#and like. feelings and gender are way more complicated than people like. want them to be

[bookshelfmonkey]

Ok but imo (as a trans guy) the dress moment could also work very well as an ftm Gender Moment.

I feel like the basis of the dress moment being so significant (or even being included in the show, although god only knows what the creators meant it to show) isn't that he's* considering wearing a dress. We see many other crew members wearing dresses at the party, laughing with everyone else and generally having a good time, and it's never brought up again, because it's a costume worn to a party. To Fitzjames, it seems to be more than a costume, hence his reluctance, hence the significance of the scene.

The common transfemme angle (as I see it, correct me if I'm wrong) is that this represents a moment where Fitzjames confronts the fact that his desire to wear the dress runs deeper than a desire to dress up for a night. This is more than a costume, this is a significant, meaningful expression of a desire that he's hidden for years, a desire that he knows (has been taught) is shameful, and now he has the opportunity to show that part of himself and have no one bat an eye and he just can't do it because it feels too vulnerable.

The transmasc angle is more complicated, so I'm going to explain my own experience real quick. When I was younger, I had to wear dresses and I hated it, but it was what was expected of me, so I didn't feel like I had a choice. Refusing to wear dresses and presenting masc was an act of rebellion for me, a hard won victory. It was also, up until I medically transitioned relatively recently, the only way I could pass. So I have that background: the years of having to wear dresses, and many more years of being pressured to wear them even after I'd repeatedly expressed that I didn't want to. But, now, I am living as a queer man. A lot of the men I surround myself with are more androgynous/feminine than I am, and none of my friends would bat an eye if I wore a dress. I also pass pretty much 100% of the time, and if I went out in public in a dress, I'd just be seen as a man in a dress (which comes with its own issues, but I don't have time to get into that right now). So I could wear a dress, and not massively run the risk of no longer being seen as a man, something that means a lot to me because it took a lot to get to that point. But I still haven't worn a dress since I stopped when I was 7. Look, I've got some internalised shit going on, it's not necessarily healthy, but it does help mimic the kind of shit that would be going on in the mind of someone living in 18th century england. Wearing a dress would-- to put it simply-- make me dysphoric. Not because I see dresses as something only women wear, but because it would remind me of when I had to wear them, and because I'd feel like that would be all people would need to see through me to my past and start seeing me as a woman again. To bring it back to ftm Fitzjames, this could easily apply. He knows that the crew see him as a man, he knows that a cis man in his position could (as many do in the show) wear the dress as a costume, have a good time, and never experience any kind of consequences for it-- he knows that he could do that. But it's more complicated, because, although he knows that it'd be fine, wearing the dress feels too vulnerable, too familiar. It breaks down the performance of the perfect (cis) man that he tries to keep up at all times, and so he doesn't do it.

Or maybe I'm just projecting, idk.

* just gonna use he/him throughout the post for consistency

i don’t think we consider ftm fitzjames enough like yes of course we had the dress scene which was crazy but also have we considered a guy who is So Obsessed with living up to the victorian masculine ideal despite everything going against him from birth. and yet somehow he is able to rise above all of that until they’re stuck in the arctic where society has all but forgotten them. and he can only really accept that it’s okay not to be this perfect heroic guy when he becomes friends (lovers?) with another guy who has long stopped trying to be the perfect victorian man because him being irish and lower birth status means society will never accept him as such. and again i recognize the Gender Moment of the dress but from the ftm angle the whole fucking show is a Gender moment

[sciderman]

(Idk if someone asked this already) since we’re on the topic of gender

sci what is gender to you and how do you see it in you and how you express it in your art?? (Just a young queer artist who wants some light shined upon them 🥺)

i 'unno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[fitzrove]

The situation I posted about is mostly funny but I do think it makes me feel alienated from some people (largely certain women because it's my main reference group) dkkdld. Like oh you guys truly have never had to contemplate your gender/enforced gender norms/gendered choices and gendered benefits/punishments, you truly think that all of your choices and actions are simply personal and not societally steered and socially rewarded/punished 😅 like y'all are comfortable with your conformity to an extent where you don't even notice how little freedom there is sometimes dkkdksks

[grimm-the-tiger]

My FL main went through some really weird, organic development over the...oh god, I think it's been five years since I started playing now.

So my main is named Skadi Larkin. They are a little bastard. They started out extremely 2D; I named them after my favorite Norse goddess and the protagonist of the book I was reading at the time. I originally wanted to make them female like both of their namesakes, but the second I saw the third-gender option, I thought it was too good to pass up. This is where they got their primary base characterization as a mad scientist who wanted to Cause Problems.

Then I started the Nemesis ambition and forgot which option I'd chosen for who I was trying to avenge, so they lost both their lover and their older brother under tragic circumstances (only the lover was killed by Nemesis's antagonist, though).

