| 0.7k | Hunter x Reader | 16+ |

Author's notes: sorry to my 4am thirsty anon, I couldn't do what you wanted and this is a tiny bit angsty, forgive me? <3

The heaviness of the snowfall made visibility almost non-existent.

The biting cold pierced through every layer of clothing you wore. However, your body ran warmer than most, so the freezing temperatures didn’t affect you as much.

Hunter, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well. Their body ran colder, and you could see them shivering.

You stumbled upon a small, secluded house in the forest. It was old and worn, but it had a fireplace. You didn’t waste any time gathering firewood and igniting the hearth, the crackling flames brightening the room.

As you sat on the creaky wooden floor, you pulled the blanket tightly around both of you.

It was a single blanket, barely enough to cover you completely, but you didn’t mind. You knew that your body was warm and Hunter needed the warmth, and you were willing to provide it in any way you could.

Hunter, shivering uncontrollably, leaned against you, their body seeking solace and respite from the frigid air.

The crackling of the fire served as a soothing soundtrack to the stillness around you. As they wrapped their arms around you, their head found a comfortable spot nestled against your neck. It was an intimate embrace, one born out of necessity rather than desire.

The feeling of Hunter’s touch, their lips grazing against the exposed skin on your neck, sent a shiver down your own spine. It was an unusual sensation, knowing that Hunter would never have indulged in such intimate contact under ordinary circumstances.

“This would be more efficient if we didn’t have our clothes on,” Hunter murmured, their voice groggy with fatigue. There was no mischief or humor in their words, only a genuine desire to alleviate the cold that gripped them.

You felt warm, partly from the warmth emanating from the fireplace and partly from the unexpected suggestion, you asked, “What?”

Hunter didn’t answer, instead they tightened their hold on you.

Unable to decipher the meaning behind Hunter’s words, you leaned back into them, and your eyes fluttered closed. The sound of the crackling fire melded with the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

However, as you allowed yourself to relax, you felt a peculiar sensation. Hunter’s hands, which had been initially wrapped around your torso, began to shift gradually. They moved slowly, cautiously, until they settled between your thighs.

The cold of their hands made you shiver.

Barely above a whisper, Hunter’s voice reached your ear, the words slightly slurred, “It’s warmer between your thighs.”

Their words hung in the air, a statement that intrigued you. It was as though the grogginess clouding their mind blurred the boundaries between friendship and intimacy, blurring the lines of propriety.

Part of you wanted to question what was going through their mind, to understand their thoughts. But another part of you wanted to indulge in this moment. After all, it was you who had convinced Hunter to indulge in this closeness, and now the boundaries were being tested even further.

Tentatively, you parted your legs ever so slightly, granting them further access to the intimate space between your thighs.

A low chuckle escaped Hunter’s lips, sending a tingle down your spine. Their hands, previously tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, now moved to firmly close the distance between them. The warmth that had briefly enveloped your most intimate area receded, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation.

“Don’t do that, not for someone like me,” Hunter whispered, their voice a mix of desire and resignation, a plea for you to maintain the boundaries that have been established between you. Their words carried a weight of self-restraint, a reminder of the limitations they believed they possessed.

As you began to consider Hunter’s words, their hands found their way back to your torso. Hunter drew you closer, wrapping their arms securely around your waist.

Feeling their breath tickling your skin as they buried their face into the crook of your neck, made you gulp. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness, was both comforting and electrifying. In a hushed, heartfelt tone, they murmured, “Thank you.”

Those two simple words held a depth of emotion you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if this moment meant more to them than you could have imagined.

[thievinghippo]

49, emmrich/sonnet

The prompt is a kiss for necessity!

#

“When you were a novice, Rook, I’m assuming Professor Langpichler led your lower Necropolis tour?”

Rook nods and slips her arm through Emmrich’s. They’re in one of the many twisting hallways of the Vault of the Beloved. This has become one of her favorite pastimes: simply exploring the lower Necropolis with Emmrich. With his lichdom, there’s not a spirit who would dare keep them from hidden rooms and secret passages.

“She did. How’d you know?”

“Professor Langpichler and I are the only ones who lead that tour. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I like to think you would remember if I had led your tour.”

Rook squeezes his arm. Well, squeezes the gossamer and damask that protect his humerus. “And then my crush on Profess Volkarin would have started that much more quickly.”

“Well, I’m actually quite grateful you only attended the one lecture and weren’t one of my former students,” Emmrich says, sounding quite serious. “There are boundaries I refuse to cross when it comes to my students. Even ones that have been out of the classroom for years.”

“To be fair, I was on the waiting list— Wait. I see something shiny in that room.”

She loves finding treasure, even if it’s something other people consider worthless. If she’s patient enough, one merchant or another will pay coin for everything she picks up. At least that’s what she keeps telling herself.

The room is small, with only one closed sarcophagus against the wall. Chairs lined up against the other. On top of one chair, a solitary king’s gulder.

“Your nickname is aptly given,” Emmrich says as he enters the room behind her.

“You take that back, Emmrich Volkarin. I am not a cheat,” Rook says in her most long-suffering voice. Emmrich tilts his head. “Oh fine. A bit of a cheat. But only at cards. And only to keep people on their toes. Really, I’m providing an educational experience. They should thank me.”

And that’s when the door slams shut.

One of the first rules of the Necropolis is never lose your exit. Plenty of Mortalitasi and Mourn Watch alike have perished in the past thanks to the twisting, unmarked nature of some of these halls. Or dying from thirst in locked corridors.

Granted, Emmrich can’t die from starvation or thirst, but Rook very much can. And that is not the heroic death she expects, not when she still has to kill a pair of elven gods.

Emmrich immediately goes to open the door. It doesn’t budge. He takes his stave and attempts to unlock it. Nothing.

“I’m trying very hard not to be nervous,” Rook says as she walks up next to Emmrich. Even though he has no body heat, she still wants the comfort of him.

A chill passes through her and she suddenly senses a spirit on the other side of the door. “Is that spirit… giggling?” Rook asks, grabbing Emmrich’s free hand. “I can’t sense what type. Doesn’t feel malicious.”

“A spirit of devotion, darling.”

“Devotion? Really?” Rook can’t keep the smile off her face. Spirit of devotions are quite rare, and only reveal themselves when they want to be part of a couple’s happiness. “But why’d it lock us in here?”

Emmrich strokes the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “I shall ask.” He straightens to his full height. “Spirit of devotion, we thank you for your attention. We humbly ask for your help to leave this room.”

There are times Rook can admit to the slightest bit of jealously when it comes to Emmrich’s knack with spirits. She simply doesn’t have the same report with them. So while Emmrich is clearly having a conversation, all Rook can do is wait.

“Ah, I see. Well, spirit of devotion, that will be no hardship. We will gladly pay your price.”

“It wants my gulder, doesn’t it?”

 Emmrich shakes his head. “Your gulder is safe. It has a simple request. One kiss, and the door will be unlocked.”

Rook can only thrill as Emmrich pulls her into his arms. “As if we need an excuse to kiss,” she says with a laugh, raising her chin.

He lowers his head, and her lips press against his mouth. Rook shivers slightly as Emmrich shares his essence through the kiss. Just enough to leave her wanting more.

The door opens.

Rook makes a decision. “We don’t have anywhere to be this afternoon, right?”

“I have some letters to write, but I can do that while you’re sleeping.”

“Close the door, spirit! We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

Several hours pass before the door opens once again.

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(if you've read this far, I would love more prompts! Here's the list)