Then I got an Exceptional Friendship and had to give my tragic backstory in order to gain entry to the House of Chimes. Skadi pulled said tragic backstory (orphaned in a hansom accident) more or less out of their ass, but it did establish that their parents are dead.

Somewhere down the line, I realized that technically Skadi is a linguist, since the Correspondence is a language, and I made that their profession on the Surface as well.

Around this time, I started working on character designs for my fan comic. I got really into messing around with skin tone, and somewhere along the line thought it would be fun to draw Skadi (who was originally white) with darker skin, and it stuck.

Then I abruptly realized I was taking a lot of options that increased my Melancholy, and almost all of them were based on the Surface. So now Skadi has a longing for the Surface.

I left the game for a few years, but somewhere during this stretch of time, and I don't know how this happened, but I decided Skadi was now Native American; specifically, Metis. I changed their design to incorporate a sash woven in a style characteristic of the Metis, which also added a bit of color to their design (which was mostly black or grey at this point).

During this time, I started incorporating Skadi into my fan comic. This would eventually lead me to actually flesh out their backstory in greater detail. When I started playing the game again, I also created my first alt by total accident (long story), and I decided to weave her backstory with Skadi's.

So Skadi is in the interesting position of being an Indigenous person who is what we'd probably consider Two-Spirit today but they'd just call "Bollocks to that gender crap". They never belonged on the Surface, since the Metis are in a bit of a liminal space compared to other tribes due to their interesting background (the Metis are the descendants of French settlers and Indigenous inhabitants, mostly Cree), and Skadi exists in a liminal space within that liminal space due to only being half-Metis and raised primarily in white culture, although they still maintained a connection to it through their late mother. They also never belonged because no one else on the Surface outside of the communities they already felt isolated from would ever accept them for their gender. London gave them a chance to express one of those, but not both, and despite knowing that the Surface hates them just for existing, they still long to return.

[vamptastic]

i just tire of having to listen to every therapist and medical professional present a tired and obviously untrue hypothesis in regards to my own life, desires, and identity. like ok my dad hit me im bisexual and i have what some consider an intersex condition. i think you will find many people with a similar background that feel like their body in its natural state is their own and have not spent a lifetime plagued by dreams (like literal zzz sleepytime dreams) in which they have the opposite secondary sex characteristics. i am simply like this.

conversations about the nature of gender, whether transsexuality is defined by the desire to change ones sex or by a desire to occupy a different gender role or both, these are things i do not mind discussing in terms of theory. it's interesting.

it is however extremely annoying when people immediately make an assumption upon hearing some fact of my life that they have cracked the code and identified what made me trans (and presumably what would make me not-trans if it did not happen). i find it to be far more often an expression of the person's own complicated feelings on their own gender than an accurate analysis of my own. it's a lot of projection quite frankly.

[iliad24]

like my url was lesbianacemcshane for weeks i think anyone reblogging posts from me on the regular is. well aware of how i feel.

[reenaria]

currently having a queer identity crisis on this accursed holiday

[lostfracturess]

THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you. 

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions. 

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away. 

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence. 

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush. 

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased. 

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted. 

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years. 

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[etheries1015]

I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭

I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!

Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!

featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!

general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \

TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.

Leona

The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.

"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"

Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.

Ruggie

"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.

Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.

"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3

Jack

He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.

He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.

With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.

You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3

Azul

He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.

But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;

"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.

He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.

He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.

Jade

The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.

"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.

He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.

But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.

He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!

Floyd

Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.

You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.

"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.

Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.

The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.

"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...

He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.

Ya'll are so silly for each other <3

[beneathashadytree]

We need double fish dick sizes /j

And you shall get them nonnie!! I hadn’t thought of them before, but when you sent in this ask I sat down and brainstormed for a hot minute, so here come the headcanons I have about Rafayel’s Lemurian form���️ NSFW ahead, obviously, monsterfucking tropes (literally nothing is realistic here), and reader is gender-neutral!

To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just my ramblings, or old requests I had🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Now, Rafayel’s Lemurian form has an entirely different lower half, obviously, so it does make sense that finer details of his anatomy change too

I would say that he has two… appendages, not cocks per se, and I’ll explain this in a minute

What does resemble a human cock, is really nothing short of absolutely pleasurably torturous, and would be quite literally physically impossible for a normal human to take

10 inches in length, and that’s just me trying to censor things a little… so yes, no one can take him to the hilt (let’s be —ironically—realistic, people)

Girth is pretty complicated, and here’s why:

He’s got a really wide, flared base, but it’s rather thin there, and then he grows narrow in width until his tip

After the flared base, he’s actually got a rounder circumference, so while the base feels more of a stretch, his actual length is what makes them feel so full once he’s buried inside them

Rafayel’s cock has a delicious upward curve near his tip, and it’s made all the better by the slightly angular curves to the mushroom-head

Bonus points for the thick vein that runs along the underside! It’s almost ridge-like, and pairs perfectly with the slight ridges along the sides

I’m a firm believer in the fact that everything related to Rafayel is insanely pretty, so yes, even his Lemurian cock is bathed in gorgeous shades of deep purple, lavender, and a sweet bubblegum pink that flushes a deeper fuschia when he’s past his breaking point of arousal

Now that we’ve gotten his Lemurian cock out of the way, let’s talk about his second—but no less pleasurable—“member” so to speak

I imagine that he hides both under a well-hidden flap along his tail’s midline, right where his human crotch would be, so once that’s pulled back and his cock coaxed into full hardness, you can find his second tentacle-like cock underneath it

It’s thin, even more so than his human cock, is roughly 12 inches long (not very practical, but nothing about his devastatingly beautiful Lemurian form is) and a lot more flexible than you would think—which is good for its two uses

The first is prepping his beloved to take him, which is definitely no easy feat for anyone

He produces a lot of water-resistant slick there, which can help lubricate them easily in order to make the slide more comfortable for them, but it has the side effect of acting almost as an aphrodisiac, which (if in someone whose body can’t take that) may lead to it being too draining to keep up with him and their combined insanely high libidos at the moment

The second—which ties to the first—is that it makes it easier to curl inside his lover and reach their most pleasurable sweet spot, causing them to naturally gush around him and pull orgasm after orgasm before he could even attempt to slip inside their warmth

Again, Rafayel’s Lemurian form is dictated by his biology more often than not, so it’s no surprise that his cum is thicker (to avoid being washed away) and comes out in copious amounts, all for breeding purposes

The Lemurian race was dying out long before they were threatened by external factors and such, so procreation was a very important part of their mating rituals

You can toss that aside though, because it’s purely biological and will only be determined by whether or not his partner can and/or would want something like that; for Rafayel now it’s simply an instinct to be closer and rut deeper into them, so much so that they can’t tell where he ends and they begin

His cum looks quite pearlescent and actually pretty breathtaking, oddly enough; I truly believe it glimmers a little, especially if you look at it under the moonlight and catch the almost gem-like shimmers in its stickiness

Fair warning, it’s quite salty in terms of taste (though not hazardous in composition; he’s all about safety first you know!) and may be a little too much the first time his lover tries to swallow his release down

But that’s nothing a few kitten licks at his pulsating tip won’t acclimate them to, even if it does earn a strangled, breathy moan from him and him shooting his second load of the night on their tongue 🫶🏽

All in all, having sex or even just foreplay with Rafayel’s Lemurian form is overwhelming in the best ways possible—and definitely not for the faint-hearted!!

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[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language

When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?

Do Your Homework

First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.

Keep it Simple

Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.

Start Small

When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.

Music to the Ears

If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.

Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.

Writing in Your Language

Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.

There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.

Know your Words

I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.

[yurinaa-world]

Can I request Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Sundy with an anxious!cozy!s/o who secretly terrifyingly observant and calculating? ((👁-👁) level ie. looking deep into your soul level observant.)

At times it slips (ex. Admitting to being obsessed with complex puzzles that most people can't even fathom or subtly tipping them about someone's intention before the boys pick up on it) reader panics a bit.

Reader is conflicted because on onehand, they know whats going on and they wont get tricked easily BUT they hate how they know too much at times. Thus fuels their anxiety.

They either have to isolate themselves for a while or wear cozy oversized garmets as comfort (aka all the time)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with anxious and cozy reader

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

Over time he’s picked up more details on your behaviour, you're so observant to the point you don’t realize that your face says what you're thinking. Just in the middle of a conversation with you, he can see how you look around taking in everything around as if you were a cute detective. 

He doesn’t mind that you want to be alone or that you just want to sit in silence, seeing You'll get overloaded and get a headache. He does worry you end up staying up late and being lost in thoughts, forgetting that it’s already 3:00 am. (He might just grab you, cover your eyes and force you to bed to get a good night's sleep).

He finds your cute oversized clothes then formal (because you like to look so comfortable in them), your hair is all messy, your tired voice, sometimes the shirt is off one of your shoulders because it is way too oversized for you but it’s still comfortable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“What might my dear be thinking about instead of sleeping?”  

You don’t even realize that he’s there until he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side. “I can’t sleep, I'm thinking about something.”  You turn towards him and find him already looking at you with a look that’s both gentle and tender. 

You feel like something is wrong, squinting your eyes at him—you just have that weird gut feeling—looking around his body to find ‘something’ you are not sure what it is until you look at his shoulder—it looks way too stiff than usual, your hand grabbing his shoulder a bit roughly only to hear him let out a small groan.

“Did you get hurt?” You ask softly, letting go of the shoulder in an instant,  looking at him worriedly, “Can't let anything escape your gaze?” He smiles slightly though, leaning forward and kissing the side of your head lightly before you cover his mouth with your hand, frowning on your face.

“Are you sure you’re fine?”  You ask again, this time more serious than earlier. He shakes his head and kisses your hand once before removing it from his mouth. “I promise that I’m alright.” He says in a soft voice,  caressing your cheek.  This makes you look away shyly,  the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“it’s time for you to go to bed.” “I don’t need you telling me that-“ he grabs you and pulls you close into him, shoving your face in his chest so you couldn’t see anything “Sleep.”

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

He’s amazed by how you still remember the small details in a conversation that even he can’t remember. He thought at first you were like him, observant, and quiet but you surpassed and beyond everything you expected from him.

You spend most of your time in his room and not your own, not that he doesn’t mind at all but just looking over from his books to see you looking around his room trying to see small details while messing with a complicated puzzle in your hands.

He takes you away to calm you down when you’re in a conversation to hear what you want to say because of the face you had on, eyes wide and slightly nervous while looking at your nails and back at the person. (he got you out of that conversation so quickly)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Looking down on your puzzle with your brain bustling with ideas and taking notes of small details around his room that usually aren't noticed (and you might also be watching him read one of his books and might have been staring for too long that you locked eyes by accident and looked away). Quickly shifting the pieces of the puzzle when you get caught yet neither of you say anything, that doesn't stop you from gazing at him from the top of your eye.

"Dan Heng why are you reading that book when you already finished it?"  you asked softly/ "It's a well-written book with good character development and story building." "Is it that good that I want to read for the 3rd time?"  he responded while looking up from his book to look at you. "you just said it was only the 3rd time so I'd assume it is still good enough to read again." 

"But Dan Heng don't you ever want to read new things?." you understand everything and why people do it but you're just curious about what a person thinks of what they're doing and the reasons for their actions. He doesn't mind asking him questions and he'll answer each one with the best of his abilities. 

“Sometimes people like to reread things because they don’t want something to end.”

“Oh is that what you're doing?—oddly enough you always are in that spot specifically while reading that same book.” You say before murmuring another part. “You always remember everything don’t you.”

𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎

You’re just like him. He doesn’t expect anything less from his soulmate, it’s as if you were hand-made for each other. Your mind is so calculating and observant, the dream you are. He’ll adore you, he’ll tease you, smile with you, he’ll experience everything with you.

He raves about the small cute glances you do when you think he doesn’t notice or when you take your eyes off from whatever you might be doing just to look at him working. He can feel your loving gaze before you go back to whatever you might be doing. (He might just confront you and see your embarrassed expression)

Don’t worry about anything, not even the person you’re warning him about, he’s already dealt with long before you got the chance to tell him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Sunday aren’t you worried?” 

You don’t understand how he’s never worried about anything, just so calm even when you're alone with each other. “what would I be worried about my dear?” you feel him taking into your heart, arms around your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest.

“Didn’t you see how suspicious they were acting?” you say with hesitation in your tone, your fingers tightening onto the fabric of his shirt. you feel him nod as a response from behind you. 

“I know something’s up, I feel it in my gut just wanted to warn you”. you mumble the last sentence,  turning to face him, he looks down, and his hand goes to the side of your cheek already making you feel comfortable.

“No need to worry yourself over me,”  he leans down and kisses you on the cheek,  smiling sweetly at you, a warm feeling spreads through your chest. 

“I've already dealt with everything.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[emmcfrxst]

Hear me out… lil blurb of old man Logan and reader just slow dancing together to find comfort, despite all of the evil going on around them 😭

okay so i got carried away and tweaked the prompt a little bit. this is fluff with a spoonful of angst. little more than 900 words. reader’s gender/characteristics are not specified but it’s implied that you’re shorter than logan. putting the drabble under the cut as to not clog the tags <3 inspired by lyrics from The Mountain Goats’ song Sax Rohmer #1

The soft melody of the rain outside harmonizes with the dull buzzing of the old, beat up fridge you’re leaning against, a glass of water cradled between your palms. Your gaze falls on Logan as he walks through the front door, droplets of water gliding down the exhausted lines of his face. He says nothing as he sheds off his suit jacket, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow arched in question.

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice sends pleasant tingles down your spine; the rich, raspy quality of it enveloping you with his every word. You wish he’d speak more often— you would love nothing more than to drown in the depths of his voice, but Logan is a man of very few words, and you’ve long since made your peace with the realization that not much could ever change that part of him; and you wouldn’t want to, either. Your relationship with him may be complicated at times, but you remain certain of the depth of your feelings for Logan— you’ve come to love him as he is, not interested in trying to modify the results of over two centuries of pain and loss; his past is part of who he is, and you love that person wholeheartedly.

“Was waiting for you.” the softness of your tone seems to reflect the look in his eyes as he steps forward, clothes leaving a trail of droplets behind. Your eyelids flutter lightly once his hands are on you, curling around your hips like they have done so many times before— it’s been years of living by his side, but his touch still manages to set your insides alight with the kind of trepidation that one feels for their first love. You move forward until your chests are touching, rain quickly saturating the shirt you’re wearing— one of his; an older, more tattered one you’ve held onto all this time, as if needing proof of your shared past. You wrap your arms around Logan’s neck, tilting your head upwards so your foreheads can meet in a tender press, his beard tickling the top of your lip. Up close, you can see the array of new bruises making their home on his handsome face, a frown downturning the curve of your lips.

“M’okay.” he mumbles quietly, already expecting you to point it out— these days, you find that you don’t really have to say anything anymore, whether it be from the synchronization of your souls or your lover’s dismissal of any and every concern about the changes in his physicality; Logan has a way of soothing your worries away with a tender brush of his lips on your forehead, sincerity enveloping his tone like a warm blanket on a cold day. He knows his limits, and after a series of tearful confessions between the worn out sheets of your shared bed, he knows not to push them too much so as to not upset you. Nodding in response, you let your nose rub against his, comforted by the fact that he will tell you about the events that led to the purple blooms across his skin all in due time— it would end up being a group of drunks like usual, anyway; a small pack of testosterone filled idiots emboldened by the alcohol and refusing to pay for the services Logan offered them. Nothing I can’t handle, he would add afterwards, cradling the side of your face with a tenderness very few people have ever seen the great Wolverine exude. You’re okay with pushing all of these thoughts to the side for now, anyways— focus on him, because he kept his promise to you again today

I’ll always come home to you.

“Dance with me.” your lips brush against his as you whisper out your demand, making Logan raise one eyebrow at you playfully.

“There’s no music.” he states as if that was obvious— because it is, but under the dim lights of the kitchen, here with him in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. A soft chuckle leaves him when you shrug lightly, your lover’s head tilting down to give you a proper kiss; the first one since he arrived a handful of minutes ago.

“Doesn’t matter. Just wanna feel you.” your explanation makes his heart ache, idly wondering if he would survive the tearing open of his chest in an attempt to gift you the appendage— it would be worth the pain, and there is no one else he would die for like the way he would for you. It belongs to you anyway, he thinks serenely.

“Alright.” he ends up saying, voice laced with layers upon layers upon layers of tenderness. He takes a moment to memorize the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, wanting to take the visual away with him were he to meet an untimely death the next time he steps through the threshold of your front door— he wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he’s old and tired and aching and although he denies it when it comes to you, he knows his body doesn’t heal the way it used to; there is a chance, every time he leaves for work, that he won’t be able to keep his promise of coming home to you, but he will try anyways— would come home with blood pouring out of his mouth if it meant getting to hold you for one more night. You make it worth it. You make him want to live.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, body swaying along with his as he kisses the crown of your head in silent reverence.

Tomorrow may not be guaranteed, but none of that matters tonight as you wrap yourself around him, dancing around the kitchen in the moonlight, anchoring him with the steadiness of your heartbeat and giving him something to fight for for a little longer.

[starryknight-tarot]

𝓦𝓱𝓸 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼?

pile 1 -- > pile 2 pile 3 -- > pile 4

my masterlist<3 . paid readings

Hello beautiful souls✨ Today we will be looking into what kind of people your future friends are and maybe a little more into your dynamic together. Remember to meditate, take a deep breath, and pick whatever pile calls to you the most. My readings are meant for everyone, no matter what sexuality or identity you are. Since this is a general reading, make sure to take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Credit to @benkeibear for the divider and @thuminnoo on instagram.

Pile 1 Cards: Temperance, Three of Swords, Six of Swords, Strength, Three of Pentacles, Nine of Wands, Page of Pentacles, Ace of Cups rx Back of the Deck: Five of Pentacles

The energy for this pile has a lot of layers to it. While I was shuffling, I heard the word "first" pretty clearly, so your future friends might be the first time you can really call someone a friend or simply your first time having friends at all . I feel like all of your future friends are going to have very big personalities. If you are an introvert, you are going to feel like you were adopted by a bunch of extroverts. I am actually getting Mean Girls vibes from this pile, like in a school setting, all your friends would be the talk of the school. The cool kids so to speak lol. And the energy you are going to feel with them also feels pretty complicated. In friendships, you can have good days where everyone is getting along and having fun, and then other day when things can feel more awkward and even a little uncomfortable, your friend group isn't going to be safe from this. Although, you may feel like you may feel like you don't truly fit in with them. I am hearing "Imposter Syndrome" so with your future friends, you may feel like you don't deserve to be around them. But I am getting that your future friends REALLY don't want you to feel this way. In fact, I feel like there may be a moment in your friendship where all this doubt in yourself comes to the surface and you and your friends have a deep conversation about. I am getting for some of you that really don't resonate with this self doubt energy, it might be the other way around where one of your future friends isn't too confident in their friendship with you. Also, no matter what gender you identify as, your future friends are going to help you embrace your feminine energy. For some specific groups of yall, your friends are going to spark your interest in makeup. Some of yall are going to be making new friends at the gym or on a run, something physical. Like I am seeing the visual of someone running a marathon and chatting it up with the person next to them. I think for my pile 1's, yall need to start having a clear idea of what you want and need in a friend. Because if you just let anyone that shows you kindness, you might end up in a distasteful situation. If you don't feel like you and another person have a connection, it's time to cut ties with that person. But with the Page of Pentacles, I feel like you guys will actually find friends that will feel like manifested them into existence. If you have a manifestation journal, it may help to dedicate a page for qualities you want in a friend and spirit is saying that this will bring you closer to these friends. I also keep hearing "They aren't perfect" so even if you are manifesting them, they may not be the perfect person but they are going to be there for you. Also one last message for my introverts, you may want to try and put yourself out there to find friends.

Advice Cards:

Release what you do not need. Let go of some extraneous aspects of your life

Spend some time in stillness to reflect

Be adventurous. It's time to go for it!

A powerful dream will guide you

Your heart is a center of institute intelligence. Listen to it!

You are greater than your story

Channeled Songs: (I laughed when I got Please Me but some of yall may have a message there lol)

Pile 2 Cards: Ace of Swords, Nine of Wands rx, King of Swords, The Tower rx, Ten of Wands rx, The Fool, The Emperor, Two of Pentacles Back of the Deck: Three of Swords

So I was picking up a few different types of energies for this pile, I feel like a lot of people may pick this pile so there is a lot of different people involved or each one of your friends is going to be very different personalities, take it how it resonates. One of the first things I was picking up was that your friends are gonna be labeled as the "weird kids" lol. I don't mean that in a bad way at all, they just might be the type to be labeled as nerds or dorks or whatever but they are just have really silly energy. Specifically, someone in your group is gonna be quite eccentric and unique but I think you will love that about them. This eccentric friend has lovely energy. I keep hearing ENFP or they may might just be really into MBTI. I am also picking up on someone that has a really regal vibe to them? Maybe, they feel like they were royalty in their past life or they could come from wealth. But I am getting such a sweet vibe from this person. This friend group seems like a bunch of softies and I am living for it. I was also picking up that you might have to go through some really shitty friends before you get to the friends that we are currently looking into. Spirit said "those people were never truly your friends" so some people who you thought were your friends may actually be pieces of shit and never even truly saw you as a friend. I am hearing for someone of you that these might be your current friends, of course that isn't going to be for everyone but you are seeing some signs from your current friends that they don't truly respect you as a person, or that they are leave you out of stuff, those people aren't your friends. But with the Fool, I feel like you guys are really going to start a new journey in terms of friends so there are going to be quite a few people who are coming into your life. I heard "They are going to turn your life upside down" so you may start seeing the world differently after meeting them. I do feel like you and your future friends may not always see eye to eye and may have a falling out, I'm not too sure why, it seems like a lot of misunderstandings may happen between yall. These misunderstand may cause yall to have prolonged times apart for a little while. But I do think you will come back together. I'm also not too sure this energy is for everyone or perhaps that keeping this message in mind may cause these misunderstands to be avoided. Spirit is saying "Keep an open mind" so you may need to just hear each other. I am also getting for this pile that your group of friends may be really big, like a lot of people that are gonna hang around you.

Advice Cards:

Hold your life from a sacred viewpoint. Witness the universal picture

Relax and feel good. You deserve more joy!

Your are greater than your story

Pay attention to your breathing, it's reflecting your life

Reflect on the state and use of your personal energy

You are wiser than you think

You are a natural teacher

Channeled Songs:

Pile 3 Cards: Three of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, Ace of Wands, The Emperor rx, Six of Pentacles rx, Ten of Pentacles, The Fool rx, Ten of Swords Back of the Deck: Four of Cups

Excuse me for my language, but I fucking love this pile so much, your future friends have top tier energy. These friends might be people from your childhood that you rekindle with or just friends you have known for a while. Actually I am also getting that for some of you, you may meet them very suddenly and become friends very fast in your adult life, but I'm not really getting an in between. For some of you, I feel like you are already around your future friends. They seem to be more of the rebellious vibes, I am hearing Lost Boys energy. Your future friends may be strong activists and are very vocal about what is right and wrong. Your friends seems like the type of people that really stand out in the crowd. Probably for a very specific group of you, I feel like you may meet in an art class or just somewhere surrounded by art. And your future friends are SO creative and have such big imaginations. For some of you, you are going to make a career with these future friends and I am hearing starting a Youtube channel or something like that. Whatever it is, it seems like it will be really successful because of the chemistry you and your friends share. Especially with all the pentacles in this pile, yall might make major bank together. For a lot of you, these friends are going to be your soul family. For some of you, there is going to be someone in your friend group that takes up a sort of mother role and they are going to help heal you through a lot of childhood wounds that you may not have even realized you had. I heard for some of you, they are going to get you out more and get you out of a hermit period for you. There is a very small group of you that I feel like you will very suddenly stop seeing each other or perhaps this friendship will have been going on for years and some of you will want to expand your friendship to other people and not talk as much, I am getting maybe two people. A little larger group of you may just drift part after time and find new friends, but you guys would never forget each other and always hold so much love for each other. Yall story seems like it could be made into a story lol. But even then, I won't let that stop you from enjoying your friends with these people and trying your best to make it last since yall do seem really compatible. For real it's so beautiful I almost want to cry. But there is a group of you that I see growing old together basically. Yall will still be causing trouble till yall's hairs grey and you are chilling in the nursing homes lol.

Advice Cards: Release what you do not need. Let go of some extraneous aspect of your life

Reflect on the state and use of your personal energy

Be aware of your inner messages

A powerful dream will guide you

The key is in the application. Practice!

Spend some time in stillness to reflect

Channeled Songs:

Pile 4 Cards: King of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, Four of Pentacles rx, Five of Swords, Six of Pentacles rx, Nine of Swords, The Tower, The Fool rx Back of the Deck: Six of Wands

This pile is very interesting indeed. So one of the first things I was picking up was that you may marry one of your future friends and it is going to be like "Marrying my best friend" kind of moments. Which is real cute for yall. I was also getting that your friend group might be pretty well off, like they all grew up in a pretty wealthy area or something like that. I am kind of picking up on those people that grew up rich but don't really even realize it until you point it out. But they seem like might spoil you a little, take you around to see things you may have never seen without them. I am also hearing some of you may be the rich friend. I am also getting that the way you guys will meet will be through shared struggle. Like I am getting that you and your future friends will go though an experience that not many will have gone through and while you will walk away with a lot of trouble from this experience, you will also walk away with new friendships because not many have gone through what yall have gone through. I am getting that you will have around three or four friends that you are particularly close with. With the mixture of the Tower and the Five of Swords, I feel like you are going to have a big falling out with these people. Although since we have the Six of Wands at the back of the deck, I feel this story will have a very satisfying ending. I just suddenly saw people meeting at a very tropical setting. It could just be the beach but for some of you, this feels like a different country and you will meet up there and it will feel so nice. I am also getting that instead of this falling out energy, your future friends are going to have A LOT of trauma and they may feel like they don't deserve your friendship, something along those lines. Your future friends have very shy energy. They don't seem to trust a lot of people but you managed to gain their trust. Although I feel like one of your friends is very shy and the another is very bold and confident, but even this person seems to have some inner struggles as well. I'm sorry because I feel like there is part of a puzzle that your future friends don't really want to share here. Perhaps your story with them is just something they really want you to experience without any expectations. They seem to have really good intentions with you.

Advice Cards:

Release all attachments that do not serve you

Take a lighter approach and smile about all facets in your life. A smile reflects a heart at peace You are ready to receive your fortune. Be miracle minded!

The key is in the application. Practice! You are intuitively gifted. Trust you guidance

Pay attention to the issue that time plays in your life right now

Channeled Songs:

Thanks for tuning in₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

[vivinens]

a lover's game !

characters: neuvillette, wriothesley & navia.

summary: little things they notice about you.

warning, minor fontaine story spoilers. gender neutral reader. here's a few short drabbles, hello tumblr!

Neuvillette, while famously intrigued by human behavior, often finds himself completely fascinated with you in particular.

For all his objective understanding of worldly matters, he is still confused as to why he specifically craves your attention. It's utterly strange, really, how his eyes seem to trail after your movements and expressions with more care than he would show to others.

You smile differently, when speaking to him. He's picked up on this after numerous conversations involving you two and a third party. When speaking to Monsieur Neuvillette (he often wonders about the soft way you say his name), your tone is easy and your smile is—for lack of a more appropriate word—entrancing. But, the moment your attention turns to the third party, that smile is dimmed.

At first, he simply chalks it up to you wanting to get in his good graces. After all, he's had no shortage of humans attempting to get close to him in order to satisfy their own desires. However, even with his lackluster social skills, he can see how your behavior is different from the people trying to appeal to them for their own merit. Your flustered sentences and bright eyes were not the same as others using flattery to gain status among the court staff.

...Perhaps he should ask Navia about it. Not for the first time, he curses his own lack of social understanding.

Wriothesley is not usually the kind of man who finds himself hung up on trivial details. He spends too much time working and worrying as it is; so why should he make life more complicated for himself?

There were some things he can't help but notice when it comes to you, though. It's midday when he overhears you mumbling to yourself about a new treat from Café Lucerne you'd like to try—as well as something about you having already spent all your "fun mora" for the week. You had sighed to yourself at your own respective desk all afternoon, and the sheer longing he could sense made his eye twitch.

You arrived to your work desk the next morning to see a wrapped gift box atop it. You had gasped when you opened it to reveal the outrageously expensive cake you had been craving all week. Wriothesley couldn't stay to further see your reaction, as to not raise suspicion, but he was content nonetheless.

It was when he arrived at work the next day that he realized—after seeing a steaming hot cup of coffee set on his desk beside a signed thank you note—that you're more observant than you let on. After all, he had taken great care in not letting it be known he was the one who gifted you the cake.

He takes a sip of the coffee. It was the way he likes it. Yes, you were very observant, indeed.

Navia has always had a soft spot for her underlings. She remembers their birthdays, their favorite songs, and those who they would prefer to work alongside. She claims it's her duty as their boss to know such things—although, in the opinion of many, she often goes above and beyond.

However, if you were to ask any of Navia's other subordinates, they would probably say she tries to understand you best of all. You have known one another for a long time, and this friendship was something she held very dearly—especially after the passing of her father. You were a beacon of light in those times, when the world seemed against her and her father's memory.

In some ways, she wondered if she was... taking advantage. You worked hard to support her and Spina di Rosula, and earned hardly nothing in return. Pay was rocky and sometimes even scarce. What if your talents could be better used elsewhere? What if you truly did want to leave? What if—

"You're overthinking again, Navia," you sigh, and before she can even think to respond, your hand is reaching to feel her forehead. You're sat beside one another on a bench, taking a small reprieve after a day spent out and about Vasari Passage. "Hm, I'm surprised you don't have a fever. You've been acting strange all day," you say, tilting your head. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The genuine worry in your voice makes Navia's heart flutter. "No, no, nothing at all!" She exclaims with more confidence than she feels. She seems to be doing that a lot lately. "But... thank you, for worrying about me. You shouldn't have to."

You frown. "I care for you—perhaps more than you understand, Navia. You don't have to speak about it now, but if something is troubling you, I will always lend you an ear."

Sometimes, Navia finds you truly are too understanding of her emotions. Instead of responding, she nods wordlessly, lest the things she wants to say so desperately clog her throat, and reaches to rest her hand against yours. You don't pull away, and the loud hammering of Navia's heart continues in her chest. It does not stop for a long while.

[alphajocklover]

Loved the vampire story you did. Do you think you could do something about werewolves? I feel like they would like big beefy guys a lot.

Werewolves, while just as interesting and hot as vampires, are actually a lot more complicated than vampires. This is because, just as classic vampires existed long ago and evolved into something different, so did werewolves, but as werewolves evolved they converged into two different species. Each thrived in a different way, taking a different trait of lycanthropy to the absolute extreme. The first descendant of werewolves is a creature I’ve actually talked about before: Alphas. 

I only learned this recently, but Alphas originate from werewolves. It makes sense in a strange way. Werewolves, unlike real wolves, do have the dominance hierarchy that is often associated with wolves. That's part of why people thought wolves had ‘alphas’ and ‘betas’ for such a long time, because werewolves actually do work like that. All werewolves have that sort of animalistic dominance, though only the strongest could keep the others in line and lead the pack to a successful hunt. As time went on the descendants of these pack leaders became even more dominant, to the point that they became the beefy reality altering Alphas we see today. They don’t seem to have many of the wolf-like traits their ancestors did, mainly because they were eventually able to use their powers over reality to discard and hide these so that they could better blend in with humans. Why dominate a small pack in the woods when you can dominate an entire city, all from the comfort of a badass penthouse apartment? 

While I’ve talked a lot of Alphas before, I haven’t mentioned the other descendants of werewolves yet, the Beasts. While Alphas have evolved to exceed in dominance, Beast have evolved to exceed in being absolutely animalistic. While Beast are closer to werewolves than Alphas, there are a number of notable differences between Beast and traditional werewolves. Instead of transforming every full moon, they are transformed every night, and instead of transforming into literally wolf-like beasts, Beast transforms into… Well, men. Every night a Beast will transform from a normal, average human like you and I, into a muscular, hairy, wild beast of a man. It doesn’t matter who they are during the day, how young or old or even what gender. During the night they’re animalistic men only concerned with spreading their seed and growing their pack. See, just like traditional werewolves, Beast can spread their curse to others, not through bites but through sex. 

Beast may sound a little threatening, but really they’re just muscular hairy men who want to fuck. You probably wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from a regular guy in a nightclub, since the only real indicators of a beast is a hatred of silver and a more animalistic demeanor. But it’s easy to avoid being turned by a Beast. Just don’t have sex with a Beast. Or at least don’t have sex with a beast who is not wearing a condom.

 I’d actually recommend having sex with a Beast in general. They’re excellent lovers, and if you’re able to get one to see you as a member of its ‘pack’ then they’re some of the most loyal, loving people around. Just don’t get too caught up in the heat of the moment, and you’ll have an amazing time.